“You wouldn’t be able to say goodbye,” he says. “Not to your friends, not to your family. We’d have to make a clean break. No note, no blog post, nothing.”
My heart begins to hammer as I realize he’s agreeing to my crazy, desperate idea. It seemed crazy even to me, but what choice do we have? I won’t let anything happen to Devlin, and I sure as hell won’t be the reason he’s hurt. I won’t let my family keep us apart.
“I know,” I say, raising my chin. “I don’t belong to the Dolce family anymore. If it was as easy as Royal disowning me, and they’d all go along with it, maybe we could stay. But they won’t let me go, Devlin. This is our chance to start over as ourselves. No pressure from my family or yours. We’ll leave the burden of our names and just be us, where no one knows us as anything else.”
Devlin works his jaw back and forth for a second. Then he nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask, my heart doing a little flip. “Really?”
“If that’s what it takes for us to be together, that’s what we’ll do. I took some money out of the trust already. I just need to go get it. And we’ll need to buy a car with cash. It won’t be anything like this one. Nothing flashy. We’ll have to change who we are.”
“Oh… Devlin…” My heart sinks when I think of what he’s giving up. His beautiful new car. Football. Graduation. College. His family. “I can’t ask you to do that,” I whisper, my throat thick with tears. “Your family isn’t like mine.”
“I think my dad will understand,” he says. “Even if they don’t know I’m alive, they’d be happy if they did. They’d be happy I was safe with you. You’re all I need, Crystal.”
“There’s something I have to do first,” I say, knowing I should fight harder but also knowing I won’t change his mind. And selfishly, I don’t want to. I don’t want to lose him. If his family has to lose him for him to be safe, then that’s what has to happen.
“Anything you need to do,” Devlin says. “Let me help you.”
I nod, my throat aching with the hard truth stuck in it. “I have to send a letter,” I say. “I have to tell the truth about Royal. You were right, Devlin. It wasn’t your dad. It was mine.”
Devlin nods, his eyes so kind it makes my heart ache. He knew. He’s not surprised. His grandfather did something horrible to Royal, but so did my father. I sit up, and I compose an email on my phone. It takes a while, but I give every detail I can think of while Devlin looks up contact information for his dad’s lawyer, the judge, and the newspaper.
When I’m done, my thumb hovers over the send button. Maybe it won’t do any good. But maybe it will. I only know it’s the last email Crystal Dolce will ever send.
After hitting send, I sit there with my heart racing, feeling like the worst traitor in the world. I sold out my family. I turned on the Dolces. I’m a snitch. I know what happens to snitches in the “candy” business.
“Okay,” I whisper, my hands shaking as I set down my phone and reach for Devlin’s comforting grip. “It’s done. There’s no going back now.”
Devlin takes my face between his hands and kisses me gently. “Then let’s do this. Let me prove I can be there for you, Crystal. I’ll take care of you.”
I nod, gripping his strong arms with shaking fingers. “You and me,” I say. “’Til death.”
Devlin strokes my hair back and kisses my forehead. “You’re all I need. Just this. Just us. You and me.”
Suddenly, I know I can’t do this. Not yet. Not like this.
I pull away from Devlin and lean back against the seat, close my eyes, and take a deep, shaky breath. “Devlin,” I whisper. “It’s not just you and me.”
“I know.” His voice is low but firm, but my heart lurches at his words. His hand finds mine under the blanket and squeezes.
I turn to look at his face, searching his gaze for signs that he’s talking about what I am, signs that he’s as desperate and terrified as I am. But he looks calm, as steady as his body feels next to mine.
“You do?” I whisper.
He slips his fingers from mine and slides his hand over my hip, letting it come to rest gently on my flat stomach. “Is this what you’re trying to tell me?”
“How did you know?” I ask, dizzy with nerves. I want to hold onto him, to make him carry the weight of this terrifying, wonderful secret with me. But I don’t want him to feel what I’ve been feeling the last month. I don’t want him to feel trapped. I don’t want to feel him pull away, to see the terror in his eyes. Somehow, I’ve convinced myself it will hurt less to watch him go if I let him do it, if I don’t hold on or beg him to stay no matter how much I want to.
“Well,” he says, smiling a little, his hand still resting on my belly. “I’m no expert, but it’s been almost two months since that day I tasted you in the shower, and I think most girls have a period every month.”
My cheeks warm at the memory, but I force myself not to drop his gaze. “How long have you known?”
“Not that long,” he says. “When you told me about the coffee, I started counting backwards. We’ve been together enough since then that I probably would have noticed if you were bleeding.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was waiting for you to tell me when you were ready,” he says. “Or to tell me you were on some kind of birth control where you don’t have them.”