“Leighton?”
“Yeah, Dad, can you find us by the GPS on Dom's phone? I have no idea where we are, and Devon's—I think he's losing too much blood.”
“Stay on the line,” he says. I drop the phone and press with both of my hands into the shirt.
“Please, please, please,” I chant over and over. He looks pale, lifeless, but every now and again his chest rises, giving me hope.
I don't know how much time passes; seconds, minutes, hours, I hold my hands pressed there, feeling them cramping but holding, not taking my eyes off his face. Eventually, someone moves me away from him, and I start thrashing around, fighting them.
I need to keep him alive.
My dad's face fills my vision and he engulfs me in his warm embrace, covering me with a soft blanket. I watch helplessly as two men are directed to move Devon onto a stretcher, taking him away from me. I look around, searching for the ambulance, but I don't see it. They should have called an ambulance.
I rip myself out of my father's embrace and run after Devon, but I'm stopped by his uncle halfway to him.
“I want to go with him,” I say through tears, my eyes on the van where they’ve put Devon.
He glances briefly at my dad, nodding. “Let them do their job now.”
My dad comes over and puts his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me lightly and taking me toward the car. I squint trying to see through the tinted window, sparing one last look at the disappearing van.
My dad’s driver starts the engine and we go in the opposite direction.
They don’t let me near him again.
They don’t even let me say goodbye to Devon Andre.
epilogue
LEIGHTON
Six months later
I wake up that morning with a mission.
I wear a flowery short-sleeved shirt and jeans, and put on a pair of yellow flats. The warm May morning kisses my skin as I walk to the car. Everything is finally coming to life, the cold, harsh winter long forgotten.
I'm going to see him today.
That faithful night, the Andre warehouse—where they kept me—was raided by the feds, but they found nothing. Just four bodies, which they said was a deal gone wrong between George and Stevie.
No mention of Devon’s or my family.
I tried to skim over the things Dom did when I explained what happened to my dad. I could see it hurt him just as much as it hurt me remembering it. He was one of our own, and he betrayed us.
I never found out what happened to his body, but I can imagine it was dealt with.
The Andres and Moores are no longer at war, though it seems to me they never really were. Why they thought it was a smart idea to keep us in the dark is beyond me, but I guess they had their reasons. I’m trying so damn hard to get over that.
Frank Andre is still controlling the warehouses. My dad never mentions them anymore. I guess it’s compensation for everything that happened to both our families. A real truce, finally.
I fought so hard to see Devon after they took him away. I knew with everything I was that he would have wanted me there. Dad sat me down and told me everything—my family had nothing to do with deaths all those years ago. Devon hated me for no reason. I can’t imagine what that had done to him—when he found out.
And then. . . it didn’t matter anymore.
I needed time to deal with everything I found out, with everything that happened. A couple of days after it all went down, I packed my bags and left to stay with relatives in Ireland.
All I kept thinking was how we’ve lost so much time, been through so much pain. Devon’s hate for me was pointless. All that resisting, when we could have been together—pointless. I betrayed him, and still he put his life on the line for me, and it could have been avoided. Lives were ruined, and for what?
Days turned to weeks, turned to months. In the end, I dreaded facing everything that was waiting for me here. Or everything that wouldn’t be waiting for me.
I turn the radio on, listening to a man drone on about a baseball game the previous night. My fingers tremble as I bring them to my lips, moving away a strand of hair that's stuck to my lip gloss.
I park the car in front of the gate, and get out, slightly wobbly on my feet. My hands are sweating, my heart thumping against my chest. I was going to ask his uncle where he was, he could at least give me that much, but I don’t have to—I spot him all the way across the lawn and every single doubt, every nervous thought I had, it all fades away. I should have come sooner.
I head straight to him with a sure stride. It takes me a few seconds before I speak.
“I'm sorry I shot you,” I tell him softly. He doesn't look at me, his granite face not giving away a thing, but what did I expect? It took me so long, maybe even a little too long at this point, to come here.
“And thank you for saving me,” I try again. “You're my hero.”
Nothing.
I sit down on the grass next to him, not caring that it will probably leave a green smear all over my butt. “I wish you’d say something,” I say, looking down at my fingers playing with the grass on the ground.
“I thought you’d never come back,” he says quietly, looking straight ahead. I don’t miss the hurt in his voice, although he tries to come off as flat. “And I wouldn’t even blame you.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to see me, after everything. Your uncle said you didn’t want me there.”
“I always want to see you,” he says, his voice laced with sadness. I suck in a breath.
I lift up his face and cup it in my palms, my heart breaking that he won’t look me in the eyes. “I know. I missed you, every single second, I missed you. But everything got so out of control and I—I needed to deal with all of that. Maybe we needed that time apart.”
I entwine our fingers, hoping he doesn't pull away. “But I love you, Devon,” I tell him, and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest. That's how good it feels to say it after all this time. “I know it’s not perfect, and your uncle won’t approve. My dad would kill me if he knew I was here. But I’m willing to risk it if you are. Nothing’s going to keep me away from you if you want me because I don’t want anyone else but you. I love you.”
Finally he looks at me, his green eyes piercing mine. He takes my hands, bringing them to his lips and squeezing his eyes tight. “How can you love me?”
“You didn’t know, Devon. We didn’t know. It wasn’t our fault.”
“I am not a fucking hero.”
“To me, you are.”
Instantly, he's on his feet, dragging me behind him inside the house. I don't fight him or resist.
I came here to stay.
We both know where I belong, and that’s wherever this man is, consequences be damned.
We climb the familiar staircase up to the top floor, and then I'm in his—my—room, our clothes coming off in a blur of kisses and moans. He hovers over me as my back hits the bed, his eyes roaming my face. I kiss the scar on his shoulder, feeling its texture with my lips.
“That bullet barely grazed me,” he lies through his teeth, leaning his forehead against mine and wiping away a tear that slides down my cheek. I smile as he places a soft kiss on my forehead, trailing his lips down my cheek and finally sucking on my bottom lip. “You can shoot me whenever you want, just don’t leave me again.”
“So what happens now?” I ask him, needing to know the answer before I let myself off this cliff with him again.
“Anything you want.”
“We could run . . . ”