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“Are you going to stand there and ask me to forgive him?” Tristan prowls toward me. “My mother has lived in fear of him for the last twenty years. Now she’s in a hospital dying. Your father doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. He doesn’t deserve anything.” The cold in his eyes sends a shiver down my spine.

A part of me knows he’s right. But I must admit, that a small part of me feels sorry for Dad. Even if Dad has shown me that he doesn’t feel a smidgen of remorse, I can’t help but hope that if he survives this, he might repent someday. I see him for what he is, but I don’t wish him dead.

“I don’t want him to die,” I murmur.

“Your devotion is misplaced,” Tristan says through gritted teeth.

He studies my face for a long minute. And I know that something just broke between us. I don’t see hate in his eyes, but the love he showed me when he barged into my room earlier tonight seems to be shadowed by the dark clouds storming in his eyes.

“Tristan.” I start to say just as the doctor calls his name.

“Mr. Archer,” she says solemnly.

“How is she?” Tristan’s gaze cuts away from me. “Can I see her now?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Archer. We did everything we could.” The doctor looks at him with eyes full of pity. “The bullet didn’t make a clean exit. She lost too much blood; her heart gave out.”

I place a hand over my mouth to stifle my cry. Freya is gone. I turn to Tristan, but he puts up his hands like a shield staring at me with blank eyes as he tries to catch up with what his brain already knows. His mom, the only parent he has left, is dead. And, once again, my father is to blame.

With wet eyes, he places his hands behind his head and hunches over. The scream that escapes Tristan lips is the most painful cry I’ve ever heard. I want to hug him and tell him I love him. But he’s in too much pain.

“Tristan, I’m sorry.” I lift my gaze to meet his. “I’m so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault, Paloma.” Tears pelt down his cheek. “It’s mine. I did this to her. And you. And everyone in this room.” He stumbles back until he’s leaning on the wall, shoulders slumped. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I did this,” he murmurs.

After a beat, he lifts his head to say to the doctor, “I want to see her.”

“Of course. This way.” She gestures to the left of the long hallway.

He follows her, while the realization that everyone here lost someone important to them washes over me. “I’m so sorry,” I say to the group.

“Go home, Paloma.” Gardenia wipes her cheeks then turns to look at Jacob. He reaches into his jeans pocket and retrieves the Audi key fob. Gardenia takes it and tosses it to me. “Just go home and let us grieve in peace.”

* * *

A week later,I wake up in my room alone, missing Tristan with all my being. I have a phone now, but I decided not to call him. He needs time and space to grieve his mom. When I thought he was dead, I spent three months trying to be human again, but I never quite got there. I don’t how I’m going to go on like this, waiting for him to get over something I know is impossible to overcome.

I have a day off from practice today, so I take my time getting ready before I go downstairs for breakfast. It’s odd to be home without Dad, not knowing where he is or if he’s even alive. I’ve tried reaching out to his friends, but they claim not to know anything about Dad getting shot or being in the hospital. Dad disappeared without a trace.

How does a public figure go missing and no one is raising concerns? I even tried calling the police. They said they would investigate it, but then, when I called again to get the status on the investigation, they acted as if they didn’t know what I was talking about.

I keep telling myself that his disappearance is a good thing. At least now, I’m not his prisoner anymore. And I don’t have to pretend that everything is okay with him and Hunter. I’m finally free of him and his influence. Yeah, it’s going to take some time to get used to being on my own. But I know that whatever comes, I will be able to handle it.

I’m still deep in thought when I notice the shift in the air, the raw energy sizzling around me. The adrenaline rush is so intense, I stop halfway down the stairs to get a hold of myself. And then, I see him. He’s impossibly beautiful. When his intense blue gaze meets mine, all the walls I’ve put up since the last time I saw him come crushing down. I don’t care if he needs more time to grieve. I need him.

“Tristan.” I rush down the stairs, across the foyer, and throw my arms around his neck.

My body molds to his perfectly as he takes me into his embrace. Precious oxygen fills my lungs, and I feel alive again. His heart thumps against my body, making me ache for him, more than I’ve ever had. A sound like a growl escapes his lips. He missed me. I know he did. Our souls are so entwined; it hurts to be apart.

“Paloma.” He pulls away first, frowning at the floor before he lifts his head to look at me. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry about?” I smile at him; my body is still tingling from his body heat and the sensation of being near him. “I missed you.”

“I came to say goodbye,” he blurts out. “My family and I, we’re taking mom’s ashes back to the UK. We leave tonight.”

“Okay.” I make a quick mental note of what I would need to pack to be ready for tonight. “I can be ready. Um, I can call Pierre and tell him I’ll be gone for a week or so.”

“Paloma. No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not coming back.”