I don’t sleep all night. I’m wide awake, almost like I don’t need to rest. But my nervous energy doesn’t feel good—I’m so anxious I could bounce off the hotel walls. I have to see my mother sometime soon. With the business portion of my trip now over, and the money going into my account, I have no reason to delay. The very idea of showing up on her doorstep makes me break into a cold sweat.

When Dylan wakes up, I’m sitting next to him, watching the TV on mute.

“What are you doing?” He sits up and gives me a kiss.

“Just hanging out.”

He runs his thumb over my cheek. “You look tired.”

“Really?” I don’t want to tell him I couldn’t sleep. “Maybe because it’s morning.”

He kisses me again. “Check your bank account. The money should be there.”

He gets up to use the bathroom. While he’s gone, I throw on some clothes and run to the mirror to look at myself. I do look exhausted. I pinch my cheeks to try to redden them. My makeup is in the bathroom, unfortunately.

So I do what he said. I check my account, and sure enough, another twelve thousand, five hundred dollars was deposited. My finances have never looked so robust. I’ve got twenty-five grand sitting in my checking account, and all I need to do is get up the nerve to face the mother I haven’t seen since I was four years old.

Dylan comes out of the bathroom and glances over at the dresser.

“You made another sculpture?” He points at the second towel-covered blob, the one I made of him. The first towel is still covering my huge hunk of unused clay.

“Uh-huh.”

“Can I see it?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe someday?”

“Maybe someday,” I agree.

He looks at me more closely, but I change the subject. “Thank you so much for the quick deposit, by the way. You have no idea how much this helps me out.”

He assesses my expression, looking like he wants to ask for details. But he doesn’t.

“All set for Tubac then?” he asks me.

“Yeah, sure.” If I can stay awake, it should be a great trip.

“I’ll drive if you want,” he offers.

“Okay,” I say casually, trying to hide how grateful I am.

I pack up my stuff and call for the bellhop. I’m giving up my own room to stay with Dylan tonight. I push away my nerves as the dolly arrives, and we pile my bag and clay onto it.

Everything will be fine. It’s just one night. I’m not committing to him for life or anything. If things turn sour, we’ll be saying goodbye tomorrow, anyway.

“Are you sore today?” Dylan asks as we pull out of the parking lot.

“What?” I practically shout. I’m not used to having men talk to me so openly about intimate matters.

“Are you sore? You know, it was a lot, last night. Not that I’m complaining.” He grins at me.

I am sore. But my embarrassment outweighs it.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Really.”

“I’m a little sore,” he admits.

“Oh, God.”

“But it’s a good sore. I haven’t had sex that good in, well…ever.” He looks over at me and his lip quirks up. “My body’s in a little bit of shock.”

I laugh even though my face is hot. “You’re a weird one, Dylan Wild.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“Um.” I pretend to think about it. “I guess…good.”

“That’s okay then.” He smiles at me and accelerates on the gas pedal. “Tubac, here we come. Get ready, Jasalie Gordon. I like a fast ride.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

When we reach Tubac, Dylan pulls into one of the little parking areas outside the cluster of stores.

“This is awesome,” I say as we start walking down the block.

Everywhere I look has art. Cool art. Incredible art. And I want to see all of it.

I grab Dylan’s hand and halt in front of a storefront. “This place looks amazing.”

“Let’s go inside,” he says.

When we walk into the store, I lose myself immediately in the hundreds of sculptures packed on the shelves.

“What do you think of this?”

I jump as Dylan speaks to me. I’d almost forgotten he was here.

I look at what he’s holding. It’s a sculpture of a couple—a man and a woman—holding hands. The clay is a dark gray with the only color being the red paint on their lips.

“I love it.” I do. It’s sensual without being over the top.

“Me too. I’m going to buy it.”

“Um.” I guess this is what it’s like to be a multi-millionaire—no concern for the price tag whatsoever. “Okay.” I laugh.

A long time later, Dylan comes up to me again. “I’m going to head outside and take a look around those stores.” He points across the street. “Let’s meet on the bench over there when you’re done.”

“Are you sure?” I’ve never been with someone who didn’t find my insatiable appetite for looking at sculptures incredibly irritating.

“Of course.” He gives me a quick kiss. “Have fun.”

“Thanks.” I watch him walk out the door. His butt is so cute. And the way he walks. And…

“That your boyfriend?” Another female customer asks me.

“Um…” I’m not sure being together for one night in bed constitutes boyfriend material, but I don’t know what else to say, so I answer with a quick, “Yes.”

“Wow! That’s Dylan Wild right?” she asks me.

I give a brief nod.

“Amazing. You—and him—I’d never imagine that. You sure got lucky, huh?” She looks me up and down quickly before turning away.

Huh. I glare at her and consider saying something back but decide it’s not worth it. I start to walk away, but I feel my temper awakening.

And while I don’t care what one random woman thinks of me, I do care about the point she so clearly made. So I turn around and march back to her.

“For your information,” I say as I reach her. “He’s lucky, too.”

She looks up at me and laughs. “Oh, okay, honey. You might be pretty and all—I mean I’d love to have your body—but you’re not exactly Dylan Wild worthy.” She pats my arm and turns away again, this time collapsing into giggles with her friend.

I make sure to hold my head high as I walk away from her, but I feel deflated. Like everyone but me can see that this fairy tale I’ve been living is about to end. It’s just a matter of time.

I meet up with Dylan a little while later, and the rest of our time in Tubac goes smoothly. We hold hands as we stroll through town, and he patiently waits while I run into shop after shop to look at something I spotted in the window. I don’t buy anything because I feel like no work of art can quantify what an amazing time I’m having with this man. I’m falling so hard for Dylan, and I don’t want today to end.

“So,” Dylan says after we’ve stopped into a Mexican restaurant for lunch. “I got you a little something today.”

I stare at him from across the booth as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. A jewelry box. It’s one of those boxes I’ve never been given before but always dreamed of receiving someday. From a boyfriend. A lover. Someone who loved me.

He holds the box out in his open palm. “Will you open it?”

My hand shakes as I reach out and take it from him.

“Oh, my gosh.”

Inside is a necklace—a silver chain with a little house dangling from it.

“So you’ll always have a home,” Dylan says.

I cover my mouth with my hand. “Dylan. How did you…”

He doesn’t know I’ve always been a foster kid. I was the kid in school who wasn’t sure where she’d be spending Christmas that year. I was the girl who didn’t care about fashion because she was more worried about having a bed to sleep in.

This necklace is the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received. Not because it’s expensive or fancy. I love it because it fits me perfectly.

“I thought of you right away.” Dylan touches the house. “I don’t know much about jewelry, but this seemed perfect for you.”

A tear slips down my cheek. Right as the server arrives with our food.

“Give us a minute, please?” Dylan asks her.

She leaves without a word, taking the food with her.

“Jasalie?” He leans down to try to see my face, which I’ve got pretty well buried in my hair. “What’s going on?”

I look up at him. “I love it, Dylan. I just...you gave me this, and it’s perfect. I can’t explain…”

What this means to me. Because it means everything.

He eyes me steadily. “Do you want to say more?”

I shake my head. “Later. But not like this. Let’s eat and enjoy ourselves. Thank you so much for the gift. Will you put this on for me?” I hold up the necklace as I stand and go sit down next to him on his side of the booth.

“Of course.”

When he finishes closing the clasp, I finger the house around my neck. “What do you think?”

“I think it fits.” He kisses my neck. “It fits you.”

I’m still grinning at him when the waitress returns with our dishes. I slip back into my seat across from Dylan so I can see his face while we eat, and we both dig into our burritos.

We chat about harmless topics for the better part of our meal. He tells me more about football and what it’s like to be a professional athlete, and I fill him in more on my career dreams.

“You’re so talented,” I say to him, “but more than that, I think you’re really brave for putting yourself out to the world like you do. I think I’d self-destruct.”

He searches my face. “Do you think you’re going to put your sculptures out into the world?”

“I have a lot of work to do before I can start that. Like the whole business side of it, plus I have to finish the figures I want to sell. I have tons of stuff to do.”

“I can help you,” he says.

I tense. “In the next twenty-four hours?”

He takes a deep breath. “No. Not that fast. We’d need more time.”

“From the hotel?”

“No. Not from the hotel.” His gaze turns so intense I nearly squirm. “I want to tell you something.”

“Okay. Tell me.”

I reach for my glass of water, and have just taken a sip when Dylan says—

“Is it okay to be falling in love with someone you know you’re supposed to break up with in a day?”

I choke so badly on the water that Dylan has to get up and pat me on the back.

Love.

That’s a word I’ve never heard uttered in my direction. It’s not an emotion I’m comfortable with or accustomed to. And it’s not something I know what to do with.

After about ten seconds, I hold up my hand to let him know I’m fine.

“Wrong thing to say?” he asks as he sits back down.

I give him a shaky smile.

“Just a wild guess.” He fixes his eyes on mine like he’s afraid if he looks away for a second he’ll miss something, some clue to let him in on how to solve the mystery of Jasalie Gordon. “Look, I know we’ve done this all wrong. And I’m not even sure where we go from here, but I mean what I said. I love you, Jasalie.”

He says the words so easily, and I believe he means them. To hear someone tell me they love me—my heart melts.

Dylan covers my hand with his. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you or scare you off.”

“That’s not it, Dylan. I’m just really new at all of this. At relationship stuff.”

He leans back but keeps his gaze on me. “I am, too.”

I blink. “So what do we do?”

“We figure it out. Somehow.”

I like the sounds of that. “Okay.”

A woman passes by our table. “Annabella!” she calls out loudly as she heads for the table directly behind us.

Dylan flinches.

“Are you all right?” I reach across the table and take his hand. “What’s wrong?”

He turns around to look at the woman who’s already seated with another lady I assume is Annabella.

When he faces me again, his expression is tight. “I need to talk to you about something,” he says. “After we finish up here, maybe we can go back to the hotel?”

“Okay.” I squeeze his hand. “Sure.”

When we return to the hotel, Dylan sits down on the bed and pats the empty spot next to him. “I never wanted to retell this story,” he says. “To anyone.”

I sit cross-legged and face him. “I know that feeling.”

He nods, already looking lost in his own thoughts. “Five years ago, when I was new to L.A. and to the Cougars, I started dating a woman. Her name was Annabella.”

I widen my eyes. “Was that woman back at the restaurant…”

He’s already shaking his head. “Not the same woman. But I haven’t heard the name since, so it startled me.”

He takes a deep breath. “We dated for a few months, and we were exclusive, but we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere long-term. We weren’t in love, and I knew our relationship would eventually run its course, but we were friends. We were both new to L.A., and we were both lonely, and I enjoyed her company. Except she hated—and I mean hated—my job.”

I furrow my brow. “She didn’t like sports?”

“No, she didn’t, but it was what came with my job that she really despised. The cameras, the fans, the attention—it made her really uncomfortable. She was fine with any planned photos, but when we were taken by surprise, she always hated the way she looked in those pictures. And she didn’t like reading about herself in any interviews I did. I didn’t know better yet to avoid talking about my personal life.”

I nod as I remember how he refused to discuss anything about his private life with that reporter.

“She really hated social media trolls, though, and how cruel they could be. I tried to shield her from all of it as best I could, but as you’ve already seen, some of it is unavoidable.”

“Of course.”

“She begged me to quit.”

“What?!” I shake my head. “How could she possibly ask something like that of you?”

“Like I said, she didn’t want that part of me, the part of me that comes with a public face and public obligations. Of course, I told her quitting wasn’t an option for me; I was only twenty-three years old, and it was my first year in the league. I was still building my career. She said she wanted to keep dating anyway. I tried to end things with her then, but she begged me not to give up so soon. So I agreed to try a little longer. I shouldn’t have agreed, but I did.”

His expression turns so dark it looks like a thundercloud settled in over his head.

“Dylan?” A feeling of dread hits my stomach. “What happened then?”

“I had an away game. In Arizona, actually. Up in Phoenix. The game didn’t go well, and we lost badly. Social media started talking shit about how maybe if I weren’t in a relationship I would throw more touchdowns. The usual crap, but it was a direct shot at the woman I was dating. When I came home, a squad car was waiting for me at the airport. The cops wanted to make sure they told me first before I learned about it some other way…”

He locks eyes with me when he says, “Annabella had tried to commit suicide.”

“Oh, God. Oh, Dylan…” I reach for him, but he holds up his hand like he has to finish the story. “She didn’t succeed, thank God. A friend found her at her apartment in time. I’ll always thank the Lord for that blessing. Because she’s a good person, Annabella. She was sick, though, and nobody knew. She’d been on medication before for depression, but the doctors learned after her attempt that she’s bipolar, and the meds she was on weren’t hitting the right buttons to help her.”

“How awful. Is she…” I trail off, afraid to continue the question.

“She’s alive,” Dylan confirms, his dark eyes filled with a thousand different emotions, all of them pain. “The one good thing I did was I was able to cover it up with the press. It never got out that she was mentally ill, and she was able to leave L.A. quietly and go home to Iowa to heal in peace. And she’s healthier now. I check in with her mom now and again. I haven’t seen or spoken to Annabella in years. Her family agreed that was what was best for her.”

My heart breaks for him. He actually thinks it’s his fault.

“What happened is not because of you or your career, Dylan,” I say firmly. “You know that right?”

He shrugs. “Colt’s tried to tell me a million times. I just think that if my job hadn’t been so overwhelming, it might not have pushed her to do something so drastic. Or if I’d ended things with her sooner, before the gossip really got to her…”

“No,” I say as I reach over and lace his fingers with mine. “She was sick. She needed help. And yes, people, especially online assholes who can hide behind a computer screen, can be incredibly callous and cold-hearted. Brutal, really. I get it. I do, but none of that is your fault. She could have dated anybody in the public eye and been faced with the same scrutiny. And to try to take her…” I inhale. “She must have been in a great deal of pain, a pain that you couldn’t have saved her from.”

He runs his thumb over the top of my hand. “I didn’t want to ruin our time here. I wasn’t going to tell you. But…”

I lean closer to him. “But what?”

“I trust you.” He brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “You’re the only person I’ve told simply because I wanted to. And I guess I felt like I needed to because…”

“You wanted to warn me.”

My words hit their mark.

“Yes.” Dylan’s voice is so low I have to strain to hear it. “Because I’m not sure I can let you go tomorrow. And I want you to know what you’re getting into if we decide to continue our relationship.”

My heart’s in my throat. “Dylan. It’s okay. Let’s just enjoy tonight together.”

The idea of taking our relationship past Arizona overwhelms me, but not because of what Dylan just shared with me. It’s because a big reason why I’ve allowed myself to get close to him is that I was counting on an end point. If I know when it’s ending, then I can’t get hurt.

But right now, all I want to do is try to make him hurt a little bit less.

I walk over to my covered sculptures. “Hey, I want to show you something,” I say as I bring the sculpture over to the bed. “You want to see?”

Dylan’s eyes brighten. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Sure. Go ahead and take a look.” I know he won’t recognize himself, but I still want to share with him how much he means to me. “It’s not fired, obviously, or painted. I have to wait until I get back to L.A. to do all of that.”

I inhale quickly as his hand reaches for the cover.

“It’s rough,” I say quickly. “Very rough.”

He nods seriously, then carefully removes the paper towel layers until he can see the sculpture.

I hover over him nervously. For several long moments, he doesn’t say anything. He just sits on the bed and looks at the sculpture.

“Well?” I finally say. “You hate it?”

He reaches out and touches it with one finger. “I love it. It’s amazing.” He looks up at me as I stand next to him. “Who is this?”

“Um…” My face goes nuclear. “No one?”

“Is that a question or a statement?” he asks me. “Seriously, it’s someone right?”

“Yes. It’s someone.”

“Well, who is it? It’s not like I know your life—I’m just curious.”

“Dylan.”

I sink down onto the bed, curl up my legs, and cross my arms over them. He leans forward to see my face.

“Shit,” he says in a tone of absolute shock.

Good Lord. I’ve freaked him out. I’ve totally and completely freaked him out. He’s going to burst out the door any second, and all I’ll see is his carved-out shape in the broken wood.

This is so much worse than telling him I love him. Because he already told me that, so the L-word must not freak him out as much as this clearly has. Maybe he thinks I’m some sort of stalker type who sculpts her victims first. Maybe he thinks I’m head over heels obsessed with him. He wouldn’t be all wrong there.

Oh, no. What possessed me to show him this sculpture?