Page 31

SKYE

T he cab of Edge’s truck was thick with silence, the kind that crawled into your lungs and made every breath feel like a sin.

He hadn’t spoken since we left the airstrip, just pointed me toward the passenger door like I was a stray dog he didn’t want to touch.

I didn’t blame him. Edge wasn’t JD—but he was loyal to him.

A Royal Bastard to the bone. I could see it in the way his jaw flexed every time he glanced over at me, like he had to stop himself from spitting out all the things he probably wanted to say.

I didn't look back out the window. The mountain road twisted under us, lined with shadows and thick pine trees. This wasn’t just a ride. It was a march toward something final.

JD.

My heart beat like it was counting down to execution. Because I had one job now—to tell the truth.

All of it.

Edge finally broke the silence, voice low and gravel- edged. “You better be ready. JD’s not the same boy you left cryin’ in the dirt.”

I didn’t flinch. “I’m not the same girl.”

His hands tightened on the wheel. “He gave up lookin’ for you. Buried you. Then we find out you’re breathin’, walkin’, lyin’—and now I’m draggin’ you back like a damn fugitive.”

“I had my reasons.”

“You better pray they’re good enough.”

The pine trees blurred past in a haze of green and dusk. My chest ached. Words welled up behind my ribs, clumsy and sharp.

“I had to choose between his heart and a life,” I said, quietly. “You tell me what kind of choice that is.”

Edge didn’t respond at first. Just exhaled through his nose like a bull ready to charge. Then he muttered, “JD would’ve burned the world to keep you safe.”

My fingers curled in my lap. “He did. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

He glanced at me sideways. “What the hell does that mean?”

I turned to him fully. My voice was raw. Honest. Tired of holding secrets like they were treasure when they were really just ghosts.

“He has a son, Edge.”

Edge’s eyes cut toward me so fast I thought the truck might veer off the road. “What?”

“He has a son. Jackson. He’s six. And I need JD to forgive me before that little boy asks me why his daddy never came.”

Edge didn’t speak again.

And I didn’t need him to.

We drove the rest of the way in silence .

But it wasn’t thick anymore.

It was heavy with truth.

Edge’s fingers clenched around the steering wheel like he was trying to strangle the damn thing.

“It ain’t right,” he said after a long, hollow silence. “I know before JD does… about Jackson.”

I turned to him, expecting more anger—but what I saw in his eyes wasn’t rage. It was something rawer. Something closer to heartbreak.

“I mean, shit,” he muttered, eyes on the road. “If I had a kid out there—my flesh, my blood—and nobody told me? I’d lose my damn mind.”

His voice cracked. Just a little. Enough to make my stomach twist.

I swallowed hard. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t hated myself every day for it?”

He didn’t answer.

So I gave him the truth.

“His mother,” I said. “JD’s mom. Clarissa.”

Edge glanced at me from the corner of his eye. Sharp. Attentive.

“She came to my trailer. All done up in Chanel, like stepping into the mud was beneath her. She told me to leave JD… or she’d bury us both. Said she’d make it look like an accident.”

Edge went still. Rigid.

“She put a gun to my head, Edge. Said if I didn’t disappear, JD would lose everything. His trust fund, his name, maybe his life. I was eighteen. I didn’t know who to trust.”

“You could’ve trusted JD.”

My voice cracked this time. “I didn’t want him to lose his family because of me. I didn’t want him to have to choose. She pushed me down probably hoping I’d have a miscarriage.”

Edge looked away again, jaw working. He didn’t speak for a long time.

Then, quietly, he said, “You better tell him. Soon.”

“I will.”

“You better tell him everything.”

“I will.”

Because I wasn’t just walking into that safe house to face the boy I left behind.

I was walking in to meet the man who had a right to know he had a son.

And I prayed he’d still be able to love me when the truth came out.

Edge finally pulled the truck over to the side of the road, dust curling up around us like a curtain.

He stared through the windshield, silent again—but this time it was different. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel, knuckles pale, breath shallow.

I turned toward him, hesitant. “That’s why we went to Spain. We confronted Clarissa. I told them everything.”

“You find her?”

I nodded. “We stormed her damn villa. They weren’t coming home until we looked her in the eye.” It was all Regan’s idea.

For a second, I thought he might explode—but then something strange happened. Edge huffed a low breath, rubbed his jaw, and let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a laugh.

“Crazy woman,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Damn if I don’t love her.”

I smiled. “She was pissed. Said no one messes with one of hers and gets away with it. ”

Edge looked at me, steel in his eyes now. “If Clarissa’s touched even one hair on your head—or that kid’s—I swear to God, Skye…”

I nodded. “That’s why I’m here. I’m done running. Done hiding.”

He nodded back, resolute. “Good. ’Cause we’re done chasing.”

And with that, he put the truck back in gear, tires crunching over gravel, taking me straight toward the reckoning I’d been avoiding for six long years.