It was all waiting for me when I eventually got back, and with the exception of my best friend, I wasn’t sure I wanted to face any of it. Which was why Greer’s suspicions about my reasons for staying longer in England didn’t sound so silly to me anymore.

The heartbreaking truth was that I’d been happier, more content, these past few weeks than I remembered feeling in a long time. Suddenly, I felt brittle with confusion.

The sound of a car engine broke through the peaceful silence, and I turned my head, surprised to see Roane’s Land Rover. The beam of his lights blinded me for a second as the SUV turned toward the center of the village.

But then suddenly he stopped, reversed, and swung left toward me.

He’d obviously caught sight of me.

My heart began to beat just that little bit faster.

Roane pulled up against the curb and jumped out. He strode unhurriedly toward the garden and jumped over the small gate rather than open it.

“Evie?” He took the steps two at a time down into the garden.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing up so early?” Roane sat down on the bench beside me, resting his arm along the back of it, almost cocooning me.

That’s all it took.

The man did something to my defenses.

Obliterated them.

An ugly-sounding sob burst out of me.

“Fuck, Evie.” Roane wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his warm strength. I burrowed into him, my tears soaking the front of his sweater. “Shh, angel.” He rubbed my back. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

He did. Nothing felt safer than his arms around me, and I wondered if anything ever had. More confusion flooded me, so big it got stuck in my throat, the emotion choking me. I burrowed harder into Roane, fighting for breath through my tears, and wished for the feeling to pass.

When my tears eventually subsided, I panted a little, trying to catch my breath, and neither of us moved for a minute.

Turning my face on his chest, I looked up to the sky. It was lighter, almost completely blue, and cloudless.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

At Roane’s gentle query, I straightened, lifting my head. His hands smoothed down my back as I moved, one falling away, the other settling on my hip.

I met his concerned gaze, knowing I was probably a snot-nosed mess.

“My mom is an alcoholic,” I confessed.

Concern gave way to sympathy. “Evie.” He squeezed my hip.

I proceeded to tell him the things only Greer knew. The things I’d kept from previous boyfriends because Chace had used the knowledge as part of his arsenal in his cold war against my self-esteem. He’d used it to support the idea that I was ungrateful trash.