There’s no way to put that into words. Not now. Not today. Paige has already seen too much for a person so young, and I just can’t. I’m just going to sit in this moment for her while she wakes up from her nap.

I’m just going to be with her.

It hurts to think about these things she remembers, but it hurts less than remembering them when we were apart. That was the worst pain I’ve ever felt.

It’s over, I remind myself. It’s over. We’re together. Whatever happens with Joe, whatever happens for the rest of our lives, we’re together now.

Safe. Together. Now.

Afternoon sun filters in through the window. The house is new and alive around us. The near-silent central air keeps the rooms fresh. Another security guard will be by in a few minutes, but I don’t let myself think of that. I concentrate on each breath. Mine and Paige’s. Hers are steady and sleepy. Mine are slightly jagged. I make mine match hers.

We’re okay.

We’re going to be okay.

Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Mateo Garza

Catrina Gonzales is not happy with me. She sighs deeply over the phone, the sound of traffic in the background. Probably out on the sidewalk in front of some restaurant. Probably in the middle of a high-powered dinner.

“The deal isn’t going to be on the table forever, Mateo. This is everything you were hoping for, and it’s not going to wait around for you to—”

“The deal’s not on the table at all.” We’ve gone around in this circle for five minutes already. Enough. “I’m not taking this deal or any other deal. I’m on personal leave.”

“Jesus,” she hisses. “This could be it for you. Do you understand what I’m saying? This is the kind of thing that could tank your career. Not just this movie. The entire thing. You turn down this offer, word’s going to get around that you’re not dedicated. No second chances.”

“That’s fine.”

“Mateo—”

“Catrina, I’m on leave. I have things going on. I’ll talk to you when I have something new to share.”

In the split second of silence that follows I end the call and toss my phone onto the passenger seat. It’s nine in LA. Midnight on the East Coast. And I’m almost at Emily’s house. I’ve been waved through three separate security stops on the way up the road. I’m going to see her.

I need to see her.

There’s a light in the living room as I pull up to the house, but Emily’s not inside. She’s out on the porch with her phone. The screen illuminates her face. My headlights skim across the front porch and I shut them off. Turn the key in the ignition. Climb out of the car.