I speed through a red traffic light and turn into Mullholland drive. I’ve not been here since she left. I park the car outside her mother’s house and get out, my heart thudding so hard I can hear it. Betty Crankshaw is turning out of her gate.

She stops and nods at me.

“Mrs. Crankshaw,” I greet with a nod.

“That girl is as skinny as a rake, Cole,” she mutters, tutting disapprovingly.

She obviously wants to stand there and talk to me, but I make a gesture with my hand to indicate that I’m in a hurry, and hurry past her. I stride up to the door and ring the bell. It goes unanswered for such a long time and I’m about to ring it again when she opens the door.

The moment I see her face I regret ever letting her go. My heart aches with need. God, how stupid I was. What a fucking kid I must have been to let her go.

And for what?

Look at her.

She’s not happy.

She used to glow with happiness. I should have chained her to me instead of letting her go to carve her name in lights. It was a mistake. I have to make her fall back in love with me again.

Her full lips part. “Cole,” she breathes, and for a second it is as if no time has passed. The other kids are singing Cole and Taylor K-i-s-s-i-n-g in the Tree to us. She’s my girl and I’ve come around to take her to the movies. I stare at her mouth. I’m dying for a taste. She used to taste of honey.

Then the past disappears like smoke, and her eyes become hard. “What do you want, Finley?”

“You,” the word flies out of my mouth.

Something flashes in her eyes. “You’re a bastard, you know?”

“I should never have let you go, Taylor.”

“Get out of my house,” she growls, her eyes stormy.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“What? she sneers. “Has alcohol addled your brain? Because we were finished eight years ago.”

Inwardly, I wince at the jibe, but I look her straight in the eye. “We’re not finished until I say so.”

She moves suddenly to slam the door, but I put my palm out, completely arresting its movement.

“Do I need to call the police?” she huffs.

“All I want to do is talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Her voice is bitter.

“Then it’ll be a very short conversation, won’t it?”

For a few seconds our gazes clash, then she sighs, an oddly defeated sound, and moves away from the door.

“Say what you need to say and get out,” she throws over her shoulder as she leads the way into her mother’s sitting room.

I go into the house and close the door.

“Talk,” she says, turning to face me and folding her arms in front of her stiff body.

“Did you achieve everything you wanted? Was it worth it?”

“Yes,” she snarls, her voice trembling defiantly.

I start walking towards her.

Her eyes fill with panic, and she takes an instinctive step backwards. “I’m glad I grabbed the opportunity when it presented itself and left this god-forsaken town.”

I stare down at her glittering eyes. “No regrets?”

“None.” The word is smooth and hard, penetrating like a bullet.

I look at her face and know I cannot go another day, hour, or minute without making her mine. “Well, I have. I should have done it differently. I want you, Taylor. I’ve been wanting you for the last eight years. I’ve waited all this time, but no more. I won’t be denied for another second. I’m going to have you right now.”

Her eyes widen. She shakes her head. “No,” she gasps, but I notice she doesn’t move away. I move in for the kill. Wrapping my hands around her too thin body, I let my mouth descend down on hers, crushing, hungry, fierce.

She whimpers with the force of my kiss.

I lean in and lift her up into my arms. Her hands go around my neck. Her round eyes stare up at me, helpless, vulnerable … mine. I lift her into my arms. Fuck, it’s like picking up a child. Doesn’t she ever eat anything in LA?

I carry her up those old stairs. We are not in our twenties. We are teenagers again. Her stepmother has gone to play bridge and I have slipped in through the window. She has abandoned the bowl of ice cream she was eating. I am taking her upstairs again.

She burrows her face in my chest, but I can feel her trembling like a frightened bird in my arms. I hear her shallow breaths. The stairs creak under our weight. I kick the door open to her old room. Her stepmother has kept it almost exactly how it was when she was living there.

I lay her on the single bed and look down at her. The bedspread is covered in blue roses. A long time ago I made her mine on this bed.

She is about to find out nothing has changed. She belongs to me and only me.