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“He’s right,” I agree, still feeling winded and wanting to go wake my son and hug him.

The pragmatic part of me agrees immediately that we should leave as soon as we can. The rest of me wants to hide here on this island forever so I can shield Fen from the truth that will someday break his heart just as it’s breaking mine. Still, he’ll know how loved he was, and that’s all I can ask for with this, I suppose.

“I’ll arrange the plane,” Keegan offers, making the decision when she sees I’m still lost in thought. “First thing tomorrow we’ll fly home.”

“Good,” Vander says. “And I’ll keep digging on both fronts, and if I find anything, I’ll let you know immediately.”

The call disconnects and I stare out at the horizon, watching the sun start to set.

“Fen will never know her,” I utter, the words spilling out raw and unfiltered. “Never know that she chose him. That she—” My voice breaks, and I look away, out toward the endless water.

Keegan holds me tighter, her face tilted up to mine. “But you’ll tell him,” she says softly. “You’ll tell him everything Vander finds. Every beautiful, painful truth. And he’ll love her as she deserves to be loved.”

“I didn’t know her. Her name… I didn’t recognize it. How do I tell my son that?”

“Maybe when you see her picture, it’ll jog your memory and you’ll tell him what you know.”

I look down at her, wondering how she’s still here and comforting me after what I just told her, and feel something loosen in my chest. A band of tension I’ve carried since the day I learned of Fen unwrapping. I hold her close, breathing in the scent of cherries and vanilla on her skin, feeling the solid reality of her against the blackness of my thoughts. Tomorrow we’ll return to face whatever threat awaits us.

But tonight, I have this. Even if it all feels like it’s about to be ripped away from me.

29

Igrip the leather armrest of the jet’s seat as we cut through clouds on our bumpy descent toward Boston. Loomis sits across from me, his profile sharp against the window as he holds Fen tightly against him. He kept himself busy with his script and playing with Fen, but I can see the tension dripping off him.

He’s been distant since our call with Vander. At first, I thought he was simply lost in his own introspection as he processed all that’s happening to us and to him, but I’m not sure if that’s it. Last night he kissed me goodnight, and that was it. A first for us since we started sleeping together. I’m trying not to grow paranoid, but old habits die hard, and this seems to be a recurring theme in my life.

Men want me until they don’t or until something happens.

The thought is like being filled with concrete, heavy and rigid and suffocating. I don’t want to turn to stone. I don’t want my heart to become petrified. I fought loving him, and now here I am, and it’s too late. I’ve gotten over other lovers. Men who I thought I loved. But after this time with him, instinctively I know this is different.

And I’m not sure I’ll recover this time.

I want to say something to him, but I don’t even know what I’d say. What I’d ask. We had nearly two weeks together on the island, and it was magical. Now it feels like everything is falling apart around us again, and I have my own things to process with that.

The relentless turbulence mirrors my insides when my phone vibrates against my thigh like a warning.

One text.

Then another.

Then a barrage like hailstones on a tin roof.

I almost don’t want to look. I already know it’s not going to be good.

I swipe open the first message, and Alden’s name makes my stomach clench.

Alden: He contacted me and said he’s decided for me. Fuck, Keegan, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I texted him back saying that I didn’t want you hurt. That I want to protect you and he said it was too late and that he doesn’t want to wait with you heading home today. How does he know that? He said he’s releasing the video of you, Loomis, and me from the street and is going to reveal your paranormal smut writing career, as he called it. I had no idea what he was talking about. You write romance books? You never told me.

Alden: I don’t know what to do other than say I’m sorry! I told him I wouldn’t help him and I wouldn’t validate the video as he had initially wanted from me. I haven’t heard from him since.

My fingers go cold. The air in the cabin becomes stifling. I glance up at Loomis, who hasn’t noticed I’m texting yet, his brow furrowed and eyes trained on the gray skies out the window as if he’s deep in thought.

Paranormal smut.

The words hang in my mind like dirty laundry someone’s just strung up for the neighbors to see. I’ve published twelve novels under my pen name. Twelve stories with vampires and, yes, explicit sex scenes that would make a call girl blush. I like to imagine I’ve even been successful at it. But success doesn’t erase the censure most people have had whenever they find out.

Success doesn’t quiet the voice of my college writing professor, who said romance is fluff and lacks serious literary skill. It doesn’t replace Travis’s words when I showed him my first book.