Page 87 of The Golden Hour

“With good reason,” I assure her. “And listen, I know healing from everything you’ve been through is going to take time. I don’t want to rush that process. But I do want you to remember that there’s life here, too. Happiness, even. And no matter what, you don’t have to hide your pain from me. I’m sorry I was an asshole, though.”

I’m lying. I love her feistiness.

She looks up with a mischievous grin. “No, you’re not.”

Feeling utterly in love and dizzy with it, I laugh. “You’re right. I like angry sex with you. A lot.”

She shoves my chest, then gasps when I wince. “Oh God, you are hurt!”

I grab her face and kiss her hard. “You can hurt me anytime you like.”

An alarm sounds on my phone, plugged in near the bed. Callisto set it on mine since both of her phones were bagged as evidence by Detective Wilson. Releasing her reluctantly, I fetch the device and turn off the alarm.

“It’s time?”

I take in her suddenly pale complexion, the way she hugs her arms protectively to her chest, and wish more than anything there was a way to talk her out of what she’s doing today. But I won’t diminish her courage by trying.

Not that she would let me convince her, anyway.

God, I fucking love her.

Because I can’t help wanting to protect her, I ask, “You still don’t want me to come with you?”

She shakes her head. So stubborn. So brave. “I won’t be gone more than a few hours, I don’t think. If it’s looking that way, I’ll borrow a phone and call you.”

I chuckle. “I can’t believe you’re comforting me right now.”

Unable to resist, I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her beautiful head. And standing there, with the world in my hands, the truth no longer seems scary. Just inevitable. Freeing.

“I’m in love with you, Callisto. I was lost until I found you.”

She sighs, but it’s a happy one. I can tell. It’s confirmed when she lifts her head and I see her smile. The glisten in her eyes.

“I love you, too. If we get lost again, let’s do it together.”

I kiss her. Then I kiss her some more, peppering her face and neck until she giggles and eventually bats me away.

“To be continued later,” she says, dancing out of reach and grabbing my car keys off the dresser. “See you soon.” Then she’s gone, and moments later the apartment door opens and closes.

To avoid making myself crazy waiting for her, I finish dressing. Have coffee. Make some breakfast. Call my mom to confirm that she and Aunt Molly made it safely to Solstice Bay. We talk about the drive, the weather. We joke that her visit to Los Angeles was a drag and agree that being duct-taped in the trunk of the car isn’t a comfortable mode of travel.

When we run out of stupid shit to talk about, instead of my usual hasty goodbye, I hesitate.

“Finn?” asks my mom, a thread of worry in her tone.

Thinking of Callisto, I push past old habits and find the person I want to be. “There’s something important I need to tell you, Mom. I wanted to tell you in person, but it can’t wait.”

“What?” she barks. “What is it? Did you finally tell Callisto you love her?”

“Yes, but that’s not—”

My mom squeals and yells, “He told her!” to someone on her end. Aunt Molly screams like a teenager. Women.

“Mom, that’s not what I wanted to tell you!”

“What? Oh. Sorry, honey.” She shushes Molly. “What is it?”

I suck in a breath, then let what I feel coat my words, “I’m sorry.” There will be more words later—many, many more—but for now, these two are all I have. And all I need.

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