“This doesn’t sound good.”

“I know. Just hear me out, please?”

“Okaayyy.” I sit up in bed and pull Lance’s T-shirt over my knees. I’ve been sleeping in it the entire time he’s been gone. It smells like his aftershave and him, and a little like sex.

“So, I need you to avoid all your social media accounts until I’m back in Chicago.”

I can hear his fingers tapping on something. Maybe the phone. “That’s a very specific, suspect request, Lance.”

“I know, I know. And I can explain, but I need to be there with you to do it.”

I try to keep my voice even. “What’s on my social media that I shouldn’t see?”

Another heavy breath, a pained sound, and repetitive thumping follow. Long seconds pass before he speaks again, this time in a whisper. “Someone sent you a picture, and I don’t want you to see it—not without me there so I can explain.”

“Is this a joke? Like last time when you showed up at my work all freaked out? Because if it is, it’s not a very good one.”

“I wish it was a joke, but it’s not.”

The lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow. “This sounds really bad, Lance.”

“I know it does, and I know not explaining right now is probably making it way fucking worse, but I really need this from you. I’m getting on a plane soon. I’ll be home in a few hours. Can you please, please just give me until I’m with you?”

“Were you with someone else?”

“No, no. Absolutely not, Poppy. I fucking promise. No.”

My heart seems to dislodge from my throat a bit. “Then I don’t understand what’s so dire about this situation that I need to avoid all my social media.”

“You remember the dick on Miller’s forehead, and how nothing really happened but it looked like something happened?”

My heart is right back up in my throat again. “Yes.”

“It’s kinda like that.”

“I see.”

“So I’d really appreciate it if you could wait for me. So I can explain before you decide you never want to see me again, ’cause I don’t wanna be that guy who sits outside your house waiting until you come home so I can talk to you.”

“You’re making it seem bad again.”

“Shit. Sorry. I’m not trying to. I just need a chance to explain before you make any kind of decision.”

He makes it sound so final, like whatever I’m going to see will end this. Us.

“You do realize how much more this makes me want to look, right?”

“I get that, but I’m banking on you being the good, rule-abiding girl you usually are and waiting for me. Will you do that? Wait for me?”

I think about the conversation we had before he left and how so many people in his life seem to have abandoned him when he needed them most.

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Promise?”

I sigh. “Promise.”

“Thank you, precious. I gotta get on the plane. I’ll see you soon.”

And then he’s gone, and I’m left staring at my phone, wondering exactly what could’ve happened to make him react like that. I can look right now and find out. But Lance is right about me—I’m a rule follower. I made a promise, and I won’t break it.

I’m so glad I have back-to-back appointments all day. Otherwise I would crack and check all my social media feeds, like I promised I wouldn’t. Lunch was a challenge.

I haven’t said anything to April, partly because I haven’t had more than four seconds alone with her, and also because she is not a rule follower and will persuade me to check. The anxiety is killing me. I feel like I’ve had a thousand cups of coffee when I’ve only had two.

I’m in the middle of changing the sheets when the door to my room bursts open, and Lance comes barreling in. He slams the door shut. His eyes are wide, his jaw is tight, and his hair is a burned field in a windstorm. He looks incredible, and like his anxiety rivals mine.

He crosses the room in two long strides and takes my face in his hands.

“Just in case,” he mutters, then crushes his mouth to mine.

He smells like plane and faintly of aftershave. I try to protest, because seriously, what the hell is going on—but his tongue slips in and stops any words. He groans, despondent and low as his hand slides around to cup the back of my head. The other finds my waist, pulling me tight against him.

It feels so, so good. Five days of brief conversations and heated messages, five days of waiting for him to come home, and here he is. But there’s weight in his return, and bad things are coming. I can feel it in his desperation.

I put my hands on his chest and push. He makes a tormented sound, and his tongue sweeps my mouth once, twice more before he pulls away. But he doesn’t let me go. He searches my face and caresses my cheek with gentle fingers.

“You didn’t look.”

“I said I wouldn’t.”

“I was still worried. How much longer are you here? Can I wait? Can I take you home when you’re done?”

“I have my car here, and I still have three more appointments.” I push on his chest again until he finally lets me go.

“So you’re here until, like, five?” He rakes a hand through his hair.

“About that, yes.”

“I guess I should’ve asked that when I had you on the phone earlier, aye? Can I still wait?”