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“There’s another way. We… We keep running just like we’re doing now, and we change our names and disappear completely. I have enough money; we can start over anywhere you want. Europe, South America, or some tiny island where nobody gives a shit about American news. Somewhere where they can’t extradite us. Darling, we can still have a life. We can still have each other.”

She stares at me furiously, yet terrified at the same time.

“You’re fucking crazy. I don’t want to go anywhere with you. You don’t even care that I murdered your brother and sister. You’re a fucking murderer, you’re delusional, and I’m so, so broken.”

“I care about you.” Emotion rises, cracking through my words. “Darling, that’s all I’ve ever cared about. I’ve done terrible things just for a speck of attention from you. All for the chance that you’d look at me the way you did back at my house. No matter what you do, no matter how many lives are taken, I’m choosing you, every single fucking time. Fuck what the world has to say—I don’t give a shit about them. It’s you…always you. ”

Her knuckles are pale from the hold she has on the gun, finger still unsettlingly resting on the trigger. I watch her face as she cries; it’s not the pretty tears you see in the movies, but the ugly, desperate kind that comes from someone desperate for something to cling to. She looks like she’s trying to decide whether to let go, shatter completely, and let me in, or harden into someone who can never feel pain this intensely again.

“I’m falling for everything you’re saying. That scares the shit out of me, more than anything else, because I don’t actually know if you mean it. I’m afraid this is just your poker face, and I’m nothing more than another win you can tally up.”

I drop to the floor without hesitation, letting my knees hit the thin carpet with a soft thud. I crawl closer until I can reach her face, until I’m close enough to see my reflection in her eyes. Her scar, pink and raw from her fight with Ellie, is warm under my thumb, the rest of my hand resting on the side of her face. My other hand reaches toward the gun, moving slowly to not scare her, but she shifts slightly, not allowing it.

“I promise you, I’m not lying. You’re my everything, even when you didn’t realize it, when I couldn’t touch you, and you belonged to someone else. You’ve been the only guiding light in my life for so long now that I’ve forgotten what the darkness feels like. I will do everything to keep that light from going out. I’ll kill every person I meet, tear down every building brick by brick if it means I get to keep you.”

Fresh tears spill over, streaking her skin, and for a moment, I see Wynnie there. She deserves peace—she deserves so much more than all of this.

“I wish you would’ve just come to me, Preston.” There’s such longing in her voice that it pains me. “So you could have the old me, and I wouldn’t have… Ghost.”

I shake my head slowly, meaning every word I’m saying. “I don’t know, I think I like you like this. You’re someone who fights back and isn’t afraid of doing what needs to be done. I truly believe this is you; it’s just been hiding, waiting for me.”

This time, when I reach for the gun, she lets me. She tenses, her grip tightening for a point, then slowly loosens. Wynnie lets it go, and I feel a relief so profound it would have brought me to my knees if I weren’t already on the floor.

Finally, she sits upright, her legs crossing gracefully, but her shoulders sag as if she’s been carrying the weight of the world, and she’s finally allowed herself to set it down.

“You’re supposed to be bad.” She studies my face, trying to understand what she’s feeling.

“Yeah,” I breathily admit, offering her a smile that probably looks more unsteady than reassuring. “I probably am, but it’s okay, because I’m yours now. I can turn it all around for you.”

Cautiously, almost as if she’s scared I’ll disappear before she reaches me, she leans in. Her lips press against mine, soft and trembling, tasting like sweet tears. I don’t move, careful not to deepen the kiss or take more than she’s offering. I just absorb her warmth, her fear, and her resignation.

When she pulls back, she rests her forehead against mine.

“If you get us out of this, I’ll be yours for good.”

I lick my lips, still tasting her and the ghost of her kiss.

“Then, I guess I have no choice but to make sure we do.”

Outside, sirens wail in the distance, but they belong to another world. In this moment, we’ve finally found something that might be love, or possibly mutual destruction. Either way, I’m all in.

21

Ghost

The rain thinned into a cold mist hours ago, but water still beads on the windshield faster than the wipers can clear it. Each sweep reveals the long stretch of highway that cuts through hills, rolled into gray nothing. The asphalt gleams black under the headlights, slick enough that I keep my speed at 60, but every instinct screams at me to push harder and put more miles between Harris and us.

I haven’t told Wynnie the full plan yet, unsure if she’s in the right headspace to discuss where we’re going and how we’re going to get there, but our trip to California has officially begun. We need to get out there as soon as we can, hop on the catamaran, and get as far away from here as we can.

Wynnie stays curled in the passenger seat, resembling a sleeping cat, ignoring the entire world around her. Her legs are pulled up to her chest, bare feet against the dark upholstery, and her face rests against the cool window. Clouds from her breath fog the glass in small circles that expand with every exhale. She isn’t asleep; I can tell by the way her eyelashes move as she tracks the scenery, but I don’t bother her.

The bouquet I got her at the last town, when we’d found a dollar store to get her some clothes, lay cradled in her arms. It’s nothing I’d normally give her, just yellow carnations, the only one that wasn’t half-dead. She stared at them when I handed them over, surprise flickering across her face before she took them.

Now, she holds them against her, one thumb stroking a single petal over and over again. I don’t know if she actually likes them or if she doesn’t have the heart to toss them aside. Either way, she holds them as though they matter, and that’s enough for me.

My hands are cramped into claws around the steering wheel again; I have to repeatedly force myself to loosen them up, flexing my fingers until the blood returns and the ache subsides. The radio plays static-filled country music at a low volume, the only station clear enough to catch out here.

“We’ve got a couple more hours until we hit the state line, then we’ll find shelter for the night.”