“I wouldn’t have come here if that’s what I wanted to do.” He exhales a laugh. “Besides, now that I’ve met everybody, I think I’d have a group of really pissed off people on my tail if I did something like that.”

  “You would, trust me.”

  “I don’t want to surprise her or scare her. Will you help me?

  “I have to go to New York for a few days, but when I get back, maybe we can meet up at the skatepark? If you don’t mind waiting?”

  “I’ll be ready when you return.” I’m about to get out when he catches my hand. “Seriously, thanks, Hana.”

  Pressing my lips into a smile, I lean back and give him a brief hug. “You’re really nice. I think Pepper will be happy her dad cares about her, and who knows, maybe you’ll get to see her play ball.”

  “I’d really like that.”

  22

  Scar

  My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I watch them from the end of Hugh’s long driveway. She leans in towards him, and possessive fire blazes in my chest. Would she kiss that guy? Has she moved on that fast?

  I spent the day going over our plans for New York, mapping out the proximity of our hotel to their apartment, researching the quickest ways in and out of the building. Dirk hacked into traffic cams around the block so we could monitor vehicles and foot traffic.

  This distance between us is a gnawing pain I can’t escape. I slept like shit last night, and I don’t expect tonight to be any better. I really wasn’t expecting to find her out at Slim Harold’s with Pepper’s long-lost dad.

  That guy had better watch himself. First he shows up all cocky looking for Pepper, threatening Hutch’s happy home. Now he’s taking out my girl, buying her dinner, drinks, dancing with her.

  My breath exhales on a growl. If she doesn’t get out of that car in the next sixty seconds…

  The door opens, and her long, silky leg emerges to step on the soft gravel in needle-thin heels. Is he going to let her try and walk to the house by herself?

  I’m ready to get out of my truck and walk up there when the asshole jumps out of the driver’s side and runs around to hold her arm.

  Molten anger surges in my stomach when he touches her. They stop at the door, and he’s smiling at her like he wants to kiss her. If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t dare approach her lips.

  Hana pats his arm, and my fist relaxes when she goes inside and closes the door. Teal hesitates a moment, looking after her with his hands in his pockets, then dashes down the drive, into his sedan.

  As he leaves, he has the nerve to wave at me. I do not return the greeting. What kind of a name is Teal Masters? It sounds made up.

  Several minutes tick past, and I watch the light in her window, her shadow moving around the room.

  Dirk thinks it’s best for us to fly separately into the city to avoid being seen together as much as possible. I agree, but I need to talk to her again before we go, even if she doesn’t want to see me.

  I need to know if she’s planning to see anyone besides the gallery people. I want to be sure she remembers all the things I taught her and that she packs the pepper spray.

  Stepping out of the truck, I slowly make my way up the driveway and in through the back door. It’s late, and only the dim night lights are on throughout the house.

  My boots thud softly on the thick carpets as I climb the stairs to the second floor, making my way down the hall to her bedroom.

  I tap softly, and she makes a little sound for me to enter. I’m sure she thinks I’m Blake or perhaps Norris. When the door falls open, my breath stills in my lungs.

  She’s standing in front of the large armoire with her pretty hair piled messily on her head, wearing those sleep shorts and thin white tank I remember so well. It’s a punch in the heart.

  “Oh!” Her voice is high, and her hands tremble. Still, she lifts her chin, doing her best to seem confident–like she always has. “What do you want?

  My arms ache to hold her. “I was worried you couldn’t sleep.”

  “So now you care if I can sleep?” Her tone is defiant.

  She has no idea how much I care. “Hana, I know you’re angry with me, but I–”

  “You’re right I’m angry with you. No, I can’t sleep, but I’m not the weak little girl I was before. I don’t need you.”

  “It’s true. You don’t need me.” I’m not sure she’s ever needed me, but it doesn't change how I feel.

  Silence expands between us, and I have no right. Still, I ask. “Did you kiss him?”

  Her lips part, and she blinks quickly like she’s stunned. “You have no right to ask that.”

  “I know.” My voice is quiet.

  “What you should have done was tell me the truth from the first day you knew who I was.”

  “It’s true. I wanted to find the right time.”

  “We were together every day for almost a year. You could have told me many times.”

  “I was a coward.”

  Anger flashes in her eyes, and her voice sharpens. “You’re not a coward. You ran into a burning building! Why did you hide that from me?”

  “When it comes to hurting you, I can’t do it.”

  “You hurt me by not being honest. I trusted you. Now all I can think is what else are you hiding?”

  I can’t answer that question. More silence.

  “Were you there?” Her chin wobbles, and it takes all my strength to stay where I am and not go to her. I’ve lost that privilege. “Did you stand in the shadows and watch while he tortured me?”

  “No… fuck no.” Clenching my fists, my jaw grinds. I shake my head, gazing at my boots. “So many times I’ve wondered, maybe if I had been there, would it have happened? Could I have saved you? I’ll never know.”

  “What I know is you let me believe you’re someone you aren’t.”

  “I told you I wasn’t a hero.”

  “You are not.”

  It’s a deeper cut than I can manage standing here at her feet. “I won’t see you again before the trip. Will you remember what I taught you?”

  “I’ll remember who I am and who you are.”

  Nodding, I concede that’s fair. I have to earn her trust again, and it won’t be as easy the second time. “I’ll never be far away if you feel afraid or in danger. I’m there.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Lourde.” Her tone is clipped, and I nod.

  “Goodnight, beautiful girl.”

  I’m in my truck in Hugh van Hamilton’s driveway with a bag of sunflower seeds on the console. It’s an experiment in torture, but I crack the shells and spit them in a cup, then I eat the kernels.

  I let my memory play back the day she didn’t know what she was doing, when she sat on my lap confused and so damn cute.

  My eyes squeeze shut, and I wipe my palm over my brow as I anticipate another sleepless night. Pain torments me, but I can't break free from this need to be close to her, to be sure she’s not in danger.

  She has every right to be mad at me. I know I fucked up not telling her everything, but I need her to know I hated Victor as much as she did. More, if that’s possible.

  I haven’t decided whether to tell her everything I’ve done, but I need her to know that much.

  Stretching my legs, I push my head against the headrest. I’ve got a long night ahead of me, but I’m not going anywhere.

  23

  Hana

  “It’s reminiscent of Sarah Ann Lorenth and Olga Fler with the dreamy lighting and the inclusion of natural elements.” Jill Weams has my prints spread all over a large table in the center of the open Milo gallery space.

  My head is spinning, and I’ve never felt so overwhelmed and elated. She’s comparing me to fine art photographers I could only dream to be as good as.

  Blake wanted to come with me, but I told her I needed to start taking care of myself. I wanted to do this on my own. Now I’m wishing she were here.

  Jill is intimidatingly tall with ultra-fair skin and stick-straight, platinum-blonde hair. Her dark brown eyes are focused like an eagle, and she’s wearing black slacks and a long-sleeved black turtleneck. She’s the ultimate Manhattan glamor girl turned art curator.

  “Would you consider enlarging any of them to life size?” With long, elegant fingers, she plucks the photos of Pepper and Ainsley from the stack. “In particular these of the girls on roller skates?”

  “Yes!” I hate how small my voice sounds. “I think I can find the supplies I need at Blick and get them done easily.”

  “Nonsense.” She waves her hand. “We have a darkroom here at the gallery and everything you need to do your work. The space is at your disposal.”

  “Thank you.” I’m blinking fast, trying to keep up.

  The small gallery is a maze of towering white walls covered in the work of their current featured artist, giant Monet-like pastels of dreamy, impressionist fields of flowers.

  “These of the softball players with the donuts are adorable. They call to mind Magda Piwosz, but I’m just thinking of marketing. Truly you have a distinctive style all your own.”

  “You think so?” Cautious confidence fills my tone. “It’s my first show. Only Blake and Jacque Carlisle have ever seen my photographs.”

  Jill’s eyes flash. “You worked with Carlisle? Next to Annie Leibovitz, he’s the quintessential fashion photographer of our day.”

  “My friend Debbie took his class at art school, and he did a session with Blake.”

  “I’d pay money to see that.” She’s speaking offhand when suddenly she inhales a sharp breath. “What is this?”

  Sliding the photos of Scar from the stack, she places a hand flat against her chest. “Who is this model? I haven’t seen him in any of the major circles. He’s incredible. Did you discover him?”

  My lips part, and pain echoes in my chest when I think of the first day we met so long ago. It was definitely a discovery.

  “My uncle hired his business partner to be Blake’s bodyguard, and we sort-of met that way.”

  “He’s stunning. Look at the ferocity of that profile. I love what you did here with the saturation and the barest hints of blue and silver. At first glance, I thought it was black and white.”

  “Thank you.” It’s the best I can do with my heartbreak still so fresh.

  Simply thinking about Scar is enough to prompt an explosion of pain so fierce it steals my breath.

  “All of these should be oversized. They’ll stop viewers in their tracks.” Stepping back, Jill crosses her arms, seeming lost in thought. “The theme is perfect: Memory. How do you feel about starting in the front with the children then working our way through the images of the older girls, mid-gallery, followed by the ones of your sister with the horses, ending with this gorgeous man. Yes?”

  She turns to me with a smile, and I nod. “It’s actually how I arranged them in my mind.”

  “Perfect. It’s going to be tremendous. We’ll have the whole town buzzing, but you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take care of everything.” She slips her hand into the crook of my arm, and we walk slowly across the scored concrete floors. “You just focus on the final pieces for the show, and call me if you need anything or have any questions at all.”

  “Thank you so much, Jill.” I take her card, air kiss, and step out into the breezy afternoon.

  We spent all morning composing my art resume, which was embarrassingly light, and a biography along with samples of my work to send to media outlets and art influencers around the city.

  Documenting my lack of experience nearly had me running all the way back to Hamiltown. Who am I to have an art show at the Milo Gallery? But Jill was so kind, reminding me that everyone starts somewhere. I mentally noted they usually start in art school.

  Now I’m exhausted and hungry, and I need to get from Chelsea to our apartment on the Upper East Side.

  Hesitating outside the gallery, I scan the throngs of pedestrians passing quickly, walking with purpose to lunch dates or meetings or the office, knowing somewhere in the crowd either Dirk or Scar is following me.

  Deep in my bones, I know it’s him. The magnetic pull between us remains so strong, I can’t help glancing over my shoulder as I wait at the crosswalk, scanning the faces surrounding me. I know he’s there. I can feel his eyes on me the way I always could, only they used to make me feel warm and loved. Now I feel injured and alone.

  The wind pushes strands of hair in my eyes, and I hold them back. For a moment, I almost see him, wolf eyes watching from the shadows. Black ink curling from his collar down to large hands clenched into fists.

  He’s still there, protecting me, and I decide I need to move. I’ve never liked taking cabs, and I didn’t arrange for a car. Glancing down at my Filas, I can walk sixty blocks. It’s only three miles.

  The red hand changes to a white figure, and I cross the street, headed north, letting the fresh air and exercise ease this fist he put in my chest.

  At the next stop, I send a quick text. Are you still in Italy? Hitting send, I cross the street with the crowd.

  We’re in front of the Empire State Building, and I have to remember to look both ways before crossing. Out of the hundreds of one-way streets on Manhattan Island, they decided to make this intersection two-way. Jesus. This is why those old movies have people getting hit by cars here.

  I look back to be sure he remembers, which is ridiculous. For starters, I don’t see him, and of course he remembers. My phone buzzes, and I read quickly.

  Is the little bird sneaking out of the nest again? Trip is such a dick, I think, tapping out my reply.

  I’m in the city prepping for my show. Are you here?

  Continuing through Midtown, if Trip’s in the city, he’ll be at his mother’s place, which is two floors below our apartment. It’s perfect, and I won’t have to say anything to Blake.

  Indeed, and I heard from dear old Rusty the van Hamilton sisters are in the building.

  Rusty is the ancient elevator operator in the Andover, where we’ve all lived since we were children.

  Only for a few days. I need your help.

  I’m making good time, and I feel the tightness in my chest loosening. I guess that old advice about getting exercise for depression is true. Only, when I’m depressed, I never feel like exercising.

  Does Blake know you’re talking to me?

  Rolling my eyes, I keep it short. Blake doesn’t need to know. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.

  I’m not giving him the option to put me off. Trip was there when I got myself into these messes, and he’s going to be there when I hand over the money to get myself out of them.

  A light sheen of sweat coats my upper lip, and my hair is frizzy around my head when I reach the building. I’m sure I smell like a wet dog, but I couldn’t care less.

  Pausing at the front door, I cast one final look over my shoulder. We both needed the walk, I think.

  “Miss van Hamilton, welcome home.” Our doorman tips his hat as I skip into the large, marble foyer.

  “Thank you, Cyryl.”

  Rusty waits in the elevator, his gray hair yellow from cigarette smoke. “Miss Hana, it’s good to see you again.” His voice has only gotten scratchier with age.

  “Thanks, Rusty. I’m working on an art show at the Milo.” Leaning against the elevator wall, I can’t help a grin. The bubble of excitement in my chest won’t be denied.

  “Miss Blake told me. She’s so proud of you.”

  Warmth pulses through my veins. “She set it up for me, you know? For my birthday? I can’t believe she thinks I’m good enough to pull this off.”

  “You’ve always been my favorite sisters.” He holds the doors open when we reach our floor. “Maybe I can get the night off to see it.”

  “I would love that!” I give his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re my favorite elevator guy.”

  Our apartment is four doors down, but before I touch the door handle, it opens.

  “Hana! My goodness, I didn’t think you were coming home tonight.” Mama is on the other side wearing a formal gown and vintage fox stole, complete with head and tail.

  “Where would I go?” I step forward to kiss her cheek.

  She smells like Chloe roses, and her makeup is full beat.

  “Darling, where do you ever go? I stopped trying to keep up.”

  She never tried to keep up. “Where are you headed?”

  “Board meeting for next year’s gala. Blake ordered supper if you feel like eating. You smell like a stable.”

  “Probably because I walked home.”

  “Good heavens, why on Earth would you do that? Roman would have brought the car down.”

  “I didn’t want to be stuck in a car in traffic. I felt like walking.”

  She leans forward for air kisses then waves her hand. “Phew! Take a shower. You’re all sweaty, and look at your hair.”

  “Love you, too!” I plaster on a saccharine smile.

  “Don’t wait up.”

  She’s out the door, and I walk slowly towards the kitchen, wondering if Scar was really out there following me or if poor Dirk’s cursing my name right now.

  “How’d it go, babe?” Blake greets me as I enter our large, white and stainless kitchen.

  None of us really cook, but it’s a power-move to have an elaborate kitchen in a city short on real-estate. Mama is all about the shows of wealth.

  “Mm, this smells good.” Containers of beef and broccoli, miso soup, and spicy noodles are arranged around the granite bar.

  The cypress bars in Hutch’s and Scar’s homey kitchens are so much warmer than cold granite. An image of him working hard, muscles flexing, sweating and sanding, drifts through my mind, and I exhale a little growl. Will I ever stop thinking about him?

  “Everything okay?” Blake frowns at me

  “Sorry, yes! It was so great. Jill kept comparing me to these super famous photographers. I thought I’d pass out.”

  “I wish you’d let me go with you. You could’ve used the moral support.”

  “You’re right.” Picking up a fork, I stab a piece of dark-brown beef. “It’s just… I’m tired of feeling like everyone is watching me or helping me. I need to stand on my own.”