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We had to know if we could patch it back up or if everything would just fall apart.

Sex wouldn’t make her sure, but I wanted her just as much as I could see in her eyes that she wanted me, and I wanted to show her what we could be. I wanted her to know in her bones that I accepted whoever she was, and I wanted to make her come so hard she’d scream, so she’d never forget tonight.

So that no matter what happened between us, she’d never forget how it felt when she truly shined her light on the world.

I knew the passion was there inside her. She was always so careful, so steady and level-headed, but I wanted to be the reason Abey screamed. I wanted her to throw a brick through a window for once.

Envisioning a future when I looked in her blue eyes, I could see a life. A house. A family maybe someday. I pictured kissing her in the morning and again at night before bed, where I’d cuddle up next to her watching trash TV while she read her romance books.

I knew she could see it, too, as I led her to her bed. “What’re we doin’?”

When I didn’t answer right away, she tugged on my hand, and I turned to face her. “I wanna make you scream.”

An eyebrow arched, but her eyes slid to the open window next to her bed.

“No one’s home,” I said. “There are no cars parked downstairs.”

She dipped her head, her eyes flashed midnight, and she licked her lips.

I had been about to pull her mouth to mine when we stepped over the threshold into her bedroom, but my eyes landed on something on the wall behind her shoulder next to her dresser. “Who is that? Abey, is there somethin’ you need to tell me?”

“Huh?” She turned her head, her eyes going to where mine were. “Oh shit. I should’ve taken that down. Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed.”

She pulled away from me and turned to rip the Taylor Swift poster from her wall. Her fingers lifted the edge of the shiny paper away from her bedroom wall, but she froze in place.

“You, Abey Lee, Deputy Sheriff of Wisper, Wyoming, are a Swiftie?”

“I can’t do it,” she said in mock-despair, slapping a hand to her chest. “I can’t rip it.”

“I cannot believe you like Taylor Swift.” I crossed my arms over my chest as she turned back to me, chagrin and laughter in her eyes. Her cheeks had turned bright pink with embarrassment.

“Hey now, she’s a wordsmith. I don’t get why it’s a bad thing to like her music. Tell me your head doesn’t bop along to the beat when you hear it.”

I couldn’t deny it, and it fit that Abey liked her music. They were both such uplifting people. They always saw the good in others. At least, that was the vibe I’d picked up about good ol’ Tay-Tay.

That hopefulness made me want Abey more.

“Forget about her,” I said breathlessly, and she leaned into me, walking forward, and our feet shuffled to the bed behind us.

We hit the mattress and became a tangle of legs and arms then. Lips, tongues, and fingers too.

I kicked off my flip-flops, breathing, “Wait,” as she reached for my shorts, trying to unhook the button.

“What?” she asked uncertainly, her blond brows bunching together. God, I’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

“Will you get my bag?”

Her eyes grew big and round, like a cartoon character. “Why?”

“I brought somethin’.”

She stopped moving, and when she spoke, the sound of her voice hummed deep inside me. “‘Somethin’?”

Reaching between our bodies, I popped my fly for her. “Yeah. Somethin’. Go get it?”

She dashed from her bedroom, and I couldn’t help but look for more incriminating evidence.

There wasn’t much. A tall black metal gun safe stood in one corner, and a little unease settled in my chest as I looked at it. I’d never really been around guns, other than the last week working at Red Wild, but I knew they were necessary in Abey’s work. My apprehension of them had more to do with the sadness I felt about the necessity of guns as tools for law enforcement than it did my dislike of them. Knowing she carried them and might have to use them on someone like she had not so long ago on Sylvie’s father made me worry for her. But it was also a little hot that she had the knowledge and capability to wield a gun. I couldn’t lie to myself about that.