Page 206 of Burn the Wild

“Here.” His voice vibrates through my body. “You were missin’ this.”

From his pocket, he lifts the gold necklace with his name. My heart flutters as he fastens it around my neck. I cover his name with a trembling hand, feeling the beat of my heart.

Love too strong rushes through me.

Ford places a stern finger under my chin and directs my mouth to his. “I love you,” he murmurs against my lips. His trembling hands tangle in my curls. “My beautiful, Birdie Girl.”

That string in my stomach unravels, tightens.

Knotted—the two of us.

Forever.

“You sure you want to do this?” Ford asks as we leave the bright sunshine behind and step into the lodge.

I squeeze his hand. “I’m sure.”

He sighs. “Reese.”

I press a hand to his chest. “And then a nap. I promise.”

“Deal,” he grunts. He hasn’t stopped scowling since I woke up. The last two weeks, he’s been a tense muscle, always by my side as I give interviews to podcasts and newspapers. If I didn’t already have a new publicist who’s an absolute bulldog, I’d hire Ford.

Slowly, he guides me across the wood-planked floor. The pain medication I’m on makes me drowsy, but it’s only for one more week until I get my stitches removed. Ford has hardly stopped fussing over me since I woke up. Bullying me to nap, to rest. I can only love him for it.

Now closed for the season, the lodge is a strange sight to behold. It’s been cleaned recently, and the air smells like fresh lemons. Drop clothes cover the furniture, with only the leather couches left exposed. And there, waiting for me, is Bo Bosko.

He stands, stretches out a massive paw. “And so she lives.”

Ford scowls.

“So I do,” I say with a smile.

When I lift my arm to shake his hand, I wince and try to reset my face into a neutral position, but Ford’s fast.

“Sit down, Birdie,” he says, placing a protective hand on my back.

Bosko lifts a brow. “New bodyguard?”

I eye Ford with amusement as he settles on the couch beside me. “Something like that.”

“Thank you for coming,” I say. “I wanted to thank you for all your help.”

Bosko grins at me, that gold tooth flashing. “You’re the one who did everything. All I did was get you the evidence.”

Evidence I used.

I finally put my voice out there. For the fans, for the world to hear. It’s everywhere—on the television, on the radio, on the internet—and it’s getting support. I’m getting support.

I gave interviews about my suicide attempt, and the documents I provided showed Gavin’s misconduct and mismanagement of my career. His entire team—doctors, publicists, lawyers—threw him under the bus the first chance they got.

Exposing his truth, and mine, was like a weight released. For so long, Gavin used Muirwood and my suicide attempt as power over me, to keep me silent, to strip me of my autonomy. I never trusted my own thoughts or feelings, and speaking about what happened feels somewhat healing.

It will still take time—but I’ll get there.

Bosko looks at Ford. “The papers are asking where Gavin is.”

“He took a trip,” Ford says.

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