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I pull back from her ear, inspecting the contours of her face cast in shadowy light.

“I like that one. Who wrote it?” she asks.

“Me,” I say, my own blush rushing up my neck and into my cheeks. “Every poem I write is about you, remember?”

She nods. “Will you let me see them all?”

I kiss the corner of her mouth, pulling her closer into this little bubble of bliss around us. “One day.”

Forever will never be enough with her. I’ve known that since I was eighteen years old. But I’ll take whatever she’s willing and ready to give.

Chapter 70

NOW

Paloma

I’m almost back into Boston when I spot the car tailing us.

My brow furrows, but I don’t say a word, just let Sadie play ABBA and scream-sing along to it. My enthusiasm dwindles the closer the car gets, until I see who the driver is through my rearview.

Oh my god.

Heart in my throat, I speed up just a bit, anxiety shoving my foot farther down on the gas.

Red and blue lights shine bright across the darkened pavement.

I speed up again.

“Jesus, Paloma,” Sadie curses, her hand grabbing for the handle above her head. I check my review mirror and my stomach drops.

It’s him. I know it’s him. And I’ve done nothing illegal—not for a detective to pull me over. He’s trying to scare me.

“Paloma?” Sadie says, her voice steady, calm. “Maybe you should pull over.”

I can’t. I try to explain, but my mouth won’t open, jaw clenched tightly.

“Paloma, please.” Sadie is more frantic this time. “You’re scaring me. I can’t get in trouble. My brothers—”

I slow down, because the truth is he’ll follow me all the way home and I won’t let him near Lily. Or my one safe place. It opens too many old wounds.

Pulling to the side of the road, I park and roll my window down.

He pulls up behind us, the isolated street cold and damp from the previous rain. I look over at Sadie’s wide, terrified gray eyes. I’ve never seen her like this before.

My fingers are shaking, gripping the wheel, eyes glued to my rearview and side mirrors.

“Sadie, I need you to listen to me.” I keep my voice steady and firm. “I need you to get my phone out of my bag and call Alessia.”

Her eyes bug out as she looks at the man heading our way—out of an unmarked car, wearing dress pants and a button down, gun holstered, hair slicked back. “Is that—”

“Yes. Listen to me. I need you to call or text Alessia. Tell her Ethan Marks just pulled us over and I need her, okay? She’ll know what to do.”

“Paloma—wait. What is going on?” Sadie asks, taking the phone from my hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t drinking or speeding—”

“I know,” I whisper, trying to calm my racing heart. I spare a glance at her, my hand reaching to grasp hers for just a minute. “I’m so sorry, Sadie.”

“Good evening, ladies,” Ethan says, ducking his head into the space of my car. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”