For over a year, I’ve imagined the conversation we’d have. Twelve months of waiting, finding different ways to get to her. Fifty-two weeks of torture while Barry and my team kept her safe. It all boils down to this moment, when she glances over her shoulder and gives me a tight smile out of friendliness, not knowing it’s me. The one who shot at her. The ex-boyfriend who would burn the world down for her. The piece of shit who could never fall out of love with her.
