Yes, I'm back and it's probably due to being quarantine, or the recent comments I've received on here and Tumblr. So I'm excited to post a new chapter from one of my favorite stories. I also plan on updating The Bachelor and Worth the risk sometime this week. So I hope you guys enjoy and of course feedback is always appreciated and that includes constructive criticism.

So Enjoy!

SAM

Letting Mercedes go with Gavin was much harder than I expected. And now, as I guide my bike back toward the club, I keep thinking of what she looked like in my rearview mirror as I drove past her on the street. Very upset. She looked very, very upset.

I remind myself that Gavin is both trustworthy and capable. Doubting my judgment at this point would be as counterproductive as it would be stupid. There's nothing I can do about it. It's too late to make any big changes, especially ones that could risk Mercedes. My gut was to go with Gavin. Now I have to trust it. Period.

Pulling into my garage and seeing the door to my apartment open reminds me I've got more problems than just worrying about Gavin's role in all this.

Cam.

I park the bike and walk in to find Cam in the bathroom shaving. After rinsing his cheeks, he meets my eyes in the mirror. I'm glad to see the hair of his goatee intact; I don't want him looking any more like me than he has to. This could get too sticky otherwise. Plus, I just don't like the guy.

"Make yourself at home," I bite sarcastically.

"Oh, don't worry. I did."

I don't even want to ask what that means. It'll just make me mad, and for the next twelve hours or so, I need to focus. And that doesn't mean on my brother. "If you need to get a couple of hours of sleep or do any more cleaning up, I can give you the keys to the apartment uptown and you can drive the car over there."

"Trying to get rid of me so soon?"

"Actually, yeah. I am."

"That's not very brotherly of you."

"Look, man, you're gonna have to leave the attitude at the door for a while. I don't have time for your mouth or your shit. Just stick to the plan and leave me the hell alone otherwise."

"Well, the plan includes a need for the video, which I've stashed in a safe place. I might take you up on the offer of the car. I don't have one since I've been in exile for seven years."

Again with the bitterness. I want to roll my eyes, but I grit my teeth and resist the urge. Obviously one of us is going to have to be the cool-headed adult of the bunch. And it sure as hell doesn't look like it's gonna be Cam. I walk into the bedroom and open the top chest drawer and dig out my alternate set of keys.

"Take the Beemer. The gold key is the one for the condo." I give him the address. He raises his eyebrows and nods appreciatively, but he keeps his sarcasm to a minimum. I'm glad about that. Maybe I got through to him.

"Nice."

"Maybe for a lawyer, but I prefer this place." He looks me in the eye like he's trying to determine if I'm lying.

"I can't believe you did it."

"Did what?"

"Finished school and went to college. And actually graduated and became a lawyer."

I sift through his words for underlying meaning, for derision or malice, but I find none. He just seems…surprised. "It's not like I enjoyed it. That was always your thing, not mine. But it's what I had to do to help Dad. Or at least I thought it was." I have to work to keep the bitterness from my tone. It still stings knowing how much they kept me in the dark, remembering all the sacrifices I made because I thought Dad needed my help.

"I guess neither of us turned out quite as we expected."

"I suppose not. I just hope, in some ways, we're both better off for what we've done and the way things turned out. Maybe it was good for both of us. I needed a little bit of you, I guess."

Cam shrugs. "Maybe I needed a little bit of you, too. Just not this much."

His smile seems genuine, and it's easier for me to return it than I would've thought, considering how things started between us. Maybe there's hope after all. I see Cam's few possessions thrown over the bed. "I'll give you a minute to get your stuff together. I've gotta get something out of the car." That's a lie. I have to get the books out of the safe and I don't want him to see where I keep important things. I still don't fully trust my brother, so I consider the fib prudent and necessary.

He nods and I walk back out to the garage, closing the door behind me. I cross to the hook racks and pegboards on the wall opposite the car. There is a small lever and hidden hinges on the second board. It opens silently to reveal a safe built into the wall. I punch in the combination. The click lets me know it's ready. The only things inside the safe besides the ledgers are an expandable file full of papers related to the club and a small stack of hundred-dollar bills. I hate not to have some cash on hand. I remove the ledgers and shut the door, then replace the pegboard over it, concealing its presence perfectly. I retrieve my jacket from the backseat of the BMW and then head back to the apartment.

Cam is putting on his sunglasses as I walk in. "Seriously? At night?"

"All these years of the sun reflecting off the water has made my eyes sensitive to light. The glare of traffic lights at night bothers me. Plus, I look pretty badass."

His lopsided grin reminds me of the happy-go-lucky kid from our childhood. "All you need is some leather pants and an Austrian accent and you could scare the shit out of some kids, Terminator-style."

"In that case, I'm borrowing your bike for Halloween."

I smile but say nothing. That sounds an awful lot like he's planning to stick around, and I'm just not sure how I feel about that. "One fright night at a time, man," I say lightly. "Let's get this one out of the way first. Can you be back here by eight or so?"

"Yep."

"And would you mind stopping by an office supply store on your way back and picking up some of these?" I hold up the ledgers for him to see.

He frowns and reaches out and grabs one. Flipping through the pages, he says quietly, "So this is what caused so much trouble."

"No. Dad's choices are what caused so much trouble," I say flatly.

Cam looks up at me. His gaze is hard, unyielding, but he says nothing, just hands me the ledger. "I'll bring 'em."

"See you in a few, then." And with that, he turns and walks out of the apartment.

MERCEDES

With only about twenty minutes left before we get to her house, I brainstorm some sort of believable reason I'd be showing up on my mother's doorstep in the middle of the night. With a strange guy in tow. It's been so long since I've called her, it takes me three tries to get the number right. It's programmed into my phone, but my phone is at Sam's apartment. I'm using one of the little cheapies that Sam wants me to toss in the trash every day or two.

My stepfather Lyle's sleepy voice sounds on the other end of the line. I breathe a sigh of relief. I didn't know any other number combinations to try, so I'd have been up the creek if this one hadn't been right. "Lyle, it's Mercedes. I'm sorry to call so late. Can I speak to Mom?"

I hear an exasperated sigh and some muffled sounds as he covers the mouthpiece with his hand. A few seconds later, my mother's voice comes on the line. "Mercedes, do you know what time it is, young lady?"

Leave it to my mother to be more concerned with propriety than the fact that her daughter is calling out of the blue at an ungodly hour. "Mom, there was a gas leak at my place in town. Can I come stay the night with you?" I hear a variety of noises before she speaks, none of which sound pleased.

"Why aren't you staying with your father? Don't you have a key?"

"Dad broke his leg. It's hard for him to get around. Calling him in the middle of the night might cause him to hurt himself. So would just showing up." Everything I'm telling her is true except the gas leak. "And I'm bringing someone with me. He's…well, he's a friend. I hope that's okay." It's funny that I couldn't even force the lie that Gavin means something more to me. It seems that even my tongue is tied to Sam, which is freaking' ridiculous. But, knowing my mother, she'll make something else of it, anyway. She'll see and hear and perceive what she wants to and make all her judgments based on what's in her head. That's the way it's always been with her.

"If you think you're sleeping in the same room with this 'friend,' you can think again, Mercedes." I can almost see her lips thinning into a self-righteous pucker.

"I wasn't even going to ask, Mom. We just need a safe place. For tonight." Gavin pokes me, looking meaningfully at me. "A couple of days at the most."

"A couple of days?"

Oh yeah, she's outraged now. Inconveniencing my mother is a huge no-no. "We won't interfere with any plans you've got. You won't even know we're there."

"I doubt that," she mumbles. "All right. When will you be here?"

"We're about fifteen minutes out now."

"All right."

With a click, the line goes dead. I sigh and hang up on my end. I look to Gavin and he grins. "Sounds like a gem."

"Oh, she is."

Perceptive guy. Just under twenty minutes later, Gavin is carrying my bag and following me up the long, curving, lighted walkway to my mother's front door. I stop on the stoop and take a deep breath, glancing at Gavin to my left. He's looking the house over, taking in the fancy brick exterior, the never-ending supply of windows, and the expensive brass knocker attached to the huge wooden door.

"This ought to be interesting."

I smile. "Oh, you have no idea." I knock.

Within seconds, the door swings open to reveal my mother, standing just inside, wrapped in a high-dollar silk robe. From her perfectly coiffed (yes, even in the middle of the night) sable hair to her sharp light brown eyes to her thin arms crossed over her chest, she oozes disapproval. Essentially, she looks much like she did last time I saw her a couple of years ago. She's pretty much always disapproving. And she's pretty much always the same age.

"Hi, Mom. Sorry to wake you."

She steps back and lets us into the foyer. "Not sorry enough, I see."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. My mother has always been the type who can't let something go. She'll get something stuck in her head or fixate on a particular oversight and she'll beat it to a bloody pulp. "I suppose not," I say agreeably. "We won't keep you up. This is Gavin. I'll show him to one of the guest rooms. I'll take the other. You won't even know we're here."

She hmphs and closes the door behind us. "You know the rules," she warns, looking pointedly at Gavin.

"I know, but I told you he's just a friend, Mom."

"I know that's what you said."

This time I do roll my eyes. "Well, I'll see you in the morning. Night." I reach for Gavin's hand and tug him forward.

As exhausted as I am, I'm having a terrible time getting to sleep. All I can think of are the things I didn't say. The things I didn't do or enjoy because of fear, because I don't trust myself. It was never about Sam and not trusting him because he's a bad boy. Yes, he is a bad boy. In some ways. But that's not the problem. Being a bad boy doesn't make him a bad person or a bad companion. But I couldn't see that past my own bias. I didn't trust my judgment. After making so many wrong decisions and letting my feelings blind me, I finally found someone worth loving and I froze.

And it couldn't have happened at a worse time. Now I'm stuck with all the unsaid things, all the regret for having been afraid. For not having acted. Or spoken. Or jumped.

If by some miracle of God, I get another chance before all this is said and done, I won't be such a coward next time.

SAM

I'm too jacked up on adrenaline to sleep. The closer dawn gets, the more anxious I get about how all this will go down. I look at the clock. With no windows, I can't see the sun coming up, but I know it is. And it makes me think of Mercedes, hopefully sleeping peacefully at her mother's house.

Alone.

The thought of Gavin possibly curled up next to her makes me ill as hell. With a growl, I throw my arm over my eyes and try to clear my mind. But it doesn't work. I can't stop thinking about her.

Maybe if I call and let it ring just once… She isn't exactly a light sleeper. One ring shouldn't wake her if she's sleeping. But if she's awake…

I hit the key for the number of her disposable cell, and the phone automatically dials hers. It rings once and I pause. Just before I hit the button to hang up, Mercedes' hushed voice comes on the line.

"Hi," she says simply.

I smile. I can almost see the shy look on her face as she says it. And in that one word, I can hear that she's pleased I called. Now I want to drive to her mother's house, sneak in the window, and have slow, quiet sex with her against the wall. "You're awake."

"Yeah. Can't sleep. You, either?"

"Nah. My head won't shut up."

"I know the feeling." There's a long silence, during which I'm sure she's wondering what it is that I want. Before I can speak, though, she does. "I'm glad you called. There's something I want to tell you. It's something I should've said earlier, but I didn't. I should've. And now I regret that I didn't. When we were face to face. But I'm an idiot, so…"

I smile into the dark. I'd be willing to bet a thousand bucks that she's fidgeting with her hair. She does that when she gets nervous. And it's very obvious now, by the speed of her rushed words, that she's nervous. "What did you want to say?"

I'm pretty sure I already know. I know how she feels about me. When she's not fighting it and not getting lost in the piles and piles of past shit that clog up her thoughts sometimes. And I would hope that, after everything that's happened, she knows how I feel. But I wouldn't mind hearing her say them, anyway. I hear her deep breath and I imagine her squeezing her eyes shut like she's jumping off a bridge or something. Leaping. And, to Mercedes, it probably feels like pretty much the same thing.

"I think I'm falling in love with you," she blurts. "Please don't say anything!" she hurries to say before I can speak. "I don't want you to feel obligated to say anything in return. I just didn't want to let you go into this without knowing how I feel, that I'm trying to leave the past in the past and not let it get inside my head and screw things up between us."

"I don't feel obligated to say anything."

"Oh," she says, deadpan. "Well, good. Because I wouldn't want you to do that."

"I won't. If I tell you 'I love you' it's because I mean it, not because it's an expected response."

"Okay," she says quietly, then, "Oh crap! Mom's up. I've gotta go. Please be careful today!"

"I will."

"See you soon?"

"As soon as I know you're safe."

"Please let that be soon."

I laugh. "I'll do my best to make them bend to my will."

"That shouldn't be a problem. You're pretty good at that."

"How do you know?"

"You've worked your charm on me more than once."

"Baby, I haven't even begun to charm you yet. Just wait until you get back."

"I'll hold you to that," she murmurs, the smile evident in her tone.

"Damn straight. You'll hold whatever I tell you to, right?"

"Whatever you say, Colonel," she teases, referring to our banter when she thought I was Cam.

"Now that's what I like to hear."

"Maybe I'll even salute you when you come for me."

"I'll have the salute all taken care of. I'm sure there will be parts of me at perfect attention when I come for you."

"You're so bad."

"But only in a good way."

"Right," she says softly. "Only in a good way."

"Try to get some rest. I'll call when I get back."

"Okay. Talk to you then."

There's a pause. Neither of us wants to say the words. So we don't. She simply hangs up. And I follow suit.

MERCEDES

If ever there was a small hope I'd get some sleep, it's gone now. I just told Sam I love him! Well, sorta. Was what I said a cop-out? Was that the chickenshit's version? Probably. But at least he got the point before he goes off to war with some mobsters.

And that's what I wanted most—for him to know. My execution just sucked. But that's not even the most emotional firework-ish part. That would be what he said to me afterward. If I tell you "I love you" it's because I mean it, not because it's an expected response. Did he tell me he loves me? Or did he tell me that if he loved me, he'd mean it? Or was he just giving me some background on his I-love-you MO? What the hell? The more I think about it, the more I go over each word, the more confusing it becomes.

On autopilot, I dress quickly and put my hair in a messy bun before I hit the door and head downstairs. The house is quiet, so I'm careful not to make much noise. Mom is an early riser. A very early riser. She likes her morning time to be peaceful, and my being here at all is one strike against me. I don't need to do anything more to poke the bear.

"Who dressed you? A six-year-old? Your shirt's on inside out."

I look down and, sure enough, my T-shirt is on inside out. I wave her off. "I didn't turn on the light. I'll fix it before anyone else gets up." As if he's happy to make a liar out of me, Gavin chooses that exact moment to enter the kitchen.

"Morning, ladies," he says in his charming accent, his smile wide and pleasant. No one says anything for a few seconds, which doesn't seem to bother him one bit. "Mercedes, I can see where you get your looks. You didn't tell me your mother's such a beautiful woman." The urge to roll my eyes is strong. But then I start to feel sorry for Gavin. He is barking up the wrong tree!

"Another charmer, I see," my mother says caustically, eyeing Gavin with disdain. "Your wiles might work on my daughter, but you needn't bother with me. I'm all too familiar with your kind."

"My kind?"

Gavin has no clue what she's talking about. I probably should've forewarned him about Mom. "Gavin, why don't you get your shower first? It won't take me long to get ready."

"Are we in a hurry?"

"Well, not really. My first class doesn't start for a while, but—"

"First class?"

"Yeah." At his blank expression, I continue. "Class. Classroom. College. You know, school, where I go to learn."

Gavin frowns. "But you're not going to class today."

"Um, yes I am."

"Um, no you're not."

"Um, yes I am. Why wouldn't I?"

looks pointedly at me and then tips his head slightly toward my mother. He doesn't want to state his reasoning in front of her, but she misinterprets his action.

"Oh, don't mind me. She doesn't care what I think. Abuse her all you want."

"Abuse her?"

"You don't think keeping her from bettering herself is abuse? You don't think ruining her life with your mere presence is abuse?"

"How am I—"

"Mom, that's not what he's doing. Look, it's a long story. We can talk about it later. Right now," I say, looking pointedly right back at Gavin, "he's going for a shower while we have coffee."

I don't think Gavin particularly prefers the way I handled things, but he's smart enough not to argue in front of my mother. I think he's catching on to the bug up her ass pretty quickly.

He nods slowly and starts to back out of the kitchen. "Yeah, I do need a shower. I have some phone calls to make, too."

After Gavin makes his uncomfortable exit, Mom and I are left with an equally uncomfortable silence. It's not empty, though. No, it's filled with all kinds of judgment and condemnation. She doesn't have to say a word. It's all right there on her face, plain as day, for all the world to see. I sigh. "Mom, I know what—"

"Take my car," she interrupts me to say.

"What?"

"Take my car. Go on to school. Don't let that…person stand in your way. Be stronger than that, Mercedes."

I won't even address the fact that she thinks I'm weak. She's never really tried to hide her opinion from me. Or anyone else who might be interested in listening. "Mom, you don't know anything about Gavin. He's a really good guy."

"So you've said about all the other losers you've wasted your life chasing."

"I haven't chased them. And I haven't wasted my life. I'll be graduating soon."

"And then going back to help your father, wasting away on that farm."

"I don't consider that wasting away."

"Well, that's a matter of opinion. But these boys you keep latching on to. Mercedes…" She shakes her head in exasperated disappointment.

"I may have made some poor choices in the past, but that doesn't mean that every guy who might share some of the same…characteristics I like in a man is the same kind of guy. It's possible to be a fun-loving person, but still, be good and decent and kind."

"I'm sure it is. But you never seem to find that kind."

"I admit that I've not had great success in the past, but this guy is different. I can feel it."

"Are you saying you've never 'felt it' before? Because I specifically remember us having a similar conversation about at least two of your previous causes."

"They weren't 'causes." Arguing with her is exhausting.

"You called one of them a 'fixer-upper.' What is that if not a cause? You want to fix these bad boys, Mercedes. You want to change them, make them into something you can live with. But that's never going to happen. Boys like that don't ever change. And certainly not for a girl."

"Some of them can."

"I'll believe that when I see it. When one of them proves his love to you, I'll never argue the point again. But until then…" Until then, I'm just the dumbass that keeps falling into the same trap, over and over and over again. "Do me one favor," she says, reaching across the island to lay her hand on mine, a rare show of affection and support.

"What's that?"

"Take my car. Go to school. Prove to me that you're strong enough to do this, strong enough to take on this kind of man and not buckle. Not give in and let him ruin your life. It would make me feel so much better."

Her expression is actually sincere. Maybe even a little worried and desperate. Does she seriously think that I'm so fragile and impressionable that I'll follow any ol' loser right over the cliff?

If I can do this one thing to prove to her I'm not the weakling she thinks I am, then why not? Maybe it would help things between us, and between her and Sam when she meets him. When she meets him, I repeat in my head, hanging on to the thought that such a day will come. "Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay. I'll take your car. I'll prove to you that I'm stronger than what you think. That I'm smarter than what you think."

She smiles, but it's more satisfying and smug than pleased and proud. It reminds me that no matter what I do, there's probably little chance of ever pleasing her. Yet I feel compelled to try.

"I won't even fuss about what you're wearing, but I do want you to turn your shirt right side out first."

"I will. Give me a few minutes. I need to brush my teeth and clean up a little better."

"That's fine. I'll get you the keys and you can leave whenever you want."

I nod and smile, trying not to think about how furious Gavin will be when he finds out I ditched him. It's not like it's a big deal, though. I mean, I'll be at school, surrounded by hundreds of witnesses. The only way I could be any safer is if I were hiding a ninja bodyguard up my butt.

My mother brings me the keys, then turns to the toaster and a bag of wheat bread lying to its left. Without so much as a word to me, she starts making toast, the same thing she's had for breakfast every day for the last thousand years.

Quietly, I slip off the stool and make my way back upstairs. Sometimes I wonder why I even care what she thinks. I pause on the steps when I realize that what I'm doing has very little to do with what my mother thinks of me, or changing it. Things have been this way between us for years. No, this has everything to do with her trusting my judgment enough to see that Sam is a good guy, that I've finally found someone worthy in her eyes. I want her to see that. Not for my sake, but for Sam's. He doesn't deserve her bias. It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with my mistakes, her mistakes, and her inability to forgive or forget either.

My determination grows with my epiphany. Yes, I'll do this. And I'll show her that finding and dating Mr. Wrongs doesn't mean I'm incapable of finding Mr. Right. It simply means that I've had lots of practice learning to work my bullshit detector. If anything, I think that makes me a professional. I snicker at my logic. And at the use of the term professional. My mother would die if she could hear my thoughts. She'd swear I'm a prostitute. I'm looking at all this as a good thing. And the fact that I'm thinking of a future with Sam, has to be a good sign. That means he'll get through this just fine and we'll have a chance to see where life takes our relationship. To me, it's worth exploring. Sam is worth any risk.

As I pass the guest bathroom, I hear the shower kick on. Gavin is just getting started. Quickly, I hurry to my room, grab my bag, and head for the second guest bath. I squirt toothpaste on my toothbrush, stick it in my mouth, and strip down before turning on the shower. I hate going anywhere without a shower. I can be in and out in a flash. If I dress at the speed of light, I can take my bag with me and put on some mascara and lip gloss on the way. I know that's frowned upon, but the roads should be fairly empty at this hour. Blasting through a hurried shower, scrubbing my teeth as I rinse, I'm hopping out of the shower and toweling off before you can say spit. I hurry to give my armpits a swipe with deodorant, give my neck a spray of perfume, and dress in the same clothes I wore for ten seconds this morning, only this time putting them on right side out.

"Can't be embarrassing my tight-assed mother, now can I?" I mumble to the mirror. I push my feet into my shoes, throw my bag over my shoulder, and drag my fingers through the tangles in my hair as I tiptoe past the guest bath. I pause to listen and can still hear the water running. I resist the urge to pump my fist. I'm not sure why, but I feel like I've just won some sort of competition worthy of headlines: "Ovaries Beat Out Testicles in Speed Shower Match." I roll my eyes at my inane train of thought. I think my mother must've taken drugs when I was in utero. That's surely the only explanation. I hit the stairs and don't stop until I'm pulling out of the driveway in my mother's Escalade. Less than thirty minutes later, I'm pulling into a parking spot outside the hall my first class is in. I don't want to go in too early, mainly because I'm not sure what time they open the lecture halls in the morning.

I decided to break cover and call April. I haven't talked to her since everything sort of…exploded. Her voice sounds scratchy and groggy when she answers.

"There better be a strip-o-gram on its way to me for a call this early. What the hell?"

I grin. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's me."

That perks her up some. "Merce?"

"It's alive! It's alive!" I tease.

"If you promise not to like it too much, I'm gonna spank the shit out of you next time I see you. What time is it?"

"Too early for you to be up. Sorry, but I don't have much choice."

"It's never too early for you, my sweet." She partially covers her yawn. "Whose phone are you calling from? Did you find a third penis to add to the mix?"

"Oh God, no! April!"

"What? I was just gonna congratulate you on your mad fornication skills. That's all."

"Uh-huh. Sure you were."

"Who am I to judge how you get your freak on? Just as long as you get it on."

"I don't have a freak to get on!"

"And that's a damn shame. One of those twins ought to be able to introduce you to your freak. Of course, if they need teachin', don't forget my number."

"Speaking of the twins…"

"Please, God, tell me that segue means you're about to give me details!"

"Um, no. But I do have something I'd like to run by you."

"Is it about dildo selection? Because those things can be tricky if you've never bought one before."

I sigh. "No, it's not about dildos. Do you always wake up this way?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I? This is how I go to sleep. It just makes sense that I'd wake up this way. Awesome doesn't take a break, Merce. And it never sleeps."

I grin at that. "And neither does humility, evidently."

"Hey, I just tell it like it is."

"Then turn your brutal honesty this way for a minute."

"Okay. Whatcha got?" I would never want to lie to April, so I carefully avoid mentioning anything that might inspire her curiosity, especially about the whole twin thing. That could get ugly pretty fast. I give her the short version (or should I say shorter version) of the phone conversation between Sam and me.

When I tell her what he said, her only response is really nothing more than a noise, but it still alarms me.

"Ahhh."

"What's that supposed to mean? 'Ahhh.'"

"Nothing. Not really. To me, it sounds like he was wussing out just as much as you did. It's not an outright declaration, but it's very provocative."

"Provocative?"

"Yes, provocative. As in to provoke. You know I'm a student of both provoking and being provoked, so I know."

"So I shouldn't take it as him telling me he loves me?"

"Just to be safe, I wouldn't. Besides, you don't want him telling you in that kind of situation, anyway. It makes it sound like he's just reflecting your sentiment. Surely a guy that hot can be a little more original."

"Oh, he's original, all right."

"Damn you! Don't tease me like that unless you're bringing one of those bits of candy to my house right this minute."

"That would be difficult on several levels."

"Difficult? Difficult is breaking and entering. But for a piece of dick like that, I'd break so he could enter. I'd commit a felony and two misdemeanors for an hour with something like that."

"Just one felony? I think you're gonna have to up your game a little for these guys, April."

A loud, dramatic sigh. "Fine. Three felonies, no misdemeanors, but that's my final offer."

"Sold!"

We both laugh, but then April sobers. "Seriously, though, Merce, if you love him, I say take the risk, but I want you to be sure. He could tear your heart into a thousand tiny pieces if you let him."

"I know."

"But if he's the one, it would be worth it to try."

"I know that, too. And I think he is."

"And you should warn him that if he hurts you, I will scissor-kick him in the nuts. Tell him, okay? You tell him that. Because I mean it. I'll go all kinds of Bruce Lee on his tasty ass."

"I hope you won't have any reason to."

"Me, too, babe. Me, too."

"Well, it's—"

A knock on my window startles me and cuts off my next thought. My heart leaps into my throat for a second until what I'm looking at really sinks in. It's just a student. A young-looking guy wearing a Yankees ball cap and a white T-shirt with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He's smiling shyly, so I roll down my window to see what he wants. "Can I help—"

Before I can even finish the sentence, a smelly rag is held tight over my nose and mouth. I struggle, but it makes no difference. Within seconds, the face in front of me swims sickeningly right before the world goes dark.