Waking up at Spencer's house the next day was a bittersweet hello. On the one hand, his bed was ultra comfortable, warm, and I never wanted to leave. On the other hand, though, his side was dismally empty.

I couldn't even remember falling asleep in his bed, but I remembered his presence alongside my body throughout the night and how nice it was to be there with him. His absence felt like a punishment.

I could hear the shower running in the attached bathroom, so he wasn't gone gone. But as the sun cast morning rays across the bedroom, I stared up at the ceiling and wondered if that was even a good thing.

After the conversation we had last night, his words coming back to me in broken pieces, I didn't know where things were left between us. All I knew was that I wanted to try and amend some of the things he shared, to fix some of the damage I'd done. If that was possible.

When the shower cut off and Spence came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, it quickly became clear that maybe it wouldn't be possible. At least not today. With his hair roughly towel dried, he wore jeans and a t-shirt as he headed toward the dresser and didn't look at me once.

I sat up and watched him grab a pair of socks from the top drawer before making his way to the nightstand on the other side of the bed where his phone was charging. He slid it into his pocket, sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled his socks on. Still without a word or a glance in my direction.

He reached for his watch next, taking his time like it was the first time he'd ever put it on. The room was so quiet, I could hear the metal clasp echo in my ears when he fastened it onto his wrist. His subtle movement vibrated across the mattress as I sat there only a couple feet away, but I felt like a ghost in the room, looking on.

When I couldn't take the silence anymore, I cleared my throat. "Spence–"

"I have to fill out some paperwork at the station," he cut me off, coming to his feet and finally turning to face me. The snap in his tone let me know that the sad, slurry vibe from last night was officially over. "You can let yourself out."

Ouch.

For all the moments I'd spent in that bed, Spence had only ever pleaded for me to stay. Before, I was always so eager to leave. And now, when I wanted to stay, he was telling me to get lost.

It didn't feel great. It felt downright awful, and I wasn't sure how long that aching pain would reside in my chest.

"Okay," I whispered, nodding slowly. I adjusted the sheets around me, looking down at the bed and then back up at him with some hesitation. His energy was as clear as his words. An air of avoidance flew off of him in waves, but I had to give it a shot. "Can we talk at some point?"

Though his legs shifted with the eagerness to leave, he stalled for a moment at the end of the bed. "I don't know," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. Tortured as his eyes were, a flicker of surrender lit up behind them. But he wiped it away as quickly as it came and shrugged. "I guess. If you want."

I sat up a little straighter, pleased that I seemed to be getting at least somewhere with him. "Okay. When?"

"I don't know," he repeated.

The shortness in his tone deflated me, but I pushed through. "I'm bringing dinner to my mom around five. Can I stop by here first? Will you be back by then?"

"Probably not."

"Why?"

His frustration poured out on a sigh. "You really want to know?"

"Of course," I blurted out. But as soon as the words came, I wanted to take them back, given the strange energy in the room and how Spence was acting. A couple minutes ago, it had been so silent. Now, the room was noisy with tension.

Why was he asking that? Did I really want to know?

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. His wolf eyes held tight onto mine, keeping me fully with him as he said, "I'll be with my dad at the Brighton docks. We're overseeing a weapons shipment into Ohio. I don't know how long it'll take."

The words crawled along my skin like a hoard of red ants, pressing a chill against my spine and drying my mouth up when I tried to speak.

As my mind reeled, all I could get out was a weak and weary, "Oh."

But Spence had no issues on that front. His voice was crystal clear as he elaborated, "We're sending thirty-five assault rifles to a motorcycle group in Cold Creek."

"Okay..." I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering why on earth he thought I'd want to know something like that.

All he did was keep going. "They've been at odds with a rival gang for months now, fighting over territory and who gets to peddle heroin to–"

"I get the picture," I said, stopping him from finishing that last thought. "Why would you tell me all that?"

Spence shrugged. "I'm reminding you of who I am and what I've been doing."

"You've never been so candid with the details before," I pointed out, immediately preferring the old standard. Where he never shared about his work and I never asked. I didn't want to know.

"Well, I don't really give a shit anymore," he explained. "And I think you need reminded of why you've wanted nothing to do with me for weeks, to the point where you've gotten yourself tangled up with a fucking asshole who probably had something to do with your brother's death."

I shoved the blankets to the side and hopped out of bed. "That's enough."

"No, it's not. I think you need to hear it." He took a step toward me. "Because I'm grateful you came over last night. I'm grateful that you were here when I needed you, but I haven't forgotten how you pushed me away."

As he took another step and drew closer, I could smell cinnamon on his breath, the eucalyptus soap that lingered on his skin. I had to hold my breath to think straight, my heart racing as he spoke again.

His voice was quieter, more serious and full of intention. "And I'm certain of why I asked you to stay over, even if I was wasted." Eyes softening, he gestured to the bed. "I'm certain of why last night, right here, with you beside me, was the best sleep I've gotten in literal years. But I don't think you have a fucking clue why you even showed up at my door, Davina, and you need to figure that out for both of our sakes."

I stood there before him, frozen against his truth. Once again, I had no defense for his accusations because I hadn't worked everything out in my head yet. And it wasn't right to just dismiss Spence's perspective, to write off all the shit he'd been going through, simply because I was trying to reframe my world and see where he fit into it.

His thoughts and feelings were valid, too.

Avoiding his eyes, my gaze drifted forward and met his solid chest. It was covered by the fabric of a light gray t-shirt, but I couldn't keep my mind from wandering to the compass underneath. Where it pointed and what it was starting to mean for me, even amidst all the other stuff that was actively coming in. Like...

Overseeing a weapons shipment.

Helping gangs peddle heroin on the streets of Ohio.

The same type of things I used to overhear through the walls of my home when Dad would share the details of his work with my mother.

Fuck.

I swallowed hard and looked up, meeting Spence's eyes. One brown, shining like a rich cognac in the morning sunlight, the other as black as night. I had no idea what to say, so I just held him there for a moment, the seconds filled with tension, his resolve meeting my confusion.

When it became necessary for one of us to break the connection, Spence took the reins.

"I gotta go," he muttered, turning to leave. My heart pounded with each step he took toward the door. And then he turned and glanced at me over his shoulder. "Has Alex reached out again?"

I shook my head. "Not yet."

He nodded, eyes flitting over my face. "Please be careful if you see him. Or better yet, don't see him." He cleared his throat and turned forward again. "No matter what happens with us, I still want you safe," he added as he left the room.

***

There were three deer in my mother's backyard. They were happily feasting on the oats in her trough as the two of us picked at our dinner plates on the patio. I'd brought lasagna and breadsticks from the pizza place in town, but neither of us seemed interested in eating.

It could have easily been the heat. The end of summer was holding on tight, and it wasn't exactly lasagna on the patio weather. But we weren't even talking, really, and while I knew my reasons for not being very chatty, I hadn't figured out my mother's yet. She just sat there quietly, watching the deer as I watched her.

They were kind of cute, I had to admit, all sleek fur and long legs, their heads bobbing up and down as they grazed. The scene was picture perfect with the trees swaying in the breeze behind them and providing a backdrop of natural bliss. I felt my mood improve just slightly as I took it all in, though not by much.

Maybe if I focused a little harder on the peacefulness around me and ate something, I could get rid of the sick feeling I'd been carrying around in my stomach since this morning at Spence's house. It was worth a shot, right?

I took a bite of my lasagna, chewing slowly, and then took a deep breath.

Another bite. Another deep breath.

I had just tuned into the sound of birds singing and picked up the twinkle of a neighbor's wind chimes when my mother spoke. Her words put an immediate damper on my plans to embrace the peace.

"Your father is calling soon," she muttered softly, not taking her eyes off the deer. "In about an hour. You could stay and talk to him, if you want."

I looked down at my plate and shifted a forkful of food around. I guess that explained her faraway mood.

I couldn't remember the last time she asked me to participate in one of Dad's calls. But it had been awhile, somewhere around his first year in prison I think. She picked up the vibe that I was done pretending like I wanted to talk to him after all the shit I'd seen that caused him to be there.

I could tell she was hurt by my decision, but she did stop mentioning his call schedule for my sake. At least until now. It made me wonder how long she had considered bringing it up again, hoping I'd say yes or anticipating disappointment if I said no. When I said no.

"I have to get home when we're done eating," I finally answered. "Just tell him I said hi."

I didn't really care to pass a message like that along, but her emotions always ran higher on the evenings when she waited for his call, and I didn't want to make things any worse.

She used to wait on his phone calls before he got put away, too. She would be worried about his safety on the streets, wondering if he'd be home in time for dinner, not allowing herself to think about what he was doing while she waited. Sometimes for hours.

At least now she knew exactly when to expect the call to ring in. She even knew exactly how long it would last.

"They don't let him talk long enough," she added like she could read my mind. If she was upset at me for not wanting to talk to him, she didn't let on. She simply took a bite of her dinner, sighed, and kept the conversation going. "I wish they gave him more time."

When she turned to frown at me, I reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, but I didn't have much to say to that because I couldn't relate to her concerns. Not then and not now.

I wanted to tell her that the people he killed didn't have the option to call home at all anymore, whether they were as guilty as him or innocent as could be. The last one was innocent. They were both in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That man would never call home again, but mentioning that to my mother would help nothing. It wouldn't change the view from her chair.

A moment later, my phone dinged with a notification, and I released my mother's hand to check it, grateful for the distraction from her woes.

But when I pulled the screen up and found myself hoping it was a text from Spence, my stomach went sour with the realization that maybe she and I weren't too different after all.

I had no good reason to even expect a text message from Spencer. It's just that I'd been thinking about him all day, ruminating over where he was and who he was with. Knowing he'd been at the Brighton docks had my head spinning with all the potential danger, and I found myself worried for his safety.

Just like my mother used to be with my dad.

I'd always said I didn't want to become her, but there I was...hoping for contact. Waiting to see if for some reason he'd reach out and tell me what time he was going to be back at his house.

Fuck. It was a depressing thought, only made more depressing by the fact that he wasn't the one texting me. And only made worse and more nerve-wracking by the fact that it was Alex.

I held my breath as I read the message.

Alex: Can I see you tonight? Coffee?

I swallowed hard as I stared at the screen, my stomach rolling with discomfort even as relief worked its way through my muddled brain.

Anxious as it made me, I couldn't ignore that this was also a message I'd been waiting for. And, more importantly, Dante had been waiting too. He'd only texted me every few hours since we discovered Alex's true identity to make sure I was communicating properly. He wanted to be prepared.

I was supposed to meet Alex somewhere public while he waited nearby, ready to carry out whatever plan he'd concocted with a couple of his trusted associates. All we needed was the invite and the meeting place, both of which were now in reach.

And yet, I hesitated.

As determined as I'd been to help Dante with his plan, motivated as I was to get to the bottom of who this lying Alessandro really was, I couldn't bring myself to go with it. Spencer's voice rang too loudly in my ears.

He'd been warning me the whole time not to trust Alex, and he'd left me this morning with another plea. Be careful if you see him. Or better yet, don't see him.

I couldn't get those words out of my head.

For both of my brothers' sake, I knew I should agree to meet for coffee. We needed answers about Dalton. We needed to know what this guy was up to. But something nagged at me from deep inside my chest and told me to listen to Spence for a change.

Davina: I'm pretty busy for the next couple days. I'm sorry.

Ignoring the shake in my hands, I set my phone down and lifted my eyes up to Mom. She was finally finishing her dinner, which was a good thing. I needed to get her inside and settled soon so she could take her call and I could take off. I was anticipating a long, quiet night at home to wallow and think about my life.

What I didn't anticipate was Alex's next text and the way it sent a shiver up my spine.

Alex: I'm afraid that doesn't work for me, Davina. We need to meet. Tonight.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The energy in those words he sent had my limbs going rigid, but I managed to work my fingers into one more text.

Davina: I'm not available tonight. I'll be in touch soon.

"Is everything alright?" When my mother's voice broke through the ringing in my ears, my head snapped up to meet the worry in her eyes.

It didn't feel alright, but I plastered on a smile and lied through my teeth. "Yes, everything is fine. Are you ready to head inside?"

She nodded and stood slowly from her chair as I gathered the dishes, and we headed back into the house, my feet dragging with hesitation.

Despite being eager to leave only a short time ago, Alex's text had left me a little shaken up, and I lingered at my mother's house longer than I expected. I loaded the dishwasher, wiped her whole kitchen down, and straightened up the living room and hall bath.

When her call with my father was looming close, I made sure Mom was comfortable in bed and said goodbye. But I couldn't bring myself to leave just yet. Needing to keep my hands busy and my mind quiet, I prepared her favorite overnight oats so she'd have something easy to grab in the morning. And then I made her a sandwich for lunch, just for good measure.

As I worked, my hands sure stayed busy like I wanted, but my mind was louder than ever. I was stir crazy and my thoughts were all over the place, wondering why Alex was so insistent on meeting tonight.

Our most recent interactions had been so awkward and choppy, a complete change from the usual buoyancy of our text thread. But now, he was onto something that felt even more strange.

It was dark out by the time I finally made it home, and when I opened my car door, my head turned like an instinct toward Spence's house across the street. His driveway was empty.

I wondered for the 100th time that night if he was okay, how he was handling everything that happened at work, and if he was safe at the docks. But worrying wouldn't get me anywhere.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Everything is going to be okay.

I repeated those words in my head as I stepped onto the porch, swinging my keys in my hand and trying to keep my thoughts on the bright side of things.

It seemed to be working. Until the moment I walked through the door and something immediately felt wrong.

My feet stalled on the rug in my entryway. I could hear the hum of the air conditioner running, but a thick summer warmth had worked its way into the living room, and I picked up the slightest smell of...tobacco?

That can't be right.

I swallowed hard, my eyes skimming the dark expanse in front of me. Across the living room and through the small hallway that led into the kitchen. Nothing looked out of place, but I couldn't ignore the discomfort that slithered up my spine like a snake. Or the way my hair stood up on the back of my neck and arms.

It was too warm. Had I left a window open?

Why did my house smell like uninvited company?

Slowly, I crept along the hardwood floor toward the kitchen, my blood running cold when I noticed the back door.

It was wide open and definitely not from my doing. I never used that door.

I reached for my phone in the back pocket of my jeans, hands moving as fast as my heartbeat. Racing and racing. Fear making my hands shake. The phone almost dropped straight to the floor, but I managed to hold it together while I fired a text off to Spence.

Davina: My back door is open. I think someone broke in.

I hit send.

Then my phone dropped to the floor as someone grabbed me from behind.