the gas and get the fuck away from that cabin as fast as I can. The farther I drive, the harder I cry.
I can’t wrap my mind around what happened.
I don’t even try to. I just think about Michael and my girls and about how much they mean to me and how my selfish actions could have put them in danger.
I’m not even sure they’re safe from Saint, but I can only hope his twisted game is over. I can only pray he won’t take it further in the future.
I scream when a shrieking sound tears me out of my thoughts.
It’s just my phone.
It’s just my phone.
I blow out a calming breath and look in the passenger seat. Michael’s name is flashing across the screen.
I grab the phone and answer it, trying to keep the tears in my voice at bay. “Hey,” I say, my voice choking between what feels like a whisper and a scream.
“You okay?” Michael asks.
“Yes. Yeah. I just—I’m not feeling well so I’m on my way home early.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll tell the girls. They’ll be happy, but I’m sorry you’re sick. Want me to make you some soup?”
Another tear spills out of my eye when he asks that. How could I have done something so terrible to a man who is so good to me?
“Yeah. Soup would be nice. I’ll be home in a couple hours.”
“Be careful.”
“Okay. I love you, Michael.”
“I love you, too.”
I hang up. When I come to a stop sign, I look behind me to check for cars. There are none, so I unlock my phone screen, pull up Saint’s contact and block his number.
I hope to hell that will be the end of him.
EPILOGUE
“FINISHED,” MICHAEL SAYS, closing the book.
We’re both on the bed. I’ve been focusing on my laptop, pretending not to care how many pages he had left, but it’s all I’ve been able to think about.
Michael used to read my books before I even turned them in to the publisher, but after the fifth or sixth one, he realized he enjoyed reading them on release day even more. The first draft and the final product are always vastly different.
“And?” I ask nervously. If there’s one thing about Michael I admire, it’s his honesty. I’ve grown to appreciate it even more since leaving Saint standing in the doorway of that cabin all those months ago.
“It was…” Michael faces me, pausing his words as he tries to come up with the right ones. “It was fucking brilliant, Megan. By far your best book yet.”
I feel that compliment all the way to my soul. “Really?”
He leans forward and closes my laptop, then puts it on the table behind him. Then he’s moving toward me on the bed. He climbs on top of me and leans onto his elbow while he uses his other hand to push hair from my face. He kisses my forehead. “I don’t know what made this one different, but it felt…I don’t know. I can’t put it into words without insulting your other books. But it felt authentic.” He kisses me. “Kinda turned me on, honestly,” he says with a grin. Michael’s lips meet the spot just below my ear. He kisses me there, then whispers, “Who is Saint?”
I can feel my heart rate as it instantly goes from a gentle thump to a threatening pound. “Who?” I ask, the word barely sliding up my throat.
He lifts his head and looks down at me. I study his eyes for signs of betrayal or anger, but there’s only curiosity in them. “You dedicated the book to someone named Saint.”
I close my eyes, having momentarily forgotten about that. It’s been six months since I turned in the book and even longer since I wrote the dedication.
I only followed through with Saint’s final request because I was afraid of what he might do if I didn’t. I didn’t want to risk making him angry. Or worse…giving him a reason to show up here. I have no idea if he knows my actual address, but based on what little I know about him, I wouldn’t put it past him.
“I don’t know who Saint is,” I say, hoping I sound convincing. “I held a contest for my readers. I chose someone at random to dedicate the book to.”
I’m squeezing my eyes shut as I spit out yet another lie to Michael. He buys it, because he laughs and says, “That’s cool. I bet it made that person’s year.”
I bet it did.
Michael’s hand moves to my breast, so I part my thighs to give him what I know he wants. Within seconds, he’s inside of me.
We have more sex now than we did before Saint came into my life. I think part of it has to do with the fact that I feel like I’ve betrayed Michael in so many ways, that making love to him is my Hail Mary. If I give Michael his favorite thing, maybe it’ll erase some of the terrible things I’ve done.
But I also make love to Michael more often now because when he’s inside me, I like to close my eyes and pretend I’m being fucked by Saint.
No matter how hard I try not to…I’m always thinking about Saint.
• • •
An hour later, Michael is next to me in bed, snoring lightly.
I’ve pulled my laptop back out and am going through all the reviews that were left today. I don’t normally do this on release day, but this book is different. I need to read every review written about it because so much of this book was written from experience. Something I’ve never had before.
I can’t help but wonder if Saint bought a copy when it hit shelves today. Has he read it yet? Would he even leave a review?
Would he leave a hint in his review so that I would know it’s him?
Just when I’m about to close my laptop and call it a night, I get an email notification. I click on it and as soon as I read the subject line, I feel that familiar heat sliding down my chest and into my stomach.
The email isn’t from Saint. It’s from the rental company I use to book the cabin. The cabin I swore I’d never return to.
The subject line reads Reservation Confirmation.
I’m confused, because I absolutely did not and would not make a reservation at that cabin again. I open the email, and it’s their standard confirmation email. The cabin has been reserved in my name for fourteen days, starting next Friday.
It’s marked as prepaid.
I’m staring at my screen in shock when another email comes through from an address I don’t recognize.
I immediately open it, but the email is short. All it says is, “Time to start writing your next book, Megan.”
THE END
ABOUT COLLEEN HOOVER
Colleen Hoover is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of over twenty novels and novellas. To read more of her work, visit her website at colleenhoover.com.