His nervousness was troubling. “Okay.”

With tense fingers, she pulled the rubber band off the book while Carter opened the small bedroom window and sparked a cigarette. Kat placed the rubber band on the bed and opened the front cover.

What she saw made her blink in astonishment and suck in a quick breath of shock.

Her head snapped up to Carter who shrugged apologetically. Stuck untidily on the first yellowing page was an article reporting the death of one Senator Daniel Lane. There was a black-and-white picture of him and Kat’s mother taken on the day of his election. He was so happy and so handsome. Eva looked beautiful, too. She smiled a smile that Kat hadn’t seen in a long time. Kat’s heart clenched with yearning for the mother who’d told her daughter she could be anything she wanted.

Kat’s eyes skimmed the article, knowing what she would find, the details she would read. Words jumped out at her in the flashlight beam: “horrifying,” “distraught,” “brain hemorrhage,” “police shot two suspects.” She swallowed hard and let her fingertips slide over her daddy’s face.

Gingerly, making sure she didn’t damage the paper, Kat turned the page. There were more articles detailing the funeral, the foundation set up in her father’s honor, and the events Eva had attended in Daniel’s memory. In each grainy picture of her mother, Kat noticed how she aged. The beauty and radiance so noticeable in the first picture had all but disappeared.

Her eyes pricked with tears. As they moved over the article, she realized that every time her own name appeared, it was either underlined or circled. It was the same on all the articles, including the first.

Silently she continued through the book, glancing at the articles he’d collected. She stopped when she came to a page covered in spidery handwriting. The first date was a month after Kat’s father had died.

I dreamed of her again. Every time I close my eyes, she’s there. She haunts me and I don’t know why. Ever since that night, she’s been inside my brain. I wish I could scoop her out like Gran used to do with the chocolate ice cream out of the freezer, but then … I think maybe I would miss her.

Two weeks later:

I smelled her today. I was with Max and we walked past a fruit stall. Peaches. Sweet peaches. Her hair smelled of peaches. I bought some. Max called me a freak. I think he’s right.

Two days later:

I am crazy. I know I am. I saw her. I know I did. But it’s impossible.

Christmas:

Dad and I argued. He called me ungrateful. I called him a prick. He found my smokes. I lay on my bed and closed my eyes and I saw her and smelled her hair again. Fucking crazy, right? It calmed me down. I think that if I helped her that night then maybe she wouldn’t mind that I use her this way. Maybe she wouldn’t care. Maybe she doesn’t even remember me.

Kat continued to read. The passages were small, no more than five lines each, but gargantuan in their significance. The hand that covered her open, disbelieving mouth became wet with tears. At the same time, the bed moved with Carter’s weight. He wrapped his arms around his knees. He was uncharacteristically still at her side.

New Year:

I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano,

A stage where every man must play a part,

And mine a sad one.

February:

In Belmont is a lady richly left,

And she is fair, fairer than that word,

Of wondrous virtues.

“Carter,” Kat choked, reading the words from The Merchant of Venice.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have— I just wanted you to understand.”

“What did you want me to understand?”

She needed him to explain. Reading his deepest thoughts was almost too much.

He took the book from her hand, thumbing through it, smiling wryly at some of his words and closing his eyes at others.

“That night,” he started quietly. “The night we met. That night was the longest, most terrifying night of my life.” He smiled. “But I wouldn’t change it, not for a fucking thing.” He touched the diary almost reverently. “I started this when I was eleven years old. Sixteen years ago.” His voice seemed far away to Kat’s ears.

His eyes flickered to her hair. “Kat, your smell was— It was like it took over my brain. I couldn’t think about anything else. It calmed me when I was ready to murder my father, and even when I was at Arthur Kill, I would go back to that night and think about you. Those were the nights I slept the soundest.”

He put the book to his side and clasped her hands. “I don’t want to freak you out with this shit, I really don’t, but hearing you say those words and not being able to say them back …” He shook his head. “I hoped this would help you see.” He gazed at her. “Do you understand, Kat? Do you understand what you are to me?”

Emotion stopped the answer from leaving her mouth.

“Today, when I introduced you to Petey,” he continued with a crooked smile, “I didn’t have a fucking clue what to say to him. I went through a dozen labels, including ‘my girlfriend,’ but that just … doesn’t seem big enough.” His face creased to show his distaste for the word. “And I couldn’t say ‘my Peaches’ because that shit is mine alone.”

Yes. She was his completely.

“Kat,” he whispered, pulling her closer. Their foreheads touched and Carter closed his eyes.

“I don’t know what will happen when we get back to the city. I have no clue. But I do know that I want no one else but you. I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me. I want more nights like this one, and I want to be able to walk down the street holding your hand knowing that, for once in my life, every other fucker envies me and what I have.”

Kat clutched his hoodie in her hands.

Carter pulled her into his arms and whispered into her neck, “You’re everything to me, Peaches. You always have been. Always. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had in my life.” He kissed her. “You’re my everything.”

28

Leaving the beach house was hard for Kat. So much had happened in the two days they’d stayed there. She’d clung to Carter at the side of her car, never wanting to be away from him again, but knowing that real life waited for both of them.

The drive back to the city was long and uneventful, except for the moment that Carter flew past Kat’s car on Kala like a bat out of hell, weaving through traffic like a lunatic. She wasn’t sure he even noticed her, but Lord if he didn’t look like sex incarnate riding the damned thing.

After texting Carter to tell him she was home safely, she prepared herself for an unexciting evening of unpacking her suitcase. He’d promised to stop over later, which, even after a whole weekend together, still caused excited butterflies to swarm inside of her. Fred smiled as Kat approached the front desk, her suitcase clattering at her heels across the marble floor.

“Good evening, Miss Lane,” he chimed. “How are you?”

“I’d be better if you’d call me Kat,” she admonished with a playful flash of her eyes.

“Apologies. Kat.”

“My friend Mr. Carter will be here later. Will you send him straight up?”

Fred picked up a pen and made a note. “Is he the tall gentleman with the … tattoos?”

Kat smirked. “Yes, that would be him, but he’s really not as scary as he looks.”

Fred raised his eyebrows. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Kat laughed. “Good evening, Fred.”

“Good evening, Kat,” Fred replied with a tip of his hat.

She turned back from the desk, heading to the elevators. As her hand lifted to press the elevator call button, a figure moved behind her, catching her attention. As realization struck, Kat spun around with a surge of anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she spat.