Sunday mornings at the Jungle Gym have become a bargaining chip. The first four hours are a glorious peace fest, as quiet as my school library, which has also somehow become one of my favorite places. I don’t always study there, but I go there almost every morning. I like the regulars—a girl named Lana who I think might actually already have half of her college credits done; the two guys in the engineering club; Meagan, who’s obsessed with poetry; and Monk. I think Monk’s real name is Collin, but he’s been Monk ever since I can remember. He’s always been a foot taller than everyone, and he’s the only other decent player on our football team. He’s shit at school, though, so he has a tutor who studies with him every morning.

It’s the same at work on Sundays. The first two hours are taken up with opening the place, counting the register cash, and pre-ripping wristbands so when the place gets packed in the afternoon, staff can just slap one on a kid’s arm and let them run off to play. The rest of the morning is nothing but the regulars—the few families who don’t go to church, the mom with triplets who constantly looks like she’s about to pass out, and the woman we all call Grandma. She brings her grandson Emmitt in, and she always has a pocketful of candy. It would be creepy if anyone else did it, but when it’s a seventy-year-old grandma in overalls, somehow it becomes endearing.

“Sundays are so slowwwww,” Taryn says, pulling herself up to sit on the counter by my register. Her feet kick out until they brush my hip, so I time it just right and grab one, threatening to tip her backward. She jerks free, then scowls at me, tucking one leg under the other.

“Just trying to keep things interesting for you…you know…make the time pass,” I laugh.

“By cracking my head open in the lobby?” Her eyes roll.

“You don’t know that it would have cracked. Maybe you would have bounced,” I say.

“Ha ha,” she says.

Before the accident, I usually worked Sundays alone; at least until we unlocked the doors. Our boss decided I needed company, though, and as much as I love Taryn, sometimes I miss the silence of those first two hours on my own.

Especially when she uses our time to talk about Wes.

“So, did you guys, like…officially break up or whatever?”

She throws the whatever in to make it sound like she’s just chitchatting. It’s irritating.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, punching in the code to open the register so I can make the last deposit drop in the safe before our shift ends.

“Geesh, fine,” my friend huffs, sliding from the counter and reaching over my arm into the register to grab her time card. “Just save it all for Kyle,” she mumbles just loud enough for me to hear.

“Taryn, I told you…it’s not like that. I said I was sorry,” I say, starting over counting out the twenties in the drawer.

“I know,” she says.

I count out two hundred in cash and tuck the money in an envelope, ready for the safe. When I look up, Taryn is tapping her pen on her time sheet and staring at me.

“What?”

She shrugs in response, so I walk to the back room and drop the envelope in the slot on top of the safe. When I come back, though, she’s still staring at me.

“Seriously, either harass me or don’t. I can’t do the creepy, staring shit,” I say.

“You’ve changed,” she says.

“Gah,” I breathe out, rolling my eyes and going back to my work at the register.

“I don’t mean your leg, I mean…I don’t know, like…you had this light for a while and now it’s just, like, gone,” she says.

“Oh, you mean the bright light I had when my dad used to call me from the bar at three in the morning?” I lean my hip into the counter and fold my arms, staring her in the eyes, my mouth a hard, flat line.

“No, Joss,” she sighs. “Not then. Just…”

“You mean Wes,” I fill in, shaking my head and turning back to my work. I pull out the schedule for the next week, and I count the hours. At this rate, I might be able to afford a car by the time I’m forty-six.

“It means something that he did come back,” she says, and I do my best to not acknowledge her. “You know he thought of you. He missed you, and he wanted to come home, but he was afraid something bad would happen.”

Taryn knows everything Kyle knows. But neither is aware of Shawn being Wes’s father, and I’m not sure they understand the extent of how crazy he is.

“You talked to him about me?” I finally ask.

Her mouth twists on one side and her eyes look down as she draws in a deep breath.

“I just think you two are meant for each other,” she says.

“Taryn,” I say, punching out my employee number on the register and stepping to the side so she can do the same. “Soul mates is a lovely theory. It’s a stupid theory…but a lovely one.”

“He just wanted to keep you safe,” she says as we walk through the back hallway. “That’s…that’s romantic.”

“That’s lunacy. And he wanted to hide…and never see me again. That’s what he wanted. Let’s be real,” I say, pushing my ass into the back door and holding it open for my friend.

We walk to Taryn’s car, and I wait while she unlocks the doors.

“Besides,” I chuckle to myself. “If Wes’s mission in life was to keep me safe, then why does he park outside my house at night to stand guard when nobody is there, but the night two dudes were creeping around our front yard, he’s nowhere to be found?”

Taryn halts from getting into the driver’s seat, her eyes snapping to mine and her lips parting in surprise. She’s about to buy into the crazy.

“No, forget about it, don’t get all freaked out,” I say, shaking my head and pulling my door open. “It was nothing. They were lost, looking for a different house.”

I get in and curse myself for saying anything.

“You talked to them?” she asks.

I put off answering while I buckle, but she’s not buckling and starting the car. I’m a fucking hostage.

“No, T. I didn’t talk to them.” My words are snarky.

“Then how do you know they were looking for a different house?” she asks.

I shrug and look out my passenger window.

“I could just tell,” I lie.

Truth is, I made that theory up and sold myself on it. Those men haven’t been back, and the light hasn’t stopped working again since that night. No more rabbit holes for me.

Taryn doesn’t dig into it more, and she drops the topic of Wes and me and happily ever after—instead, talking about doing it with TK in the back of the truck out in the desert. For once, I’m happy to get these details. It’s better than the third degree.

“Who’s visiting you?” Taryn asks, drawing my attention to my driveway as we turn onto my street.

There’s a gray sedan parked at our house. My arms start to tingle with an unexpected dose of adrenaline, so I squeeze them and rub up and down, pretending I’m just cold. It’s probably because we were just talking about the strangers in my yard, but the scene we pull up to at my house has my heart beating a little faster.

I get out, and Taryn follows a few steps behind. My eyes roam over the car, and I look in the back and front windows as we walk toward my open garage. Whoever is here, they’re inside…with my dad.

“Maybe Meredith got a new car,” I suggest.

“Your dad’s sponsor?” Taryn asks.

I nod, satisfied with this theory, too, even though Meredith is on a fixed income and the car I’m looking at wouldn’t be in her budget. It’s not fancy—probably five or six years old. But it’s too much for a Social Security check alone.

I’m hesitant when I twist the handle on the garage door, pushing it open lightly to keep it from creaking.

“Hello?” I call out when I step inside. Taryn moves her hand to my shoulder, hiding behind me.

“We’re not at a haunted house,” I say over my shoulder.

“Yeah, well, weird shit happens to you. I need time to run,” she says.

“Nice,” I say, shaking my head.

I drop my wallet and phone on the counter and walk farther into the living room. I don’t even hear my dad, let alone a visitor.

“Dad? You home?” I call out.

His car was in the garage, and his keys are by the sink. My throat starts to close as another wave sends shivers along my skin just as I hear a thud in the backyard.

“He’s hitting something against the back wall,” Taryn says, her finger pushing a few of the blinds back so we can see.

She pulls the sliding door open.

“Mr. Winters?”

My dad loses his grip on whatever he was banging against the wall, and the heavy sheet falls into the dirt.

“Aww hell,” my dad says, running his wrist along his forehead, wiping away the sweat. He puts his hands on his hips and exhales, looking down at what looks like a car floor mat.

“You detailing cars now or something?” I step through the doorway next to Taryn, and my dad chuckles at my question.

“Well, it was supposed to be a surprise, and I mucked up the floor, so I wanted to shake them out for you, but…” He stops his words, pulling his lips into a tight smile as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small ring with a key on it. “She’s all yours.”

He tosses the key to me and I snag it in the air, staring at it for a few seconds in my palm while my dad steps back to the mat and bangs it against the wall a few more times.

“That’s as good as that’s going to get,” he says, walking back toward the door through the garage. He stops and looks at me over his shoulder; I glance up from the key resting in my hand. “Well? Come on. Let’s take her for a spin.”

My dad walks to the car, tugs open the door and kneels to slide the mat back in place.

“Holy shit. He bought you a car, Joss,” Taryn whispers, leaning into me as we both drag our feet slowly through the garage, around my dad’s car to what I guess is now mine.

“I…I have no idea what to say,” I stammer. My eyes blink a few times, trying to make sure what I’m looking at is real. “Dad, this…we can’t afford this. It’s too much.”

“I’ve been working at night,” he says, and I freeze, my lips parted and my head tilted slightly while my mind catches up to his words.

“That’s where I’ve been. I didn’t want to tell you, or make you feel bad. Money was tight, and I just…I wanted to be able to do some things for you, so…I restock the tack and feed store out on old forty-seven every night. It’s not forever,” he says, waving his hand and shaking his head in response to my falling face. “And don’t feel guilty. You’ll need to buy your gas and pay for insurance, but I wanted to do this. I…I needed to do this.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and look back to the key in my hand.

“Dad, I…”

My father’s hand rests on my shoulder and I look at it first, then up to his gaze. His smile slides in place and he draws me into his arms for a hug.

“That was worth it right there,” he says in my ear. “It’s nothing special, but it’s yours.”

I back away from his arms and look at my car. My car!

“It’s about eight years old, sixty thousand miles, but it was owned by an older woman and she took it in for every oil change and…” he leans forward and sniffs, smiling on one side, “she didn’t smoke. My guess is she liked potpourri, because the thing smells like one of those craft stores. Runs great. Gets good mileage.”

“I love it,” I smile, looking from my dad back to my car. I step closer and rest my hand on top, letting my fingers run along the shiny roof.

“I can drive us around the block if you want. I told Rebecca I got it, and she’s already made an appointment to get it retrofitted with hand controls with that guy she knows,” he says.

“Okay,” I say, swallowing again, my lips aching from the smile forcing my lips up higher than they’re used to.

“I call shotgun!”

Taryn rushes around the front of the car and crawls into the passenger seat. I shake my head and laugh at her.

“I can still put her in timeout, you know,” my dad says, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m pretty sure you could never put Taryn in timeout…or me, for that matter,” I laugh. “It’s fine, though. I’ll ride in the back. I want to ride in every single seat of this thing. I…I love it so much.”

I link my arm through my dad’s and lay my head on his shoulder. I don’t think I’ve done this with him ever. Not once. A day of firsts.

I made my dad drive us around the block seven times, and before I could beg for one more, Taryn faked a phone call from TK and made up an excuse to leave. I didn’t mind. She didn’t have the same enthusiasm I had for my car, and I imagine the loop around our disgustingly familiar neighborhood was a bit of torture when the thrill of the first trip wore off.

When she left, I sat in the car for an hour, turning it off and on, programming the radio stations, searching for all of the secret compartments inside. I found a hair tie in the space where the seat pushes against the center console. It has a small pink flower on it, and I put it around the mirror, twisting it so the flower hangs just below the reflection. It’s not a peony, but I will pretend it is.

When my dad left the house tonight, I hugged him goodbye. I watched him back out of the driveway through my window, not thinking less of him, but thinking less of me. He was actually doing something incredibly selfless, and my instincts were to blame him for keeping secrets and being an alcoholic.

For the last two hours, I’ve sat in the dark of my room with my back against the wall, my legs stretched out on my bed, and my phone in my lap, thinking about how wrong I was. I’ve been wondering if perhaps that applies to other things, too.

I’ve read the last text I had from Wes dozens of times.

You would have been great today. Nature just wasn’t ready for you to show that girl up yet.

Half a year has passed since he typed those words, and yet I look at them constantly, hoping to see more words behind them, new texts—the sweet ones, like before.

I close my messages and open my music, finding my favorite playlist from training and plugging in my headphones. When Rebecca called a while ago to confirm my car appointment, she also gave me the date for our photoshoot and the interview with Girl Strong. It’s next week. With heavy beats deafening my ears, I pull my knees up and push my heels deep into my mattress while I look at my muscles work. Rebecca told me the sensation will never go away. I’m making the same movements, both of my quads are flexed, the lines of definition cut deep along my thighs, and when I close my eyes, I swear I can feel both of my ankles, both of my heels, the arches of both feet. I feel the flex, just like my mind is telling my legs to do. Every time I open and look, though, only one limb is real.

“Bi-on-ic,” I mouth to myself along with the lyrics of the rap song blasting in my ears.

I stretch my legs back out and lean forward, wrapping my hands around my toes on the left and the smooth fiberglass on the right. A year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to stretch like this even if someone offered me a hundred dollars. My body just wouldn’t do it. I lacked the drive. I can’t help but smirk at that thought. I meant what I said when I yelled at Wes. Yes, I’ve lost, but I have also gained.

My blinds open, I see the lights roll up along the curb first. My music mutes out the familiar rumble of his engine, but I imagine it so well that I almost don’t hear the music anymore. All I hear is Wes.

The songs change, the beat heavier on the next song, and my mouth starts to curve with a smile. I lean back, rolling my shoulders before falling forward again, this time my legs apart, my body moving from one side to the next and then flat in the middle. My elbows fall to the bed and I push myself more until my forehead grazes the blanket beneath me.

“I am fucking awesome,” I whisper, knowing my voice is probably louder than I think with the headphones in. I smirk at the thought and sit up, prepared to scream the words in my empty house, when I notice that the lights once parked along my house are now pointed right at it.

Yanking my earbuds out, I push my now trembling body to the edge of my bed. My breath comes out ragged, and my stomach sours when the motor outside revs once. The lights are blinding, and I can’t tell who is in the car—if it is a car or a truck like I thought it was.

My eyes flash when the engine revs again, and my mouth starts to salivate like it does just before I throw up. With quivering lips, I crawl to my floor slowly, my head barely above the window sill. I keep telling myself that whoever is out there can’t see me in my darkened room, but the lights…they’re so bright.

The rev comes again, and I bring my sweaty hands up and rest my palms flat on the wall. I’m remembering it all—my dad, his car, Wes, my life…my death. It’s this flash that pans out, a blink that could have changed everything. I’m nine again, watching my life crumble, waiting helplessly, confused and alone and embarrassed.

I’m paralyzed when the last roar echoes. Tires screech, and somehow I feel like I can smell them burn. The two lights speed forward, swerving to the right, crossing through the dirt in front of our house, racing over the loose bricks that used to be a flower bed until the front of the car smashes into the back of mine.

Tires squeal again, this time in reverse, and sparks light up the night as metal drags along my driveway. The bumper of my new car is pinned underneath a large older vehicle that’s rolling down the sidewalk and into the road. The scraping sound is louder than thunder, and the car has to jerk forward and back twice before my car’s chrome loosens enough that it can drive away. Once it breaks free, the car swerves as it speeds back toward the main road leading to the highway, and I rush out front as fast as I can, just in time to see the car turn left, toward the flower fields.

My eyes flash to the totaled pile of metal in our driveway, jagged pieces of steel lying on the concrete and smoke from the friction lingering in the air. My face feels numb, and my body feels lifeless, the world growing bright, then dark, then bright again. I’m unsteady on my legs, using my hands to hold along the doorway and the walls of the hallway back to my room.

I dive for my bed and clutch my phone, pulling up my contacts. I don’t hesitate. I don’t doubt. I do nothing but believe. I believe it all…every last crazy piece of it, and I do the only thing I know will help.

I call Wes.