HE HAD ONLY BEEN with one woman.
André’s woman.
And André had come to help rescue me.
I felt insignificant and immature and, frankly, undeserving. I couldn’t begin to decipher the dynamics of these men’s complicated relationship. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. All I knew? Everything else in my life felt inconsequential.
Losing my job. Saying goodbye to Ethan. My anger toward Phoebe. What Mom or Ted would think of Callan and me together—none of it mattered anymore.
A string of incredibly improbable circumstances had brought me to this very moment.
A gas station god had brought me to this moment.
And I didn’t want to run from it. Not anymore.
As if sensing the fundamental change in my mind, Callan held his hand out, palm up, by my leg.
I threaded my fingers through his.
For the first time in forever, I felt like I belonged somewhere.
Speeding down a two-lane Mexican highway, sandwiched between two Mexican Federal Police trucks, time stopped and I just held his hand. He no longer felt like the stepbrother I never knew. He was the man who’d come for me. The man who’d killed for me.
There were countless reasons why killing was wrong, but I couldn’t find any remorse. That man had taken children to sell as sex slaves. I was glad he was dead. I wanted to believe I would’ve pulled the trigger myself given the opportunity. But I realized I didn’t have to think about that. Not ever.
Callan had taken that burden off my shoulders.
I glanced up, and as if he knew I would be seeking the comfort of his intense, unwavering stare, his gaze was waiting for me. His eyes softened, his hand squeezed mine and he exhaled. Without words, he said so much.
I felt him more in my heart with every passing mile.
Leaning against his shoulder, I stared out at the barren landscape, and I did something I hadn’t done since I was kid. I just sat in the moment. I didn’t think about what was going to come next. I wasn’t stressing over exams and medical books I didn’t understand. I wasn’t planning my life to be perfect so that I would never need anyone or anything.
I just sat.
For four hours, with the exception of two times when he let go of me to ready his rifle when André warned of vehicles in the distance, Callan held my hand. It wasn’t perfect, because life was too unforgiving to be perfect, but it was our perfect.
When we got close to the border crossing, André followed the federale in front of us to a lane marked as closed.
The officer in the passenger seat got out and came to André’s window. “Pasaportes.”
André handed over our passports and asked the man something in Spanish.
Without answering, the officer walked over to a border patrol agent and showed him our passports.
“That’s gonna cost us.” Talon eyed the officer then tipped his chin at André. “Fifty bucks says he comes back with a problem.”
“Mierda,” André muttered. “You hear that?”
“Yeah.” Talon watched the officer and the border patrol guy argue, then sighed. “Here we go.” He glanced back at Callan. “You’re up, Cult Boy. Play nice.”
The officer and border patrol agent walked up to the vehicle.
The border patrol agent put his hand on his gun and stood two feet back from André’s open window. “Callan Anders, step out of the vehicle.”
I grabbed Callan’s hand with both of mine. “What’s going on?”
He dislodged my grip and discreetly put his rifle at his feet. “It will be fine.” He got out of the SUV.
The border patrol stepped back another foot when he saw Callan’s height. “This passport was issued yesterday.”
Callan didn’t hesitate. “That is correct.”
“It is not possible to receive a passport on date of issue except for emergency situations,” the border patrol agent said in broken English. “What was your emergency in Mexico?”
“My stepsister was injured.”
I cringed at hearing him say stepsister after holding his hand for four hours.
“Where?” the border patrol agent demanded.
“On a ship. She fell.”
The border patrol agent’s eyes narrowed. “They have doctores on those cruise ships.”
“They do.” Callan did not correct his incorrect assumption about it being a cruise ship. “She still preferred to disembark and come home.”
The border patrol agent looked in the open door.
I angled slightly so he could see my bandaged knees and feet.
The border patrol agent looked from my legs to the passport, then back to Callan. He wordlessly handed the passport back to Callan.
Callan got back in the SUV, André shook the policeman’s hand, slipping him more money, then we pulled through the border crossing.
The second the back tires left Mexico, Talon exhaled, stretching his arms above his head. “I fuckin’ love Texas.”
“Where are we going now?” I blurted, suddenly realizing I could be in this dress and SUV for days.
“Airport,” André clipped, looking at his watch.
Oh God. “I can’t fly commercial looking like this.”
Talon looked over his shoulder. “Private jet, darlin’. It even has a shower.” He winked. “We gotcha covered.”