Page 32

Thirty-Two

Willow

I sign my name with the distinct notion that this is the most important autograph of my life.

We decided that I would pay a lump sum toward the mortgage…

okay, well I decided that. Hudson was happy to do whatever I wanted—buy a new place together, rent somewhere else to try out a new neighborhood, live in a high rise downtown or the beach in Malibu.

But I like it here. It’s home, even though I haven’t been here long. My safe space.

And somehow our space, even though Hudson has lived here for several years.

Which was why he tried to decline my offer of paying toward the mortgage.

But I have a bank account—something we set up the same day that Atlas called several weeks ago to share the good news about my allowance—and I have the funds to contribute.

So, even though I know I triggered his protective side, Hudson let me write that check and cashed it—I checked—before I would accept being put on the deed. And now…I slide the stack of paperwork we’ve just finished going through back to the real estate attorney we secured for this job.

June smiles, stows the papers away in a folder. “I’ll get these over to the title company and we should have the updated deed in just a few weeks.”

Hudson settles his hand on my nape, squeezing lightly.

I glance up at him, mouth curving into a wide smile. “We did it.”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “We did.”

“I love you,” I whisper.

His lips find my ear. “I love you too,” he murmurs.

I hear a soft sigh and remember myself. Cheeks heating, I manage to tear my gaze off my man and turn toward the attorney. “Sorry,” I say, barely resisting the urge to cover what I know must be blazing red skin.

“Don’t be.” She shoves the folder into her briefcase. “I’m happy that true love still exists.”

Which is a sentiment that doesn’t help my hot cheeks, but I can’t deny that she’s right.

I never knew what true love was…until Hudson.

Until the rest of the Gamebreaker crew.

“I’ll walk you out,” Hudson murmurs when she stands and starts to gather the rest of her things. “I have to get on the road anyway.” He bends back to my ear, words hot, damp puffs that make me shiver. “I’ll see you there?”

“I’ll be the one with sparkles on.”

He straightens, mouth curved. “You and everyone else in the crowd.”

He’s doing security for Jade’s concert tonight and I know the vibe is going to be a celebration. Her music is bright, upbeat, and beyond fun, and her fans seem to make it their personal mission to ensure everyone around them has that same experience.

We’ll be in the crowd—well, in a partitioned-off section of the stadium that’s surrounded by security.

But…we'll be in the crowd.

Not sequestered in a green room, watching through monitors.

Not isolated and on display, expected to act with perfect decorum.

I can let loose, be myself, and have fun with my girlfriends.

I can’t wait.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I promise. “In sparkles. And a huge smile on my face knowing that the man I love made it possible.”

The gold flecks in his hazel eyes melt, turning soft and sweet, and he leans down, brushes his lips against mine.

But it’s only a brief touch because we hear another soft sigh.

“Sorry,” June murmurs and I don’t like that her eyes look a bit sad. “I’ll just…” She hitches a thumb over her shoulder. “Head out.” And then she hurries away, heels clicking as she rushes to the front door.

“Go,” I order Hudson softly, squeezing his arm before nudging him away. “Make sure she’s okay.” And when he seems ready to protest, I add, “I need to get ready anyway.”

Steady eyes on mine for a long moment.

Then the front door opens and he spurs into action.

He snags his wallet and keys, shoves his phone into his pocket. “Text me when you’re on your way, okay?”

“Anything you want, honey.”

He’s heading for the hall, but that has his gaze flicking over his shoulder, a wicked smirk on his face. “Better be careful saying that, princess. If I remember correctly, it’s my turn next to use the cuffs.”

Then he disappears, phantom fingers from those silken words stroking between my legs.

It’s when I’m zipping up my short, sparkly dress while scrolling through social media that I see the headline.

Pre-production begins in Melbourne for Dylan Durand’s latest flick.

My heart skips a beat, but when I go to scroll by—because I’ve been actively avoiding anything that involves Dylan and/or myself, my brain processes what the words are actually saying.

And what they mean for me.

Dylan is in Australia.

And my name is on our house.

And Atlas got the restraining order revoked.

And Dylan is in Australia.

Which means he’s not here in California and I can legally go into the house and get…my picture.

My heart throbs. If he hasn’t destroyed it.

I push that last thought down and look at the time on my phone. I’m almost ready. If I leave in the next couple of minutes, I’ll have time to drive out to the house and look for it.

Heart pounding, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Determined. Strong. Not a weakling too scared to act.

I nod. I can do this.

I’ll grab my picture and get the hell out.

I slick another layer of lipstick on, make sure my earrings are secure, then I grab my purse, Frankie’s jacket that I promised to drop by on the way to the concert, and hurry out of the house.

“I can do this,” I whisper.

I have time. I’m strong enough.

Dylan’s not here.

I snag the key to Hudson’s extra car, climb in, and zip down the road.

Luckily, Briar and Frankie don’t live far—because L.A. traffic is no joke—so it doesn’t take me long to be bounding up their porch, ringing the doorbell, and smiling as Frankie opens the door.

She looks to be in the middle of dinner—her mouth sporting a chocolate milk mustache and Briar’s on the phone at the mouth of the hall.

She locks eyes with me, mouths, “Sorry,” and I wave her off, holding up Frankie’s jacket.

“Thanks,” she mouths when I hang it on the coat rack. “No,” she says into the phone. “That doesn’t work for us…” Her voice grows quieter as she disappears down the hall.

I’m desperate to get to the house, to get my picture.

But…Frankie.

“Do you need help with dinner?” I ask her.

“Nope.” She shakes her head, ponytail swinging.

“Mom’s just…” She scrunches her face up, as though concentrating on her next words and the careful way she says them tells me she’s parroting Briar.

“Clearing the decks”—a nod that’s so damned cute my heart squeezes—“so we have no interruptions for Jade’s concert.

” Her face brightens. “I told her I want to sing and dance along to every song.”

My feet throb just thinking about it.

But I still smile and say, “Absolutely,” when she asks me to dance with her too.

“Are you going to ride with us?”

“No, sweetheart,” I say, smoothing back her hair. “I have to stop by my house for something, but I’ll meet you there.”

“Uncle Dash’s house?”

“My old house.” I force a smile. “I need to pick up a picture I left behind.”

“A picture?”

“Yeah, sweetie. It’s a really special one of me and my dad. But I’ll grab it really quick and then we’ll dance all night long. Sound good?”

Her lips press flat as she considers that.

Eventually, though, she gives me a sharp nod. “Sounds good.”

I fight a smile, jerk my chin in the direction of the kitchen. “Finish your dinner, peanut.”

“Okay!” She hugs me tightly then runs off, and I move equally quickly to my car. I need to hurry now. Time is getting short, especially having to drive across town.

Traffic is stop and go, but it still seems like mere heartbeats before I’m pulling into the driveway of the ostentatious mansion, eyes searching for any sign of Dylan and his cronies. But the house is quiet, shut up tight…

Exactly as it would be when we were traveling out of the country for work.

I park, pop open the driver’s side door, and then I’m walking up to the house, reaching for the keypad with shaking fingers.

Because this is where this might all go wrong.

If he deactivated my code…

Whir!

The lock disengages and I try the handle, relief pouring through me as I push the door open.

Being here, walking through the entryway, running up the wide staircase to the second floor, hustling down the hall to my old bedroom has fear skittering down my spine, terror clawing through my middle.

I don’t like it.

This isn’t home—it never was.

But I push those thoughts away, move through the bedroom, and start searching.

First the drawer where my box had been stored in the closet, then the remainder of the space.

Then my nightstand and Dylan’s. The bathroom.

The linen cabinet. The spare bedrooms. The extra bathrooms. Downstairs—the kitchen and mudroom, laundry and pantry, half bath, the library, the family and living rooms, and then… finally…

Dylan’s office.

Panic claws up my throat?—

I forcefully shove it down and deliberately take a step forward. Then another. Then another. Until I’m searching the shelves, the file cabinet, and eventually…his desk.

One drawer.

Another.

Another.

Another .

And then?—

Buried beneath a stack of papers…

I see it.

I jerk my hand out and grab the silver-framed picture of my dad and me, and all the air in my lungs rushes out of me.

It’s perfect.

It’s beautiful.

It’s—

“Oh, you dumb, dumb bitch.”