Page 52

DAMON

T he drive from Ann Arbor to Pittsburgh feels like the longest four hours of my life after having to sit through a three-hour flight. Every red light is an eternity; every car in front of me moving at a glacial pace feels like it shaves a day off my life.

My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel as I weave through traffic, ignoring the blaring horns behind me.

When I finally pull into her driveway, I sit for a moment at the gate with the engine idling before I punch in the code I know by heart, praying it’s the same.

As the gates lift, I press the gas and pull forward.

The Astor mansion looms before me, windows glowing amber against the night.

I’ve been here countless times before, but tonight it feels different—like I’m standing on the edge of a precipice.

What if she doesn’t want to see me?

The thought slices through me like a blade.

I wouldn’t blame her. I didn’t believe her when she tried to tell me about my father.

I chose blind loyalty over her truth, and now her worst fears are playing out on national television.

Maybe my dad was telling the truth when he said he hadn’t turned Reginald Astor in.

Or maybe he wasn’t, and he had. Maybe I could’ve stopped it.

I kill the engine and step out into the cold February air, my breath forming a mushroom cloud in front of me. The walk to her front door takes no time at all, and then I’m knocking in time with the furious pounding of my heart.

One. Two. Three solid raps.

Seconds stretch into an eternity when finally, the door swings open, and there she is.

Her face is ashen, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, blonde hair falling in disheveled waves around her shoulders.

For one breathless moment, we just stare at each other, and I see everything pass through her eyes—pain, relief, fear.

“Damon,” she whispers, my name a broken sound on her lips. Then she’s crumbling forward, collapsing against my chest as if her legs can no longer support her. I catch her instantly, my arms wrapping around her trembling body and pulling her tightly against me.

Her fingers clutch desperately at my shirt, face buried in my neck as silent sobs rack her frame.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

We stand there in the doorway, locked together as if the world might tear us apart again at any moment.

Her tears soak through my shirt, her body shaking against mine, so I hold her tighter, as if I can absorb her pain through sheer will alone.

“I came as soon as I saw the news,” I whisper, laying my cheek against the top of her head. “Are you okay? I should’ve believed you about my father. I can’t believe—”

“It wasn’t him,” she blurts.

I blink, pulling away from her. “It wasn’t?”

Lifting her watery eyes to mine, she sniffs, then says, “It wasn’t him that went to the police. It was me.” Her throat bobs, and my eyes widen as her words sink in.

“You? But why?”

“Because I couldn’t live the lie anymore,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “And I couldn’t lose you again. Not for him. Not for what he did.”

“My father . . . Everything you said in Houston was true. I should’ve believed you.”

She reaches up and clasps my hands in hers. “None of that matters. I did what was right, what I should’ve done years ago.”

I stare at her, stunned into silence as the implications wash over me. The strength it must have taken her to turn in her own father . . .

“Avery . . .” I brush away a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “God, I don’t even know what to say.”

The strength and courage this woman has to do what she did is undeniable.

“Your father wasn’t wrong, Damon.” Her voice trembles as she searches my eyes. “About what this will do to you—to your career.”

“Avery, I don’t—”

“No,” she cuts me off, shaking her head.

“You need to think about this. Even if you don’t submit for an early draft, it’s only a matter of time.

If this goes to trial, our family will be front and center, and as soon as the media figures out who you are, they’ll associate you with this scandal.

My father’s face—our whole family—will be plastered over newspapers and tabloids, and you’ll be right alongside us if you stay with me. ”

Like I fucking care.

I open my mouth to say as much, but she stops me, pressing a finger to my lips.

“And you were right about your father’s motivations.

He’s only ever had your best interest at heart.

Even if what he did was wrong, he was trying to protect you.

” She steps back, arms wrapping around herself as if she needs to put some distance between us.

“Maybe you should leave now before it’s too late. Save your reputation. Your career.”

“Are you serious right now?” My voice rises in disbelief.

“I don’t want my family to drag you down with us, Damon.” Tears coat her lashes, spilling onto her cheeks. “I won’t be the reason you lose everything you’ve worked for. I love you too much for you to resent me one day.”

Something snaps inside me as I roughly drag her back into my arms. “You are family, Avery.” I tip her chin to face me when she looks away.

“And I don’t give fuck about the media or what anyone thinks.

And if Williams wants to bury me in the draft because of a vendetta against your father, then so be it. I’m not going anywhere.”

I feel her body shake with a sob as she buries her face against my chest, her fingers clutching my shirt. For a moment, we just hold each other, the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down around us.

“You’re sure?” she whispers against my collar. “Because once this train leaves the station, there’s no getting off.”

I pull back, framing her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing away the tears that track down her cheeks.

In her eyes, I see everything—doubt, hope, fear, love—and I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.

“I’ve spent two and a half years without you,” I say, my voice low and fierce.

“I’m not spending another second apart if I can help it.

Whatever comes next, we face it together. ”

The ghost of a smile touches her lips. She nods and I lean forward, pressing my forehead against hers as she whispers, “Together.”