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His emotions climb to the surface. They turn his voice watery. Make his eyes brim. He picks up the box carefully, holding it like it’s incredibly precious. The box isn’t small, but it’s not big either. There’s nothing to tell me what’s inside other than the way he responds to it.

“You wanted to go home...” He sniffs. “You wanted to go to the treehouse and...” He stops and covers his mouth with one hand as his shoulders shudder.

My eyes fill with tears. One trickles down my nose. I taste my grief when it puddles on my lip.

“You wanted to say goodbye. You wanted her to be somewhere that meant something to us.”

I reach for the box and he hands it over. I cradle it as carefully as I would have held her as a newborn. My heart is breaking all over again. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

I can barely see him nod through the haze of my tears.

“Since we can’t do that yet.” He swallows hard as he helps me tear the tape from the box. His hands close around mine for a moment. “We will, though. I promise you that, Kelsey. We will.”

“You asked Rebel to get her?”

“Yeah, I did.”

I open the flaps and carefully lift the bubble-wrapped ceramic urn from inside. Her name is stamped into the side along with a small feather. Tiny musical notes are sprinkled around the top of it.

And then there is a sentence, a lyric, and I know that it’s Riot’s.

Tiny heartbreaks hurt the hardest.

“You wrote that, didn’t you? That’s from the song you wrote for her, isn’t it?”

“I promised you no one will hear it. And they won’t. It’s Harlowe’s song. It’s ours. Just for us.”

Hugging her to my chest, I break down completely. My tears coming thick and fast and ugly.

Riot’s crying too. As broken as I am. For so long I hated that he didn’t feel my pain, but now I know that’s not true. “I should have called. I should have told you.”

“I should have fought to be in your life. I should have come after you.” He tries to wipe away my tears, but they keep falling. “You shouldn’t have been alone. Shouldn’t have had to deal with being pregnant on your own. Or losing our baby girl. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t there with you. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

I lean in and press my lips on his.

There’s a second. A heartbeat. A shared look between us when I pull away. Taking Harlowe out of my hands, he places her urn on the nightstand.

He seeks out my mouth, and I seek out his too. Needing the comfort of each other. Giving comfort to each other.

His tongue strokes against mine, deepening the kiss as I crawl onto his lap. Fingers digging into my scalp, his hands tangle in my hair.

I push up his T-shirt, finding the warmth of his skin, the hardness of his muscles that tremble under my touch. The hitch in his breath when I place a palm over his heart.

“I miss you.” He covers my hand with his. “I miss you every damn day. You’re right here and that’s still too fucking far away when all I want is to touch you...” He taps his lips to mine again. “Kiss you. And hold you all night, every night.”

“We could go...” Anywhere else and we might have a chance. “We could... try again. Be us... again. Just... we pack a bag and we leave.”

I yearn for a place in time when we were in love and I was having his baby. It’s a wish. A dream. And I know those don’t come true, but maybe this once... maybe if we left everything behind we could find our way back there.

“You’re not thinking it through.” He brushes the wetness from under my eyes with the most serious expression I have ever seen him wear. “Where would we go? What would we tell the guys? We’re a family. When you left, it wasn’t just me who hurt. It was Bronx and Golden too. They were devastated. And Kodiak... he’s our family now too. Could you truly up and vanish on them so easily a second time? And then there’s Marco. That fucking cockroach is still a threat.”

I can feel him slipping away from me. I know where this is going. But I beg like an idiot anyway. “We’ll come up with something. We’ll go somewhere he won’t find me. As long as we have each other—”

“I want to.” He presses his forehead to mine. “I have never wanted anything more than to run away from this mess with you. But what about L.A. Riot? What about the fans? There are thousands of people who rely on us, Kelsey. Hundreds of people working on this tour. Everyone who has paid to come see us play. And Sonatina isn’t just going to stop being a problem because we leave. You get that, don’t you?”

I knew what his response would be. Two years ago, I would have agreed with him. Would have supported it as responsible. Would have been one thousand percent by his side. It hurts anyway. I climb off his lap.

“Kelsey.” He stands. “I’m not fucking with you when I say I’m playing her game to protect you. Out of everyone I need to consider, you are my biggest concern.”