I gave him a shaky smile. “It’s not because we’re not good. You know we are. We’re so good in fact that I feel guilty all the time.”

Realization dawned. “Because of Logan.”

I nodded. “I know they told me to stay away from him, from them . . . but I thought . . . They’re my family. I thought they’d call at least.”

“Not going to lie, Shortcake. I really hope they don’t. With the exception of Logan.” He shook his head. “Why did they even bother having kids?”

I laughed bitterly. “You sound like Logan. He used to say that all the time.” I sank into Cole’s embrace and sipped on my tea. “My parents just don’t have enough love to go around. They’re not capable of it. They gave most of it to each other and we get the scraps whenever they feel like it. Logan was the only one of us they ever showed genuine interest in. Amanda and I were just a second thought.” I looked up at him, saddened by the distance in my family. “Amanda’s always hated me. I was close to Logan because we were more alike. Also, I look like Mum and Amanda doesn’t, which means my somewhat narcissistic mum spent more time with me when I was little, trying to turn me into her little duplicate. That changed when I became a teenager and started developing my own opinions and interests. Still, Amanda never really forgave me for those mother-daughter bonding moments I got and she didn’t. When I got into the clueless pattern of dating losers, Amanda loved it. It was something she could bond with my parents over.”

“I’m sorry it was like that for you,” he said softly, sincerely.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Cole. I had my grandparents.” I grinned remembering them. “They were everything my parents were supposed to be, so I never really felt like I missed out on much. But they’re gone.” My lips quivered as my eyes filled with tears. “Logan’s gone. And for once . . . I just really want my family to care.”

“I get it,” he murmured, kissing my head. “I do. And I know it’s not the same, but you have me now. I’m not going anywhere.”

I sniffled and turned my cheek to press a kiss to his chest. “I know.”

We were quiet a moment as I sipped on my tea and attempted to calm my nerves.

“I found something that might cheer you up.”

I pulled back from him. “Oh.”

“One second.” He gently eased away and got out of bed, striding from the room. He returned a minute later holding a folded-up piece of paper in his hand. He climbed back into bed and, giving me that boyish grin of his, handed it to me.

It was a piece of cartridge paper. On it was a drawing of a comic book superheroine and a zombie. She had her hands braced on her curvy hips and she was wearing a sexy black-and-blue costume. An abundance of red wavy hair blew back from her face as she faced off against the zombie. There was a speech bubble above her: I’ll destroy you with my razor-sharp disinterest and lack of fear, slow, stupid zombie guy.

I laughed, covering my mouth in shock.

Cole tugged the drawing out of my hand. “I drew this the night after we met when we were kids. I was big into comics at the time.”

I stared at him in wonder. “You saw me as a superhero.”

He waved the paper. “Correction. A hot superhero.”

“Cole . . . you still have it?”

“Yes. And here’s the cool part.” He settled on his side, gazing at me with so much tenderness I felt full to bursting. “Jo and I were living in Cam’s apartment at that point in my life, but my mum still lived in the flat above us. We used the extra rooms in our old flat for storage. I had a lot of artwork in my old bedroom. My mum never really let up on me even after we moved out. In fact, she blamed me—said I’d turned Jo against her.”

I glowered, my blood turning instantly hot with anger. “Does Jo know that?”

“Nah. I didn’t see the point. Jo was happy and she deserved to be. I could handle Mum.”

“So she was continuing to be a bitch to you?”

“Yeah. And one day I went into the flat to pick up something, a hoodie or jacket . . . and I walked into my old bedroom and it was a wreck. Mum followed me in, looked me in the eye, nothing in her expression, and said, ‘We’ll never be even.’ She left me to go through the destruction she’d caused. She left clothes and stuff like that alone”—he curled his lip in disgust—“and she went straight for the stuff that mattered. Photographs and all my artwork.”

“All of it?” I gasped.

“Everything . . . except . . .” He lifted the comic drawing and gave me a small smile. “I found it tucked behind the radiator. It must have whipped up into the air during her frenzy and hid out there.” He shrugged, running his fingertips over it. “It felt important that it was the one thing that had escaped her. So I kept it.”

I couldn’t stop the tears that spilled down my cheeks. There was so much going on inside me. I hurt for him and what his mother had put him through. I hurt for him in a way I didn’t think was possible to hurt for another person. The thought of anyone being cruel to him tore me up inside. At the same time I was overwhelmed by the drawing and the story behind it. There was a stunning reassurance in believing that something bigger than me had always planned to give me a life as beautiful as the one I’d found with Cole Walker.

Cole sat up to brush my tears from my cheeks and he dipped his head toward mine. His lips inches from my lips, he confessed, “I love you, Shannon. I want to protect you and keep you safe. I want to be your family and to give you mine so that you never have to feel sad about anyone who is too stupid to realize they’ve let go of something so special their lives will always be a little darker for it.”