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“But you’re pregnant?” Sorrow assaulted me from behind. “I…I can’t let you experience that kind of joy when you are the one who stole that from me.”

A disorder clouded my thoughts. A whirring that shivered and shook.

“I don’t…who?” The question was gravel. A hemorrhaging of my heart.

“Patrick.”

Shock blistered. A streaking of cold dread that curled down my spine.

And I slowly turned to look at her.

At this woman with devastation on her face.

And I knew in a moment that she was Patrick’s mother.

SIXTY-NINE

ELENA

EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD

She and Patrick were there, in their spot on that clifftop overlooking the city. The vast expanse was swathed in a hazy orange glow that pressed against the gauzy night canopy above them.

Elena leaned into his side, her heart heavy beneath her ribs.

“It’s so beautiful out here.”

The hour had grown late as he trailed his thumb up and down her spine, the mood shifting from the easy conversation to something dense.

“Not close to being as beautiful as you.”

She always felt weird in it. Uneasy and apprehensive when he leaned in and kissed her.

She wanted it to feel different.

She wanted to be different.

She wanted to be free and fly.

So, she let him ease her onto her back so he could crawl over her the way he always did.

He was thin and probably weighed half of what Trevan did. But there was something about him that always felt oppressive, even though he mumbled sweet things she’d always longed to hear.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Love the way your mouth tastes.”

“I’m falling in love with you.”

She wanted to return it, to tell him she was, too, but she knew it would be a lie. She kissed him deeper and willed herself to pretend like she was fully into it.

Part of her was.

It wasn’t completely fake.

She liked Patrick a lot, and she thought maybe in time, she would feel more. Maybe in time her heart would heal and she’d stop loving Trevan.

Patrick kissed her deeper, his hands roaming under her clothes, which he’d been doing more of lately.