And then he's on the floor next to me. Pulling me into his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and he presses his face to my hair. And I cry.

I cry for myself and I cry for him. For us, and for everything we could have had. Ward can't seem to hold me close enough. Normally, if we were naked and wrapped around each other like this, we'd be tearing into each other, desperate for s.e.xual release. Right now... there's nothing erotic about this, but at the same time I've never felt so intimate with him. We're both bare in every sense of the word.

I want to tell him about the possibility of the baby. I don't want to keep anything from him right now. But I know it would be one shocker too many on a day like this. I won't put him through that.

Ward sucks in a shuddering breath. I squeeze him, and he gives a low groan and tightens his grip again.

"We'll be okay," he murmurs. "We'll be okay."

We'll be okay. We have to be okay. I settle my face in the place where his neck meets his shoulder and repeat those words to myself until I fall asleep.

CHAPTER TEN.

"I'm thinking of going to the funeral," he says the following morning.

We're sitting on the bed, munching on tiny boxes of cereal-a.k.a. the motel's "complimentary breakfast"-and pretending to pay attention to the morning show flashing on the television. Those are the first words either of us have said in the last hour.

Everything feels so strange between us now. Something has shifted between us, opened up-but while part of me welcomes this new sense of vulnerability, there's an awkwardness between us that wasn't there before. We've both stripped ourselves bare, and now we don't seem to know what to do.

I grab some cereal with my fingers and shove it into my mouth. I haven't even thought about Carolson's funeral, but it doesn't surprise me that Ward wants to go.

"I have to figure out where it is and how I'll get there," he says. "But I shouldn't be gone more than a couple of-"

"If you're going, I'm going," I tell him.

He blinks at me, looking shocked. Does he really believe that I'd leave him to deal with this on his own?

"You don't need to come," he says. "I know how you feel about Carolson. f.u.c.k, I'm not even sure I want to go. I mean, I don't owe him anything. I hardly knew the guy." He lets out a heavy breath. "I just feel like I should, you know?"

"All the more reason for me to be there."

He shakes his head. "And what do you think they'll do to you when you show up there?"

I hadn't thought about it, and I don't want to. I'm not going to change my mind.

"What do you think they'll do to you?" I ask.

He rubs the side of his face. "I don't know. But frankly, I don't give a f.u.c.k. If they kick me out, then they kick me out." He leans across the bed and takes my hand. "But we know they want you arrested. I don't want to watch them cart you off in a police car just because you were trying to do me a favor."

"It's not a favor. I'm not letting you do this on your own."

He turns those piercing blue eyes on me, stunning the breath right from my chest, but I refuse to flinch. I want him to know I'm serious.

"Maybe... we could sneak you in," he says begrudgingly. "I don't know how, but we'll figure something out."

"And you're just going to walk in the front door?"

"s.h.i.t, I don't know." He leans back against the headboard and presses his hands against his eyes. "I don't want to cause a f.u.c.king scene. But I'm his son. I have every right to f.u.c.king be there."

I touch his leg. "You do."

He drops his hands and looks at me. "I'm not sure the rest of the family will see it that way." He gives a bitter laugh. "I've never crashed a funeral before."

"Well, it seems like a pretty fitting end for this... for whatever this was." I'm trying to make a joke, but it falls flat.

Ward pulls me toward him, drawing me into his lap. He cups my face.

"I'm supposed to be taking you away from all this s.h.i.t," he says softly. "Not leading you back to these people. Carolson might have been my father, but he's nothing compared to you."

"It's not a choice," I whisper in return. "It's not me or him."

"No," he says, his eyes burning with a heat that I feel all the way through me. "It's not a choice."

I lean forward and press my forehead against his.

"I need to go, though," he says. "My mom would've wanted it."

I kiss him, and some of the tension leaves my body. Maybe things changed between us last night, but we're still the same people. And neither of us seems willing to let the other go.

It's not until an hour later-when I'm in the shower-that what I've agreed to do really sinks in. And with it comes the truth I've been suppressing.

I don't want to go to the funeral.

I want to be there for him, of course. More than anything. But I haven't been to a funeral since my father's. And the more I think about it, the less I think I'm ready. I'm not sure I have the strength to do this. Not yet. Not for Edward Carolson.

I sit down in the tub and draw my legs up to my chest. The shower stream hits me in the back as I press my face against my knees.

I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this.

But I will, because Ward needs me.

The funeral is all the way out in Los Angeles.

We find out by going to the library and poking around on some news websites on the public computers. A couple of articles mention the name of the church and share that the memorial service will be held two days from now. They mention that the service will be open only to family and invited guests.

Ward shrugs when he sees that part.

"It's not like we usually follow the rules or anything," he says. "Why start now? Besides, I am family, and you're my invited guest." I don't miss the slight tinge of bitterness in his tone when he says family.

"Why Los Angeles?" I ask. "I thought he lived in Chicago."

"He grew up in California," Ward says. "Maybe there's a family plot there or something." When he sees me looking at him, he adds, "When I found out about him, I did some research. I wanted to know who he was."

Los Angeles is a problem. We can't drive to Los Angeles in two days.

We spend the next half hour shopping online for airline tickets, and my stomach sinks lower and lower with every click of the mouse. Last minute flights aren't cheap, and we're already low on money.

After a while, Ward sits back with a sigh. He runs his hand through his hair.

"I'm going to have to sell my car," he says. "It's not worth much, but I think I can get us enough for a couple of tickets."

"I still have my credit card," I remind him. Not that I have any idea how much credit I have left. I've been unable-not to mention too terrified-to look at my balance.

He takes me by the shoulders and swivels me to face him. "I don't want you blowing everything you have on this."

"First of all," I tell him, looking him dead in the eye, "I'm not 'blowing everything I have.' It's a credit card."

"Well, I don't want you going into debt over this."

"I'm already in debt. Another thousand or two won't make a difference."

"Lou-"

"Secondly, I want to do this. For you."

His eyes fall closed, and I can tell he's struggling with the idea.

"This isn't how this is supposed to work," he says. "I'm supposed to be helping you. Not bleeding you of everything you have. How am I supposed to protect you when I don't have any money? I won't even be able to afford food for us after another couple of days. After everything Carolson's done, after everything he's put you through, I won't let you do this."

"It's just money."

His eyes open. "It's not just money."

"Then what is it? Pride? I'm not one of those girls who expects the guy to pay for everything. Heck, if anyone should be paying for all of this, it's me. I'm the reason we're out here in the first place. If it weren't for me, you'd still have whatever you had before I dragged you into this crazy whirlwind of mine. Not to mention a job. I owe you this."

He looks at me for a long time. I stare right back. But I meant what I said-I'm the reason he's here right now. And I'm not about to back down on this.

"Besides," I tell him, "it's pretty unlikely we can sell your car in the next hour. So that's not even really an option."

He sits back. The only sign of his resignation is a small nod, but it's enough. I dive back into my search for a flight.

Ten minutes later, I've purchased a pair of tickets for later this evening. I hold my breath as the site verifies my payment information. Please let it go through...

And by some miracle, it does.

Two hours later, we're at the airport. We leave his car in one of the airport parking lots. I have no idea how we're going to afford to pay the fee, but that's a problem for when we return. If we return.

We move through the check-in and security lines pretty quickly. I guess that's the upside to not having any luggage or belongings. But as we get closer to the gate, the anxiety starts to set in.

Airports should be a place of excitement. They're the gateway to anywhere-nearly everywhere-in the world. For many people, they're the starting point for adventure. For change. For that thrilling moment when you step away from your "normal" life and journey somewhere new.

Airports also bring people home.

The last time I was in an airport, I was meeting Ian, my ex. He flew in to see me when I was working at Huntington Manor. It was an awkward, emotional, nerve-wracking visit. Definitely a mistake. Even now, my stomach floods with guilt as I think about the way I treated him.

I glance over at Ward. He only knows a few broad details about my relationship with Ian. It's probably better that way. Even though it's only been a few short weeks, I feel like I'm a different person now. A better person.

But it's hard to remember the person I am now when this place reminds me so much of my old self. The last time I was in an airport before that last encounter with Ian was when I returned from Thailand. I was a mess. It was the first time I'd been home since Calder sent me away, and I wasn't ready to face the things I'd left behind. I hid in the airport bathroom and fought a panic attack.

Airports aren't exactly a place of excitement for me. This time I'm heading to Carolson's funeral, and I'm nauseated at the prospect.

"You okay?" Ward asks when we reach our gate. His forehead is slightly furrowed, and he's looking at me in the way he does when I know I've given too much away.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say. He needs me to be strong for him right now, not break down in the middle of the terminal.

And it's a testament to how nervous he is that he doesn't push the conversation any further, even though I suspect my acting hasn't gotten any better. We find some empty seats and sit down to wait.

It only takes me a few minutes to get antsy.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" I ask, standing. "We have a little while before our flight."

He shrugs. "I'm okay."

I really just want an excuse to walk around. Clear my head a little.

"I'm going to run to the bathroom," I tell him. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

A few minutes later, I've locked myself in a stall in the nearest bathroom. I force myself to take a few deep breaths. Everything is going to be all right. This trip might be difficult and emotional, but it's the right thing to do. I'm not used to doing the right thing-the hard thing-so I can take some peace from that, at least.

It's that thought that keeps me from losing it. I continue to breathe deeply, and I repeat the words to myself over and over again: You're doing the right thing. You're doing the right thing. I manage to keep myself from having a full-blown panic attack, and though my eyes water, I tell myself that I'm probably just hormonal. My period still hasn't come, and whatever doubts I had about the reason are quickly disappearing.

I still need to take a pregnancy test. Some airports have drugstores, don't they? Maybe I can buy a test right now and put the whole issue to rest, at least in my head. Then, once he's in a better place about his father's death, I'll talk to Ward.

It only takes a few minutes to find a small pharmacy in the terminal. I duck inside and poke among the aisles. The cashier is flipping through a magazine and doesn't even give me a second glance, but there are other customers browsing, and I suddenly feel very self-conscious. But why should they care if I'm buying a pregnancy test? I have nothing to be ashamed of.

I finally find what I need on the end of one of the short aisles. Right next to the condoms. Ha.

They only have one brand, which I suppose is a good thing. I have no idea what makes one pregnancy test better than another, a.s.suming they all tell me the same thing in the end. I still feel like people are watching me, but I force down my paranoia. It's just my nerves getting the better of me. Any time you have to purchase something this personal-be it a pregnancy test or condoms or a cream for foot fungus-you feel like half the world is staring at you. Judging you. Add in the emotional turmoil of a possible pregnancy and yeah, it's really easy to freak out.

I force down my nerves and grab a test. No need to drag this out. But when I turn, I realize that maybe my instincts weren't that far off.

There's a young woman standing there, her cell phone raised in my direction. She quickly pulls it back when I look at her. Her cheeks flush slightly.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "But you're her, aren't you?" She gestures at the nearest gossip magazine. I don't even have to look.

"No," I say, forcing myself to smile. "I guess I just have one of those faces."

I can't tell if she buys it. She stuffs her phone back into her purse, but it's too late. She was snapping a photo of me. A photo of me shopping for a pregnancy test.

I try to back away slowly, but when I do, I stumble into someone else. I mumble my apologies, and she does a double-take when she sees my face.