Not soft.Not tentative.
Passionate.Desperate.Like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into the press of his mouth against mine.
I kissed him back just as hard, my hands gripping his jacket like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to me.
For a split second, panic flared.
I had just gotten him.
Just figured out what we were.
I didn’t think I could handle it if he didn’t come back.
He must have felt it because he broke the kiss and cupped my face, his thumbs brushing under my eyes.
“Hey,” he said firmly.“Look at me.”
I did.
“I’m coming back,” he said.“To you.”
My throat tightened.“Come home to me, Ender.”
His mouth curved into that soft, sure smile that always undid me.“Always,” he promised.
He kissed me one last time.Slower this time, lingering, and then stood.
I watched him grab his keys.
Watched him walk to the door.
Watched him pause, just for a second, like it cost him something to leave.
Then he was gone.
And all I could do was sit on the bed, wrap my arms around myself, and pray that promises meant something tonight.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ender
The motel was a fucking dump.
Two stories.Beige paint that had given up a decade ago.Rust bleeding down the railings like the building itself was tired of holding itself together.The kind of place where the neon VACANCY sign always flickered, and the parking lot lights were just bright enough to make everything look worse.
A line of doors faced the lot, each one with a cheap number plaque and a deadbolt that probably hadn’t stopped a determined person in its whole life.The second-floor walkway ran along the front like a balcony of misery, with metal stairs on the side that clanged when you put weight on them.
There were a handful of cars scattered around, most of them looking like they’d been driven hard and loved by no one.A couple trucks.A dusty SUV.A minivan that looked like it had seen the inside of a fast-food bag more times than it had seen a vacuum.
And then there it was.
The blue four-door.
My bike idled low beneath me, the vibration crawling up through my thighs, through my spine, like it could shake the rage loose if I let it.Cole’s bike sat to my right.Wrecker’s to my left.Pipe behind us on his bike, and Junior in the black van.
I watched the motel office door open.
Cole walked out, his shoulders squared, and his expression set in that way it got when he’d already decided what was about to happen and nothing was going to stop it.He didn’t rush.He didn’t need to.