Fuck, that hurt. That hurt like hell.
But I thought it was over. I thought Zephyr would finally disappear, become a distant memory, and Melody would never have to know we were one and the same.
Or, more importantly, that I’ve known that fact since the night in her backyard, when I fucked her against her shed instead of telling her the truth—the whole reason I went over there in the first place.
Coward.
But I knew she would see me differently once she knew, everything would change, and I couldn’t lose that.
Holding my breath, I wince when another message comes through.
Goddammit, Melody… message me. Respond to me.
Magnolia: What does the number stand for in your screen name?
My mind stutters.
Why is she asking me this now?
After all these months. After all this silence.
Magnolia: Is it your birth year? Your address? Maybe it’s your favorite number?
I clench my jaw as her messages continue to ambush me.
Magnolia: Your jersey number in high school? The amount of coins in your change jar? Your ideal temperature outside?
My grip tightens on the phone case as one more question pops up.
I blanch.
Magnolia: Is it the number of scars on your body?
What. The. Fuck.
My brain starts spinning, going into overdrive, but it doesn’t take long for me to remember. To realize my slip-up.
“Seventy-nine scars, Melody. I’m a fucking monster.”
Shit, shit, shit.
It’s over.
She knows I’ve deceived her.
Only a minute passes by before she messages me again, only this time, there are no words.
It’s a Google Meet link.
A fucking video chat.
Blowing out a hard breath, I drop my head against the back of the couch, my heart nearly detonating inside my chest. My skin hums with dissolution. My insides churn with loss.
But I’m done playing this game, so I click the damn link, then fiddle with the settings, trying to figure out the camera feature. Melody’s camera remains off. I stare at a black screen, wanting nothing more than to get this over with. She already knows; she just wants to see it for herself.
My camera flickers on.
Fuck.
I sit idle on my couch, holding my phone out while my guilty expression stares back at me from the phone screen. I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.
All I do is wait.
I wait for her inevitable scorn, her furious disbelief.
Her anger. Her betrayal.
But all I get is a knock on my front door.
What?
I spare a final, knowing look to the camera before standing from the sofa and making the short trek to the door.
Melody stands on my front stoop, clutching her own phone in a trembling fist, her eyes pooled with tears, her mouth parted, lips quivering along with her hands. She sucks in a sharp breath, like she’s seeing me for the very first time.
But she’s not.
She’s seeing him. Her husband.
I swallow, staring at her through gritted teeth and balled-up fists. Closing out the video on my phone, I shove it into my pocket and step backwards, allowing her entry. Melody moves in with slow, purposeful steps, her eyes locked on mine, circling around me. It’s almost as if we’re predator and prey, but I’m not sure who the predator is. Who will pounce, and who will flee.
Melody paces toward me until we’re toe-to-toe, misty-eyed and flushed.
I can’t read her—I can’t fucking read her.
Is she pissed? She should be.
Is she hurt? Probably.
But her eyes shimmer with something akin to wonder, enchantment, and that feels so much fucking worse. My limbs go taut as anxiety grips me. “Jesus, Melody, say something.”
She opens her mouth to speak, and a little gasp breaks through. She’s tongue-tied.
Fuck.
“Damn it, listen to me—”
Melody’s mouth silences my words, cutting them off with her eager tongue. Her kiss is punishing, desperate, merciless, one hand fisted in my hair, while the other…
The other goes straight to my chest. My heart.
She pulls back for a breath, her tears spilling out, glistening her cheekbones, and she whispers two words before crashing her lips into mine once more. “My Zephyr…”
—THIRTY-TWO—
It’s him.
I know I should be outraged, indignant, boiling mad—and I was.
I was.
Until I saw him.
Parker discovered who I was during that fateful video call, and instead of unveiling his true identity, he came to my house and had sex with me. He allowed me to believe that his alter ego had found me unappealing when he could have tempered my insecurities with the truth.
I had every intention of battering him with my bruised heart, assaulting him with the tears of my betrayal, but then his eyes locked on mine, and all I felt was…
Relief.
It’s him.
Parker is Zephyr.
Parker has Charlie’s beating heart inside his chest, functioning and strong.
Alive.
And the moment he opened his front door, I understood—I knew why he couldn’t tell me. He said to me once that he didn’t feel worthy, that his heart was a burden.
He was ashamed.
He felt like his scars and dark past made him an unfit candidate for such a precious thing.
“My Zephyr…” I breathe against his lips before stealing another violent kiss. I’m starved and achy. I need him. “I should have known it was you.”
Parker envelops me in a fierce embrace, dragging his lips from my mouth to my neck, then whispering in my ear, “I’m sorry. Let me expl—”
“No… I understand.” Clasping his face between my palms, I redirect him to my mouth, melting when our tongues collide. My right hand lowers back to his chest, relishing in the sweet vibrations of his heartbeats. Of their heartbeats. “Make love to me.”
He groans. “Melody…”
“Please, Parker. I need you,” I shamelessly beg.
It all makes sense now.
God, it makes sense.
This draw. This tether. This unexplained connection.
Parker hesitates, resting his forehead to mine and inhaling a deep, shaky breath. His eyes close tight, his brows pinching together with conflict. He wants to talk, explain. He wants to fix this first.
Except… nothing is broken.
All of the pieces finally fit.
I step back, biting my lip as I reach down for the hem of my sundress, lifting my arms and pulling it up over my head. The sunny fabric falls from my fingertips, landing in a delicate pile beside my feet. Slipping out of my sandals, I take one more pace backwards, then raise my chin, finding Parker’s eyes.
His green gaze rakes over me in a slow pull, drinking in my curves and lace. There’s a look of anguish etched into his expression, fighting with the lust, and I know he feels guilty, I know we should probably talk first… but my body is singing for him, and my heart is hungry.
My hand extends, palm outstretched, much like the time I beckoned for him in his bedroom. The night he froze.
Don’t freeze, Parker… melt with me.
He glances at my hand, blinking slowly, then meets my heavy stare from a few feet away. There’s another silent moment of hesitation before surrender washes over him, claiming him in a mighty grip, and his eyes flash with potent resignation.