“Swear it to me, Ryan,” she says, stepping away. “You went and made me fall in love with you, and now I’m this mess of a girl that cries when her husband goes off on a fishing boat. You did this to me. You wormed your way inside. Now you’re in me, and you’re part of me, and I can’t breathe—I can’t breathe for loving you, Ryan. And now you have to let me die first, and I need you to swear it. Swear, Ryan.” “I swear,” I say gently, dropping my hand to my side. “Baby, I swear. You can go first, okay? Alice Cooper and his wife have a death pact. We can make one too. We’ll be in our 80s—well, that
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