The sky blue hammock was hanging on by a thread to the last remaining tree in my mother's backyard, detached long ago from its counterpart.

When the twin maple that once held up the other side had been taken out in a lightning storm, I sometimes wondered if the surviving one ever felt the hole of its absence.

They'd spent so much time together, after all—born into the same forest, and then securing spots in the backyard of my childhood home when Mayor Sullivan developed the land.

For so long, it was the two of them. Now there was only one left.

Only one left.

As tall and sturdy as it stood, I could never be sure if the remaining maple felt the absence of their missing friend or not. But that day, I was certain of my own.

Looking down at my phone, I reread the messages between me and Dalton. They were the last we'd ever exchange, and I was content to know that at least I'd never taken them for granted.

Instead, I cherished every message from him, relieved at the end of every day when he'd let me know he made it home safe, basking in every call that wasn't from a prison. Or worse.

But bad things always happened. And last week was worse.

Dalton: The vibe here is weird. Chicago is a world away from Brighton.

Davina: How so?

Dalton: Hard to describe. People just move different and that Leone guy I told you about? I'm pretty sure no one should be trusting that piece of shit as much as they do.

Davina: I don't like the sound of that.

What I didn't say was I told you so. That would have been useless. He was already in too deep. Approved and well-liked, trusted enough to get sent on a special job in Chicago.

Within The Amato Group, Dalton was said to be as enthusiastic and bold as my father, but not nearly as careless, which made him a wonderful asset to the team. They ate him up, and he let them have every bite. Right to his own end.

At the same time as he should have been graduating Aurora University, Dalton was gunned down in a warehouse while helping secure an arms deal. It would go in the books as an accidental death at one of Amato's construction sites, a workplace tragedy that OSHA would never investigate.

My heart ached for justice, but opening my mouth about the things I knew was a death sentence of my own. I couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Dalton: Don't worry. The job is almost done and Dante is aware. We're gonna take it upward when I get home. Miss ya, sis

Davina: I miss you too.

I'd miss him for the rest of my life.

I knew he was gone the moment it happened. I think that was the worst part.

Even though it prepared me for Dante's visit, I'd never forget the dread that took over my bones and the emptiness that made my hair stand up on the back of my neck as I stood at the kitchen sink that day. Washing dishes, for crying out loud.

It was such a mundane activity, compared to what my twin was doing at the same exact moment. But then a shiver rolled up my spine and everything felt wrong, a deep sense of cold invading me like an icepick to the heart, no matter how warm the dish water was on my hands.

I looked up, out the window. At the ground below and the sky above as thoughts of outer space and the great beyond put me in a melancholy haze. I wondered what waited for us after we died, and I knew my twin wasn't earthside anymore.

How does one survive without half of themselves?

I wasn't sure I'd ever know.

"What did he not want you to worry about?"

When a familiar voice arrived over my shoulder, I jumped a little and set my phone face down on the patio table. Swiping at my eyes, I inhaled a short breath and shook my head. "Nothing."

"That didn't look like nothing," Spencer said as he sat in the chair beside me. The warm scent of cinnamon meandered in my direction from his chewing gum, alongside a brush of sandalwood and summer memories. I loved and hated that he still smelled the same as he always had.

Feeling his eyes on me, I put mine back on the hammock, studying its demise.

Without the other maple to keep it up, the blue linen and dreamcatcher tassels made a home at the base of the surviving trunk, deteriorating more with every year that passed.

"Davina," Spence's voice sneaked back into my ear. If I wasn't careful, the softness would be my undoing.

He was usually so assertive and bold, but he'd switched on the tenderness that day, just for me. It was doing strange things to my stomach, so when he reached for my hand, I pushed him away, despite the deep need for his touch and reassurance.

If he felt wounded, he didn't show it. "How can I help?" he asked instead.

"You can't help with anything," I said to him, keeping my gaze forward and my hands to myself. "You know that as well as I do."

Considering his father, the former chief of police in Fairhaven, was as crooked as my brothers always said he was, Spencer knew all too well how things worked around here.

The department was on Amato's payroll, helping him execute his side business here and there, keeping the law out of his hair. They still conducted business as usual around town, but they had a lane to stay in, and there were people who made sure they did so.

Spence didn't have to be a cop to know that, but he was. After graduation, he became one, just like his dad and his grandad and all the other old men before him.

"I'm not talking about police business," he said, reaching for my hand again. I let him have it this time. I liked the tingle of electricity that thrummed in my veins when his fingertips ran along my skin. "I'm talking about you. What do you need from me?"

I blinked back the tears his words brought in, escalated by the gentleness in his touch. It never seemed fair that the one person I felt so much for was the same person I had to keep at a distance. But at the harsh root of it, I didn't truly know him. I didn't know anyone in that town, not really.

There were double-dealings hidden around every corner, and lies were passed down from family to family. Spencer's was no different. Neither was mine. No one in Fairhaven was a safe place to land.

"Can I come over?" he asked next. The question confused me and thrilled me at the same time, but the hurt in his tone made my chest ache.

Dalton had been one of Spence's closest friends since we were all kids. Ours was a shared grief, and spending time together in our usual way probably wasn't a good idea. No matter how badly I wanted to indulge in the comfort of his presence.

"No." I shook my head and stood up. I needed to get out of there before he found out how weak I truly was. "I'm not really in the mood tonight."

"For fuck's sake, Davina." Spencer was on his feet like lightning, his hands finding my waist. "Not for that," he clarified softly with a frown. "I just...I know you miss him and I miss him too. Maybe we can miss him together."

As he pulled me closer, I breathed in the spicy, warm scent of him, noting the concern etched on his brow and the solemn look in his dark eyes. The way he held onto my waist had pressure building in my nose again, and I knew more tears were bound to follow if I didn't remove myself from him.

"I think I need to be alone," I muttered through a shuddery breath as I pulled away.

"Okay." He nodded, taking an extra step back to give me space. He brushed a hand over his mouth. "If you change your mind, just let me know. I can be right over."

"Yeah," I said, not intending for that one word to sound so apathetic. But the fact that Spence and I now lived across the street from each other didn't help me in my mission to stay away from the guy. It was like leaving a line of coke on an addict's coffee table.

He held the back door open for me as I stepped inside my mother's house, wiping my feet on the rug before heading into the kitchen.

Dante stood at the counter, wearing his signature button-up and black slacks. I wondered if he thought he looked cool in his little Amato uniform. He looked like a cater waiter to me, minus the .45 strapped to his hip.

His eyes were peeled on his phone as he fired off a text. At the sound of our arrival, he looked up at me and Spencer, then back down to the screen. His fingers moved faster as he finished up and then shoved his phone back into his pocket.

"Davina." He acknowledged me first before turning to Spence. "John," he said with a little twitch at the corner of his mouth, knowing how much he hated being called by his first name.

Growing up, it was only brought out in the most special and angry of circumstances, but for Dante, it was just the norm.

"Fuck you," was Spence's response, his own special norm. His hand swept along my shoulder as he headed for the front door, muttering in my ear when he passed me by. "Take care, Davina."

A moment later, his motorcycle thundered to life, the engine echoing up and down the street before slowly fading away. He was gone and it was just me and my older brother in the kitchen.

For all the ways Dalton and I communicated, twin connection or not, I hardly knew how to talk to Dante. The silence between us would have been stifling, if not for the sound of our mother's cries down the hall.

She hadn't come out of her bedroom all day, and it had nothing to do with the illness mangling her nerves this time. In the aftermath of her son's death, urged on by the absence of her husband's comfort, that day's immobility was a choice.

"How is she?" I eventually asked my brother.

He'd only been there for about an hour, so I wasn't surprised when he simply shrugged. "She won't talk to me. You'll probably have more luck."

"I've been here with her for hours," I reminded him, trying to rein in the accusation that littered my tone. It was just like him to cast her off on me, again. It had been like that since Dad got locked up. "Maybe, just this once, you could try to make some time for her."

It wasn't that I didn't want to be there for our mom, but I'd hit a wall after trying to comfort her all day long and make sense of the words she uttered through her tears. Half of them weren't even in English.

I was tired. So fucking tired.

"She's inconsolable," he muttered, almost to himself. "Won't tell me what she needs or what she wants. I can't do anything with that."

The chill in his voice made my skin crawl. Ever since he took over for our father, he'd grown so cold and distant. I hardly recognized him anymore.

"You're not a fucking robot, Dante." I let out a humorless laugh, remembering days gone by. When it was the three Harlow siblings against the world and everything was still good. "Once upon a time, you were practically a teddy bear, the best big brother, and Mom's favorite. You know damn well what she wants."

He ran a hand through his dark hair and his eyes held anger they never used to. "Davina–"

"She wants to grieve her son," I interrupted whatever bullshit he was preparing. "She wants to give him a proper viewing and a funeral service."

Dante's voice grew a foot as he stepped toward me. "Well, she can't do that."

"Yeah," I scoffed. "Guess it would probably be hard to sell three bullet holes in the face as a construction accident right?"

The visual in my head made everything hazy, and my stomach turned.

"Watch your mouth," my brother snapped.

"He's dead, Dante." The words flew out of my mouth without permission. It was the first time I'd spoken them outloud, and my heart kicked up a beat as they lingered in the air between us, the weight of them feeling like an anvil on my chest. I tried to speak again, but my breath grew shallow. "I don't know how to...I can't–"

I leaned over and tried to breathe through the onslaught of emotion.

How do you survive without the other half of you?

Staring at the floor, I heard Dante sigh, and his footsteps drew closer until a pair of shoes appeared in my line of vision. The rubber caps of his Chuck Taylors lent a nostalgic reprieve, reminding me that my brother was still in there somewhere.

"Davina, I'm..."

A pause. Silence.

When he didn't finish his thought, I summoned all my strength and looked up at him. "You're what?"

Another pause. More silence. But then something old entered his eyes. It matched the Converse on his feet and, for a split second, I swore I could see the person he used to be.

"I don't know what to say here," he said, voice strained. "Sorry doesn't seem to cut it."

He was right. Sorry didn't even scratch the surface. Dad may have been the one who got us into that shit storm, but Dante was the one who'd chosen to chase the damn thing when he could have weathered it.

"No, it doesn't cut it." I shook my head, disappointment straightening my spine.

I took a deep breath and put my mask back on, the one that made me out to be stronger than I was. And knowing Dante's concern would fade just as quickly as my stint of weakness, I decided to let him off the hook.

A moment passed quietly while we assumed our usual selves, Dante a few seconds behind me since I'd mastered the art of faking it long ago.

He cleared his throat when he was ready. "I'll stay with Mom tonight, but I have an early morning."

I nodded. "Susan will be here around seven. She can take care of things until I'm off work." I grabbed my keys from the counter. "I'll bring her dinner and make sure she gets into bed."

"Okay." Dante nodded. Then he rubbed his hands together a few times, a nervous tell of his that let me know something else was on his mind. I figured it wasn't something I'd want to hear, but I stuck around anyway. "What was Spencer doing here?"

And there it is...

I sighed. "He was just...being here. Nothing more."

"I thought I made it clear, he's not trustworthy."

"Yeah, well..."

My thoughts were interrupted by another of my mother's wailing cries. Painful and missing. For her husband and now her son. If Dad passed corruption down to us, all my mother seemed to have was despair, and I didn't want to be like her.

"He hasn't given me any reasons to believe that yet and neither have you." I gestured to the fruit basket Spence dropped off, familiar enough with our family to know that Caterina Harlow ate apples when she was sad. "If he wants to stop by and support us during a hard time, I'm not going to stop him."

"You're so fucking careless, Davina." Dante let out a frustrated sigh. "I still see the former Chief Lovejoy on the job. Did you know that? He may be retired from the department, and looks like death rolled over these days, but he's still as grimy as he's ever been. He oversaw a delivery with us at the river docks just three days ago."

My stomach rolled. "Was Spencer there?"

"No."

"Then as far as I'm concerned, he's still one of the good guys."

With that, I turned on my heel and left, holding my mask of strength in place as I hopped in the car and drove home in a daze.

But the moment I stepped through the front door, the mask fell off and I collapsed in the entryway, letting the hardwood floor absorb my tears and the shock of my grief as I cried myself to sleep.

***

When I woke up a few hours later, I wasn't on the floor anymore. I was in my bed, nightfall flooding the room in darkness.

It was only by a sliver of moonlight coming in through the blinds that I could see Spencer laying on the oversized chair in the corner of my bedroom.

My heart jumped at the sight, even as Dante's words from earlier pried through my muddled thoughts, trying to gain a footing I wasn't ready to entertain just yet.

Pulling a blanket off the bed with me, I dragged it along the floor as I took lazy steps in his direction, still half asleep. My arrival was a magnet to his senses, and when he blinked his eyes open, I couldn't help smiling at the sleep on his face.

I didn't bother inviting him to join me in the bed. When I came to him, Spencer Lovejoy simply made room wherever he was.

He scooted over on the chair, allowing me to nestle into his warmth as his arms wrapped around me. "Are you okay?" he whispered into the dark.

"I will be." I took a deep breath, the first real one in what felt like forever. My comfort level pulled the next words out of my mouth, seeking reassurance that things wouldn't go bad again. At least not for a while. "Are you one of the good guys, Spence?"

He sighed, his voice a low grumble in my ear. "What's got you asking that?"

Sleep was coming fast. I registered the tail end of his question before answering in a drowsy mumble, "I don't want to be like my mother. The people she loves always leave."

He pulled me closer. "I'm one of the good guys, Diva Davina."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

And he said, "I promise."