Page 111 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)

She’s not going to get hurt.

“That’s no fun,” I respond. “Your subconscious skipped the best part.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“The orgasm. Dream-me should’ve taken care of you before you woke up.”

“I’ll make sure to pass along the message to the dream-you,” she says.

I nod. “Thank you.”

We’re coming up on the exit for Stone Ridge. I flick on the blinker and pass a car, then slide over. In a matter of moments, we’re off the highway and slipping through the streets of our hometown.

It was a weird adjustment to go from Rose Hill to Stone Ridge. It was only by a stroke of luck—and my contribution to the football and lacrosse teams—that they gave me a scholarship once our family lost most of our money. It wasn’t a slow fall from grace, either. We jumped out of a plane and free fell without parachutes.

Still, we traded our nice home for a small, cozy one. Snobby neighbors for the Buckleys. That in itself made it okay in my eyes.

“Ready?” I ask her.

She laughs and shakes her head. “Not at all. Will you come in with me?”

“Sure. Someone’s got to make sure your mom hasn’t put a lock on the outside of your door.”

She flinches, and I pause. I hit a nerve?

“You okay?”

“No, that was…” She tilts her head. “I don’t know.”

I reach over and take her hand. “It’s all right. Whatever you’re feeling.”

She nods and squeezes my fingers. “Thank you.”

If her memories come back, we can deal with it. I lost her once—forced away by her mother. It took me too damn long to realize that was the biggest mistake of my life.

And I will not let anyone come between us again.

30

Sky

Liam parks the yellow car off to the side of his driveway, leaving room for his parents’ cars. We made good time, and I’d guess they’re both at work. He grabs my bag, and we cross the sloping lawn to my house.

Up the porch steps.

I have the urge to knock, so I do, banging twice before opening the door.

“Mom?” I call.

It’s only been a few months, but it feels like a decade away. Whitney and I moved into the apartment at the beginning of September, on one of the busiest days of the year for Boston traffic. Since then, there hasn’t been a reason to go home.

“You guys made great time,” Mom says, hurrying around the corner. “How fast did he—ah, Liam. How fast did you drive?”

He smiles. “Fast enough to beat the traffic.”

She nods once and ushers us in. We follow her to the back of the house, toward the kitchen.

“I’m surprised you decided to come back. What happened?”