He was wearing a tight black T-shirt and skinny jeans, barefoot with his tats showing and his hair all mussed—and he’d never looked so wrecked and sexy.
I’d had my hands on that body.
My fingers combing through that unruly hair.
Mean? Yeah, but he was my mean.
He crooked his finger.
I rolled my eyes even as my feet took me over to him as I wrapped my arms around his neck from behind. He lifted his chin for a kiss, and I gave, fully, willingly, because he was mine.
Because finally, we were moving on. Both of us, together.
With the memory of her, a dangling necklace of hope between our bodies.
One that told us both that we could grieve.
Love.
Move on.
And still, have a part of her.
His lips moved against mine; he tasted like whiskey and coke and all things Ash. How did a person have a taste? He somehow did, like bad decisions you’ll never regret even if you end up in prison.
Damn Abandonatos.
I swear they were an addiction in and of themselves.
“Pool,” he whispered against my neck. “Five minutes?”
My breath hitched. “But everyone’s here…”
“Like that stopped me the first time.” He nipped my neck. “Run.”
With a giddy laugh, I took off toward the door earning groans and cursing from everyone as if they knew exactly what sort of game we were playing.
“Hey, Serena,” I heard Junior call. “Run!”
“Hey, Junior,” she called back. “Run, Bitch.”
I heard scrambling.
Something like a knife clattering against the floor.
Laughter.
And a body getting tackled against the stairway.
Ash was mine, but maybe they were mine too.
I smiled, jogged back to the house, opened the sliding glass door, and paused as all the bosses were playing ping pong.
Like they literally had three tables set up.
Sweat was pouring like wine.
The wives were in a corner playing cards.
Everyone looked up.
I bit down on my lower lip. “Scary mafia, party of one.”
Chase pointed his paddle at me. “Tell no one.”
I held up my hands. “Yeah, your secret’s safe with me.”
He nodded and then turned to his opponent, Dante, the Alfero boss. “You let me beat you, and I’ll give you the new Lambo.”
“Nope, old man.” He winked. “I’m young and impressionable.”
“You’re in your thirties!”
“Careful, don’t wanna break a hip,” he teased.
Chase yelled.
Tex yelled on Chase’s behalf, and I laughed as I ran up the stairs really quick to grab a swimsuit and some sweats—even though I wouldn’t need them—to cover my body, after all, it was January and freezing.
I pulled my hair into a short ponytail and vowed to let my hair grow out, for him and me, because I’d loved my hair.
My cheeks were red, my lips nearly bruised from all the kissing, and I wore it with pride.
The mark of Ash.
The one I’d always wanted.
He’d seen me.
Treated me with respect when it counted.
Killed, actually killed my adoptive dad when he saw the bruises.
And he kept Claire’s promise.
He watched over me, even while it hurt.
As he bled all over the floor, he still watched over me.
As he tried to get his revenge, he still hugged me.
“You’re not his anymore,” I whispered into the universe. “Maybe you never were… maybe, Claire.” I sniffed. “Maybe you were just the path that led to him, to my forever.”
I swiped the tears on my cheeks and turned off the lights since I’d be spending the night with Ash. I ran down the stairs and laughed as Chase yelled at Dante for cheating, and the wives all started pouring wine.
Luc winked in my direction.
How had I gotten so lucky?
I went from lonely—to ginormous, insane, Italian family.
I was still smiling when I left the warmth of the house for the frigid chill outdoors.
I was about to call out Ash’s name since he was just standing there when I heard him say.
“Claire.”
I almost corrected him… maybe he was having a moment of—
“Hi Annie,” the voice said.
I turned.
And there her ghost stood.
I stumbled backward onto the cement, scraping my hands in an effort to catch myself.
And yet Ash just stood there like a statue.
“I, um…” Claire had lighter hair; she looked thinner, but otherwise, the same gorgeous friend.
My only friend.
“I, um, have a lot to say, but…” Her eyes went to Ash.
His jaw was clenched.
As were his fists.
“Claire?” Tears streamed down my face.
And then, selfishly, it hit me.
I let myself hope.
I let myself love him.
I let myself fall.
And the love of his life was standing right in front of him, as if resurrected, looking gorgeous, healthy.
Whole.
Her smile was sad but bright, beautiful, and I’d never felt more like an interloper, an impostor in my life.
“Ash?” I asked, maybe pleaded. I just needed him to tell me it was okay, that I just needed to calm down, to breathe, that this was all just a horrible mistake, that he knew she’d been alive and still fell for me, still loved me.
But he said nothing.