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“That’s it, sweetie. Come on.” I pull my hand back, keeping it just out of reach, and she meows in protest. But she takes one tentative, delicate half-step toward me.

I keep drawing my hand back every time she takes a step toward it.

“You can trust me,” I praise her.

She comes slowly, her eyes moving between my hand and my face all the way until her front paws are touching the tips of my toes.

I reach around her slowly, and her head follows the movement of my arm. She stiffens when I curl a hand under her soft belly but relaxes as my other hand curls to support her legs and bottom. I’m surprised by how light she is. I didn’t realize she’d be so small at nearly three months old.

“Come on, let’s go find you something to eat.” Happy to have something to focus on besides my sorry state of affairs, I say the command words to turn on the lights downstairs and make my way to the kitchen in search of food and water.

She curls up in my arms, content to be carried down the stairs. I set her down once we’re in the kitchen, and she prances around the island. I follow her, and sure enough, there are two bowls and a small bag of food with feeding instructions on a large label.

While the cat eats, I walk through the house I’ve started to think of as home and marvel at how normal everything looks still. Our shoes are piled by the front door. The post that was delivered while I was licking my wounds in bed is scattered on the black and white herringbone tiled entryway floor. The spare keys are in the small bowl by the door, and the faint scent of neroli is in the air.

This is home, lived in, loved in. Safe.

But the silence and darkness that have replaced the light, music, laughter, moans of pleasure, and deep sighs of contentment say different.

The bright ache where only flutters of happiness used to be says different. But sleep has done wonders. I leave him a voicemail to tell him what a few hours’ hindsight has taught me.

I was trying to have my cake and eat it too, and my dad taught me there is no way to take without giving. Whether you realize it or not.

I thought I was ready to live without Omar until I got a taste of what that would mean. Losing my law license is nothing compared to losing the possibility of a future he’s a part of.

I’ve apologized and made promises. Now I need to show him that I mean what I say.

CHAPTER 29

ROYALE MESS

Omar

It’s pissingdown rain and colder than it should be when I leave Reece’s. I have an umbrella, but I don’t open it on my way to the Tube. This rain is a reminder that constant sunshine creates deserts. And that rain doesn’t just erode and melt and sweep things away. It also nourishes and revives. The love that’s taken root in my heart has soaked up the rain that started falling last night, and even though I spent it away from her, it’s stronger today.

On the train ride home, I try calling Jules every time I get a signal but only get her voicemail.

By the time I get home, I’m soaked and frustrated. The house is dark and quiet when I burst through the front door. “Jules?” The only thing I hear in response is the echo of my voice as it travels through the empty house.

The kitten winds her body through my legs, her little tail curling around my ankle. I scratch her ears, and she purrs andarches her delicate back in pleasure. “Oh, I’m the biggest shit. I forgot all about you when I stormed off and left.”

I check my watch. Maybe Jules had to go into work. Or whatever errand she had to run took longer than she expected.

I walk through the house and don’t see a single thing that belongs to her. Not even the bottle of lotion she keeps by the sink in the kitchen. I panic all the way up the stairs and sigh a relieved sigh when the faint smell of my soap lingers in the air and I see her side of the bed is unmade. She slept here and left this morning, then. When I get back downstairs, I find the file she gave me last night sitting exactly where I’d left it.

It’s not lost on me that someone did to her what I did to my mother. I know my father believes she paid her due, but he wasn’t there. She may have been the reason I was behind the wheel, but that doesn’t change the fact that I hit the cyclist. No one should live with the burden of sins they didn’t commit. I couldn’t do right by my mom, but I’ll do right by Jules.

I send her a text and then get to work on the other thing weighing heavily on my mind. Her case. I take pictures of all the pertinent files and email them to the only lawyer I know well enough to trust: Remington Wilde.

Then I close my eyes, just to rest them until Jules comes home.

My phone’s ring wakes me up with a start. I lunge for it, hoping it’s Jules. But I’m not disappointed whenRemi Wflashes on my screen.

“Remi, what do you think?” I ask in lieu of hello.

“The evidence against her is circumstantial, but compelling. I see why she was convicted. She had a good lawyer, but he had no real vested interest in the outcome—he got paid whether she won or lost.”

“Please let there be a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” I groan.