Chapter Four: Back in Action

MAGGIE'S POV

I couldn't explain why I felt the need to constantly favor Viktoriya—it just happened that was. I suppose it was because she had such a traumatic start, with little to no attention, that I believed that she needed my constant devotion. As it was, I'd successfully driven away my Edythe, and that was just what Viktoriya seemed to want to happen.

Coming into the office on day, I mentioned it to Nate. Nate and Violette had just gotten the news that they were expecting their first child by Christmas and I didn't want to preoccupy them. However, Nate was my second-in-command and I knew that, should I choose a different venture in the police department, I was going to hand-pick him for my successor.

"What's on your mind?" he asked me as we walked down the street during lunch, eating our wraps—his BLT, mine chicken Caesar.

"It's Edythe," I reply, wrapping up half of the wrap and storing it inside my purse for later.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked as we made it back onto our street.

I nod. "Yeah, actually—Viktoriya just managed to get Edythe to move out. She's living with her friend Gina in Midtown."

"How'd she do that? She's nine," Nate puts in.

I sigh and roll my eyes as we head inside; we flash our badges before getting into the elevator and pressing the correct button. "I don't know—something about the recent addition to the family is that she's got this entitled attitude, and it's only towards Edythe. Maybe she's under the impression that there's only room for only one adopted child—I don't know..."

"You said you got her from Russia?"

I nod. "Yeah, exactly..." I purse my lips as the elevator steps out. "Her file wasn't much help, however..."

"Maybe call George?" Nate asks. "I know he's not doing much work up here now, but maybe he has a decent recommendation for you."

I grin at him, clapping him on the back. "You always know just what to say, you know that?" I ask.

"That's why I'm your partner," he replies.

I flash him a continuous smile. "That would be correct. Thanks," I say, returning to my office to tackle yet another mountain of paperwork. It was a Friday in the third week of March, and I'd arranged to stay at the penthouse that night while Hunter returned to Westchester so as I could get some work done. I'd fully intended to work late for a while, and this was the closest day that it worked out for me; what with all the time I'd taken off on Hunter's and Edythe's behalf, plus the trip to Russia, I knew I was overdue for some overtime.

I finished my wrap by two and continued working; Nate and Violette took off around six that evening, while Melanie and Jimmy took off around an hour later. I looked from my office to see that Abi and Chester were now sitting together and doing some paperwork; they'd been tentatively dating for the last six months, and I was pleased to see that they were keeping their affection to a minimum within the office—professionalism was always, always key in this line of work. There was no way in hell I was going to get another call from Ed Tucker in regards to something of that nature.

As I sat there, eye-deep in paperwork, I remembered something that struck me; a situation that happened four years previously, one from which I initially believed I would never recover from...

It had been on a night like this, where I'd been working late, and before Edythe had gone to Paris on that class trip with her friends. Eye-deep in paperwork as always, I was confident that Helena had the twins asleep, as this was before Mason was born. That was when I'd received a rather unexpected phone call.

"Manhattan Homicide, Captain Grayson," I said.

"Maggie! It's you! Thank god you're still there!"

"Amanda?" I asked, shocked to receive a call from Amanda Rollins; I hadn't known her for very long at that point—less than a year—and I had no idea why she was calling me. "What's up?"

"Fin's son Ken... Well, Ken's fiancé, Alejandro was abducted and beaten by a gang," Amanda said breathlessly into the phone.

Immediately, I get to my feet; flashbacks on Fin protecting me undercover came into my mind's eye. "Where are you?" I ask slowly.

"Mercy Hospital," Amanda tells me.

"I'm on my way," I reply, hanging up.

I grab my coat, hat, cell phone, and all my other imperative things before heading out of my office. I run past my other detectives and such, not wanting to stop and make conversation as I make my way out into the hallway. I press the button of the elevator, tapping my foot impatiently as it takes forever to get there. Finally, it dings—announcing its arrival—and I clamor into it, pressing the garage-floor button. Upon arrival, I run out into the parking garage and get into my car, sticking the key into the ignition and turning it, pressing onto the gas and barreling out of there as fast as possible, hooking up my Bluetooth and ordering my phone to call Hunter as quickly as possible. "Listen, I know you probably didn't pick up because you hate me right now, but please listen," I said desperately into the phone, after it had rung twice and gone straight to voicemail. "Fin's future son-in-law was abducted by a gang tonight and beaten—Amanda said it was badly." I make a turn and slam on my brakes, deeply cursing the invention of the red light. "I'm on my way to Mercy Hospital now. I know you don't owe me any favors, but please, please, get IAB and Tucker to look in on this gang. Thanks. Talk to you," I said, pressing the 'end call' button as the light turned green.

I soon made it to Mercy Hospital, showing my badge so that the doctors and nurses and orderlies wouldn't bother me. I found the waiting room without an issue, just as who I assumed was Ken took off from there and down the hall. Stepping in, I saw that Fin was sitting by himself, and wondered if they'd deliberately put him back here for a reason. Cop perks, I reasoned with myself as I stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Fin."

He looked up and immediately got to his feet. "Maggie," he said, embracing me warmly. "Thanks for coming."

"Amanda called me," I replied.

"She tell you?"

"She gave me this gist of it," I say. "Just tell me the truth here, Fin—did they attack Alejandro because of his race or his sexuality?"

"We're still investigating, but we assume it's both," Fin replies.

"As if the world weren't screwed up enough," I said, shaking my head and rubbing my temples. "God, I'm sorry. This whole thing is just so..." I turn and look at the doorway, which continues to stand empty. "What happened with Ken? I saw him take off in the other direction..."

"Ken just needed to cool off," Fin replies, motioning for me to sit down, and I take him up on the offer. "We got into a fight."

"A fight?"

"It's nothing," he assures me.

"Fin. Come on. It's me. My ass may not be as boney as Munch's, but come on—you know me. You can tell me anything."

"You wouldn't understand..."

"What wouldn't I understand?" I ask him.

"Things like this..." Fin sighs. "I like to keep my private life private, Maggie—you understand that. Some things just aren't appropriate discussion."

"Fin..."

"Maggie, enough."

"No, Fin. It's not..."

"I said, 'Enough!'" he yelled, his eyes blazing. "Secrets take ahold of you and gnaw away at you until there's a piece of you missing... I can't tell you. I couldn't put you through that. Not you."

"I've put myself through that," I reply, slow and steady, "every goddamn day of my life. And you know why? Because, I have one secret that can't ever be told, and yet, everyone seems to know about it."

"Maggie, you don't have to..."

"No, Fin," I say, shutting my eyes as I feel the hot tears escaping my eyes and flowing down my cheeks. "Just... Just let me talk." Slowly, I open my eyes, and I see that I have his full attention.

"Maggie?" he asks. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is the fact that I found out who my birth mother is and I know full well that she won't want me."

"Maggie, you can't know that..."

"I do," I reply, getting the tears out of my eyes, "I do, and you know why? Because you know it, too. It's Olivia."

"What's Olivia?"

"She's my birth mother," I reply, "and that's why we all know why she wouldn't want to know—she's so independent... So, don't tell me that you can't burden me with a secret, Odafin Tutuola, because I know damn well what a secret can do to you," I say, turning and walking out of there.

I remembered that night as if it was yesterday, and still wondered why Fin had kept the secret for as long as he did. Lowering my eyes to the paperwork, I set a now-completed pile aside and looked through my files. Finally, finding what I was looking for, I keyed in the number to my cell phone.

"George?"

"Hey, Maggie!" he said. "Long time no talk. But, I take it that this isn't a social call, is it?"

I sigh. "No, George, I'm afraid not. I'm actually calling to ask you if you knew of a decent child therapist up here."

"Having problems with the kids?"

"Well, yeah, actually. Hunter and I are in the process of adopting a girl from Russia, Viktoriya—she's nine."

"Congratulations," George replied. "She not adjusting as well as you hoped, then, I take it?"

"No, she's not," I tell him. "She's successfully managed to drive Edythe away from the house."

"Drive her away? Why? Is she out all the time?"

"No," I reply. "Edythe left. She's living in Midtown with a friend of hers now and going to school..."

"Well, I do have a name for you."

I quickly grab a pad of paper and a pen. "Ready," I say.

"Delaney O'Connor," he replies. "Her address is the Upper East Side."

"Got it," I say.

"You'll find her, no problem—she's got a real classy website. She and I went to med school together. Lovely, lovely woman."

"Thank you, George."

"You're very welcome," he replies.

EDYTHE'S POV

Apart from a phone call once a week, my family didn't seem too terribly concerned that I'd moved out just weeks after my eighteenth birthday. I finished the spring semester and was surprised to receive a phone call from my aunt, telling me to come and stay with them for a few weeks that summer. I agreed, and took a flight down to Dallas within hours after my last final exam. The flight was quick, and I got a car from the airport to take me to their place. I was welcomed with open arms and was pleased to be among family after a long period of absence.

It was when a close friend of my aunts wasn't doing well—she said this woman was the godmother of my cousins—that she decided to make the two-hour drive to Wichita Falls to go and see her. She took the kids with her, and they left me there on my own; Baxter was involved in a case and was at the office, so I was in the house on my own. Around three o'clock that afternoon, I went into the kitchen and decided to throw something together for dinner, so as Baxter wouldn't have to do it later that night after a long day.

I breaded two chicken breasts and made a béchamel sauce, pairing it with what my uncle Milo called curly-Q pasta, and adding more cheese to the pasta and cheese mix to make an appropriately delicious crust. By the time six o'clock rolled around, I had the chicken in the first oven, the mac and cheese in the second, and brownies baking in the third. I'd noticed an unopened tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer, and decided to pair the meal with some red wine.

Baxter and Stella knew about my past with alcohol, but had closely monitored me with some upon my arrival, and I found I was not jumping up and down to have it like I used to. I found myself turning into a wine connoisseur, and loved to spend a few moments of some long days considering the vast amounts of pairings that could be created with it. I set the small nook in the kitchen—a circular one with embroidered cushions upon the wood—and set down placemats, napkins, and silverware. I decided against candles, because I was eighteen-years-old and, for one thing, I didn't want my gorgeous uncle to think that I was after him.

At six-fifteen, I took everything out of the oven and proceeded to put it upon two plates and at six-thirty, Baxter walked in the door. I heard the telltale sound of him sniffing, and he came into the kitchen and his eyes widened. He was terribly sweet yet he didn't know what to make of this.

"Hi," I said, turning around to face him after I'd put the plates on the table. "I hope you don't mind—Stella took the kids to Sophie Matthews's house and I thought you might be hungry..."

"You're a sweetheart," Baxter said, setting down his briefcase and embracing me as he turned to look at the table. "Wine, too? How nice."

"Doesn't the man of the house deserve a half a glass of wine with his dinner after a long day?" I ask, offering it to him.

Baxter sips it. "Mmm. Is this a Cab or a Merlot?"

"Pinot Noir," I reply.

He laughs and shakes his head, enjoying it. "Look at me—I never was one for knowing what wine is."

"More of a beer man?" I ask him casually.

"I don't know. I mean, now and again, I'll enjoy a beer but hardly ever in front of the kids..."

I nod. "Well, why don't you sit down?" I ask him, sitting and he does the same. "I hope you don't fill up too much—I baked some brownies, too."

"Do you frost yours?" Baxter asks, putting his napkin in his lap.

I shake my head. "No, but I do fill them."

"With what? Chocolate chips?"

I laugh, setting my napkin in my own lap. "No. M & M's."

Baxter grins. "That's amazing! That's my favorite dessert."

I quickly raise my wine glass. "Methinks we're family," I say.

He smiles and clinks his glass with mine. "Cheers," he says, "and thank you so much for dinner."

"No problem," I reply.

Baxter insists upon doing the dishes and I head into the family room upstairs soon thereafter. He joins me after a time, working on the desktop computer and telling me that whatever show I'm watching doesn't bother him. I switch it off around ten and tell him that I'm going to shower and then head to bed, and he says goodnight to me, and I give him a small wave before heading to my borrowed bedroom. It is in the guest wing, and it is quite like a suite in that it has the main, large bedroom, a walk-in closet, and a lovely master bathroom.

I take my robe into the bathroom and turn on the shower as I strip down, the steam filling the bathroom and creating a lovely mist. I find that the excellent water pressure proceeds to take out the knots that formed in my shoulders from cooking and am ever-grateful for their shower head being put to good use. After my shower, I return to my bedroom and change into a T-shirt and shorts to sleep in and check my phone, ignoring the new family photo my mother had sent me and looking at the group text from Stella.

So sorry to do this but Sophie needs some care for a few days. Keeping the kids with me and her kids' nanny is going to take them on all kinds of supervised trips while I keep Sophie company and care for her. See you all soon!

On a separate message, just for me, Stella said, I've asked Baxter to take you to some movies and some dinners out and whatever you may like to do. We have a car for our nanny which she obviously won't be using, so if you want to go shopping or something, you're more than welcome to use it! I love you both and I will see the both of you in just a few days! Kisses!

The following day was Friday, so I decided to take the nanny's car out; first, I filled it with gas before going to the mall and picking out some summery dresses due to the heat and because Baxter seemed like the kind of guy who liked going out for dinner and I knew I should probably look presentable. I went to one of the three main local malls and perused the various stores—I even found a little black dress that was just to die for, and even picked up some black lace lingerie to go with it. I knew I was potentially playing with fire, but I didn't care. I wanted to feel pretty and sexy, and to emote such feelings onto Baxter.

That evening, I'd showered and was ready to go after a text from my adoptive-uncle-by-marriage that he wanted to take me to dinner. He gave me a name—it was Bugatti's—and I was told to dress "appropriately", whatever that meant. I put on the new black dress after cutting out the tags and washing it—as well as myself —and stared at myself in the mirror. I put on my black, patent-leather, peep-toe heels and spritzed some vanilla-scented perfume onto me. I curl my hair so as it falls like a dark wave down my back and put on my new necklace—a platinum string which dangles a lone, circular black pearl surrounded by a teardrop shape of diamonds. Baxter returns home soon thereafter to collect me, after I've mercifully put on some makeup, and his jaw drops at the sight of me.

"You look beautiful," he tells me with a smile.

I flash him a smile. "Thank you," I reply. "Shall we go?"

Baxter holds out his arm and walks with me outside the mansion and takes me in his car, turning up the air conditioning full blast. We drive into the center of town and soon arrive at the restaurant, where he parks and walks around the side of the car to let me out like a proper gentleman. He leads me into the restaurant and we are greeted by a kind hostess who brings us to a table by the window. A waiter is prompt and arrives quickly, and greets Baxter by name.

"No Stella tonight?" he asks, looking at me suspiciously.

"Sergio, this is my niece—Stella's sister's daughter, Edythe. Edythe, this is Sergio, an old friend."

Sergio immediately smiles at me, at ease. "Sergio O'Malley—how do you do, Edythe? Do you like Italian food?"

"Love it," I reply. "It's my favorite, actually."

"Do you have a favorite dish?" he asks.

"Chicken parmesan," I confess then, blushing, "same as my mother."

"Well, you're in luck," Sergio puts in. "Our chef makes it, and it's the best in Texas, I swear."

"Hey! Best in the Southern United States," Baxter says. Sergio laughs; he is wearing the traditional black waiter apron, along with black slacks, a formal white shirt, and a red vest. It is completed with a golden nametag, with the name SERGIO stamped firmly upon it in black lettering. "I'll tell the chef you're here," he says. "Would the two of you like some calamari for the table?" he asks.

"That would be simply divine, Sergio," I put in.

"Wonderful," he says. "I'll leave you two to order."

I order a Caesar salad, the chicken parmesan, and the chocolate mousse for dessert, while Baxter gets the minestrone soup, the filet mignon, and tiramisu for dessert. I allow him to lead the conversation and I am shocked when red wine is poured for me, yet I don't say anything, sipping it casually throughout dinner. After dessert comes and goes, Baxter snags the check and pays for it quickly, then takes me by the arm and leads me back out to his car—a 2015 black Cadillac CTS.

"Did you enjoy your dinner?" he asks as we make our way across town.

"Of course," I reply. "Thank you."

"I'm glad," Baxter says, like he means it.

"Have you known Sophie long?" I ask him casually. "I know she's the kids' godmother..."

Baxter nods. "Yeah, me and her husband Jasper went to law school together. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but before your mom went to police academy in Seattle, she and Jasper dated."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really makes you realize how small the world really is," I put in.

Baxter chuckles lightly. "Yeah, it really does..."

"This may be none of my business, but where is Jasper? You would think that if his wife is so sick, then he'd be there..."

"Oh. That. He's this big wig at his firm and he's always loaned out to other firms across the globe because he speaks so many languages. He's in China right now and, long story short, is representing a big corporation in a sexual harassment lawsuit. Obviously, I can't say who he's representing, but he's trying to get them to settle and they're not cooperating."

"And all that information is privileged and I shouldn't talk about it at any given time, right?" I ask him.

He chuckles. "Right. You catch on fast."

I peer at him innocently. "Well, I'm a fast learner. I almost have my bachelor's degree and hey, I'm just eighteen." I stress that final word just a bit, so as he would know that he wouldn't get into trouble for taking advantage of that.

Baxter clears his throat and focuses on driving. We get back to the house and he doesn't let me out, instead walking up to the steps and waiting for me. I don't take it personally, knowing full well that he is probably conflicted about all of this so I decide to take it slow. I follow him inside and say goodnight, giving him a sweet smile before turning quickly, so as he will smell my perfume and—if he's interested—will be left wanting more. I head down the hallway and up the stairs to the guest wing, heading into my room and leaving the door open a crack, getting out of my heels. Next, I take off my necklace and set it down on the vanity table, counting mentally in my head, until I hear a knock at the door.

I deliberately unzip the back of my dress hastily, draping it across the chair at the vanity and crossing the room, opening the door wide and pretending to be shocked at Baxter seeing me, even though we're the only ones in the house. "Are you all right?" I ask him.

He takes one look at me and is hit with a bolt of desire—I can see it in his eyes. He steps forward, gently contacting my fingers as they rest upon the frame of the door, taking me in fully, and shuddering at the sight of me in my lingerie. "I'm sorry... I know we shouldn't but I..."

"What?" I ask him when he hesitates.

He sighs. "This may sound totally cliché, but Stella didn't leave to go see Sophie—she went to go see Jasper."

I raise my eyebrows, utterly confused. "I don't understand. You said that Jasper was in China..."

"I lied," he says, cutting across my words. "Sophie's in China—we're all lawyers here, that's how we know each other."

"So, you're saying that Stella and Jasper are...?"

"Having an affair, yes," Baxter says.

"How long has this been...?"

"Since just after Harper was born—they're all mine, the kids. But after Harper was born, she couldn't make love to me at all. Then she told me that Jasper was helping her get through her grief and I believed her but then I discovered the affair. I told her that I didn't care, if I was afforded the same treatment..."

"She gets to sleep with Jasper, and you get to sleep with whoever you want as a result?" I ask him.

"Yes." He steps forward, and looks reluctant to speak further, and almost seems to force himself to do so. "I'll always care for Stella, but there's no love there, not anymore. She killed it," he whispers, reaching out and grabbing me by my waist and pulling me towards him, so as our bodies are melded together. "I don't care how weird it is—we aren't related, only by marriage, and you were adopted. Plus, you're eighteen and, if I'm not mistaken, you've been flirting with me all night, now haven't you?"

I feel a delicious giggle erupting through me; this man in his forties was coming onto me, someone who just so happened to be a very convincing dead ringer for Patrick Dempsey. It felt so, so wrong, but there was a form of forbidden desire here, which made it even more tempting. I'd never been with a married man before, and it was always something I'd thought about, especially during my rebellious teen years, and ever since I'd met this guy, my technical uncle. "You'd be right," I whisper.

Baxter chuckles. "I love being right," he says, and our lips meet. He shuts the door behind us and lifts me into his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

This is wrong, I immediately think, and so unhealthy... But I didn't care—I hadn't had sex in over three years and I needed this. Besides, it was only a marriage down on paper now, right? And I was over eighteen, so it wasn't like we were breaking any governmental laws, just moral ones.

I let go of him and fall back onto the bed, giggling, as he proceeds to undress. I feel myself growing hot all over—he's got the body of a god, of Christian Grey! It is another wave of deliciousness that runs through me then—damn, this guy really did hit the gym three times a week after work, plus, they had a home gym in the basement off the garage as well. He leans down and takes off my bra and matching panties, his eyes wandering over me, right down to the area in between my thighs, and I feel myself becoming excited as he looks on me.

"Do you have...?" I ask him.

He smiles, reaching into his pants' pocket and removing the all-too-familiar shape of a square, unwrapping it and putting it on himself. "Will I hurt you...?"

I shake my head. "No, I've...done it before."

He nods, and I notice then that he feels relief that he won't have the burden of taking my virginity from me. He takes me gently by the hips and enters me then, and I feel my eyes roll back in my head. It feels amazing—never had I fit together with a man like this...

In the lull after the fact, I am facing away from him, and he is playing with my hair, when suddenly he lifts it up.

"I didn't know you had a tattoo," he says quietly.

I bite my lip—sore from my biting and his kissing—and suppress a giggle. "I didn't know you were so good in bed," I put in.

He chuckles. "It's Latin..."

I nod. "Yeah," I tell him. "I don't know what it means," I lie, shifting so as I am facing him again. I run my fingers across his abs, and he shudders with desire at my touch. "Do you maybe want to...?"

"Yes," he says, no-nonsense, and takes me by the hips again.

Baxter and I shared the guest bedroom until the day I left—thankfully, I left before Stella returned home; I don't think I would've been able to face her. Baxter told me on the way to the airport, with his hand on my leg the whole time, that he was in no hurry for this to end. I gave him my address in Midtown and told him to come whenever he could get away. He had a business trip there the following month and would be sure to text me the dates.

He parked in the dimly-lit parking garage of the airport, where we made out for several minutes before I finally forced myself away from him, so as not to miss my flight. I allowed him to walk me into the airport, and I immediately began to become fidgety when he was due to leave me at airport security. I looked up at him longingly, and he gave me a chaste, closed-mouthed kiss.

"Soon," he whispered to me, smiling. "Don't worry—Stella's booked up for the next several months with cases. She won't even miss me."

"I hope not," I whisper back, lacing my fingers through his. I bite my bottom lip then, looking up at him. "Be sure to tell me as soon as possible when you're going to come."

"Anxious to see me?" he asks.

"Well, that and..." I stand on my toes and whisper in his ear, "I'll want to be able to get some decent lingerie."

My lover shivered then as my cool breath contacted his neck. "I loved what you wore before?"

"The lace?" I asked.

"The black," he replies. "The contrast to your skin was incredible."

I chuckle then. "Well, I'll remember that," I say, checking my watch. "Time for me to get into the security line."

Baxter looks around warily before pulling me in and kissing me. "I'll miss you," he says quietly to me.

I smile at him. "I know," I reply.

I manage to get through security and go to a coffee bar to get something to cool me down or to mellow me out. The wait time for my plane isn't too terribly long either, and soon I am in the first-class section, and in the window seat I'd pre-booked over a week ago. I looked outside, and gave a final look to Dallas before we took off, relieved to be going home, but knew full well that I'd be physically lost without Baxter. Crossing my fingers that the semester would start quickly, I didn't want to be too emotionally withdrawn when it came to surviving in New York without him.

The fall semester began soon thereafter, at the end of September; there were only three more quarters until Gina and I graduated, and I knew she and I had begun to count the remaining days. This was not the only thing I was looking forward to; it was one week after school resumed that Baxter came to New York for business and Gina—who remembered everyone's name—immediately knew that Baxter and I were sleeping together.

"Does she know about us?" Baxter asked me one weekend while Gina had gone to see her parents.

I nod. "Yeah, she suspects, at the very least."

Baxter nods. "I see."

"She knows you're my uncle..."

"By marriage and adoption," he puts in quickly. "And besides, you're over eighteen, Edythe."

"Yes, but adultery is a misdemeanor in New York, Baxter," I put in. "I'm applying for police academy in a year."

"I thought you said your record was wiped clean on your last birthday," Baxter says curiously.

"It was," I say. "But I don't want any other potential stains on it. I want to be a cop, Baxter—desperately." I turn to face him. "I don't want to jeopardize my career..."

Baxter sighs. "All right." He proceeds to move to get up.

"No." I force him back down. "That's not what I meant—really. I just want us to be careful, that's all."

He smiles a little sadly. "We'll stop this whenever you want to, you know," he tells me. "I'm not as young as I used to be..."

"Stop it."

"No, seriously. You may want to get married and have kids someday..."

"And that's not something you would want?" I ask him. "With me?"

He smiles. "I can't leave Stella or the kids. And besides, I've been married—I am married—and I've had my kids."

"You're finished with that chapter, huh?"

He leans in and kisses me. "I'm afraid so."

I lie down, running my fingers along his abs again—I so loved how they rippled beneath my touch, and how strong his arms felt around me. I always felt safe in his arms, even though I was betraying so many people by doing this, by having an attraction to him, by having an attraction to a man I could never have, a man that I had no business wanting in the first place. Despite the age difference, he was my family, and I knew that I needed to call it quits at some point, but now, I was just content to lie in his arms and feel the illusion of love.

"Open it," Gina told me.

I sighed; we were exactly three hours away from graduating college with our BA's in what we'd chosen, and now, I held the letter that would make or break my decision-making. I'd told my parents—who I'd been talking with again on a more regular basis—that, if for some reason I didn't get accepted into the police academy training program, that I would remain in college, get my MA in child psychology or criminal law, and then start looking for a job in either one of those just-as-worthy fields.

"Fine," I say, and rip the sucker open. "Oh..."

"What?" Gina asks.

I raise my eyes to hers, and feel the grin breaking out onto my face as I hastily turn back to my letter. "'Dear Miss Edythe Grayson, we are pleased to inform you that you have passed the preliminary exam, the background check, the IQ test, and the physical. As such, we are prepared to welcome you to your classes at NYPD Police Academy, starting in the first week of July, with the mandatory, eight-week training course. Once completed, and if passed, you will begin formally in the first week of September, in your training to be an NYPD Police Officer. We have noticed that you are about to graduate with degrees in child psychology and criminal law, and we believe both those degrees will help you in the long run. Sincerely yours and best of luck, Chief Barry Feinstein'."

"You got in?" Gina whispers.

I look up at her. "I got in," I whisper back. "I got in!" I scream, throwing my arms around her. "All this, in the wake of your internship with ADA Rafael Barba, and our graduation..."

"Thinks keep coming up roses," Gina says gleefully.

"Yes, they do, don't they?"