Dominic and I don’t speak much as he follows me to the Bronco. The space between us is crowded, thick with too many words, the absence of words, the electricity before a lightning strike.

He settles in the passenger seat without asking. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world for us to be here, now. Like it hasn’t been months since I’ve seen his face, like an ocean of pain hasn’t drifted between us, secrets kept and confessions unmade. So close, so far away, he watches me as I put the car in gear and head back to New York.

A thousand times, I open my mouth and close it, lightning on my tongue seeking air. I want our world to crack with it.

I want to understand.

Eventually, what comes out is, “How do those men stand working for your brother?”

His gaze shifts from the passing scenery. Not to my face but to the dash, where there’s a smorgasbord of jam-band stickers. Most are faded with age and peeling—Phish, Grateful Dead, Rolling Stones…

“I’d like to think it’s partly out of loyalty to me,” he says at length, “but more likely it’s because being personal security to my brother pays extremely well.”

His voice. His voice. It thickens the air in my lungs, drips down my spine, and finally curls, feline-like, around my heart.

The truth hits me—he’s here. Safe. Alive. And I’m never letting him out of my sight again.

“Eyes on the road, kitten.” Humor. Darkness.

“Dominic.”

My whisper is need and longing wrapped in half-healed grief.

“I know. I’d touch you if I didn’t think you’d crash the car.”

I sniffle-laugh, my fingers twitching on the wheel. “Still the arrogant ass I know and love.”

I expect laughter, or a quip, or anything besides the silence that greets me. When I glance across at him, he’s staring out the window. Furrowed brow. Tight lips.

Seconds from freaking out, I remember Liam’s words: He’s stuck on the idea he failed you.

The storm of fear and uncertainty passes. He’s here, and he’s mine. I’ll help him get past whatever’s holding him back. Just like he saved me, I’ll save him.

“Want to meet my parents?” I ask lightly.

Silence reigns for another few moments, but I can sense his barriers shifting, melting.

“I’d love to,” he says.

No words would have prepared Dominic for the full impact of my family, so I didn’t bother with any. I merely led him onto the porch, waited for the front door to swing open, and stood back, grinning, as he was engulfed in a three-way Limerick sandwich. Paris, at least, had the manners to hug him briefly. My parents didn’t let him go for a good five minutes, and then only to drag him to the living room.

An hour later, we’re finally left alone. The coffee table is littered with random appetizers and drinks no one touched but that Paris kept bringing out like clockwork every fifteen minutes. Dominic hasn’t moved from his position in the center of the couch. He looks a bit shell-shocked and… lighter.

“Want to go for a walk?”

He jumps to his feet. “Fresh air sounds great.”

I chuckle, leading him into the foyer for our discarded coats. “Told you they were a riot.”

Dominic smiles in agreement, eyes sparkling. Without asking, I reach up and pull a thick beanie onto his head. His lips part in surprise, gaze scanning my features. Like he finally sees me. Finally believes this is real.

“You’re okay.” His voice cracks.

Eyes stinging with tears, I trace his jaw with my fingertips. “Fine, thanks to you.”

He swallows, the spark in his eyes dimming, barriers going up. I tap the end of his nose, then wrap one of my dad’s scarves around his neck. He watches me unmoving. Barely breathing. So beautiful. So afraid.

It’s hard, but I don’t smile.

“Come on.”

I grab his hand and tug him outside. The late afternoon sky is a washed-out denim, the air frigid. A line of clouds sits to the north.

“Supposed to snow later tonight,” I remark as we head down the front walk to the street.

“Is that right?” Teasing tone.

“Yep. Might be snowed-in tomorrow.”

“Hmm.”

“How’s the club doing?”

“No clue.”

“When are you heading back to L.A.?”

His fingers twitch in mine. “That depends.”

Glancing at him, I bite my lip on another smile. “On what?”

Dominic tugs me to a stop. His eyes—hesitant, conflicted—scan my face.

“London, I... Fuck. I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s okay.” I step forward, nestling my head beneath his chin. When he doesn’t move, I grab his arms and pull them around me. “Hug, please.”

A pained laugh warms the top of my head. “There’s something you need to know, but I’m terrified it will change everything. That you won’t want to be with me anymore.”

“Do you have a secret family?”

“What? No.”

“Another submissive?”

He growls. “Kitten—”

“Then we’re good.” I lift my head, finding his eyes. “I’ll start. I’m still mad at you for that stunt at the club, mainly because I thought they’d killed you.”

“I shouldn’t have left you,” he rasps. “Once again, I made the wrong call—”

I grab his coat and give him a shake. “Oh, shut up, Dominic. You’re human. You did what you thought was right. And you made it right in the end.”

“I killed Shultz.” The words come fast, breathy.

Careful to convey only acceptance, I nod. “I know.”

“I wanted to kill them all.”

My heavy exhale fogs the air between us. “I know. It’s okay. Thank you, Dominic. Thank you for ridding the world of that evil man.”

Finally… finally… his hands cup my face. They’re warm—searing against my cold cheeks.

“Do you mean that?”

“One hundred percent.”

“What you went through”—he swallows hard—“I want you to know I’m here, and I’ll listen if you want to talk about it. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

I think of the body buried outside that shit-hole motel. Of the broken dolls in that warehouse outside Santa Fe, and the women who tended to me before the auction. And I think of the three young women whose lives ended because they dared to tell the truth.

I’m going to tell their story.

My story.

And I don’t give a shit if there’s an award at the end of it.

I look up at Dominic. “I love you, and I’m going to tell you everything. But right now, I’m only going to say I missed you more than you’ll ever know, and I’m dying for you to kiss me.”

Tears well in his eyes. “I love you, London.”

I grin. “I know. Now kiss me. Sir.”

He does.