It isn't until now that I realize how little time I've spent in my boyfriend's apartment.

We're always at my place when Moses has a day off, and after each late night shift, he comes over to sleep. So, as we push through his apartment door, I shouldn't be surprised by the stale smell or the mail littered on the floor.

"I got it," he says when I bend to pick them up.

As he hastily scoops the envelopes and slaps them onto the entry table, I rotate slowly while removing my jacket. The drapes are closed on the windows, with sneaky beams of daylight peeking through and onto the worn, micro-sued couch in the middle of the living room. However, everything else remains painted in shadows, even the bare walls. Despite the lack of light, the pile of dishes in the sink catch my attention. So, I roll up my sleeves and head over.

"Where are you off to?" Moses catches me by the waist and reels me into his chest.

"To wash your dishes," I laugh, but he laces his arms around me and plants a deep kiss.

It's the kind of kiss that melts my knees like a snow cone and turns me into a puddle of sticky sweetness at his feet. When he pulls away, my lips chase his to reconnect. This earns a chuckle as he slips his fingers underneath the waist of my jeans and swipes them back and forth over the top of my glutes, teasing the bare skin. Then, he slips his hands lower, grabbing palmfuls of each cheek.

"Oh," I squeak.

"I have something else in mind. Dishes can wait." He plants another kiss on me, but before I get carried away, he breaks off the kiss, heaves me over his shoulder, and sprints to the bedroom.

We're frantic as we remove each other's clothes, but when we're naked, he presses tender kisses from my neck down to my abdomen. My stomach flexes, spurring him to look up at me.

"Ticklish?"

"Maybe."

"Good." He grins, then grabs my hips and flops me onto the bed.

His smile fades as he crawls over me to settle between my legs, and a trail of goosebumps follows each kiss as his lips work their way up my chest. When he gets to my mouth, the kiss is drenched with need, and I gasp from the sensation of him pushing into me—our bodies becoming one.

∆∆∆

It's getting close to supper time, and my stomach gurgles after working up an appetite, but Moses is snoring next to me, so I snuggle against his side. The intimacy was exactly what I needed during a time when I've never felt more alone, but as soon as it was over, the obsidian clouds rolled in.

I haven't been able to find the same peace as Moses and need to slip away, so I tiptoe around the bed to pluck his shirt from the floor. I've always wanted to be the girlfriend who walks around in her boyfriend's tee shirt, and when I slide it on, it's still warm from earlier. It even smells like his faint aftershave as I press the material to my nose while walking down the hallway. His apartment is the same layout as mine, but his walls don't have photos. I don't even see any in the living room.

Perhaps after losing his parents so tragically, photos are just painful reminders for him? Yet, he also doesn't have any pictures with his siblings.

Then it hits me.

There is still so much about Moses I don't know.

Over the last few weeks, everything has been about me. Sure, we have our late-night talks, but it's mostly about work and my life, not his. So, from here on out, I'm going to focus on learning more about him and putting him first for a change.

"I'll start with those dishes," I say and head to the kitchen.

This time, Moses isn't here to stop me, but something else is. A large envelope on the kitchen counter catches my eye and slows my steps to a complete stop. It's the kind that holds documents, and I try not to be a nosy person, but the papers spilling out spike my heart rate. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF VALENTINA MORENO is plastered across the first page, so I yank the rest out of the envelope and fan through it.

I'm not sure what I'm looking at, but it's a collection of notes, questions, and old news article clips, causing my stomach to flip until I see VALERIE ROSSI on one of the pages. This time, the contents of my stomach erupt from my esophagus, and I barely make it to the sink.

"Val?" Moses calls out. "You alright?"

"No." I wipe my mouth, my hand trembling, and seconds later, there's the increasingly loud slap of his feet against the hardwood floor as he sprints into the living room and skids to a halt.

He didn't even bother to put his clothes on.

"Shit." His eyes go to the documents gripped in my hands. "Val, I can explain."

"What is this?"

"Val, I was going to tell you-"

"Are you investigating me? Are you even a nurse!"

"Yes, of course, I am."

"I'm sick of being lied to!" I throw the papers at him, but it doesn't give me the satisfaction I was hoping for as they miss him entirely and scatter to the floor.

"Val, please, this isn't what you think."

"You have no idea what I think!"

"It's a reporter. She ambushed me at work. I don't know how she found me, but she asked me all these questions."

"Bullshit!"

"It's true, Val. She slipped that under my door-"

Raising a hand, I cut him off. "Why would you keep this from me and not warn me about this supposed reporter!?"

"Because I didn't want you to worry! You have enough going on."

"How did she find you?"

"I don't know, but I keep finding notes slipped under my door or on my windshield! She'll probably ambush you next."

"I need to process this..." I shove past him and snatch my purse from the couch.

"Val, wait."

"Do me a favor." I whip around to face him. "And give me some space."

"Val, I'm not lying to you. Please, don't push me away." He takes my elbow. "I am not your enemy."

"I need to process this." I yank my elbow away and flatten him with a glare. "I've been lied to my entire life by the one person who was supposed to protect me-by the one I could depend on unconditionally. So, I don't know who to trust or what to believe anymore! What do I even know about you? I hardly know you."

"That's not true..." Moses retreats, and a waterfall of hurt cascades down his face.

"I gotta go." I turn and race for the door.

"Val, you don't have to be alone in all this." Moses is on my heels, but he doesn't get very far since he's still naked.

Lucky for me, I'm wearing his shirt, so I swing open the door and get the hell out of his apartment. I don't even care that I'm leaving behind my clothes or barefoot as I charge down the stairs, across the courtyard, and up to my flat.

Once I unlock the door, I glance over my shoulder to see Moses outside, hopping on one foot while shoving his leg into grey sweats. He's still topless and not wearing undies, but he doesn't seem to care as he stuffs his bits inside, then glances up at me.

"I won't let you go through this alone, Val. I know you're scared. I know you've been betrayed, but I will never hurt you. I love you," he shouts.

I try to ignore how those three words cause my lungs to deflate and my body to sway. For the last few days, and even moments before learning about the reporter, I wanted to tell Moses those exact three words.

But it's all ruined now.

I'm ruined.

I don't know who or what to believe anymore.

A curious neighbor is spying on us through her curtains, so I do us all a favor and slam the door behind me.

I shut Moses out.

But I can't shut out everyone.

My phone starts ringing, so I ignore it since I don't want to talk to Moses right now. Walking across the living room, I chuck my purse onto the couch and sink into the plush cushions with a groan. However, my phone rings again, and again, and again. So I ignore it again, and again, and again, and turn on Netflix to continue binging Breaking Bad.

Still, the ringing doesn't stop, so I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and dig through my purse to fish it out.

"What!?" I shout.

"Baby girl," the deep voice says, causing my body to bolt upright on the couch.

There's no mistaking my father's husky voice, and he's the last person I thought I'd hear from after what happened this weekend. So I look at the screen, except it's not a number I recognize.

"Please, don't hang up," he says.

"Dad, whose number are you calling me from?"

"No one. It's a burner phone."

"A burner phone?"

"Yes. The FBI showed up at my house in Redding. Thankfully, I saw their cars before they saw me, and I got the hell out of there."

"Why are you calling me after what happened this weekend?" I ask.

"Because, believe it or not, I love you, and I know I messed up. Your old man is fucked up, and I'm sorry. There are so many things I've done wrong, and you deserve better, but I don't regret raising you. I don't regret trying to be your father."

"I..." My chest is tight, and my throat hurts from the lemon-sized lump that has formed. "I can't trust you or believe you anymore."

"I know."

"Why did you take me? Why did you kidnap me?" I plead and can hardly see anything in front of me because of the flood of tears. Blinking makes it worse. The line is silent, so I check the screen, and he's still there. "Dad, please tell me why."

"I'll tell you. I'll explain everything," he releases a ragged breath. "But only if you meet me at the park."

"Where in the park and when?"

"Tomorrow, at noon, where I used to take your mom on dates. Don't tell anyone and come alone."

"Why can't you tell me now?"

"Because," he sniffles. "This is the last time you'll see me, so I want to explain it to your face."

"Where are you going?"

"To be with Elaine."

"What?" I skyrocket from the couch. "What the hell are you saying! Is mom alive?"

"No."

"Then what are you saying?" I begin pacing, but silence proceeds. "Dad! What are you telling me?"

"In a few days," he clears his throat, but it's still raspy when he continues. "In a few days, you'll be contacted by a lawyer, and from there, he will help you through the process of collecting your percent of my life insurance."

"Wha-what? I—"

"You're getting seventy percent, and Linda and her kids will split the rest."

"Dad, please tell me you're not going to hurt yourself," I release a breath, and it burns my lungs, so I brace against the sofa as my legs quiver.

"Promise me you'll meet me at the park tomorrow."

"Dad..." I swallow the bile racing up my throat, and my vision goes a little hazy. Why is he doing this? After the trauma of my mother ending her life, why would he do this to me again? "I will only promise to meet you if you promise not to leave the way mom did!"

"I have to go, baby girl," he rasps. "I hope you'll be there tomorrow."

The line cuts off, and I'm left standing there with the phone pressed to my ear as I hunch over the sofa.

I should hate my father, but I don't.

I hate Angelo Rossi.

I hate Alexander De Marco.

Because those men aren't the ones who taught me to ride a bike, sew buttons, or cook Chicken Cacciatore. My father did that.

And despite everything, I don't want him to die.

Yet, I don't know what to do. Staring at the phone, I scroll through my contact list, and when I reach Jerry's name, I smash the call button without hesitation.

At this moment, he's the father I need, even if he isn't mine.