I paused. I nearly had the doors open. I could see the cobblestone path that wound around the crystal fountain and down to the wrought iron fence.
I turned around. Gray and Gemma stood side by side.
I didn’t know what the fuck this was. Were they seriously acting like they cared about Abigail?
“What are you planning on doing with him?” Gray asked. “Some blue-collar appeal to the police. It won’t work. He’ll have them paid off before you finish your sentence.”
I pushed my cheek out with my tongue. “You want to help or something?”
“Or something,” Gray said.
“That weasel Newton is out. He’s the one getting excommunicated,” Gemma said. “Out of our lives. Out of our world. We’ll handle that part on our end.” Gemma glanced at Gray. “But when you blow up your life for Abby—as I’m sure you’re planning on doing—be sure to get Newt caught in the crossfire. Say Gray and Gemma Crowne were there. We’ll back you up.”
“Just this once,” Gray added.
Gemma rolled her eyes. “Duh.”
“Or,” I said, taking a step to them. “You’ll use it as an opportunity to fuck her over.”
“That would be hilarious,” Gray conceded. “But there is no fucking universe where I would side with Newt over a Crowne, not even for a joke.”
Gray stared back at me, bored.
If there was one thing I could trust, it was Gray’s unyielding arrogance about being a Crowne. This could work. This could save Abigail.
I grinned. “See you around then, brother-in-law.”
Gray glowered at my words as I pushed open the door into the bright summer sun.
Outside I caught a rare glimpse of Beryl Crowne getting out of his town car. He froze when he saw me, halfway in the car.
“Was it worth it, Theo?” he asked, straightening, righting his lapels. “Was it worth losing all of this?” He gestured around him, at the sprawling palatial home. “You could’ve climbed high.”
For five years I’d stared at the back of Beryl Crowne. In some twisted way, I think he cared for me. In this world, that was the best you can hope for. A mother who played games with her daughter’s love, a father figure who chose when you looked him in the eye.
“It was never about this. It was always about her.”
I kept walking, down the cobblestone path so long most drove up it, past hedges and glittering fountains, and out of the wrought iron gate that Abigail Crowne had opened for me.
I had one stop to make before I found her.
It was time to let the world know she belonged to me, that we belonged to each other.
Abigail had put a photo of some random shadow on the cover, so if I wanted, I could go and find her, live in the background like I had been—but Abigail was mine. She was mine the day she gave me that bracelet.
The Crowne Point Tribune offices were on Main Street, one of the original old-style buildings marking the street. It had been touched up, the Carolina-blue shingles and white trim bright in the sun. Very nautical, and very Crowne Point.
There was no going back. I could put it all on the line, and she could leave me. I could lose her. At a distance, I’d always have Abigail in some way, but she’d never be mine.
Today I would catch her. I would keep her. I would never let her go.
I just hope it isn’t too late.
I pushed open the door into a too air-conditioned room. The receptionist looked up at me with bored interest.
“I’m Theo Hound, Abigail Crowne’s husband.”
Thirty-Seven