Advanced Warning: This chapter is pure, sweet fluff in the manner of cotton candy. The next one is soggily dramatic. The third…well, when you mix sweet fluff and sogginess, what else could you get but sticky?

Time flies when you're having fun. Time drags when you aren't. Either way, time passes. Then you look up, and suddenly more than a year has sped past since a particularly eventful subway ride, and I'm amazed at how similar and how drastically different my life is now. I live in the same apartment, work at the same job, but instead of spending all my nights eating take-out Chinese and watching reruns by myself in my depressingly empty apartment, I have not one but two amazing, wonderful, horrifically wicked men in my life who drive me absolutely bat-shit insane. But that's enough day dreaming.

I have a date.

It's been a surprisingly short and easy day at work, and I am beyond excited for the end of my shift. My boys are picking me up for a "they couldn't agree on a date that should be our anniversary and I didn't want two separate dates because that'd be too much to remember, so I picked a random day" celebration.

It's been unseasonably warm the last couple of days, as there's storm front making its way up the coast. It isn't supposed to hit Boston until early in the morning, by which time I plan to be safely indoors, either passed out in a drunken, sex-sated coma, or well on my way there.

I've been promised an afternoon of eating ice cream, browsing on Newberry street, and walking around the Public Gardens, something we don't do nearly often enough in my opinion. They've also hinted that if I behave well enough (i.e. misbehave well enough) I might get to pick something out from my favorite antiques and jewelry store. As much as I appreciate the offer, however, I know I won't hold them to it since they haven't seen the prices there.

I have leave to make an early get away from work, and at five 'til two I'm gathering my things and making sure I haven't left any huge projects unfinished. Jenny, who happens to be walking by, glances over and stops for a moment to talk.

I've been making an effort lately to be a bit friendlier with her, as there's no point in being bitter about something I can't change. After all, it's not her fault she got promoted over me. I'm not the most pleased to see her at the moment, though, as she's loaded down with what looks like seven different projects' worth of paperwork, and I'm fairly worried she's going to change her mind about letting me leave early.

She must recognize the look of plaintive despair on my face because she laughs and says, "This isn't for you. I just wanted to find out what your plans were today. You've been so excited all week I figure it must be something pretty fantastic."

My shoulders sag with relief as tension I didn't know I'd been holding drains away. I can feel the goofy grin spreading over my face as I start babbling away. Jen sets her papers down while we talk, nodding and exclaiming in all the right places.

When I tell her about a few things I've been eyeing in the antique store, she grins and says, "I know two of those pieces; I've been eyeing them myself," causing my proverbial jaw to drop.

Huh…I had no idea we had so much in common.

"I've gotta head out now, though. Thanks for letting me jet early, Jenny, I appreciate it."

"You earned it," she says, carefully lifting her awkward stack of papers as I grab my purse. You've been working your ass off, and you haven't taken any vacation or personal time. I mean, really, you've only taken two sick days since you started here. I think you're entitled to an afternoon or two."

I pause in the doorway, goggling at her. I've been here longer than she has; how could she possibly know how many sick days I've taken?

Again, she notices my expression and smiles reassuringly. "I know you think no one notices how hard you work, and I know why you feel that way. I promise you, though, that we're paying attention. Now get going before I find a way to take your place on this fantasy date."

I hightail it out of the building, glowing and practically skipping the seven blocks to the ice cream store where the boys are supposed to meet me. They nearly threw a fit when I decided to meet them there instead of waiting for them to walk me, but I put my foot down this time.

"For one thing, you two don't get off work until at least a half hour after me. I'd be waiting at the office forever, and I know someone would try to put me to work. Besides," I add as they glowered mulishly at me, "I did function on my own in this city for a few years before I met the two of you, y'know. I can go seven blocks in full daylight without an escort."

It took another thirty minutes of arguing and some of my more impressive distraction techniques to properly shut them up.

I seat myself at a table facing away from the door and order the largest strawberry shake on the menu with extra whipped cream and two cherries. I don't personally like maraschino cherries, but Connor and Murphy do, and they'll argue over it if there's only one.

When the shakes arrives with its accompanying glass of water, I don't bother waiting for the boys but instead start digging fingerfuls of whipped cream off the top and licking my finger clean. I've finished off almost all the cream on top and am sucking a bit off my finger when warm breath flows over my neck, and Connor murmurs, "Never wanted t'be a finger more in me entire life."

Grinning, I turn and hold my arms out expectantly, so he obligingly pulls me up from my seat into a hug and kisses me soundly.

"Y'taste divine."

"Flatterer," I laugh. Then I notice a distinct lack of being pulled into a second hug. "Where's your dark side?"

Connor grins. "Murph says t'tell ye he's real sorry. There was an accident at th'plant, an' he's gotta stay an' help clean shit up. Couldn't get out of it, so he won't get done 'til seven or so. So ye get two anniversaries after all, an' I get a nice afternoon with me girl all t'm'self."

Well, I suppose if I must…

"Was anybody hurt?"

"Nah. Just equipment issues, gross shit ye don't want t'hear about."

I slide back into my chair and unwrap a straw. "I'll take your word for it." I reach over to insert my straw into the shake when Connor slides into my chair, bumping me over onto the adjacent seat. Before I can fuss, he reaches out and pulls me hard against his side, kissing me breathless.

He finally pulls away, and there's a wicked gleam in his eyes as he murmurs, "Love dat whipped cream taste. Can't get enough of it."

In that case…

Quick as a flash, I snatch the last fingerful of the stuff off the top of the milkshake and smear it across his cheek. As he opens his mouth indignantly, I grab one of the cherries and pop it between his lips, flashing him the most innocent eyes I can muster.

"Cherry? Got it just for you…and you can have Murphy's if you want, since he's not coming…"

He eyes me, chewing slowly and suspiciously, his mouth working in a rather intriguing way. To my amazement, he reaches up and pulls the stem out of his mouth, a stem which he's tied into not just one knot, but a double-knot. Seriously, a freaking double-knot. With his tongue. I…don't…he just…

Yeah, he can definitely have the other cherry.

After I recover, Connor wipes off his face, and we get down to the serious business of drinking my monstrosity of a milkshake. Connor has me laughing fit to split my sides as we leave, so I barely even notice the darkening sky and don't pay it much attention.

Our next stop is my absolute favorite store, this wonderful antique shop that has an amazing jewelry section. I come here about once every two weeks or so to drool over the different pieces. The owners know me by name, and though I've never been able to afford anything, they go out of their way to show me anything new they think I might enjoy.

I smile to myself as we enter, breathing deeply and letting the tranquil atmosphere settle over me. Connor glances around dubiously, clearly out of his element among the fancy, delicate dishes and paintings. I'll admit to not exactly being swanky myself, but the poor man looks downright uneasy. Normally, I take pity on the boys and never make them accompany me to my shop, but I was promised a trip here, and I'm damned sure going to enjoy myself.

Amelia, the lady behind the counter, smiles and waves me over. "Got a new ring in that I've just finished cleaning. Though you'd want to try it on!"

The words haven't even finished leaving her mouth before I'm in front of her, practically drooling. If there's anyone who really gets my taste in jewelry, it's Amelia.

The first word that comes to mind as she pulls the ring from the display case is "incandescent." As cliché as it might be, my breath actually catches a bit in my throat, and I let out an embarrassing little gasp.

"White gold," Amelia intones, going into her saleswoman spiel mode, "Art Deco engagement ring. The center stone is an old mine cut diamond surrounded by a circle of green sapphires and a border of smaller, square cut diamonds."

As she continues talking, her voice simply fades into the background, and my focus shrinks to the tiny circle of metal and stone. I have no idea what a mine cut diamond is, nor would I be able to tell a green sapphire from an emerald (which is what I thought they were). What I do know, however, is that I may have just lost a fraction of my heart to a piece of jewelry.

There's an enormous, roughly round diamond winking at me from the center of a ring of dark, forest green stones. Surrounding that is a circle of tiny diamonds, all creating the most beautiful bullseye I've ever seen.

"It's like a tiny shield," I breathe softly, marveling at the way the light catches the stones exactly right. The design is simple, elegant, and absolutely, uniquely breathtaking. Underneath, instead of showing the bare backings of the stones, like most rings, this one has swoops and swirls of white gold accenting that add to the distinctive motif.

Amelia smiles knowingly and slides the ring onto one of my paralyzed fingers. "I couldn't take it off for twenty minutes last night, I swear. I really almost thought of walking out of here with it, but I knew you'd kill me if I did that without letting you at least see it."

Most of her words don't even register, but I nod automatically, because if whatever Amelia said has to do with adoring the ring, then I completely agree. I vaguely feel Connor stepping up beside me and looking over my shoulder at the magnificence currently encircling my ring finger. My...left ring finger.

Oops.

"Ye come in here t'try on engagement rings, lass?" His tone is curious and just a little too casual, and it shakes me from my reverie. I take a moment to work through how to explain to a man that it's not the engagement part of the ring that I'm fixated on, but my mind becomes suddenly and maddeningly blank.

Luckily, Amelia is apparently a master at this sort of sticky situation because she jumps in about a second before the conversation becomes irrevocably awkward.

"To tell the truth, she comes in here to try on most everything that can fit on her, plus a few things that can't."

"You swore you wouldn't tell anyone about that stupid tablecloth!" I hiss, my face heating automatically.

I love how she saves me from awkwardness by adding embarrassment.

Connor, of course, is delighted to have a new source from which to draw incriminating evidence against me, so I ignore the pair of bosom buddies and go back to examining the new light of my life. While I didn't think I'd be able to tell a green sapphire (who's ever heard of a green sapphire, for heaven's sake?) from an emerald, I'm starting to discern the subtle difference in shades. While I think emeralds are absolutely gorgeous, these tiny, green stones are a darker, clearer green, and despite the fact that all the sapphires I've ever seen are blue, these have a tiny bit more yellow to their dark green depths than any emerald I've ever seen. Because I've seen so many emeralds…

Eventually, their conversation winds down. I (very) reluctantly give the ring back to Amelia, who has a couple of other things to show me, all of which pale pathetically in comparison to The Ring.

"You should've waited to show me the ring if you wanted me to actually notice anything else," I murmur, my nose about an inch from the glass countertop as I stare longingly into the case.

"I know, I just couldn't wait to see your face. Plus, I know you said your birthday is in September, so I thought it would be a unique twist on your traditional birthstone."

A couple of potential customers walk in just then, so I thank Amelia and allow Connor to lead me out of the store, much to his relief. I don't realize how long I've been standing in the doorway, gazing longingly back at the ring, until I turn and walk smack into a smirking MacManus.

"If ye want t'go back, I c'n give th'two o'ye some alone time."

"Keep that up, and you'll be lucky to get alone time with me tonight," I mutter, hiding my burning face as I brush past him. He laughs, holding the door for me, and throws an arm out to snag my shoulders.

"Seriously, though, if ye like th'thing that much…" he trails off hesitantly.

I sigh, knowing where he's going with this. "I wasn't looking at rings to try and force something out of you two. I feel like there's a step or two we might still need to take before we even consider hitting that milestone. Besides," I add, a faint smirk of my own appearing, "I'm fairly certain that unless you two have some weird, legal-loophole, timeshare thing worked out, it might be a tad bit against the law in this country…and I doubt the two of you could even agree on who would do the proposing. You've probably get in a fistfight, and I'd be lucky if the ring survived."

He starts to protest, and since I have no cherry to silence him this time, I pull his face down to eye level with me so I can look him dead on.

"We're fine, I promise," I tell Connor softly. "We'll get where we need to be when we need to be there. Now quit whining and kiss me already."

Have I ever mentioned how good my boys are at taking hints?

I finally pull away, a little breathless and a little giddy, and feel an immediate urge to explain myself a bit more.

"I was only looking at it because I like shiny, pretty things. Plus, those green sapphires were really interesting. It's not a typical stone you see in engagement rings, and I thought that really set it apart. Besides, I thought Irishmen liked green things."

"Find me one Irishman who doesn't balk at t'first t'oughts of puttin' a ring on his lass, green-stoned or not, an' I'll send him right over t'propose."

"Oh, really?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow. "You think Murphy would be okay with that?"

"Aw, hell, lass, I wouldn't even be okay wit' dat, but ye gotta cut me a little slack. Did just walk up on ye tryin' on engagement rings…t'ink I might be havin' some heart palpitations over here…"

"You are ridiculous and impossible."

"Those are me best qualities yer namin' over there…sayin' 'em like it's a bad t'ing."

I try to hold back my laughter at his wounded expression for as long as I can, but it finally bursts out, and he grins, slipping his hand into mine.

"Read t'go t'th'park now?"

As Connor leads me down the street, I glance up, wondering why it's so dark. It's only 3:30, and even though it's November, I'd expect there to be a bit more daylight. I notice with more than a bit of trepidation just how much thicker and darker the clouds have gotten. A knot of anxiety pulls tight in my stomach, and I open my mouth to suggest to Connor that we could just skip the Gardens when he distracts me from my nervous train of thought with a laugh. I glance over and realize he's laughing at me.

"What?" I ask defensively.

"It's just…well, lass, shiny an' pretty? What are ye, a squirrel or a magpie or somethin'?"

My unease is momentarily forgotten as I fall into a comfortable, nonsensical argument with Connor over what kind of animal he would be compared to what animal I think I should be. Connor has just finished his (in his mind) completely logical explanation as to why he would obviously be a lion as we reach the Gardens. Knowing where I'll most likely want to go first, Connor picks the quickest path toward the water. Since my best counter-argument against his lion theory involves comparing him to a farm animal (mostly a jackass), I simply smile and allow myself to be towed along through the fading blaze of fall colors.

Dry, crumbling leaves swirl around our legs as we move along, passing a few people here and there moving mostly in the opposite direction. The wind has picked up a little, cooling off the recent warmth I've been enjoying, and Connor takes the opportunity to tuck me closer into his side. The leaves rattle agitatedly overhead, but listening to Connor's continued comparisons of himself and the King of the Jungle is much more entertaining at the moment.

As we near the bridge where they keep the Swan Boats during the summer months, I start to actually pay attention to the distinct lack of people around us. While it is too late in the year for people to be boating, there's usually at least a few people walking or jogging or people like me who like to stand on the bridge, watching things go by. Apparently all those people already passed us on their way out of the park, though. The absence of the park's usual inhabitants bothers me on a level I can't quite identify, an uneasiness that comes to light (literally) as a brilliant flash of lightning forks across the sky.

The wind abruptly picks up, howling through the trees as it swirls the carpet of leaves up around our knees, and I nearly break Connor's hand as a crash of thunder echoes around us. All of my extremities are suddenly icy, and my heart hammers against my ribcage, determined to escape. The small portion of my brain that is trying to remind me there's nothing to be afraid of is entirely drown out by the much louder, much less rational bit that's screaming for me to run somewhere, anywhere, don't care where RIGHT NOW.

"Lass?" But I'm so far gone that I can barely hear Connor, much less respond properly.

"Need…can't…" Deep breath, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine… "Need to...get out of the storm…now. Please."

"Are ye—"

"Connor, I need to…I can't…just…NOW. Please, now!"

Connor quickly takes in our surroundings, looking for the nearest shelter. Making a snap decision, he grasps my arm and pulls me forward, forcing my frozen, terrified legs to follow. He speeds up at another bolt of lightning flashes, despite my shying like a spooked horse, and the first few splashes of rain begin pelting us. We're nearly sprinting as we reach the underside of the bridge, and Connor jerks me to a skidding halt just as the downpour begins.

"Are ye…lass, yer okay. We're safe under here, nothin's gonna reach us. Talk t'me, what's got ye so spooked?"

But I'm panting too hard to answer. I hate this, hate that I get so panicked, but I just can't shake it. And the panicked part of my brain is still screaming, going on that the bridge isn't safe enough, that it's just a roof and one wall, that I need four walls, I need to be inside, why is no one letting me in, I'm only safe inside, this won't keep the storm out, I have to run, I can't be out—

"Oi, come back t'me, girl! Breathe, dammit, I've got ye!" Connor shakes me sharply, grasping my shoulders with painfully tight fingers, and it's enough to bring me mostly back to the present with a deep, shuddering inhale.

"I'm here, I'm…here…I need—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Hey, c'mere. I've got ye, just breathe." Without waiting for a response, Connor gathers me in his arms and leads me over to the one walls formed by the underside of the steps going up to the topside of the bridge. We slide down until we're sitting on the cement, thankfully out of the wind and nowhere near the rain.

I can still see the storm, though. The rain is coming down in sheets, curtains, blankets, just wave after waves of nearly solid water falling straight down, blowing sideways, swirling in circles—

"Guess the storm blew in a little early," he remarks. I don't respond, staring dazedly across the water. I can't even see the boat shelter through the rain, and I can feel my throat start to close a little, can imagine how heavy and hard the rain feels pounding down, pulling at me, dragging so it's harder and harder to get home, and it's harder to breathe because there's water falling no matter which way I look, and—

"Hey." Warm hands on my freezing face, strong arms wrapping tight, enclosing me in a furnace of comforting heat that doesn't quite reach my bones. Connor lifts me from the ground, dragging me onto his lap as if I weighed no more than a child, and pulls my face to his, bumping foreheads gently. "Where d'ye keep goin'? Don't leave me alone under th'bridge like some sorta troll; talk t'me."

My teeth are chattering, and the last thing I want to do is talk. I bury my face in the crook of his neck as he strokes my hair, and my voice comes out muffled and far too choked. "About what?"

"What's got ye so messed up? Murphy told me about what happened to ye in that funhouse hallway wit' th'fake thunder'n'lightnin'. Y'never told me storms bothered ye so much."

"I can't…can't think about that right now. Can you just…talk to me for a while?" I don't mean to come across as so pathetic. I mean, damn it, I'm shaking so hard I'm practically vibrating, and I can't stop!

"Oh, sure, now ye want me t'talk. Aren't ye th'one always tryin' t'get me an' Murph to shut up?"

"Please, Connor, I—"

But he's smiling and settling me so I'm sitting between his legs, my trembling back pressed to his warm, solid front. He releases my hair from the clip I used to confine it this morning and begins pressing firm, soothing fingers into my scalp.

"What d'ye want me t'talk about?"

Another clap of thunder sends me flinching back, trying to turn my face into him, but he holds me firmly in place, his fingers running a soothing pattern over my head.

"S…something, anything, I don't know…about you and Murphy."

"Possibilities are endless…Think I'll tell ye about th'time when Murph an' me were kids, an' he nearly got us killed an' grounded fer life at th'same time."

As the lightning picks up and the wind blows the rain nearly horizontal, Connor keeps me anchored firmly in the present with his steadying touch while telling me a ridiculous story involving him and Murphy as six-year-olds who somehow ended up challenging the local high school boxing champion Jemmy Byrne to a fight.

"Twas no way th'kid would've done it, but Murph got it in his fuckin' head t'be insulted and starts throwin' punches at Jemmy's knees 'cause we couldn't reach any higher at th'time. So Jemmy's tryin' t'get Murphy t'leave 'im alone, an' he kinda swipes at 'im a little to get 'im outta th'way, but all I see is this great mountain of a teenager takin' a swing at me brudder. So I took me own shot at th'fucker's lads, an th'next thing I know, Father Callahan's pullin' me an' Murphy off of 'im. He's bleedin' an carryin' on like we was th'devil or an' actual threat, an' then Murph's dumb ass tries t'get away from th'Father an' ends up knockin 'im down in th'mud."

"Ma was fit t'be tied, ye'd think we attacked the priest on purpose she was so pissed. Had t'polish every candlestick in th'church fer months, an' we had t'apologize t'th'Father, which was understandable, but when Ma sent us over t'apologize to Jemmy, a buncha his friends were there, an' they gave 'im so much shit fer gettin' took down by a pair o'babes, he near took our heads clean off at th'shoulders. Barely got outta there wit' all our bits intact."

Though you still couldn't pay me to be out here willingly, I can't help the giggle that escapes, and my shoulders lose a little bit of their tension. Connor's fingers work their way down from my scalp to my neck, gently kneading the knotted tendons.

"Ye ever get in trouble when y'were little?"

Before I can work my throat clear of its lump to answer him, he snickers and mutters, "Probably earnin' merit badges an playin' hall monitor and' shit."

For some reason his assumption annoys me, and I can feel an exasperated flush creeping up from my stomach.

"I wasn't a degenerate who terrorized the neighborhood and continually burdened my poor parents with my misdeeds, if that's what you mean," I snap, jerking forward and away from him. Lightning explodes overhead, though, sending me scrambling back to the safety of his lap.

"Calm down, lass, was only tryin' t'get a rise outta ye." He coaxes me back to my spot between his legs and starts working on my shoulders. " 'M sorry, won't tease ye about it again."

"For something like a minute," I mutter, exasperated at myself for already forgiving him.

"Aye, but ye love my persistence. Y'might as well admit it."

"I admit nothing, and you can't make me," I answer, then immediately regret my hasty words. His hands freeze on my shoulders, hot and heavy.

"That a challenge?"

"No!" My answer comes out in a yelp, and I clamp my teeth down on my tongue before I can encourage him further. The rain thunders down around us for a few loaded moments before his fingers begin to move again.

"S'pose we'll see. In th'meantime, why dontcha tell me whatcha were like as a kid, since y claim t've not been a burden on yer poor parents."

I know this is the most concession I'll get from him on the subject, so I steel myself to ignore the violence of the storm around us and instead concentrate on the hypnotic motion of his hands.

"I guess I was pretty average, behavior-wise as a kid. My parents…they were pretty absorbed with each other to really pay attention or set a lot of boundaries. I got in trouble a few times at school, but that…didn't turn out well, so I quit. Got good grades, kept my head down, grew up, and got out as soon as I could. Came to Boston as soon as I was done with high school, been here ever since. I don't know for sure my parents even noticed I was gone. That's my childhood in a nutshell."

"Ye sure did give me an in-depth explanation there. Feel closer t'ye than ever," he quips dryly as his thumbs press circles into my shoulder blades.

"There's really not much to tell," I mumble, the knot of shame and worry in my stomach tightening.

"Well, fer starters, what d'ye mean by yer parents bein' absorbed wit' each other?"

"I mean…didn't your parents want time to themselves? I'd constantly want to kick you and Murphy out of the house if you were my kids, although that'd be more for preservation of furniture than—"

A particularly nasty bolt of lightning flashes almost simultaneously with a deafening roar of thunder, effectively strangling me silent. Connor's arms snake around me, enveloping me until the worst of the shaking has passed. He nuzzles the side of my neck with his nose as if nothing's wrong, as if we weren't in the middle of one of the worst possible situations. He takes my hands in his, looking over my shoulder to examine our entwined fingers while he talks.

"Twas just Ma that raised me an' Murph. Da was gone 'fore we were old enough t'know much o'anythin'."

This explains a lot.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize when I said…what happened?"

He shrugs, measuring his hand span palm-to-palm against mine. I notice that my fingers reach about half an inch below the tips of his. I also have no idea why I'm paying attention to details like that at a time like this.

"D'pends on how pissed Ma is when ye ask 'er. If it's first thing, and she's not in her drink yet, she usually says none of our fuckin' nevermind, gone is gone, an' we'd do better t'never try to know anythin' about 'im or be anythin' like 'im. If she's had a few, it's either that he left 'er for th'states just b'fore we was born, or that he left when we was babes in arms too little t'know nothin'. If she's completely pissed, she just raves about low down MacManus men who'll never do right by any woman. 'Specially if she'd ticked at me an' Murph."

This all comes out so cheerfully and matter-of-factly that I can't help laughing. I can feel Connor smiling as he brushes a kiss across my cheek and squeezes my hands.

"Yer turn now, lass. What'd ye mean about yer parents, an' what was that about getting' in trouble not turnin' out well for ye?"

"I don't even know where to being. My parents were just…When you think of your childhood, what do you see?"

Connor thinks for a moment, sliding his fingers leisurely up and down my wrists. "Me an' Murph raisin' hell, an' Ma takin' th'piss out us fer it while tryin' t'keep from laughin' at our dumb asses an' encouragin' us."

A wry half-smile twists my mouth at his straightforward statement. "When I think about growing up, there's a lot of memories of me always going to friends houses because there was no one home and I didn't want to admit I didn't know where my parents were, or memories of sitting alone in my room reading because my parents had friends over and I wasn't allowed to bother them. I had a lot of play dates and babysitters when I was little. When I picture growing up, there's just kind of an absence of my parents."

I'd be fine stopping my explanation here, but Connor gently nudges me in the ribs until I swat at him and continue.

"They weren't ever there, whether I needed them or not. I got hurt, not terribly, but bad enough to need help, and I had to walk down the street until I found a neighbor who was home and would help me. I was lucky to have a couple of good babysitters, a few good teachers, and a handful of close friends growing up, but overall I was pretty much on my own. You two have been the closest things I've had to decent boyfriends," I add, dodging his nudge and smacking his hand down before he can repeat the action.

"T'anks fer th'glowin' review," he replies, but he's hugging me tight against his chest again, so I know he doesn't really mind.

"That's partly why I got so attached to you," I reluctantly admit, "and the main reason why I was so afraid of pushing you away. You both want me around, and there doesn't seem to be a catch like there is with most people. You have to understand that's not something I've experienced much of in my life, and the last thing I want to ever do is lose you."

"S'pose I might be fond of ye, as well," he murmurs, pressing his lips into my hair. "Now, why don't y'explain what y'meant about givin' up on getting' inta trouble. C'n unnerstand wantin' yer parents' attention an' all; lotta kids do stupid shit t'get it. What happened t'make ye stop?"

I turn my head, looking at Connor out of the corner of my eye. He nods encouragingly, but I can't help the quick, nervous glance I cast out at the storm.

"Might need ye t'talk about that issue, as well, lass."

I let out a tense huff of air, not quite a laugh, bracing myself against the inevitable. "I guess it's really the same story, anyway. Might as well jump in with both feet, right?"

Author's Note: I wasn't planning on posting this story quite so soon on the heels of my other one, but the first chapter was done, so I figured what the heck, why not. The next chapter is being a bit of a nuisance, but never fear; those tend to be the ones that turn out best when I'm done. If you haven't yet, check out "Morning Haze," the Boondock Saints of story I posted a few days ago. I'm told it's one of my hottest. I don't know about that, but I know I surely enjoyed writing it. Thanks so much for taking the time to read. If you liked what you read, please take a moment to leave a comment behind, I'd really appreciate it. Also, feel free to check out some of my other stuff. Thanks.