I rub the face of my mother’s watch, blinking rapidly to fight back tears. “One night he—he wouldn’t stop, and he had a golf club, and there was blood everywhere.” Now that I’ve started, I can’t hold back, the words bursting out of me like water from a broken dam. “I thought he was going to kill her. I jumped in front of her and yelled at him to stop. I tried to fight him, but I was only seven, and he hit me with the club. I fell, and he—he kept—”

My body shudders from the vibrant memory and Adam wraps his arm around me. His warmth at my side spurs me to keep going. “Mamá stopped him. She wouldn’t let him hurt me. I ran to the phone and dialed 911, screaming the entire time. The dispatcher could barely understand me. But in that minute it took me to call, he hit her in the head, over and over. The police came, but they were too late. She was gone.”

I bury my face against Adam’s shoulder, struggling to breathe, and let the pain wash through me until it subsides. Adam holds me close, his hand rubbing my back. “It’s not your fault,” he says into my hair.

I pull back and meet his eyes. “Adam, I’m just like him. I lose control and hurt people too. I’ve tried my entire life to bury that part of myself, but the anger always comes back. It’s in my blood.”

“You’re nothing like him,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. His hand slides up to brush a stray tear off my cheek.

Our lips touch, and the kiss starts soft and slow, but then it grows stronger, our hands clinging to each other. We kiss like we only have seconds left in this world, like we’re running out of time and this moment has to last for an eternity.

“Hey, lovebirds, ride’s over,” a man yells behind us.

We’re back on the ground, the carriage rocking slightly. I unpeel myself from Adam and stumble out, dazed. Adam grabs my hand as soon as we’re both out and flashes me a smile.

We reach the end of the pier where three old men sit with lines hanging over the side. We lean against the railing across from them, listening to the sound of the water lapping against the pier. The Pacific Ocean stretches before us but I can’t see the horizon, only darkness and then a sprinkle of stars.

“Why would anyone fish here?” Adam asks as one of the men tosses his line.

He’s probably trying to distract me from our earlier conversation, but I go with it anyway. “I don’t know. It has to be toxic.”

“Maybe the beach is cleaner now?”

“Yeah, right.”