“Get her out of that too. I’m going to start putting pressure on Vincent, and I need her and the girls somewhere safe.”

“What kind of pressure?”

“Financial pressure. I mean, I won’t be doing it personally, but, um, someone with like financial expertise will be. And that, combined with the timing of Mom’s release—well, we just don’t know how he’ll react. That’s why I really need them somewhere safe. Tommy, do you remember last spring when you asked me about a role in Retribution?”

“Of course. I was a little crushed when you told me you weren’t interested.”

“I was afraid I’d embarrass you. Will you tell me about the role?”

“An old enemy has you kidnapped and I go badass to save you. I want my last Trinity movie to be my best, and I just thought if you played my daughter, it would bring my feelings out more.”

“I love you, Tommy. I don’t tell you that enough, but I couldn’t ask for a better dad.”

“You mean stepdad?”

“No, I mean dad. And I know my real dad would be okay with me saying that.”

“That means a lot to me. I’m sorry how things went down at the house. The girls were so happy to see you.”

“I shouldn’t have surprised you like that. And, don’t worry; I won’t be seeing them again. Not until this is over. So, would I need to audition for the role?”

“Hypothetically speaking?”

“Yes.”

“You’d have to audition, but only as a formality. I had it all planned out so that you could shoot it over your Christmas break.”

I don’t bother telling him I’m not going back to school. Or that the timing is perfect, because I’ll be needing the spotlight about then.

“I want to do it.”

“I wish you could.”

“I’m working with Cooper on all of this. He says I can do it, and that he’ll make sure I stay safe,” I lie. Then I add sincerely, “It’d mean a lot to me, Tommy.”

“That would be amazing.”

“So you get Mom to France, and I’ll do the movie. Deal?”

“Baby, you’ve got a deal.”

Wash away the hurt.

1pm

As I get back into the car, I get a text.

Grandma:  You’ve been asking a lot of questions about love and fate. Here’s what I believe. Fate brings people into your life, but it’s up to you to decide who gets to stay.

I shove my phone into my bag, wishing it were that easy, and head toward the plane feeling sad.

I’ll be fine once I get to the island. I’ll build sand castles, watch the water wash them away, and know I made the right decision about both Aiden and Eastbrooke.

I’m hoping the water will wash away some of the hurt, too. So that all I’m left with is anger. Anger that I’ll direct towards Vincent until I destroy his life.

I take a step onto the plane, expecting to be greeted by my flight attendant.

Instead, I see Aiden and Peyton.

WTF!?

Doesn’t that boy ever freaking listen to me?

I stand in the doorway, arms crossed in front of me, shaking my head.

Because, no.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

As if it isn’t bad enough that Aiden is on my plane, he’s fist-bumping the pilots like he owns the place.

I study him closely. His bruises are almost gone. His hair is perfectly messy. His shoulders are back and confident.

He looks more like his old self.

Damn him.

But I guess it’s better than how he looked in the chapel and at the pep rally.

I close my eyes tightly, trying to forget, but knowing that in a few moments I’m going to make him look that way again.

Peyton sees me first, gives me an awkward smile, and brushes Aiden’s arm to get his attention.

He freezes while the pilots and attendant introduce themselves and then get to work.

Then he uses those damn tractor beams to hold my gaze as he walks across the plane. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

He grabs the crook of my elbow, causing me to jump, as he leads me to the back of the plane.

I’m pretty sure his touch was like a defibrillator, sending 360 joules of electricity straight to my heart.

Making it beat for him again.

Damn my traitorous heart.

Be strong, Keatyn. It doesn’t matter what your heart feels.

You have to use your head.

He thinks this is the big gesture.

And it is.

It so is.

I so want to jump into his arms.

Tell him I’m sorry.

Kiss every inch of his face.

But I can’t.

I squirm out of his hold but still end up trapped against the back wall. His tall, muscular chest is totally invading my personal space just like it did the first time I met him.

“You know you can’t come with me.”

He doesn’t respond.

Well, he does respond, but his response is to grab both my arms and pull me into a kiss.

A hard, possessive kiss.

A cotton-candy-has-filled-my-brain kiss.

I do everything in my power to remain stiff.

But I can’t.

Probably because of his godly love potion trickery.

And why the hell does he have to smell so good?

He pulls away, so I shake my head and start to speak.

But he stops me again with his lips.

After giving me another long kiss, he backs away slightly and cocks an eyebrow at me.

“You know you can’t—” I try to say.

Kiss.

“Stop th—”

Another kiss.

“I’m going to keep kissing you until you stop talking,” he tells me.

“But I—”

Kiss.

Ohmigawd, he is so frustrating.

“Aiden, but we already—”

His lips land hard on mine. Again.

And with every kiss, my resolve is weakening.

He stops kissing me and looks into my eyes.

I bite my lower lip to keep from saying anything else, while shaking my head, closing my eyes, and wishing I could close my ears.

Because I don’t want to hear what he has to say.

It was hard enough to hear it once. To end it once.

His face is way too close to mine. I can feel the stubble on his cheek. His breath on my neck.

His finger touching my lip.

“Does this mean you’re ready to listen?”

I shake my head no.

Because I can’t listen. I can’t hear it. It’s why I couldn’t listen to his messages or read his texts. I’m not strong enough.

He kisses my neck, causing my eyes to open in surprise. Then he bores those green eyes straight into my soul.

And his soul tells me the same thing it always does. That we should be together forever.

He breaks eye contact, holds his hands up, and says, “Boots, I give up.”

“Then why are you here?”

He kisses me again.

This time with his tongue. That love-potion-infused tongue that always renders me incapable of speech.

He should’ve just used it the first time.

“You were right. It wasn’t all about you. I jumped into relationships last year. I did things with girls I didn’t have feelings for. I wanted to do things differently with you. And I know you loved the Keats guy. It was unfair of me to judge your relationship when I know nothing about it.”

“But I can’t—”

He kisses me again then says sternly, “I’m not finished yet.” Then his voice softens. “Boots, I don’t care about my past, or yours.”

I study his face carefully, wishing it could be true. “Do you mean that?”

He gives me a teeny smirk. “Why, were you bad in the past?”

“Um, no,” I say, carefully choosing my words. “I was just kind of a different person.”

He cups my face in his hand, gazes into my eyes, and says sincerely, “I only care about your future. Our future.”

“But sometimes people's pasts come back and ruin their futures.”

“Not ours.” He holds his palm up and says, “Don’t move.” Then he picks up a heavy shopping bag from one of the seats. “I got you something.”

I watch as he reveals a large Mason jar.

I squint my eyes at it. “What's in there?”