Page 31

Epilogue

O ne Year Later

His voice echoes in my head from our last visit at the prison, a relentless echo asserting that I am strong and brave, even though every fiber of my being screams that I am neither.

I have never been strong enough alone to carry the weight of Cooper’s ambitions, to bear the brunt of his obsessive love.

Yet, propelled by him, by the mere thought of him, I force myself onward.

My skin prickles as I think about all the secrets contained here.

If he can see me from so many miles away, so much time between us now, I want him to be proud.

I can’t help feeling that he knows I am here.

Ignoring the guilt of reneging on my one demand for him.

Abandoning all common sense. In jeopardy of losing the respect of my few friends.

Every nerve in my skin ignites with a fierce, uneasy energy.

Those eyes of his, clever like a crow’s, darting around his cell, sensing something important happening. With every determined step, the electrifying bond between his heart and mine intensifies, pulling me deeper into this dangerous dance.

I pass the front door to the apartment he owns and round the corner. I’d held out. I’d tried to let this part go. His lawyer called to let me know that the apartment sublet runs out at the end of the next month, and I knew… I knew what Coop wanted of me.

So here I am.

An access panel no bigger than a large suitcase, concealed around the dead-end corner from the apartment’s front door, sends my legs collapsing into a quivering heap. My fingers dig into my pockets as if they’ve grown roots anchoring me to the spot.

I am paralyzed. Breathless. My mind is a chaotic storm. Incapable of…anything. My stomach lurches violently, rocketing up into my throat.

I can’t move.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t think straight.

My stomach makes an elevator trip up into my throat. My consciousness flits around, homing in on small sounds—my breathing, the muted voices inside the apartment, the occasional creak of the floor, or the heat kicking on.

Finally, I reach out. I grab the edges of the access panel. It slides from its grooves up and out easily. There is a cabinet handle screwed to the inside of it.

It takes a moment before I realize what it’s for. A small paddle switch in the too-large-to-be-a-heat-duct tunnel very dimly illuminates the direction ahead.

I climb inside.

Holding the handle on the back side of the panel, I slide it back into place. It’s not roomy, but it’s not claustrophobic either. There is a comfortable amount of room to move around.

Every nerve inside me is lit up like a neon sign as I crawl. This is wrong. This is love. It’s too late now.

This is—my thoughts die off when I reach the first heat register.

A woman younger than me by a decade stands in the kitchen in a flowing sundress. She is lovely and happy and swaying to music.

An equally striking man strides in, turning up the music with a flick of his wrist before he snakes an arm around her waist. My eyes are riveted to her as she moves with an intoxicating grace.

Together, they sway to the music, their eyes locked in a trance, grins stretching across their faces with a fervor that is almost palpable.

He dips her low, her hair cascading like a waterfall, and when he pulls her back up, holding her tightly against him, their kiss is so deep and fervent it sends a whirlwind through my mind, leaving me breathless and reeling just from watching.

All the tension drifts out of my body like layers of fog rising off the ocean. My limbs go slack, surrendering to the moment as I peer through the heat vent. The kiss breaks as the woman draws a ragged breath and sways like a tree in the wind.

My fingers brush against my own lips gently.

This is pure. This is raw and unfiltered. What I’m witnessing—it’s an explosion of passion, visceral and undeniable.

The image does things to both my body and imagination that are not fit for public consumption. My heart vibrates in my chest like a live wire. My mind is a whirling scheme of possibilities.

My love is a pale thing compared to the love Cooper asserts for me. He has gifted me this in his absence.

My heartbeat slows as I watch the scene unfold before me.

Rapt with curiosity.

I keep the pages of his first letter tied up in ribbon, locked away, and honor him this way for now. But there is deviance in all of us. That just makes us human.

It doesn’t make someone a bad person.

And for now, this is a secret I can carry with and for him, until we can be together again.

So I watch.