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Until voicemail kicks in and I hear her sweet voice. “This is Willow. You know what to do. Have a great day!”

“Fuck.” I disconnect and try not to freak out.

Even if she’s stuck in traffic or got a flat tire or something, she should have picked up. She has to know I’m worried.

“She went to get her picture,” Frankie chirps when no one says anything.

My blood runs cold.

“Her what?” Briar asks carefully.

“Her picture. At her old house.” Frankie cocks her head. “Of her daddy.”

Oh my fucking God.

I whirl and start to run.

“Call my team for back-up!” I yell over my shoulder. “I’m heading to Dylan’s!”

Thirty-Four

Willow

“Oh, you dumb, dumb bitch.”

I freeze, my fingers clenching on the frame, horror gathering in my belly.

Then I slowly swivel around, ice filling my veins.

He’s there. Dylan. And he doesn’t look pissed off at me for once.

He’s thrilled.

Which is maybe the scariest expression I’ve ever seen on his face.

And I’m abruptly aware of how fucking stupid this is, coming here for a picture. It’s important, it holds a giant space in my heart…but I don’t need it. The snapshot of my dad and me is imprinted in my mind. If Dylan had broken the frame, shredded the photo, I would have still remembered every detail.

His old-fashioned mustache I swear I can remember tickling my hair.

His bright blue eyes that danced with humor and light.

His strong arms holding me tight.

My wide, toothless smile and the pure joy on my face—the evidence of how much I loved and adored him.

My baby fine hair a wild cloud—something I know he did because my mom scoffed at how bad he was at doing my hair…and picking out my clothes.

Because they don’t match, the red-striped overalls he put me in and the bright blue T-shirt.

But I don’t care.

I had him close and loving on me and?—

He was a protector too, looking out for others, sacrificing everything to get people out…until he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t have wanted me to risk everything for a damned photo.

No matter that it’s my only one.