Page 141 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

She’s quiet.

“You were always like that. Turning the ugliest, most unfortunate, sad thing into something beautiful. The scars on my hands, the cabin . . . me.”

Tears spill down my cheeks.

She steps closer to me and presses her palm to my heated cheek. “Why are you crying?”

I hold her hand to me, closing my eyes as I take a deep breath. “This could’ve been our life.” I can feel her step toward me, and a shiver races up my spine. If this is the day she decides, she needs to know everything. “You know, I thought I saw you six months ago,” I admit, wiping my face on the back of my hand. “We went to this award ceremony for Izzy—all of us, together. We were in this big fancy theatre when I saw this woman with curly red hair.”

Her eyes flit over my face.

“Every time I saw hair like that it felt like having a heart attack—I was going out of my mind. All I wanted was to go back in time and take back all the awful things I said to you in Vegas. Then a few weeks ago, it was the anniversary of the day you left. The day my family betrayed me. The worst day of my life, and I just . . . I needed someone to talk to. I flipped through the phone book and I saw this ad. What are the odds that you were the one who answered my call? The one person I wanted to talk to more than anything, and I had no idea.”

She presses her hand over my heart and it pounds against her palm, as if it’s trying to tell her exactly what I want to say but can’t.

“I love you, Key.”

My eyes open and she is smiling at me.

“I’ve loved you my whole life. I think that’s why I kept your music. You had my heart . . . so I held tight to your soul.”

In a flurry of movement, I grasp her face. “I love you, Dusty, and I always will. Through the years, the loneliness and frustration. Through thinking I wasn’t enough for you. Through knowing you also love my best friend . . .” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “And now, I love you even more for it. Of course you love him and of course he would love you. It makes so much sense now, and I’ll continue to love you through everything that has yet to come our way because when the love is real, it will always find a way back.”

She smiles. “I did promise I’d come back for you.”

I kiss her then, and it’s like finally breathing clean air when everything has always been smoke. My head is light and dizzy; my lungs expand and my mind revels in the first real bout of clarity to hit me in years. Her kiss ignites nostalgia and reminds me of stolen time and joy and wonder. She tangles her fingers in my shirt as she kisses me back. It’s not the same as I remember it being all those years ago—it’s better. It’s grown-up.We’regrown-up, and I can’t believe she’s back in my life after all this time.

She pulls back, her face flushed, and whispers breathlessly, “I should shower.”

I let go of her face. “Right.”

When she looks at me again, her blue diamond–eyes sparkle. “You should come with me.”

She grasps my hand and with a subtle smile pulls me toward her bathroom. I go with her, because where else could I possibly be but with her. The room fills with steam, the heat caressing my sore bones. In truth, I’m exhausted. I’ve been awake for more hours than I can count, but as she turns to me and pulls her shirt over her head, I’m shot with adrenaline.

“Dusty—”

Her blue eyes flick up, her gaze hooded and dark. She turns away, facing the mirror. “Will you help me take it off?”

My cock twitches, all of the blood rushing downward with unprecedented speed. It makes me light-headed. “Sure.”

I glide the backs of my fingers up her spine and I watch with fascination as her eyes flutter. I snap her bra clasp and it comes undone in one swift motion. Dusty gives an audible gasp then giggles.

“Your technique has improved,” she teases.

I chuckle, then turn her toward me, allowing the bra to fall to the tile floor. Her breasts are larger than I recall. Fuller—with the tiniest pink nipples. They’re so goddamn perfect. She hooks her thumbs into her jeans and shimmies them down her legs and I follow suit.

“What’s that?” she asks, her finger tips tracing over the sun tattoo on my back.

“My tattoo?”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

I swallow my fear and tell her, “It’s you.”

Her forehead creases. “What?”

“You were always the sun, Dusty,” I say. “You were the light that gave me life. When you were gone, I had to immortalize that in some way. A reminder to keep me from getting lost in the dark.”

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