Zeth is in bed with me. Zeth’s in bed with me, and he’s fast asleep.

He did it. He got into bed with me, after all this time, of his own volition. I carefully turn over so I’m facing him, my nose pressing up against his collarbone, and I take a cautious breath in.

He smells incredible—a mixture of shower gel and something manly and distinct, something that doesn’t smell like anything else on this planet. It’s just Zeth’s smell, and I love it. My head’s pounding—I’ll have the hangover from hell by the time the sun comes up, but right now I’m at that in-between stage where I can still feel the alcohol powering around my body, but I’m stone-cold sober.

Zeth’s arms tighten around me. At first I think it’s a subconscious action carried out in sleep, but then I feel the press of his lips against my forehead and I know he’s awake.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay,” he tells me, his voice thick with sleep. “Come here.” He places a hand on my hip and inches me closer somehow, even though we are already skin on skin.

“You…okay?” I ask carefully. I don’t want to make a big deal out of him being here. But it is a big deal. It means a lot to me, and this, how he’s being with me, is definitely a big deal, too.

“I’m okay,” he whispers. There’s so much feeling behind those words. I know Zeth’s not just talking about the fact he’s here in this bed with me. He’s talking about Lacey. It’s going to take a long, long time for any of us to get over her death, but for right now Zeth’s letting me know he’s holding his shit together. That might not necessarily be a good thing. It might be better for him to break for a little while, but I can’t be the person to tell him that. He’ll break or he won’t break, and either way I’ll be here to help him. He moves slowly, sleepily, bringing his fingers up to touch my cheek. The action is soft. Gentle. Unexpected.

“Sloane…we’re free,” he whispers.

“Are we? Julio—”

“Julio’s been dealt with.”

“Michael said that. But how?”

“I don’t know the details yet. But Rebel said he was long gone.”

“As in dead?”

I can just about make out the outline of Zeth’s faint smile in the darkness. “I really don’t know. But long gone is good enough for me right now.” He continues to trace his fingers over my face, the pads of each fingertip tenderly exploring the lines of my nose, my cheekbones, my chin. “And you don’t need to worry about Lowell anymore, either. I took care of it,” he says.

“Took care of it? Like took care of her?”

“No.” Zeth chuckles quietly, the sound a low rumble in his chest. “I promise you, Sloane, there’ll be no more taking care of anyone. Not ever again. I made a deal with Lowell. I exchanged information in return for those get-out-of-jail-free cards she teased us with.”

I pull back so I can look him square in the eyes. Is he being serious? Though it’s tough to see much in the dark, I can make out the intense look in his eyes. The tight pull of his lips. He is. He’s being one hundred percent serious. “Oh my god. What happened?”

Zeth tells me about turning himself in to Lowell. About the seven hours of incessant questioning while Lowell tried to trip him up. About handing over information Rebel wanted Lowell to have in exchange for three sheets of A4 paper—one for me, one for Zeth, one for Michael—each clearing us of any criminal charges that may or may not have been brought against us.

“And so…that’s it. No more Charlie. No more Julio. No more Lowell.”

No more Lacey. I don’t say that, though. Instead, I ask, “No more nightmares?”

Zeth sighs, burying his nose into my neck. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“But none just now?”

“None just now,” he confirms.

“So…you want to go back to sleep?” I don’t want to go back to sleep. I want to do something else, and I think Zeth might just be on board. Even though I’m fully dressed, it hasn’t escaped me that he’s naked. And I can feel him growing harder, his erection digging into my stomach as he holds me close.

Zeth doesn’t say anything in response. He just looks down at me, those dark eyes considering me in a way I’m not entirely used to. I’m used to the dangerous spark in his eyes. It’s still there, but…I feel like the divide that was keeping us apart is now gone. It makes me catch my breath.

Zeth leans down and kisses me, and his mouth is gentle and soft. A low, bass sound rumbles in the back of his throat. His lips feel incredible on mine—demanding and slow, yet firm. He works his hands into my hair, and then brings them down to carefully cup my face. Everything about the moment is different. He’s not normally like this. Normally, I feel like I’m being swept along in an unstoppable tide, being pulled under and rolled by a force much greater than myself. Being with him has always reminded me of the only time I tried to surf when I was on vacation in California as a teenager. The instructor gave me some valuable advice that worked remarkably well: If you’re pulled under a wave, don’t fight it. You’ll never win. The ocean’s a hell of a lot stronger than you. It’s wild. All you have to do is hold your breath. Relax. Go with the wave, and eventually you’ll rise to the surface.

Zeth has always felt like that wave to me, wild and unstoppable, and that’s part of what’s thrilled me about being with him. But right now, it feels like we’re an equal force and we cancel each other out. As much as I love the freedom of letting go, of letting someone else have control over me, this is the most connected I’ve ever felt with him, and nothing can compete with that. Nothing in the world.