“I’ll be right in.” I closed the door and turned to Scotty. “Make sure there’s nothing left.”
He nodded. “You know it, man. You’re sure this is what you want? That you’re willing to walk away from everything you built and fought for, for a woman?”
I glanced through the window. She watched us, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she nibbled on her lower lip. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“Then go.” He patted me on the back in that man-hug we all did. “Go be happy. You deserve it. I’ll make sure Chris straightens his shit out . . . or I’ll have to finish what you didn’t.”
Not willing to let him leave with a lame-ass hug, I pulled him into my arms and kissed his temple. “I . . . I love you, brother.”
He hugged me back, his arms stronger than I remembered them being. “I love you, too. Take this start and make a real life. One Ma would be proud of—because she would be so fucking proud of you right now.”
I swallowed past my aching throat. “I hope you’re right.”
“Oh, I am.” He let go of me. “Now, go.”
“Okay.” I walked around the trunk of the car and tossed our bags in. As I shut it, I nodded at Scotty once, memorizing his face one last time. “You do what you gotta do, man. Just stay alive.”
He saluted me. “Always.”
“If you ever need me . . . well, find me. I’ll be there.”
Without answering, he headed back into my apartment. As I settled into the driver’s seat, I gripped the wheel tight. Last time we’d been in this car, I’d been so sure we wouldn’t walk away from this shit hole alive, let alone together and in love. I kicked the engine into gear. We backed out of the parking spot and drove down the road.
We passed the Laundromat next to her bar and slowed in front of the Patriot. She ducked her head and stared up at it, resting a hand against the cold window, her shoulders hunched. “Good-bye, little bar.”
I rested a hand on her thigh and squeezed. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” She laid a hand over mine. “I’m sure. Where to?”
“How’s Georgia sound to you?”
“Georgia?” She turned to me, her plump pink lips wet and looking way too damn kissable. “Why Georgia?”
“If they see through the whole death thing, no one would ever think to look for two city rats in the country.” I smiled. “Plus, you smell and taste like peaches, so it seems fitting.”
She choked on a laugh. “I do?”
“Yeah.” I slid my hand up her thigh. “Everywhere.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Lucas.”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Make a left, and keep driving . . . till we hit Georgia.”
“Okay, but first . . .” I curled my hand around the back of her neck and dragged her close. Our lips met, and we smiled as the kiss ended. “Any regrets? It’s not too late to go back.”
“Keep driving, Lucky.” She let out a little laugh. “You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”
Closing my eyes, I hugged her close and breathed in her scent like air. A scent that I’d never have to stop breathing in. “Oh, I like it. I like it a lot.”
We settled back into our seats, and I pulled up to the stoplight. When it switched to green, we smiled at each other, the joy in the car overwhelmingly sunshiny bright. If it had been anyone else, I’d have gagged and told them to go get a fucking room—or better yet, shoot themselves in the head or something equally harsh.
But it was us. So I turned left, and just kept driving. Out of Steel Row, out of the city limits, and out of Massachusetts, too. Somewhere around the mountains inside Pennsylvania, I finally let myself believe that this was actually happening.
For the first time in my life . . .
I believed in happy endings, even for a villain like me.
EPILOGUE
LUCAS
One year later
Georgia
I lifted the shovel and slammed it into the rocky soil. The salty sweat rolling down my forehead stung my eyes like a bitch, but I didn’t let it slow me down. The sun was shining down on me, and it felt as if it tried to bake me alive, but I didn’t give a damn. I had only a few more minutes to get this shit right, and I didn’t want to fuck it up.
If Heidi came home too early and caught me, my whole plan would be ruined. I couldn’t risk her finding out my secret before I was ready to confess it all to her.
Swiping my forearm across my forehead, I eyed the bagged item I was supposed to bury. This wasn’t my usual job, but I was determined to do it anyway. To prove myself, somehow. Bending down, I hauled the item into the hole and spent the next few minutes covering it up with dirt. I stood back, surveying my handiwork. Brown branches extended from the freshly tossed dirt, green leaves bloomed from the stems.
Peach tree . . . planted.
Take that, garden.
Striding over to the picnic table we’d built together, I picked up my bottle of water and chugged it back, not leaving so much as a drop behind. The hot sun was trying to kill me, and it was only spring. I knew from experience that it would only get worse.