Sometimes I don't like writing these pre-author's notes, but if I don't the format looks fucked with the quotes at the beginning. So. Hi, guys.

Thank you for your reviews, loves. :) Enjoy...

all i can think is that it must be a kind of rebellion
to arm your fears like soldiers and slay them

and i can tell you that you're all i've ever wanted, dear
through the din of your breathing while you're sleeping here
you wake and you ask me if i'm gonna be here forever, forever, forever
The Airborne Toxic Event, "All I've Ever Wanted"

They left her in the fucking van, and there wasn't a word she could say about it thanks to Bobby's rules. Rat had driven—apparently they didn't even trust her with that much—but he'd been deployed elsewhere, so it was just her. In a van. In a parking deck. She was furious and frustrated, but she'd kept her mouth shut and thanked them for allowing her to come.

She knew what a big deal it was. She wasn't stupid. She was just a little blind and occasionally irrational where Teddy was concerned.

Probably better they'd left her in the van, all things considered.

She was a few blocks away from the hotel, and they hadn't let her in on the entire plan—something she found a little irresponsible—but they had given her a radio. San Francisco traffic could be nuts, and the last thing they wanted to do was haul Teddy Flanary four blocks, or have to stand outside the fucking Four Seasons waiting on a ride.

She drummed impatient fingers against the steering wheel and waited. She was sweating in her leather jacket, so she stripped it off and tossed it in the passenger seat. Her knee jiggered up and down. She smoothed a hand down her thigh and tried to relax.

The radio crackled and she swooped it up. Chibs' voice came through, and there was something so deeply calm about it that her nervousness instantly ratcheted up about ten notches.

"Out in five," he said.

That was all, three short words, but…

She shook off her dread and put the van in gear. "Check," she said into the radio and set it aside. She navigated the few blocks easily, and turned in to park at the deliveries entrance. Slipped her jacket back on, hopped out, and leaned against the van. She lit a cigarette and pretended to smoke it as she waited.

The back door burst open and Chibs and Bobby hustled through it. They were pushing a large cart loaded down with towels, and their faces were…not happy. She tossed the cigarette aside and opened the back of the van.

Once they were hidden behind the big doors they hauled someone from underneath the towels—and it wasn't Doyle. Her breath caught.

Juice's head lolled insensibly as they slid him up into the van. Bloody towels were strapped around his body, held on with thick leather belts. There was blood on his face, and his pants were soaked.

"What the fuck?" she whispered.

"Steady, lass," Chibs said. "Do what you can here, and we'll get him to hospital." He grabbed her arm and squeezed. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes huge. "Olivia. Olivia, you need to breathe."

She snapped into focus and the air rushed out of her in a long stream. She swallowed and brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. When she looked up again she was all business; crisis-mode Olivia.

She jumped into the van beside him and started barking out questions: "What happened? How much blood has he lost? When did he lose consciousness?"

"Shot," Chibs said. "Two to the torso. Fuckin' bullets went right through the goddamn vest like it was wet paper."

She chewed her lip, hit the split and ignored it. Of course they had armor-piercers. Seemed like Teddy planned for everything. Now they were shooting up the goddamn Four Seasons, and every fucking cop in San Francisco was gonna be all over this place in seconds.

She shook off her dark thoughts and bent over Juice. His breathing was shallow but steady. Airway clear. She turned his head to keep it that way and checked his pulse. She would much rather have him conscious, despite the pain, but she'd take what she could get.

"They had silencers," he said in response to her expression. "We thought they were waiters, for fuck's sake. Took us by complete surprise."

"Did you at least get Teddy?"

"Right behind us," Bobby said. "We had to get another cart since we used this one for Juice."

"Where the fuck are we gonna put him?" she said.

Just then, as if in answer to her question, another van rolled up between theirs and the hotel. Rat was driving it. She gave a wry shake of her head. They really hadn't told her the whole plan.

"Backup," Chibs said. "Just in case."

"Close the doors," she said. She grabbed the medical bag she'd brought and snapped on a pair of gloves, something that seemed a little silly, but the routine step helped calm her.

Chibs clicked on a flashlight and held it up like a spotlight. She carefully unbuckled the belts and peeled back the towels.

"Holy fucking goddamn shit," she muttered. "Help me roll him."

He set the light aside and grabbed Juice's shoulder as she pushed from the other side.

"Not hollow points, thank God," she said and lowered him down again. "No exit wounds. They must still be in there." Hopefully nowhere near his fuckin' spine, she didn't say. "No way I can get them. I'm not a surgeon."

"It'll have to be the hospital."

Her head jerked once. "Can't be here. Silencers or not, I think a large pool of blood will be noticed at a joint as swanky as the Four Seasons."

The driver's side door opened and one of the guys from Indian Hills vaulted into the seat. "We ready?" he said.

"Depends on Doyle," Chibs replied.

"Bobby, Mendez, and West are on him in the other van. Got Rat drivin' and one of our guys sittin' shotgun."

"Good. Let's go. Gotta get this lad real medical attention, rather than some trumped-up mechanic."

He grinned at her to soften the words, but she ignored him. She was a trumped-up mechanic, and Juice was bleeding to death on the floor of this fucking van. She grabbed another wad of towels and shoved them beneath his feet. If either of the bullets had hit his liver, or his spine…

She let the thought trail away. She didn't have time for that shit. "Put pressure," she told Chibs. "Hard. If we don't get this bleeding under control it's done."

He put his weight into it and she nodded her approval. She stripped off her jacket and draped it over him. There wasn't anything she could do. This was worse than with Bobby, and that had been bad enough. If only he were awake.

"Guy, driver guy," she said.

He cast a glance over his shoulder. "Shannon," he said.

Shannon the biker dude. Okay. It had been a guy's name before it was a woman's, so she didn't comment. "Hand me that bottle of water."

He passed it back to her and she wet a washcloth until it was dripping. Chibs gave her a curious look that cleared up when she held the cloth over Juice's ear. The cold water dribbled into his ear canal and he jerked.

"Whoa, hey." She pressed her hands to the side of his face. His eyes roamed the van like a panicked animal, and it was clear he had no idea what was going on. His gaze was drawn to the sound of her voice, and the second he saw her face he seemed to calm.

She smiled a little. "You look like shit, Ortiz."

He coughed his way through a laugh. "Fuck you, Gable," he croaked. "Fuck. Hurts!"

She had never been happier to hear a voice in her life. "I know it hurts, love, but I need you to try to stay awake for me. Remember when Bobby got shot? Remember how important it was for him to stay awake?"

He nodded just a little and gritted his teeth. She rested her fingers against his neck. His pulse had accelerated, and his skin was cool. Shock. Her biggest enemy right now besides the blood loss.

"Tie those towels back on and let's get him covered up," she said to Chibs.

"Cold," Juice murmured.

"I know, baby. It's okay. Just stay with me."

Between the two of them they got the belts cinched again, tighter than before. His skin was too pale. His lips, too, but at least they weren't blue. Sweat coated his face and ran down his neck to mingle with the blood in small pink rivulets.

They got him wrapped in Chibs' hoodie and jacket in addition to hers, and she was grateful for Chibs' puzzling tendency to wear five hundred layers of clothes no matter what the weather. Shannon added his jacket to the pile, and by the time they were done Juice looked positively mummified in leather and sweatshirts.

"Where are we going?" she called to Shannon.

"Concord. Far enough away we should be clear of the heat, close enough to do some fucking good."

Too far for her comfort. Bobby's shoulder had been bad enough, but she had no idea where the bullets were inside Juice's chest. They could be nestled against his spine just waiting for one wrong bump on the road to do some serious, irreversible damage. Or she could've done it when she'd rolled him to check for exit wounds. She clenched her fingers into fists.

Chibs touched the back of her hand. "You're doin' fine, lass," he said. "Look, we've got the bleeding stopped, and he's stopped shivering."

She nodded a little and swiped a hand across her cheek, heedless of the blood she smeared there. She reached down and squeezed his thigh.

His brow furrowed. "Gettin' fresh, babe? Not sure…I'm in the mood."

She grinned. "At least you still have your shitty sense of humor." She poked lower and he twitched a little.

Chibs caught on to what she was doing and kicked Juice in the foot.

"What the fuck?" he said.

She and Chibs exchanged a look. "Just checkin' to make sure everything's still intact, boy-o," he said.

"Intact?" His eyes went wide. "Are you sayin'…paralyzed?"

"Clearly not," she said, reasonably. "Don't get worked up."

"I've got two bullets in me, Liv."

"Well, that's true. But the vest will've slowed them a lot, so that probably lessened the damage." The words, designed to help him, calmed her, too. It wasn't bullshit.

"What a relief," he muttered. His eyes rolled back in his head, and just like that he was out again.

"Fuck!" His pulse had gone thready, but his breathing was still good. She slumped against the wall and pressed her wrists against her eyes. "Fuck!" she said, louder. "Goddammit mother fuck!" she screamed, bashing her fists against the metal floor beneath her and stomping her booted feet until the whole back of the van rang like a gong.

Chibs waited until she'd subsided, her head thrown back and her lungs pumping like a bellows. "Feel better?" he said.

"Not particularly." She drew her knees up and propped her arms on them. "Tell me what happened," she said.

Chibs sighed and settled in. "He was in some big suite on the top floor. Needed a key to even get up there."

"So how—?"

"Juicy did some computer magic. Got me on some sort of list. You know Americans: all accents sound the same to them. They thought I was Irish. Since I was on the list they didn't even call ahead."

"Wow. Shitty Four Seasons. One of the reasons Teddy stays here is because of how they value their guests' privacy." She said it like she was quoting from a brochure, and Chibs smiled a little, tiredly.

"Aye, well. It was a setup." He waved a hand. "We got up there; the guys were my security, and apparently I need quite a posse; and at first all seemed fine. We got into the room—more of Juicy's computer magic, this time on one of those keycard thingies—and there were two lads setting up room service."

"Did you search them?"

"We're not stupid, lass. Course we did." He sighed. "What we didn't do was search the fuckin' food."

"Ah."

"He'd had security posted in the hall, but we got rid of them easy. Guess we shoulda listened when you said too easy." He lifted a hand to scrub through his hair. Grimaced when he saw the blood coating his fingers and let it drop again.

"We got Doyle and were on our way out when they made their move. Had a gun stuffed in a goddamn chicken."

She couldn't smother a smile at the image. "Wow. I mean, it's not funny, but—"

He snorted. "No, it's a bit funny. Not terribly, but a bit."

"Who would've thought to check the chicken?" she said, giggling a little. "I mean, sure, you search the turkey for weapons—but the chicken?"

He waved a hand at her. "Don't, lass, for God's sake. You get one of your giggle fits now we might never get you back." But he was laughing too, and it set her off.

"What the fuck, you guys?" Shannon said. He hadn't seemed phased by her temper tantrum, but their sudden mirth was disconcerting.

"It was in the chicken!" she gasped and doubled over.

They both laughed until tears streamed down their faces and they clutched their bellies in desperation. It wasn't even that funny, but stress does strange things to even the steadiest people.

"Holy shit," she whimpered. "Okay, okay, gotta stop!"

He choked and wiped his face with a clean towel. "Mother of God you're awful," he said.

She tilted her head, and suddenly all trace of humor was gone, like a slate wiped clean. "Either this or scream till I can't stop, Chibby."

A line appeared between his brows. "Aye," he said, drawing the syllable out in grim agreement. "He's gonna pull through, Ollie. He's a tough one, our Juicy."

Her mouth quirked. She tugged off the glove and brushed her fingers against his forehead. "They aimed for him, didn't they? No one else was hurt. Just him."

He hesitated a moment. Then, "We should've left him outside, but he insisted. He wanted to see it through."

Her eyes didn't leave Juice's face. "If he dies—"

"He won't."

"If he does, though…" She swallowed and her jaw went tight.

"What, lass?" he prompted when she didn't continue. "You can only kill him once. And I don't think you've the stomach for torture."

She shuddered. "No. Not even for Teddy." Her face creased and she shook her head. "I don't care anymore, Chibs. As long as he ends up dead, I don't care who does it."

"All that fuss and bother to come with us."

"Yeah, well, sometimes things get put in perspective for you. Juice is mine," she said, meeting Chibs' eyes with fierce determination, "and he's what matters. I'm not going to give Teddy a chance to hurt me again, or confuse my priorities. Fuck him."

He smiled a little. "Not sure I could be so sanguine about it."

"I'm nowhere near as calm as I look, Chibby, don't worry."

There was a brief pause. Shannon had turned on the radio, and music hummed softly from the front. "He told me you're to be married," Chibs said, lightly.

"Ha!" She pressed her gloveless hand to her eyes. "I guess that's a thing that's happening, yeah."

"He also said he'll be patchin' out after all this is over."

She made a low, complicated noise. "That's the rumor."

"You don't sound convinced."

She shrugged. "This isn't an easy life to get out of. You get used to a certain…I don't know. Way. To expect someone to just change, to just turn that off…" She trailed off and shook her head. "It's not a terribly fair expectation, is it?"

"Hhmm," said Chibs. "I believe he wants to leave."

"I believe he's convinced himself that's what he wants."

"He can't be half here, lass. You know that."

"I do. Trust me, I do."

"And what about you?"

She glanced up in confusion. "What about me?"

"You've been part of this life a long time, too," he said, his tone gentle. "Might be as hard for you as for Juicy to, ah…settle down."

Her brows quirked in acknowledgement. "Maybe."

"Sounds like you two have a bit to talk over."

"So let's hope he doesn't die. I hate leaving conversations unfinished."

He barked out a grim laugh. "Good a reason as any."

When Juice opened his eyes he had no idea where he was. The light above him was bright and sterile, and there was a pain in his chest like he'd been kicked by an elephant. He swallowed around a dry mouth and lifted a hand. There was an IV stuck in it, and one of those damn pinchy things on his finger.

He scowled down at it and tried to remember how the fuck he'd ended up in the hospital. A noise startled him and he turned his head.

Olivia sat in the bedside chair with one leg thrown over the other. She was wearing the blue and white dress he loved so much. She must've had on some sort of pushup bra underneath it, because her boobs…well. Her legs looked amazing, too. She'd done something with her hair, made it soft and tousled, and her lips were an alluring siren red, full and shiny like the curve of an apple.

"Morning, sleepy head," she said.

"Am I dead?"

She laughed, her head thrown back and her short hair like a halo of flame around her face. "Why would you think that?" she said.

"Well, I mean, besides the fact that this seems to be a hospital, otherwise it kinda looks like Heaven."

"Funny, Ortiz," she said and rolled her eyes. "As if you're going to Heaven."

"A guy can dream, can't he?"

"Hhmm. That's one of the things I love about you: eternal optimism."

"So how many is that you owe me now?"

"Three. Here's another one: you're hard as fuck to kill."

"That's a really good reason."

She stood and moved closer "Resilience. What I always look for in a man."

"You don't look for men."

"Oh. That's true. Well, if I were to look…" She smirked and leaned down to press her lips against his.

He lifted a hand to brush his fingers along her jaw. "Where's the bruise?" he said, his brow creasing.

"What bruise, baby?"

"The one Teddy gave you. Yesterday."

"Don't be silly, Juicy. No one gave me any bruises yesterday." She winked and lowered her voice. "Except maybe you, but I didn't mind those a bit."

"Olivia—"

"Juicy," she murmured. She trailed her fingertips over his mohawk, a feather-light caress that made him shiver. "You know how much I love you, don't you?"

"I think so," he said, doubtfully.

"Good. I know we can't have babies, and I know our lives will never be normal, but I think we can be happy together. We can get a dog."

"I like dogs. I don't even want a baby. Why are you talking about babies?"

"A lot of people want babies. They get married and have babies. Isn't that what people do?"

"No. Not everybody. Not us." He hesitated. "I'm gonna leave the club, Liv. As soon as all this's over."

A line appeared between her brows, the stubborn line that meant she was worried but probably wouldn't admit it. Her eyes were as green as he'd ever seen them, brilliant green, like emeralds but not at all like emeralds because she hated jewelry and because her eyes were the color of new leaves. Springtime. Her eyes were springtime.

"No one ever leaves the club, Juice. Not really. We both know that."

Increasingly uneasy, he tried again. "Liv—"

"You still gonna marry me, Ortiz?"

"Of course I am. Except…" He trailed off with a frown. A sharp pain spasmed through him and he drew in a hard breath. "Are you sure I'm not dead?"

Her smile was sad. She rubbed her thumb against his mouth and kissed him again. "Not yet, baby. Not just yet."

"Clear!" the doctor called as they shocked him again. His body convulsed and everyone seemed to hold their breath as they stared at the heart monitor. Peaks appeared, and the frantic beeping slowed. "Okay, we've got sinus rhythm. Where the fuck is that chest X-ray? Someone get those two out of here and close the fucking curtain!"

A nurse pushed Olivia and Chibs further out of the room and slid a blue curtain closed to cut off their view. Olivia pressed her face against Chibs' chest and his arm tightened around her shoulders.

"Come on, lass," he said, gently. "Let's go sit down. There's nothing more we can do right now."

He led her to the waiting room and got her settled in a chair. She was like a zombie, glassy-eyed and pale. There was blood on her face and arms; it had soaked into her shirt and splashed her jeans. They were getting odd sideways looks, so he wrapped his hoodie (recently rescued from the back of the van and almost entirely blood-free) around her.

Shannon was nearby on the phone, and soon he flipped it shut and took the chair next to Chibs. "Just got off with Bobby," he said. "They're almost back to Charming. As soon as they get everything settled they'll be on their way back. He said Gemma's already headed up here."

That got Olivia's attention. Her gaze sharpened and zeroed in on him. "Gemma? How does Gemma know?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "I guess someone told her. As soon as shit went down we let our guys at the warehouse know so they'd have a heads up."

Chibs grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Calm down," he said. "She loves the boy, that's all."

Olivia snorted and slumped back in her chair. She looked away, and Chibs just barely caught what she muttered: "Wouldn't hurt her cause a damn bit if he fuckin' died."

Except—and none of them knew this, and maybe it had been a really awful thing to do—but Olivia had taken out a sort of insurance policy in case something happened to either one of them. Yesterday, just before Teddy and his boys appeared in the ice cream shop, she'd mailed a little letter to DA Patterson, complete with visual aids.

She'd done it because she genuinely didn't want Gemma dead, and she had no doubt that's what Jax would do (or have done, depending on where he was at the time) when he found out. If Gemma were behind bars she might be safe. Justice would (hopefully) be served, and she'd never get custody of the boys.

Olivia supposed it made her a rat.

She didn't give a fuck. Gemma had shot Tara, and if Juice hadn't been there she would have certainly killed her. Gemma technically wasn't part of the club, so they couldn't use it as an in for RICO—though hopefully Jax' deal protected them from that anyway. She was confident Gemma wouldn't rat out Juice, not even to save her own skin, because then they could try for RICO; void Jax' deal and come after everything the club had.

Olivia stared down at her hand, the one Chibs didn't have a death-grip on. The fingers long, the nails short and unpainted. She could see the trace of veins like a roadmap under the pale skin. A light scatter of freckles, golden and soft. She flipped it over and watched the pulse in her wrist.

What would she do if Juice died?

"He'll be all right, lass," Chibs said as though he could read her mind. "They'll get him fixed right as rain."

She turned her head to offer a brief smile, hardly more than a flash of teeth, before she looked away again.

She had told Gemma she didn't want to end up like Lyla, an old lady without her man, standing over a Reaper-draped coffin. After TJ Olivia had told herself she would never need anyone again. Need was poison. Need was death. But now an older, smarter, and maybe tiny bit wiser Olivia understood that the need TJ had fostered was disgusting and cruel, a form of dependency like an addict for her dealer. He wasn't the high, but he dispensed it: those small moments of kindness that made her feel like maybe if she just tried harder or loved him more…

She gave herself a mental shake. That part of her life was over. For good, now, because the club had Teddy and he'd be dead soon. She would be free, really free, for the first time since she was seventeen.

And what was the fucking point if she didn't have Juice? Everything she'd wanted for so long was right at her fingertips, so close she could practically touch it…and it didn't matter. She didn't care. Teddy could live or die or be eaten by alligators and she couldn't muster the slightest bit of concern. Tig had told her to use her rage, but it was gone. Evaporated and blown away like smoke.

For the last eight years she'd been focused on exactly the wrong thing, and it had taken a hacker-turned-biker with a ridiculous mohawk and stupid scalp tattoos to show her what was important, what was actually worth giving a damn about.

And now she could lose him. He could die in that room. His heart could stop, and his breath, and then she would never see his smile or hear his laugh or taste his kiss. Watch his face as he moved inside her or wake up with his arms around her, her sheets and her skin smelling of sandalwood and leather and his voice warm and rough with sleep.

"Oh God," she whispered. She ripped out of Chibs' grip and slumped forward to bury her face in her hands.

"Ollie girl," he murmured and rubbed her back.

She shrugged him off and jumped up. "Please don't," she said. "I just need—I need a second. I'll be—" She clamped her mouth shut and spun away. There had to be a bathroom around here somewhere. A bathroom with water and sinks and soap and—

She burst through the swinging door and into one of the stalls. Fell to her knees and vomited until she thought she might faint. When the dry heaves finally passed she flushed the toilet, collapsed onto the floor, and drew her knees up to her chest.

You're on a bathroom floor in a hospital, her logical, clean-freak mind said.

Who the fuck cares? replied a louder, much more overwhelming part of her.

She had the presence of mind to tug the stall door closed, but she didn't bother to lock it; that would require standing up, and there was no way she could do that just now. She needed to wash her hands. Blood had dried on them, had crawled up her arms like snakes. It was hidden by Chibs' hoodie, but she could feel it on her skin, hot as a brand.

Olivia had no idea how long she sat there before she heard the squeak-and-swish of the outer door. She tried to make herself smaller, but it didn't do any good. Booted feet stopped in front of her stall. The woman knelt and peered in at her. Let out a long sigh and pushed her way in.

"Olivia Gable, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Falling apart," she said, her voice rusty as barbed wire as it passed through her ravaged throat.

"I can see that."

Gemma held out a hand. Olivia stared at it for a long time like she had no idea what it was, but at last she raised shaking fingers and twined them through Gemma's. She hauled her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Led her to the sinks and slipped the sweatshirt off.

"Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart," she said, her voice taking on the soothing cadence of a mom.

Olivia had been without a mother longer than she'd had one, but that tone was unmistakeable. It brought instant tears to her eyes, wetness that had been absent as she'd brooded on the bathroom floor, and suddenly thirty-one-year-old Olivia missed her mother as keenly as fifteen-year-old Olivia had.

If Gemma noticed she didn't comment. She wet a paper towel and rubbed it gently against the mess on Olivia's arms. She got one side done, moving Olivia's unresisting limb like she'd position a doll, before she went around to work on the other.

Olivia pressed her fingers against Gemma's and their eyes locked. "What if he dies?" she said. "What if he dies, Gem? What will I do?"

Gemma sighed and tossed the last blood-stained bit of paper in the trash. She grasped Olivia by the shoulders and brushed her hair back behind her ears. "You'll mourn him, baby. You'll mourn him and you'll miss him, and eventually you'll move on. That's what stone cold bitches like us do."

"I don't feel much like a stone cold bitch right now."

"I know you don't. You love him. Everything changes when that happens."

Olivia's face creased. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

She turned away to dig through her purse. Emerged with a pack of Altoids and offered Olivia one. "You're a big mouth bitch with a mean streak, but that boy loves you. You're his old lady. You remember what that means?"

She sucked on the mint and nodded. "I put him back together again."

"That's right. So who the fuck puts you back together?"

Olivia blinked at her. Gemma's mouth twisted wryly.

"We do, sweetheart. Old ladies gotta have each other's backs."

She almost choked on her Altoid. "Gemma, you fucking shot Tara."

"That was a misunderstanding, and it looks like she's going to be fine and she doesn't remember anything, so no real harm done," she said with a bored flick of her fingers.

Olivia rubbed her forehead. "Jesus Christ," she muttered. Gemma's words rang false and hollow, and Olivia didn't believe her for a second.

She had, for a brief moment, felt a pang of regret about mailing those pictures to Patterson, but it was gone now. She would accept Gemma's help, because to do otherwise would cause the sort of drama that no one needed. She wanted Gemma calm. Complacent. Assured of her own place, despite Clay's death and Jax' arrest. Crises like these were what Gemma thrived on.

About some things Olivia was patient. She could bide her time. Play her hand carefully, cautiously, and bluff her way through almost anything. Look at what she'd done yesterday with Teddy and his guards.

Right now she had to make Gemma believe she was grateful for her support, that she welcomed her comfort, and that things between them were at least somewhat copacetic. When the blow came, no one would suspect Olivia's hand in it—no one besides Gemma, and they wouldn't exactly be listening to her.

She fixed on a small, tired smile. "Thank you for being here, Gemma. I didn't realize how much I needed you until you walked in."

Gemma slid her arm around Olivia's waist. "Come on, baby girl. Let's go find out about your man. We aren't doin' anyone any good cryin' in the bathroom."

Olivia nodded and allowed herself to be led away. She was cold, numb, and the only thing that penetrated her shell of static and white noise was Juice.

Only he mattered. The rest was just details.

This's really random, but I originally had that sentence a few paragraphs up as "Look at what she'd done yesterday with Teddy and the guards," but I thought "Teddy and the Guards" sounded too much like a '50s doowop group, so I changed it. Oh, I figured out why: B-b-b-b-b-Benny and the Jets! T-t-t-t-t-Teddy and the guards!

Sorry. Ahem.

More random: when I went to San Francisco we were staying at a tiny boutique hotel directly down Knobb Hill from the Ritz and it was impossible to get a taxi. The guy from our hotel would run up the hill and steal them from the Ritz line. Cab drivers didn't even know the hotel was there bc they just went straight up the damn hill. Also the dudes at the Ritz wore awesome livery with top hats.