I get back on the highway and head toward Santa Monica, but I take a detour into Brentwood and the house we lived in when I was a kid. This was where I started my hobby of photographing houses, because I couldn’t believe that a house with such a perfect exterior held such horrible secrets. It was nothing but a facade, and I wondered if the rest of the houses I saw around the city were as well.

The house Jackson will build in the Palisades won’t be, though. There will be love—and honesty. And I think that’s what’s most important.

I think about waking up there with Jackson beside me. About Ronnie rushing in and bouncing on the bed. About sitting on a long balcony and sipping coffee in the morning and wine in the evening and watching the ocean that is spread out to infinity.

I think about a little girl and a puppy and the man that I love.

I want that. Oh, god, how I want it.

I’m still scared, but I’ll learn what to do. I won’t be like my mom who checks out when it gets tough. Or my dad who waits decades to try to remedy a mistake or to protect a child.

It won’t be easy. I’ll stumble.

But with Jackson to catch me it will be okay.

Jackson.

Suddenly, I can’t wait even one more second to see him, and I turn the car around and head the opposite direction, back downtown to the Tower apartment.

Traffic is a mess, and every moment is like torture. But I finally careen into my parking place and race to the penthouse. I burst into the foyer and call for him, for Ronnie, for Stella.

But there is only silence that greets me. And in that moment I am certain that I destroyed everything. That I convinced him that I wasn’t worth the risk. That my stumbling efforts would come between him and his daughter.

That it was best for Ronnie not to have me in their lives.

Oh, god, what the hell have I done?

I look blankly around the apartment, not understanding where everyone could be. I call his phone, but there is no answer, and I feel even more lost. Even more lonely.

In the back of my mind, I know that an empty apartment does not mean all those things. But I’m so tired. And I fought so hard to break away that I am having a difficult time believing that now that I’ve seen my mistake, things will turn out okay. In my experience, it’s usually the opposite.

Right now, I tell myself not to think about it. I tell myself it’s time to just sleep.

Going home, I don’t even bother to get in the left lane. I drive slowly, like a drunk who shouldn’t even be on the road but is trying desperately to focus. I sleepwalk up the stairs to my apartment. All I want to do is crawl into bed. Tomorrow, I will try again. And if Jackson is still gone I will go to Cass and get another tattoo, because this is a pain that I must both fight and remember.

My apartment is dark when I get in, and I curse myself for not leaving a light on the way that I usually do. I kick off my shoes, then stumble through the dark toward my bedroom, stripping off my T-shirt and bra as I go, then tossing my jeans over the back of the couch before I finish crossing the short distance to my bedroom doorway.

I’m still there when I hear his voice. Just one word—just my name—but it means everything.

“Sylvia.”

I stop in the doorway, entirely naked, and though I have never felt vulnerable in front of Jackson, I do right now. My eyes adjust to the light, and I see him get off the bed and come to me. He stands just inches from me, and suddenly I am very aware of my breathing. Of every hair on my body. Of his proximity. And, yes, of my need.

I lick my lips. “I looked for you at the apartment.”

“Funny,” he says, his voice gentle. “I looked for you here.”

He moves a few feet to the left to the chair that sits next to the door. My robe is there, and he picks it up and then hands it to me. And that simple gesture, so seemingly polite, terrifies me.

My breath hitches, and I make a little gasping sound. I hold the robe clutched to my body, but I don’t put it on. “Jackson—I—I’m sorry.” I try to read the expression on his face, but I can’t. “Did I ruin everything by walking away? I don’t want to lose you or Ronnie because I was afraid.”

“Was? You’re not afraid anymore?”

I look down. “No,” I say. “I still am. But it’s a fear of what-ifs, and I don’t want to live like that. I’m still terrified of screwing up, but I’d rather risk screwing up with you than not even try.” I lift my head and meet his eyes. “I love you, Jackson, and I’m so scared that I’ve lost you.”

I see the break in his expression. The glow of tenderness and relief. And when he steps closer to me, I can’t help but notice the way his jeans are tight over the bulge of his erection.

“Don’t you know you can never lose me?” He reaches out and strokes my cheek. “Do you think I don’t understand fear? Being a parent—hell, being in love—it’s about making scary choices. But choosing you—choosing us? That one’s not scary at all.”

My heart twists with emotion at his words, and I can’t wait any more. I need his touch to match his words. I need to know that we’re truly back, that the world has righted itself.

I drop my robe and without warning, I pull him tight against me, claiming him with my mouth, pressing my breasts hard against him.

I slide my hands down and cup the firm curve of his ass, pulling him toward me until I can feel him beneath the denim. He groans, the sound full of need, and it rolls through me, battering my senses. I’m naked, my skin on fire, and there’s no denying the reaction of my body as his pelvis crushes against mine.

One of his hands is on my hips, and I reach for it, stepping back enough so that I can slide our joined hands between my thighs. I’m wet and slippery.

“I’m yours,” I say huskily, my words stuttering as a small, unexpected orgasm sends electric sparks fluttering through me. “And you’re mine.”

“Hell, yes I am.”

He holds my gaze long enough for me to see passion and promise. And, yes, understanding. Then he draws his hand away, the sensation making me melt a little more. He licks his fingers clean and my cunt clenches in response to that simple, erotic action.

He takes a single step backward and pulls his T-shirt over his head. Then he reaches for his jeans.

“No,” I say, then go to him. I unbutton his jeans and ease them over his hips, taking his briefs with them. His cock hardens as I do, and I bite back a satisfied smile.

I slide down his body until I’m on my knees, and his cock is stiff and magnificent in front of me. I tilt my head back to look at him. I meet his eyes, and I can tell he knows exactly what this is. It’s more than desire and need. It’s my apology, my submission, my promise.

I tease him first, licking the length of his shaft and teasing the crown. But I want more than that. I want to get him off. I want to give him that moment when everything disappears and he is reduced to sweet sensation. I want to wash away the pain I caused.

I cup his balls with one hand and take his cock into my mouth, and the taste of him, so very male, so very Jackson, slices through me, making my nipples hard and my own body demand attention. But I keep my focus on Jackson. On the way he’s thrust one arm out for balance. On the low moans he is making as passion builds.

And—oh yes—on the way he holds my head and guides me as he gets closer and closer and then finally explodes in my mouth.

He is holding me in place, and I have no choice but to swallow. And after I do, I stand up and kiss him, sharing the taste of him as he slides his hand between my legs to stroke my slick cunt. “Your turn now.”

I squeal as he scoops me up, then lays me on the bed. Then slowly, he strokes his hands over me, his touch driving me wild because there is no part of me to which he doesn’t minister. I squirm and writhe under his attention, my skin sensitive, my body needy. He doesn’t relent. Not until every tiny nerve ending is tied to my core, and when he thrusts inside me—when he strokes my clit and sends me reeling—it is like the sun is rising inside me, illuminating my entire body, turning me brighter and brighter until I can’t contain it any longer and I explode into golden rays of sunshine.