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There were nights when they’d made love with such ferocity that he feared they might shatter each other. In that moment, she made a silent vow—to celebrate life, and to never take a single moment for granted. What greeted her was a landscape of decay; the air was heavy with the scent of neglect, a pungent mixture of old food, musty fabrics, and something indefinably sour that made Cheyenne’s nose wrinkle in distaste. Slowly, Erin inserted a finger, gently moving it in and out, then adding another when she felt him loosen. “Better,” he admitted, his throat dry, his words barely above a whisper. Cheyenne gathers all the photos of Erin, from the carefree beach shots showing her athletic body in a tiny bikini to the intimate portraits with Larry, and carefully places them in a box, save for a few.