Page 80 of The Golden Hour

As we walk toward the elevator, it opens on another detective and two more uniformed officers. My stomach tightens as I scan their faces. Can they be trusted? Wilson exchanges a few low words with the detective, then follows me onto the elevator.

As the doors slide closed, she says, “There are officers stationed at every entry and exit point in this hospital. No other patients are on this floor. And no one I haven’t personally vetted is allowed anywhere near her room.”

I smile halfheartedly. “Am I that transparent?”

“Nah. I’m that paranoid. Until Vivian Avellino stands trial and is sentenced, we’ll be watching her like a hawk.”

“Any word on Hugo Barnes?” To no one’s surprise, Hugo went MIA the morning after what happened at the house.

Wilson grins. “I got word last night that customs nabbed him on his way out of the country with a suitcase full of cash.”

Another knot inside me releases. “Good.”

The elevator doors open and we walk side by side toward the hospital’s entrance. My gaze trained on the floor, I don’t notice Wilson slowing until she clears her throat.

I look up.

Standing near the entrance in a pool of golden sunlight, with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and an extra-large cup of coffee in the other, is Finn.

When our eyes meet, he smiles. A little hesitant. Mostly hopeful. I haven’t answered his calls or returned his texts, even the one telling me his mom was okay, that she and Molly were on their way back to Solstice Bay.

It’s not that I haven’t wanted to see him, or haven’t missed him. The opposite, in fact. He’s never far from my dreams and waking thoughts. But I needed time to process, to accept. To come to terms with the fact he might hate me for what I did. Disappearing in the middle of the night—doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t. What I put him through… he should hate me.

And yet here he is.

Wilson murmurs, “I hope you don’t mind. I thought you might want some extra support for this.”

“I don’t mind,” I tell her.

My madly thumping heart leads my feet forward, but I can barely meet his too-blue eyes. “Hi, Finn. It’s good to see you. I—uh…” My throat closes.

I’m sorry. I love you. Please forgive me.

He hands me the flowers. “These are for you.”

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

As I lower my face to smell the bouquet, he asks, “Are you done yet?”

Registering the playful tone, my head snaps up. I see his smile. Look into his bright, laughing eyes.

“Done with what?”

“With pretending we’re over.” His smile grows. “Because, princess? We’re just getting started.”

41

Despite chugging half her coffee, Callisto spends the drive asleep with her head on my chest. I’m content to suffer pins and needles in the arm wrapped around her and wedged against the hard seat.

I’m not letting her go. Not for anything.

Holding her is my reward for the herculean level of patience I’ve demonstrated for a week. Not seeing her, hearing her voice, or touching her has been the single most difficult test of my life. I’ve been an emotional mess, alternately angry with her, afraid of losing her, and mad with longing.

If not for my mom and Aunt Molly repeatedly laying it out for me—you’re in love, dummy—I might have done something stupid like flee the country.

“First time in the back of a police car?”

I meet Detective Wilson’s amused gaze in the rearview. “Actually, no. I was arrested at fifteen. I swear we didn’t know our principal’s car windows were open when we threw all those eggs.”

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