A/N: This fic contains potentially triggering subject matter including but not limited to: suicidal references, gun violence, sexual trauma, homelessness, drug abuse, depression, homophobia, and cancer. It may contain inaccuracies. No copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading!

BOOK TWO - PART TWO - CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Sam and Cat entered the living room silently and went to sit on the loveseat side by side. Nona was still there, with her hands folded on her lap and a disapproving frown on her face. They sat there for nearly thirty seconds without saying anything before she finally broke the silence.

"Sam." Nona's greeting was curt and anything but welcoming.

"Nona," Sam responded with a small nod of her head. "You're looking… well." It came out sounding insincere even though she meant it truthfully. Nona looked like she hadn't aged a day since the last time Sam had seen her.

Nona remembered Sam's disrespectfulness well. "Likewise," she responded sharply, and it was clear that she wasn't being sincere.

Sam's feelings were hurt—that was obviously meant as an attack on her appearance, which she wasn't particularly proud of but had no control over. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and didn't say anything.

"Um…" Cat drawled awkwardly, "Nona, why don't you tell Sam what you've been up to these past ten years?"

"I think it'd be better if you start, actually," Nona replied calmly. "Do you have anything to say for yourself, Sam?"

Sam looked uncomfortable, put on the spot. "Look—I don't know what you've heard about me, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm in love with your granddaughter. I've made some mistakes, but… now all I can do is try to move on from all of it."

"If you loved Cat, you never would've broken her heart," Nona responded sternly.

Sam cringed a little. She considered her words carefully, then said, "Leaving Cat was the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life… which is, uh, saying a lot, considering some of the things I've done. But I thought it was for the best, at the time. I was wrong."

"Then why didn't you come back sooner?" Nona questioned.

Sam hesitantly replied, "The answer to that is… complicated. At first I totally embraced the biker lifestyle—I was sober for probably about a quarter of my time in the gang," she confessed, which even Cat was surprised to hear. This was new information to her. "I drank to forget, and for a while, it worked. But then the shootout happened, and things… changed."

"Was it in self defense?" Nona asked, and they all knew what she was referring to.

Sam looked extremely upset and uncomfortable. Cat placed her hand on her thigh and assured her, "You don't have to answer that. It's none of her business."

But Sam surprised them both by responding honestly. "No, not exactly. The guy killed my friend, so I went after him. He… didn't get far." It was a very basic explanation of the occurrence, but it was entirely true.

Nona's eyes were wide in alarm. Cat was annoyed—what had she expected, asking questions like that? "It doesn't matter. Sam's paid the price and it's all over now. We don't need to keep talking about it."

Nona continued speaking as if she hadn't even heard anything Cat had just said. "How many years were you incarcerated?"

"Nona—" Cat began to protest.

"Four," Sam responded. "Why?"

"Did the man die?"

Sam was visibly distressed by that question, but she quietly answered, "Yes."

Nona clicked her tongue. "Four years, for a man's life? You know, I happen to believe in the death penalty," she stated.

Sam didn't say anything to that.

"Did you have a really good lawyer, or did you just get lucky? Four years—? I've never heard something so absurd," Nona scoffed.

"The rest of my gang members got the same. Only one guy got twenty," Sam answered. "They declared the rest of us guilty of second degree manslaughter, since it was a spontaneous gang-related shooting and not a premeditated, one-on-one incident. So technically, I'm not a murderer."

"You took a man's life, Sam." Nona shook her head. "You can't possibly expect me to accept my granddaughter's involvement with someone like you. Haven't you hurt her enough?"

"Nona!" Cat scoffed. She took Sam's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I've learned my lesson. I would rather die than hurt Cat again," Sam told her seriously.

"Well, I wouldn't complain," Nona remarked under her breath.

Sam was squeezing Cat's hand hard, and she was shaking. Cat scooted closer to her, wrapped her other arm around her, and murmured, "It's okay. Please don't get upset, Sam." She could tell she was trying to hold herself back, which made Cat a little nervous. She knew Sam would never attack Nona, but she could sense her getting more and more angry and wasn't sure what might happen.

"I can't believe you came back here," Nona continued, unintimidated. "You should've known to stay away."

"But I—"

"I refuse to let you break Cat's heart again. She deserves so much better."

Sam sat silently for several seconds. Then, finally, she snapped, standing up, grabbing the ceramic lamp on the side table and chucking it at the wall, where it exploded into a million pieces. She gave out a choked sob, then ran away down the hallway and out of the room.

Cat sighed loudly in annoyance. "Dang it, Nona…"

"Case in point," Nona responded simply. "I told you she's not good for you, Cat."

Cat's eyes stung. She stood up. "I want you to leave."

Nona looked at her, not understanding. Cat had never spoken to her this way before.

"I'm serious," Cat said again. She grabbed Nona's arm and pulled her up off the couch, then pushed her towards the front door.

Nona resisted. "Cat—"

"Get out of our house," Cat demanded. "I'm not just gonna sit here and let you disrespect us like that. Please leave."

Nona didn't move.

Cat gave her another nudge towards the door. "I'm being serious. Go away."

"Catarina Valentine, I've never been more disappointed in you—"

Cat physically shoved Nona all the way to the door, opened it, and pushed her outside. "Don't come back until you're willing to accept me for who I am."

"But—"

Cat slammed the door in her face. Then she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and went to the closet for a broom and dustpan. There was broken glass everywhere. This was going to take a while.