But it’s no use. I already know what this is about. What she’s going to say. Because if it’s not Mason, then there’s only one other possible explanation for why she’s here so unexpectedly.

Only one other cause for the distress lining her face, weighing down her tiny frame.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop this.

When it rains, it pours, right?

“What?” a low, shaky voice intones.

We both drag our attention away from each other to tunnel in on the guy still crouched on the dirty bar floor, a whiskey-stained white rag clutched in his inked hand. Hazel eyes sear into Ivy’s strained face like he can burn away what she’s about to say if he just tries hard enough.

His lips are still red and full from my kisses. Cheeks flushed from my too-tight hold.

It hurts. God, does it hurt.

Around us, the music continues to play softly as the song draws to a close.

Ivy wrings her hands together as she takes a cautious step toward him. “My mom called...”

Not taking my eyes off him, I don’t miss the slight wrinkle blooming between his brows as he seems to realize she’s not here for the reasons he thought she was.

Waylon...

I ache to say his name out loud. Remind him who he is, how far he’s come.

You’re not there, Way. You’re safe.

I ache to touch him and turn back time and protect him from every single thing that would dare hurt him.

I’ve got you. I’ve got you.

“Reggie’s on his way over now,” she tells him. “Should be here any second. I got here as soon as I could.” Her voice cracks.

Waylon is a statue. I can’t even be sure he’s breathing. If it weren’t for the emotions barreling at rapid-speed across his green-gold eyes as he processes her words, I’d almost question whether or not he even heard her.

Confusion.

Disbelief.

Anger.

Fear.

More disbelief—

And then...

Nothing.

Like before, but worse. Impossibly worse.

Just like this night.

It’s like a light has just...snuffed out. One second he’s still there, grasping and grasping for some kind of hand hold, and the next he’s just...

Gone.

I don’t even think he realizes he still has a shard of glass in his hand. I don’t think he even notices Ivy stepping closer, hands raised as if approaching a wild animal. I don’t even think he sees me, rushing forward in two long strides, dropping to my knees, and reaching out for him just as Ivy takes the kill-shot.

I think about yesterday in these final moments as time seems to slow, slow, slow—

I remember the soft balm of sunlight on our skin as we held each other.