The collective gasp from across the table is almost satisfying enough to drown out the tension choking the room.
"She's your stepsister,"my father snarls like he's tasting something rotten.
"And?"I ask because I really don't give a fuck.
"It's disgusting, and it's shameful."
"Well, we're done here."Amelia stands, her fingers threading through mine like she's claiming what's hers. She looks my father dead in the eye, her voice ice-cold. "You wouldn't call it disgusting if you knew what it felt like to love him. But unfortunately, you've never shown him an ounce of care, so you couldn't possibly understand."
"Love?" Kayla's laugh is ugly and twisted. "This isn't love. It's infatuation. Some kind of Stockholm syndrome or… or whatever happens when you're too wrapped up in each other to see straight."
Amelia's grip on my hand tightens, but her smirk only grows wider, deadlier. "You should be happy, Mom,"she says, sugar-sweet poison dripping from every word. "At least now you know I'll share your last name again one day."
Kayla's jaw hits the floor, and the silence that follows is deafening. I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as I slide my arm around Amelia's shoulders and guide her away from the table.
We don't look back as we walk away. We don't need to. The wreckage we're leaving behind speaks for itself.
As soon as we step outside, I pull her into me, my hands finding their home on her hips, andIkiss the life out of her.
"Fuck, I love you, Firefly."
She starts to laugh, the sound so infectious it's impossible not to join her. Soon, we're both laughing like idiots in the middle of the street, completely unbothered by what we left behind.
"Their faces," she says through her laughter. "Especially David's. He looked like he was about to pop a vein."
My hands come up to cup her face, cradling her between my palms.
"What you said to him…" My voice cracks as I try to get it out. My eyes close, trying to absorb everything about this moment—her warmth, her strength, the way she's standing here in front of me like she always has. Like she always will. "You see me, Mills. You've always seen me."
"It's impossible not to," she whispers like it's a truth she's been holding onto for far too long. Her hand brushes over my jaw, grounding me in the moment. "You deserve the world, Tobias, and you deserve so much more than the shitty parents you were given."
Her lips curve into a smile that could rebuild every broken piece of me. "Now come on, let's get out of here. They'll either reach out or they won't. But if they don't, it's their loss, not ours. Because we're pretty fucking awesome."
"Pretty fucking awesome?" I repeat with a chuckle. "Baby, we're perfection."
Chapter 62
Amelia
One hundred and seventy-five days without Tobias.
Well, aside from that brief trip he made to Pennsylvania. But still—one hundred and seventy-five days since I left him in Chicago.
Not that I’ve been counting.
Each day without him has felt longer than the last, each night spent staring at my ceiling, wondering if missing someone can actually drive you insane. It's the longest we've been apart, and saying it's been hard doesn't begin to scratch the surface of this bone-deep ache. But something changed after his surprise visit—after we stood together against our parents' judgment, their disgust, their desperate attempts to convince us that what we have is something to feel ashamed of.
They don't understand, and they probably never will. And that's okay.
Because what we have isn't for them to understand. It's ours. It always has been.
As we pull into the city, the bus wheels rumble beneath me, and my pulse kicks up like it knows I'm getting closer to him.
The tour wrapped a week early—a gift I didn't expect but grabbed onto with both hands.
However, I haven't told Tobias.
Instead, I called Lola at the studio, and she worked her magic to squeeze me into his schedule. Her laugh echoed through the phone when I explained my plan, understanding exactly why I needed this moment to be perfect.