By the time morning came, Cade was sore and exhausted—yet it was still almost impossible to pry himself from her arms.

“Do you really have to go?” Lily murmured, sleepy, into the pillow.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “I have a day full of all kinds of things you’ll be jealous of.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Like what?”

“Oh, like go to therapy. Go home and put on some clean clothes. Wash the dishes.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sounds like a blast.”

“Besides, don’t you work today?”

“Yeah, the evening shift. And trust me, all anybody orders during that shift are slices of cake and espresso. Not exactly the most challenging of jobs.”

He leaned down and kissed her. “I’m sure you’ll still knock it out of the park.”

Lily buried herself further into the blankets while he stood up and pulled on his jeans. As he stepped outside, the morning fog still clung tight to the ground.

Cade slipped into his denim jacket and raced down the stairs. He got a few looks from the guys in the mechanic shop and one thumbs-up. He nodded to them briefly and made a beeline for his car.

“Hey! That your ride?” the guy who gave him a thumbs-up called.

“Yeah…”

“Nice. Bring it by any time if you want a tune-up.”

“Thanks.” He felt a strange levity as the Mustang ushered him home. It was like his soul was lighter.

It probably doesn’t hurt that for the past week I’ve had the most incredible, intense sex of my life followed by dreamless sleep, he reminded himself.

It was better than exercise in that respect. Was the sleep so heavy because he was drained and exhausted, or was it something else?

Cade pulled into the parking lot of his apartment and bounded up the steps. As he pulled out the keys, a neighbor from a few doors down ran past him with tears that streamed down her face.

Shit. What was her name? Victoria? He couldn’t remember. Cade’s mouth dropped open in tandem with his keys that hit the welcome mat outside his door.

“Hey!” He turned to watch a man barrel down the narrow passageway toward the woman.

Cade heard the woman scream from behind him, and all he saw was red. It didn’t take much to intervene. All he had to do was take one outward step.

“Get out the way, asshole,” the man said as he came to a halt in front of Cade’s barricade. “This doesn’t concern you.”

The man was in his thirties, shorter than Cade. And his fists were already bundled up ready to attack.

He heard the woman sniffle behind him, and watched as his own fist shot from his shoulder directly into the guy’s jaw. A perfect jab.

“Oh my God!” the woman screamed as the man hit the floor.

“What the hell?” the guy asked, astounded as he wiped the blood from his hand.

He leapt up, powered by an unnatural kind of energy. Meth, coke, Cade didn’t know. But he could tell the guy felt no pain, only surprise at getting knocked to the ground.

However, the guy didn’t know how to fight. He swung at Cade wildly and landed a weak fist on his shoulder. Cade bobbed out of the way and raised up with an uppercut to the other side of the man’s jaw.

“Stop! Stop!” the woman yelled. “I’m gonna call the cops!”

“You call the cops, you’re dead,” the man hollered at her. “You know what we got in there—”

The man struggled to stand up straight, but was clearly disoriented. Blood poured from his lip onto the floor. Still, he lunged for Cade again and wrapped his arms around his waist.

Cade bore his elbow into the man’s back and aimed for a kidney. He felt the wind get knocked out of the smaller man and watched as he crumpled to the floor.

“You’re killing him!” the woman screamed. He felt her nails start to claw at his back.

“You’re both fucking crazy,” the guy wheezed.

He managed to get to his feet. Somehow, he pulled together whatever strength he had and bolted toward the parking lot.

The woman had used the last of her strength to try and drag Cade off of him. When he turned to her, her face was red and blotchy. She gasped for air between her sobs.

“Are you… are you okay?” He reached toward her to console her, but she jerked away from him. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m… I’m sorry I lost it like that.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said finally as the sobs began to slow. “He’s… he can get like that sometimes.”

“Are you alright, thought? Did he hurt you?”

She sniffed and attempted to straighten her shirt. “I’ve had worse.”

“Do you want me to call the police? You should—”

“Look, thank you. Alright? For intervening and all. But you should really mind your own goddamned business.”

“Excuse me?”

She stomped away from him, back to the apartment she’d flown out of. Cade followed behind, unsure of whether she was safe to go back in there.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” She turned on her heels at the door. Her steely blue eyes shot up a wall between them. “Mind your own fucking business.” With that, she slammed the door in his face.

“What the hell?” he asked quietly to the closed door. Cade slowly made his way to his own apartment.

I have to get out of this neighborhood.

As Cade turned on the water in his bathroom, he replayed what had just happened in his head.

Was there anything different I should have done? I mean, the guy was clearly going to keep going like some kind of meth machine. No matter how Cade spun it, he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do. Let’s just add that to one of several past incidents of adjacent woman abuse.

He shook his head as he splashed the lukewarm water on his face. It was too much, all of these incidents. Triggering, Dr. Hersh like to say. But he couldn’t help it. Every time he saw a woman being assaulted or attacked by a man, he was three years old all over again.

“Mama?” He remembered searching for her throughout the house. It was close to Christmas, and for once his parents had put up a tree. It had big, multicolored lights on it. The kind meant for outdoors, but it was all they had.

And beneath the tree? Three presents. One for each of them. Cade had spent days shaking his present and trying to figure out what it was. “Mama? Where are you?”

“Go back to bed, Cade.” His mom’s voice was strong in the kitchen, but there was a whisper of a waver.

He raced toward the kitchen where the bright lights shone overhead. “Mama! Is Santa coming—”

He remembered how the words fell out of him when he walked into the kitchen. His dad, seemingly eight feet tall, stood over his mom with a belt in his hands.

“Why don’t you ever listen to your mama?” his dad slurred.

He staggered toward Cade, but nearly lost his balance. His dad grabbed for the heavy kitchen table to steady himself.

“Cade, I said go back to bed.”

His mom was crumpled on the floor and she held one hand over her right eye. Her lip was split and blood pooled in her collarbone.

“Mama, you’re bleeding—”

“I’m okay. I just… I fell when your daddy and I were playing.”

“Hell, Dolores, how the hell long you gonna keep pampering this kid? Turning him into a goddamned faggot—”

“Don’t—”

His dad turned and slashed the belt across her head again. He heard the ring of where the metal belt hit her jaw.

“Don’t you dare talk … talk back to me.”

“Mama!” Cade cried.

He wanted to run to her, but his legs were frozen. His mom swayed on the floor. She looked drunk, just like his dad. A noise erupted from her, scared and small like an animal. Suddenly, his legs started to work.

He rushed at his father and dropped his blanket in the process.

“Don’t hurt Mama,” he yelled. But when he ran against those tall legs, big and strong as tree trunks, his dad didn’t move. Instead, he laughed.

“Well, looka that!” his dad said. “Maybe there’s a man in there after all.”

Cade didn’t know why, and he didn’t like it, but those words brought a rush of pride through him. Then he felt the metal against his back. Any strength he had drained out of him and he fell to his knees. When he looked up, tears in his eyes, his dad smiled with the belt securely in his hand.

“Might be a man in there,” his dad repeated. “But you still ain’t got nothin’ on me. You come at me again, boy, I’mma kill her. You hear me? I’mma kill your mama. And make you watch.”

* * *

Cade pressed the towel firmly against his eyes at the memory. Every time. Every time he saw a woman getting abused, he was three years old again.

As he got dressed, he remembered what Dr. Hersh had said about those techniques.

Did I try breathing? Did I stop, remove myself from the situation? No—but was there even a chance to?

What was he supposed to do? Just excuse himself while a woman was running for her life so he could take a leisurely stroll around the block?

“Fucking Dr. Hersh,” he said. He slipped into some new jeans and pulled a t-shirt overhead.

Yeah, those are great techniques when you’ve got all the time in the world. It was fucking stupid.

Still. Maybe the next time he could do something, catch himself before he flew totally out of control. After all, he hadn’t needed to beat that guy as badly as he did.

He clearly didn’t know how to fight, and he was high as hell. Would it really be that hard to disarm someone, even if all they had were their own fists, when they were in that kind of state?

Cade mulled it over as he got into his car and headed toward his appointment. Maybe he could ask Dr. Hersh for some more realistic tips and techniques. After all, he couldn’t blame the doctor.

Who the hell lived in the kind of place where men went running after their girlfriends, hellbent on beating them? Probably not Dr. Hersh. That didn’t really seem to be his scene.

As Cade pulled up to the office, he realized he was early. He sat in the car and gripped the wheel tightly.

Breathe. He counted to ten and focused on fully filling and emptying his lungs. By the time he finished the first round, he felt a bit lightheaded but also calmer.

Hell. Maybe these things really do work.

Cade glanced at his watch. Ten minutes until his appointment. He got out of the car, pulled his jacket on, and started to walk down the block. It was a part of town he’d never been to before.

Once he turned the corner, he noticed a park across the street. Canadian geese squawked and chased after little kids who held big bags of bread when they got too close. The parents took photos and laughed as they perched on the benches.

When he turned the next corner, he saw a bakery. It filled the street with an aroma that reminded him of Lily. Baguettes lined up in the window like soldiers. By the third corner, he looked forward to whatever he might find next.

Maybe those walks worked. Maybe what Dr. Hersh has been saying would really work.