“You can’t say it. I know you can’t, even if you want to be able to. I see you, Whitney. I see you so fucking clearly that I never want to look at anyone else ever again. Do you get what I’m saying?”

I dropped my forehead to press against his bare chest and breathed in the pine-and-citrus scent of his skin. “I’m scared.”

His arms wrapped around me, and he pressed me tightly enough against his strong body that I actually thought he could protect me from the world.

“You don’t need to be scared, Blue. You have me.”

Eighteen

Whitney

Present day

I haven’t felt this relaxed in months. After a massage and a facial that made me feel like a new woman, I’m led to the makeup station to cover this awesome bruise on my face.

When I walk inside, I’m shocked to see someone I recognize. “Gabi?”

“Whitney? Jesus, it’s been like a million years.” She rushes forward to give me a hug.

I’ve gotten more hugs in the last couple of days than I have in the past decade, and something about it makes me feel really, really good. I didn’t know how much I missed being around people who knew me as someone other than Ricky Rango’s wife.

“More like a million and one. I didn’t know you moved back.”

Gabi was one of my closest friends in high school, but we lost touch when she went away to college and I stayed in Gable, waiting for Ricky to hit it big in LA.

“About two years ago. I got divorced and didn’t want to raise my kids anywhere near that asshole, so here I am. Thirty-two and living with mom and dad. Winning at life, you know?”

I smile. “I’m moving back in with my aunt. I think we’re both killing it.”

Her smile fades when she flips on the bright light of the makeup station and sees the bruise on my face. “Speaking of killing, who needs to die for doing that?”

Warmth bursts inside me. It’s also been a long time since I’ve had people in my life who would help me bury a body without question.

“It’s a long, boring story that I’m working hard to move on from. Right now, I’d rather cover it up and pretend it never happened.”

“I feel you, girl. My ex hit me once. That was the last straw. I got full custody because of all those pictures I took. It was worth it to never let him see my babies again without supervision.”

I reach out and squeeze her hand. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“That’s life. We get the shit and the good. It’s up to us how long we take the shit. I thought I heard you were going to get divorced before . . . before your husband died.” Her statement carries the hint of a question, and I nod.

I know the story will follow me everywhere I go for the rest of my life, so I may as well get used to hearing it. “You probably heard that I killed him too.”