HIS NAME ON MY SCREEN

His mouth is on my neck.

Teeth. Tongue. Three years of hunger.

"I've dreamed about this," he says against my skin.

"How many times?"

"Every night."

"Liar."

"Count the nightmares, Thompson. That's how many."

His hands slide under my dress. Find bare skin. No underwear. Just like Mason said.

"You planned this."

"I planned the truth."

"The dress. The timing. Coming alone." His fingers trace my hip. "You knew what would happen."

"I hoped."

"Hoped what?"

"That you still wanted me."

His laugh is dark. Broken. "Wanting you was never the problem. Trusting you was."

"Do you trust me now?"

"No."

"Then why are you touching me?"

He stops.

Pulls back.

Looks at me with eyes that have seen too much.

"Because I can't stop."

"Then don't."

"Ava—"

"I'm not asking you to marry me, Ethan. I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm asking you to feel something. Anything. Because I've been numb for three years and you're the only thing that's ever made me feel alive."

He stares at me.

The war inside him plays out on his face.

"I hate you."

"I know."

"I hate what you did."

"I know."

"I hate that I still—" He stops. Swallows.

"Still what?"

"Still love you."

The words hang between us.

Love.

After everything.

After all the damage.

He still loves me.

I sit up. Cup his face. "Then stop fighting it."

"You're wearing my engagement."

"Her engagement."

"Same diamond. Same finger." He covers my hand with his. "I gave her your ring."

My heart stops. "What?"

"After you left. After the article. I was angry. I was drunk. I went to a jeweler and told him to find the exact same stone. Same cut. Same setting. I wanted to erase you."

"Did it work?"

"No." His thumb traces the diamond on her ring. The one he's not wearing because he sent her home. "Every time I look at her hand, I see yours."

"Then why did you propose?"

"Because my father told me to."

"You do everything your father says?"

"I used to." He pulls his hand back. Stands up. Paces the room. "Not anymore."

"What changed?"

"You came back."

I stand too. The dress falls back into place. Covering everything he just uncovered.

"Ethan. Talk to me."

"I don't want to talk."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want to go back. To before. To the night you left. I want to stop you from walking out that door." He faces me. "I want to tell you I love you. I want to tell you I don't care about the article. I want to tell you that none of it matters as long as you stay."

"But I didn't stay."

"No. You left. And I let you." His voice cracks. "I've been letting people leave my whole life. My mother. My friends. You. Everyone leaves."

"I didn't want to leave."

"Then why did you?"

"Because your father told me my family would lose everything. Because he told me you'd lose the team. Because he told me if I stayed, he'd make sure you never played hockey again."

"He can't do that."

"He owns the team, Ethan. He owns the arena. He owns half the league. He can do whatever he wants."

"So we fight back."

"Against your father?"

"Against everyone." He walks to me. Takes my hands. "You said you have files. Documents. Evidence."

"I do."

"Then we use them."

"And Vanessa?"

"She's nothing. A pawn. My father hired her to keep me distracted. To keep me from looking for you."

"You were looking for me?"

"Every day." His jaw tightens. "I hired three private investigators. They all came back with nothing. It was like you vanished."

"I changed my name. Moved cities. Switched jobs. Your father made sure I couldn't be found."

"But you found me."

"I never lost you."

My phone buzzes.

We both look at it.

The screen glows on the nightstand.

MASON REED

Ethan's hand moves faster than my eyes.

He grabs the phone. Reads the screen.

"Why is Mason texting you at midnight?"

"He's helping me."

"Helping you do what?"

"Find the truth. Find our son. Find a way to take down your father."

"Mason works for my father."

"I know."

"And you trust him?"

"I trust no one." I take the phone back. "But I need him. He has access I don't have. Information I can't get."

"What kind of information?"

I open the text.

MASON: "Darius knows you're at the house. Get out. Now."

My blood turns cold.

"What?" Ethan reads over my shoulder.

"Get out. Now."

"I'm not leaving my own house."

"You don't understand. Your father—"

The front door opens downstairs.

Heavy footsteps.

Men's voices.

Security.

"Ethan." I grab his arm. "You need to hide me."

"Hide you?"

"Please. If he finds me here—"

"Then he finds you here."

"You don't understand what he'll do."

"Then explain it."

I can't explain it. There's no time. The footsteps are on the stairs.

"This way." Ethan pulls me toward the closet.

It's huge. Dark. Clothes everywhere.

He pushes me inside.

"Don't make a sound."

"Ethan—"

"I said don't."

He closes the door.

Darkness swallows me.

"I heard you had company."

Darius Hayes's voice carries through the closet door. Smooth. Controlled. Deadly.

"I had a meeting," Ethan says. "It ended."

"At midnight?"

"Journalists work late."

"Journalists?" A pause. "Ava Thompson is a journalist now?"

"She's a reporter. She wanted an interview. I said no."

"And yet she was here for over an hour."

"You're having me followed?"

"I'm protecting my investment."

"I'm not an investment. I'm your son."

"You're both." Footsteps. Darius is moving around the room. "Where is she?"

"I told you. She left."

"Then why is her car still outside?"

My heart stops.

Ethan doesn't answer.

"I'm going to ask you one more time." Darius's voice hardens. "Where is the Thompson girl?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because she's dangerous."

"To you?"

"To everyone."

"Then maybe I should talk to her. Find out what she knows."

"She knows nothing."

"Then why are you scared?"

A pause.

"I'm not scared, Ethan. I'm cautious. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

Another pause.

Then the closet door opens.

Light floods in.

Darius Hayes stands there. Sixty years old. Silver hair. Suit worth more than my car.

His eyes find me immediately.

"Miss Thompson." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Hiding in closets now? How far you've fallen."

"I'm not hiding."

"No?" He looks at Ethan. "You told me she left."

"I lied."

"I see." Darius steps back. Gestures for me to come out. "Join us. We have much to discuss."

I step out of the closet.

My legs shake.

But my voice doesn't.

"Where is my son?"

Darius's smile freezes. "Your son?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"I don't."

"The hospital. The records. The baby that didn't die." I step toward him. "Where is he?"

"You're hysterical."

"I'm furious. There's a difference."

Darius looks at Ethan. "She's unstable. You should call security."

"I should call the police," Ethan says.

"For what?"

"Kidnapping."

"You can't kidnap your own grandchild."

The room goes silent.

Even the air stops moving.

Ethan's face goes white. "Grandchild?"

Darius's smile returns. "You didn't tell him?" He looks at me. "All that time in the closet and you didn't mention the boy?"

"Boy?" Ethan's voice breaks. "There's a boy?"

"Your son," Darius says. "Alive. Healthy. Living with a nice family in Idaho."

"You took him."

"I saved him."

"From what?" Ethan shouts.

"From her." Darius points at me. "She was going to ruin you. The article was just the beginning. She had plans. Big plans. She was going to take you for everything you had."

"That's not true."

"It doesn't matter if it's true. It's what I believed." Darius straightens his tie. "So I made arrangements. The baby was taken to a private facility. The records were altered. The doctors were paid."

"And the nurse?" I ask. "The one who called me?"

"Will be dealt with."

"You touch her and I'll—"

"You'll what?" Darius laughs. "You're a journalist, Miss Thompson. You write articles. You don't hurt people."

"I can learn."

"Threats?" He shakes his head. "Disappointing. I expected more from the woman who destroyed my son."

"I didn't destroy him. You did."

"I protected him."

"From what? Love? Happiness? A family?"

"From you." His voice drops. "You're poison, Miss Thompson. You always have been. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you away from my son and my grandson."

"He's not your grandson. He's our son."

"Legally? He's no one's son. The adoption was finalized three years ago. The birth certificate lists the parents as John and Mary Smith of Boise, Idaho."

"You forged those documents."

"Prove it."

"I will."

"You can try." Darius walks to the door. "Ethan, I expect you at practice tomorrow. Miss Thompson, I expect you to be gone from this city by morning. If you're not, I will file a restraining order. And then I will file a lawsuit. And then I will destroy every person you have ever loved."

He leaves.

The door closes.

Silence.

Ethan stares at the floor.

I stare at Ethan.

"Did you know?" I whisper.

"No."

"About your father?"

"About any of it." He looks up. Tears in his eyes. "I didn't know about the baby. I didn't know about the adoption. I didn't know about any of it."

"I believe you."

"Do you?"

"Yes." I walk to him. Take his hands. "Because you're a terrible liar."

"I've been lying to myself for three years."

"About what?"

"About you." He pulls me close. "I told myself I hated you. I told myself I was better off without you. I told myself I didn't need you."

"And now?"

"Now I know I was wrong about everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything except one thing."

"What's that?"

He kisses me.

Different than before.

Slower.

Deeper.

Like he's memorizing me.

"I love you," he says against my lips. "I never stopped. I never will."

"Even after everything?"

"Because of everything." He pulls back. "We're going to find our son. We're going to destroy my father. And then we're going to be a family."

"That sounds like a dream."

"Then let's make it real."

EROTIC CLIFFHANGER:

His hands find the zipper of my dress.

Slow.

Deliberate.

"I want to remember this," he says.

"Remember what?"

"Every inch of you." The dress falls. Pools at my feet. "Every sound you make. Every way you say my name."

"Ethan."

"Like that." His mouth finds my shoulder. "Say it again."

"Ethan."

"Again."

My back hits the bed.

His body covers mine.

"I'm going to take my time with you," he whispers. "I'm going to undo every year we lost. Every night we spent apart. Every lie they told us."

"Then stop talking."

He smiles.

The first real smile I've seen.

"I love when you're bossy."

"I love when you're quiet."

"Make me."

I kiss him.

Deep.

Demanding.

His hands find my hips.

My hands find his belt.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"I've never been more sure of anything."

"The consequences—"

"I don't care about consequences."

"Your career—"

"I'll find another one."

"Your reputation—"

"I don't have one left to lose." I pull his belt loose. "Now stop asking questions and kiss me."

He kisses me.

Not gentle.

Not careful.

Like a man who's been starving for three years.

And for one perfect moment, the world disappears.

No fathers.

No lies.

No missing children.

Just him.

Just me.

Just this.