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I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to correlate the story to the man clinging to me like I’m his life raft. Scared that if he lets go, I’ll flee.

“His kids walked into the living room, and they started screaming. The oldest one tried to hit me. Fuck, he was a fucking brave kid. He was whacking me with these crutches, and I realized he’d been skimming the money to pay the hospital bills for his kid who had broken his leg.”

He takes another deep breath, and I pepper his chestwith more kisses, willing him to go on. I need to know this. I need to know how bad it is.

“I stumbled out. The kid gave me a good fucking whack, but I left, fucking drove off, went straight to a bar, and got blackout drunk. I’d never been more ashamed. Never been more afraid of myself. I thought I was going to kill that man. Right in front of his kids because he skimmed maybe a thousand bucks. It was nothing to me. I could have just paid for it myself. But my job was always my excuse.I was just doing my job.

“After a week of getting blackout drunk, I saw this billboard for a therapist. I recognized him from school—I’d been a dick to him back when we were kids, but I knew he was the only one who could understand me, the only one who could help me. So I went to his office the next day, and he’s been helping me ever since.”

“You haven’t been working for your father in two years?”

“Nope.”

“So, what have you been doing? What has Danny been doing?”

“It’s different from The Organization. It’s legal.”

If that’s the case, then why are there so many secrets? Why has Danny been so hush-hush about the whole thing?

I frown. “Do you still hurt people?”

“No. Not since that last job.”

I shiver. The water has long run cold, and my fingers have wrinkled.

“I thought there was no redemption. I didn’t even know good people. I mean, I have Luca. But other than him, everyone around me would either be terrified of me or use me to get to my father. I didn’t trust anyone, and I still don’t, really. But I wanted out of that life, and I’ve worked really hard to get to a place where I can actually enjoy life and not be suspicious of everyone I meet.”

“And then I go ahead and kidnap you,” I whisper. “I’m sosorry, Austin.”

“No, baby. Please don’t say sorry for that. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. It got me away from everyone; it got me closer to you. It was exactly where I wanted to be. Please believe me on that, okay?”

I pull myself out of the tub, and he follows me, taking the hand that I hold out for him. I wrap the fluffy white towels around us, drying off before slipping into the bedroom. It’s late, and exhaustion takes over.

“Come here,” I whisper as I pull him into me. His head nestles into my neck as I cradle him. I wonder when someone last did this for him. He’s held me like this a few times, and it’s brought me close to tears. Being touch-starved will do that to you, and I have a feeling Austin has been touch-starved for a very long time.

“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper, dropping a kiss onto his damp hair.

He clings to me again and falls into a deep, unburdened sleep.

Chapter Nineteen

Olivia

Stepping over the threshold of Austin’s apartment, I take in the blank walls and gray features. The sharp edges cut down to the uncomfortable-looking sofa that looks like it could have been delivered yesterday for all the wear it has.

There are no photos, no artwork, no throw cushions, and not even a fuzzy blanket for the harsh Seattle winter months.

I take another tentative step as Austin watches. His towering frame looming over me. He stands between me and the door, as if he’s preemptively preventing me from escaping.How the tables have turned.

“I don’t spend much time here. So I don’t have much stuff,” he says, looking around the room as if he’s seeing it from my perspective. He’s frowning, and maybe he realizes how odd it is that he doesn’t have anything personal here.

I walk through to the living area, and a sleek TV screen is attached to the center of the dividing wall between the living room and the bedroom. Glass windows stand floor-to-ceiling, and I press my fingertips against them as I peer down at the bustling streets below.

“It’s not really you, is it?” I say.

He pulls his hand up and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “No, I guess not. Like I said, I don’t really spend a lot of time here.”

“Where do you spend most of your time?” I askinnocently, even though a small part of me tugs at the separation of our work and home lives.