I park my Range Rover in the alley behind the house and spot the peaked roof of the shed in the back corner.

Hoping Hunter was right, I open the gate and close it behind me. There’s only one window in the back of the shed, and it’s frosted.

Or steamed up?

The sound of water running comes through the thin walls of the shed, and I see movement inside. I’m not about to spy on Whitney if she’s in the shower, but then something presses against the glass. A palm. It squeezes into a fist, and another one joins it.

The only thing I can picture is Whitney’s head hanging, her hair dripping wet as she sobs in the shower, and the vision guts me just like her tears did ten years ago.

Except last time, she cried in my arms.

Thirty-One

Lincoln

The past

“I almost killed your mom.” Whitney’s voice broke as I tucked her head under my chin. We were holed up in my truck out in the woods, far from where anyone would ever find us.

“You didn’t. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

“But I went along with it.”

I wiped away the tears that spilled over her lids. “Please, Blue. Stop crying. I can’t stand it.”

“I can’t help it. I have to get out of here. This town. It’s . . . I can’t stay.”

Even though I didn’t say it, we both knew I couldn’t go. Not if I wanted to take my place at the head of the Riscoff empire. Gable was where we’d been based for over 170 years, and this was where my family would always reign.

“We’ll figure something out.”

She shook her head. “There’s nothing to figure out. This is impossible. We tried. We failed.”

I held her tighter because I refused to let her go. I refused to quit.

“Do you love me?” I wasn’t going to ask the question. I didn’t want to hear the answer if it was no, but I’d run out of time. I had to know.

Whitney turned her face toward the window instead of toward me. My heart clenched in my chest, like it was preparing to be shredded.

“Look at me, Blue. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

With tears streaming down her face, she lifted her gaze to mine.

Fuck. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe . . .

Finally, she spoke, her voice hoarse from crying. “I shouldn’t love you. It would be so much easier if I didn’t.”

I pulled her tighter against me and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Thank God,” I whispered. “Because I fucking love you more than I knew was possible. We’ll figure this out. We can make it work.”

Even as I said the words, with this beautiful girl in my arms, I wondered if I was lying about that last part.

Thirty-Two

Whitney

Present day

Someone knocks on the door of the cabin, and I snuffle back my tears in the shower.