“It was him.” She gets up now and has to pace, something she does when she’s nervous. “I never thought he would do something like that.” She shakes her hands. “Ethan.” A sob rips through her, and she bends, putting her hands on her knees. “Me, okay, but him?”

My blood is boiling. “I need you to go upstairs and stay with Ethan.” When I get up, she looks at me. “I need to go speak with my father.” I walk over to her. “Can you do that?”

“I don’t want you to go,” she says, and I’ve always wanted to hear her say those words. “Don’t go.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I say. “I promise you that I’m going to be right back.”

“But …” She clings to my arms. “What if he …?”

“I promise you that I am coming right back,” I say, and she just nods. I want to kiss her before I leave. But I don’t want to rush this kiss. No, I want all the time in the world to kiss her for however long she lets me. Hopefully forever.

I turn and walk out of the house, calling Jacob. “Hey.” He answers on the second ring. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” I say, getting into the car and wanting to punch the steering wheel. “I’m going to talk to my father. Savannah thinks it was him.”

“Fuck,” he hisses.

“Do you think you can find proof it was him?” I ask him, and he huffs.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, “but I’ve been trying to pin something on your father for the past fucking six years. His hands are always squeaky clean.”

“Fuck.” I shake my head. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea going over there when you’re this heated?” He’s always the voice of reason.

“Probably not,” I say, making my way over to my parents’ house. “But I need to tell them that I’m marrying Savannah.”

He laughs now. “She finally caved.”

I breath out now. “Yeah.” My stomach burns, thinking that to her this is her nightmare.

“I’m here.” I look over, seeing the lights on in my parents’ house, and forget that my mother was having a dinner. “I’ll call you later.”

“I’ll be on standby,” he says and hangs up. I walk up the steps and open the door, hearing the sound of music from somewhere in the house along with people chattering. I walk to the dining room, and it’s no surprise that there must be forty people here. My mother is always one for hosting. She looks up and sees me, her face lighting up with a smile.

“Beau,” she says, getting up from her place and walking over to me. “Glad you could make it.” She kisses my cheeks and whispers, “You couldn’t dress better?”