A/N: Hello, beautiful readers! I know it's been a long time coming, but I finally found time to write and edit another chapter! Thanks again for all your patience and support; the fact that you guys still wonder about the status of this story amazes me. And like I've said countless times before, I have not abandoned this story—I love it too much to do so! With that said, updates aren't going to be weekly like I had intended before, just because currently my plate is a bit full, but please bear with me, because I promise you will get a complete "Big Time Criminal" story!

The songs that inspired this chapter are:

"Pieces" by Andrew Belle

"Every Breaking Waves" by U2

Let's get right to it! I present you chapter 26, "Radiate". Please read and review!

I get into the car with Mom and we drive to Magnolia's mostly in silence. My mind is still back in the room with Kendall. My mind is usually with him most of the time these days. Mom makes a few comments about me turning eighteen and of her own eighteenth birthday. I mostly just nod and smile for her benefit, but it's hard for me to pay attention, especially since I've already heard this story more than a few times.

I love my mom—I truly do. But, it's difficult sometimes, since we have very little in common. She likes to think she knows me very well, but other than knowing trivial things like my age and my favorite color, she actually doesn't know a whole lot about me. We share the same roof, yet we're like strangers for the most part. We don't share similar views on much, which makes it hard for me to have open conversations with her without some form of judgment or lack of support. I've learned to simply keep quiet and just smile. It may not be the best solution for my stunted relationship with my own mother, but it's suited me for this long.

When I realize we've stopped moving is when I realize we've arrived. We go in and seat ourselves at a booth in the corner, where we normally sat. I eye the diner's décor—for a lack of a better word—and other than a fresh coat of paint and a few new bar stools, the place has remained virtually the same. The place isn't without its own charm though. It looks like something you would see in a movie. It has a slightly vintage feel you would expect to find from a true diner.

"I don't know about you, but I am hungry," Mom announces as she glances over the menu. "I wonder if they still have that peach cobbler that you like so much."

I have to give her credit; she attempts to remember things I like. She doesn't always get it right, but she tries.

"I think they still do," I say feigning a smile for her benefit.

Our waitress comes over and quickly takes our order. I recall seeing her here when we used to eat here. She's still here after all these years. I know it's the same person when she takes our order and doesn't even have to write it down—she's clearly no newbie. Like the diner, she remains looking the same as I remember, with maybe just a little greying in her hair now.

Mom orders the country fried steak dinner. I simply order a BLT sandwich with onion rings.

Mom wasn't kidding when she said she was hungry, because she eats most of her dinner before I can even finish my modest BLT. Suddenly, while we're eating, the news playing on the small TV behind the counter catches my attention. No one else seems to mind the noise of the TV, but me.

It's about Kendall. I immediately freeze mid-chew and fix my attention to it. It's funny how at times I forget that he's actually a fugitive; that he's deemed as a criminal to the public. I just know him as Kendall Knight; a boy my age that has a heart of gold. Even though I considered him dangerous when I first met him, I always knew there was an underlying innocence to him. I wish the authorities and media could see him as I see him. But, I know that won't be the case. Kendall was right when he said society uses preconceived notions of a person to form an opinion of that individual. We're all too quick to point fingers and blame, but most of us rarely have the compassion to understand someone's story.

"I did what I had to survive. Once you do what you have to, society will never let you escape that. They always remind you of it. They'll never allow you a second chance. They will always put you in your place—like they're above you," I remember Kendall saying after I found out the reason he was on the run.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Mom asks, breaking my reverie.

"What's that?" I ask with my eyes still glued on the news.

"They still haven't found that boy. He could be anywhere, doing God only knows what," Mom shakes her head.

"Or he could be scared," I suggest.

"I can't imagine a person who murders his own father in cold blood being easily scared," she scoffs.

I flinch at how flippant she is about a young boy—one that happens to be my age—especially one she doesn't even know.

"Who knows… maybe it was self-defense," I propose.

"Then why did he run away? He could have easily explained what happened to the authorities."

"I think it's easy for us to sit and judge how someone should have handled a situation. But, if we're put in those situations, we could react just as poorly," I defend. "I just think people should understand circumstances can be difficult."

Mom's eyes scan me, and for a second I think she's figured it out, but then she simply smiles.

"You're quite opinionated today," she teases.

"Yeah, I suppose," I laugh quietly.

We go silent for a moment as we pretend to watch the news. I guess Officer Garcia was right when he said the sheriff would kick the search for Kendall into full gear. It worries me that I've left Kendall alone, but knowing that they cannot enter our home without a search warrant gives me a little necessary peace of mind.

"You folks care for dessert?" our waitress asks as she seemingly appears out of nowhere.

I'm just about to shake my head when Mom practically nods for the both of us. Even though I'm full, Mom insists I order the peach cobbler. I'm not particularly craving it, but I order it anyway, because I know that as strange as it may sound, it will secretly make her happy.

When my huge portion of a dessert arrives, I pick at it with my fork and take small deliberate bites so Mom's feelings aren't hurt. She looks up at me for smiles.

"I can't believe my baby boy is going to be eighteen tomorrow," she says with mixed feelings in her eyes.

It's almost as though she's proud, but somber from the fact that I'm grown now. Perhaps the thought of me leaving for college in the fall is upsetting for her. She never was good at being alone.

"I can't believe I'm turning eighteen either," I say attempting to pacify her feeling incredulous of the fleeting eighteen years.

"You look just like your father," Mom reminds me for the billionth time.

I give her a sheepish half smile, because I never know how to quite reply to that comment. Do I thank her for reminding me of the man who deserted us when I was eight? Or do I apologize to her on behalf of the man, who I happen to look like, that walked out on her with little explanation as to why? Being reminded that I look like the man the two of us were hurt by does neither of us any favors. I don't care to be reminded of him, yet Mom cannot seem to let the past go. We're stuck in this struggle of conflicting wants—she wants a life with him back, and I want to let him go.

"You miss him?" I ask when the words accidentally slip out.

I said it fairly quietly, but definitely loud enough that makes it impossible to retract my question. Mom looks up at me with slight shock in her eyes because of my candor.

"I-I suppose I do… at times. But, your father made a decision—one that negatively affected this family, so I'm mostly reminded of that above all else," she admits.

I believe her. I think her hurt and aversion of what he did to us trumps the love she once held for him. We're silent for a moment, because neither of us knows whether or not to press on with the subject.

"Mom?" I begin softly, after I know what it is I want to ask her.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"Do you think people just fall out of love as easily as they fall in love?" I ask.

I hope she doesn't take offense to the question, especially since we were just talking about Dad. I don't intend to rub salt on her wounds. I only ask for perspective.

"Uh, wow…" she lets out a deep sigh and gives the heavy question some thought. "Well, uh, I think people can fall out of love, yes."

"But, why do you think that is?" I ask with burning curiosity.

"I think people grow and change, and sometimes the person we fell in love with isn't there anymore—that person becomes someone else. And it's up to us to decide whether or not we can still love that new version of them," Mom replies rather eloquently.

It's funny how when she's being objective, she gives great advice on the matter. Her issue is she just can't seem to take any of her own advice.

"But if you truly love someone, and they love you, wouldn't that love stand the test of time?" I press on.

"Well, honey, that's a very lovely notion… but, sometimes time is what drives people apart," she states.

I'm suddenly out of questions to ask. The fact that time has always been what seems to scare me the most suddenly feels visceral now that I'm hearing Mom say it, as well. I wonder if Kendall will love me when we're separated. Will he remember me like how I'll remember him? I don't doubt his love for me—I feel it in his touch—but will that love eventually fade?

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you," I tell her.

I realize that love in all capacity can be taken for granted. I know she's not the perfect mom, but I also know she's far from the worst. Love is extension of who we are. If I can't love in all facets of the term, then my love for Kendall is just a selfish sham. I know understand why Kendall used to convince me that my mom loves me. He saw the sacrifice he gave up when he ran away from home. He didn't want me to have the same regret. I've been so angry at my parents for so long, for so many things, but that anger doesn't seem to right any wrongs. Perhaps focusing on love, even in the smallest degree, can we then wholeheartedly accept and then find true love.

I see Mom's eyes get misty. She reaches her hand out and takes mine.

"I love you, too, Logie-Bear," she tells me.

I smile at her, because I know she does. She hasn't completely been the mother I need her to be, but she's trying her best. I have to give her some slack. We sit there and talk as time passes by us. It's strange that she and I haven't connected like this in so long. I miss having her as just a friend, a confidante. As anxious as I am to see Kendall and have my alone time with him, I'm surprisingly in no hurry to get home. I feel like Mom and I need this type of bonding. She has my attention, and I have hers. It's rare that we communicate like this. Without realizing it, we've already had two hours go by.

"Oh, we should probably get going, Mom, so you won't get to Nana's too late," I suggest when I notice the time.

"Shoot! We really lost track of time, didn't we?" Mom chuckles. "I'm going to go pay for our meal, and then we can head home," she says.

"Okay," I nod. "Thanks again for dinner."

"Of course, sweetie," she smiles.

Mom takes the bill to the front register and pays. I rub my full stomach when my cell phone begins to vibrate on the tabletop. I look down and see Camille's name on the screen of my phone.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hey, so slight problem," Camille says with a guilty edge in her voice.

"Camille… what is it?" I ask cautiously.

"Nothing huge, but my parents decided not to go to the lake house this weekend after all."

"Oh, no; what happened?"

"They took the bait and thought a weekend at the lake house would be a nice little getaway to start the summer off. But, then they got into another argument, as usual, before they even left the house. I thought my plan would work, but it's okay, because we still have your place," Camille suggests.

"Camille, I already told you that my—"

"I know, I know," Camille interrupts. "But I swear that I will clean up for you, and everything will be exactly how it was before your mom left. It's just a small group of us anyway; what's the harm?"

Camille's persistence was something of its own, at times. But, I really couldn't risk a group of my classmates—no matter how small—over my house, while Kendall, the fugitive all over the local news, is still there.

"I don't know, Camille… I'm not feeling so great actually," I lie, rubbing my stomach for added effect, which is silly since she can't even see me over the phone. "It may be best if we just cancel the whole thing," I suggest with a weak cough for good measure.

"Oh, no, Mitchell! I'm not letting you off the hook this easily this year! I know what you're doing; you're trying to get out of your birthday like you do every year. But not this time! We're having a birthday party for you whether or not you like it damn it!"

And just like that she hangs up on me before I can protest any further.

Damn. She really wasn't going to take no for answer.

"What did Camille need?" Mom asks when she returns.

"Oh, nothing. She was just telling me about her summer plans; that's all," I lie.

"Oh, that's nice. You should invite her over this weekend," Mom suggests. "I haven't seen you guys hang out lately. Is everything okay between the two of you?"

"No, no, no, yeah, everything's fine, Mom," I assure her. "Actually… Camille was trying to plan a get together this weekend for my birthday," I find myself confessing.

I don't know why, but I felt the urge to tell her. I hate lying to her—to anyone, really. I feel like lying is all I do now; it's who I've become. I can't bear another lie, even one that seems harmless enough.

"Oh?"

She doesn't appear angry, so I continue.

"Yeah, she asked if it would be okay to invite a few close friends over this weekend. I promise we won't cause trouble and we'll clean up after ourselves. If that's alright with you, of course…"

Mom's quiet for a second as she ponders it.

"Yeah, that's fine by me," she approves with a smile. "I think it will be good for you. I've been worried about leaving you alone for extended amounts of time," she admits.

"Really? You're okay with it?" I say in surprise.

"Yeah, it's your time together as seniors, so who am I to stop you?"

"Thanks, Mom," I smile.

Mom leaves the tip for our server on the table and we head home. I feel proud of myself for being honest with her for the first time in a long time. I knew I could just ask her straight up, instead of going about it behind her back. There's still the huge secret of hiding a teenage runaway in our house, but that's probably not the best thing to bring up right now.

When we arrive home and I offer Mom help.

"Do you need any help packing?" I ask.

"No, I'm actually all packed already. Thanks though," she smiles.

"You have your allergy medicine?"

"Yep, didn't forget it this time," she says looking proud.

Normally I have to act as her mental checklist for everything she needs to pack, but I guess not this time; she's getting better at this.

I walk her out to her car and she kisses my cheek goodbye.

"Love you, Logie," she says warmly, looking into my eyes.

"Bye, Mom. Drive safely," I tell her. "And send my love to Nana."

"Of course."

When she's down the street, she rolls her window down, sticks her hand out and waves goodbye. I wave back as she disappears into the distance. The sun is still out in the summer evening, but even then it is already descending, creating a soft summer evening glow atop the roofs of the neighboring homes. One of Carlos' brothers, perhaps Javi—I am still not able to distinguish the brothers—waves at me from down the street after he fetches their mail from the mailbox.

I return a wave and let out a sigh as the day is seemingly coming to an end, only to be replaced by a night filled with no one else but Kendall. The thought alone makes my heart quicken. It's the last day I'll be seventeen, I think to myself. It's not a milestone in my eyes or anything to make a big fuss about, but there's something particularly exciting about the finality of my last day as seventeen. It's been an age that has changed me in more ways than I could ever have imagined. I met Kendall, and I lost my virginity to Kendall.

And as much as every cell in me wants to run into Kendall's arms, I stand outside for a second longer, because it's not just about how my life has changed the moment Kendall arrived into my life. There's no doubt he's played an immeasurable amount in shaping my life and the person I've become in these last few months, but I now understand what it means to find a sense of self-identity in this world. I have more of a grasp on who I am as a person than ever before. I've learned more about myself in the last few months than I have possibly in my entire life up to this point. I've learned what I stand for, and subsequently what I won't tolerate as a human being. I've learned compassion and love. I've fallen in love—and it has changed me entirely. I smile at these small feats of humanity I've discovered within myself before I go back inside, because at the end of it, there's no greater accomplishment than to find yourself in this world.

I enter my room to a smiling Kendall. He's lit in the most hauntingly beautiful way, because of the descending sun. His skin practically radiates.

"You're back," he says softly, casting part of himself in light and the other half in shadow, which seems so fitting for someone who's represented as either good or bad, depending on who you ask.

"I'm back," I smile at him.

I walk to him and when I'm close enough, he extends his arm and pulls me against his body. My breath hitches upon impact against him. He bites his lower lip and it causes all sorts of things to surge through my system. He's so incredibly handsome that I sometimes don't remember what life looked like before his presence.

"You made me wait too long," he says feigning anger by frowning and scrunching his full eyebrows together.

"What can I say—I'm a tease," I reply playfully with a devilish grin.

I would never have said anything remotely suggestive like that before, but with Kendall it's entirely too easy, too natural. He brings out a more playful and less serious side within me.

"Your dimples drive me crazy…" he moans before he kisses those said dimples.

His lips feel soft and full against my face. I want him. I want him badly.

My hand snakes up his long back, further up his neck, until my fingers tangle with the tendrils of his soft full locks of hair. He moans when I give his hair a tug. It's not a moan of pain, but of pleasure. His mouth leans in hardening the kiss, making it more impassioned. He tilts his head, which deepens the kiss even further. My heart begins its race to the proverbial finish line.

My hands move down and fumble to undo my pants. He mimics the motion with mine. Not long after, we leave a trail of clothes leading to my… our… bed. His body topples onto mine. I welcome his weight and his warmth. My fingers skim the sides of his torso and he lets how a sigh of delight. I know the spots that make him squirm—and he knows mine.

He resumes kissing me passionately. Then, he pulls back a little and looks at me. Every time he looks at me, I feel every emotion that floods his mind. His eyes tell a story better than words and pictures ever could. You can't help but fall under Kendall's gaze—he's more magnetic than even he could ever realize.

"I love you," he tells me for the countless time.

But every time, the words never lose their effect. It's because he's so completely sincere and honest when he says them. You simply feel it.

"I love you, too, Kendall," I say back, matching the authenticity in his voice.

He lowers his lips and they melt with mine. And as our bodies collide, we seemingly become one entity and just like the current descending sun, we just… radiate.

What did you guys think? It's a somewhat slower chapter, but it sets up for more active chapters coming up soon! Please review as always and let me know your thoughts!