Tess slips me Cari’s keys before she leaves. “She’s ready to go,” she says, pressing them into my hand. “I brought it over and parked it in her spot.”

“Thanks, Tess,” I say. “Don’t forget to give a bill this time.”

She turns my hand over in hers, studying its broken skin and swollen knuckles. “You know what you are, Cap’n?” she says, looking up at me.

I crack a smile. “After my week of behaving badly, I’m afraid to ask.”

“You’re a nice guy,” she says, the corner of her mouth ticking upward when I groan. “Okay... a good man—and if the thought of you naked didn’t make me want to soak my brain in bleach, I’d totally do you.”

“I got an idea...” Con saunters up, slinging an arm around Tess’s shoulders. “How about you do me and pretend I’m him.”

“I’d rather drink the bleach than do you,” Tess quips back. She shoots a quick glance up the stairs Cari climbed a few minutes ago. They said their goodbyes in private, crying and hugging in a corner of the bar before Cari fled. “Now,” she says, looking at Con. “Take me for pancakes or lose me forever.”

“You just want me for my booth at Benny’s,” he says, scooping Shadrach up in his arms.

“Duh.” Tess laughs, shaking her head. “It’s the only thing you’re good for.”

“Give me ten minutes, I’ll show you something else I’m good for.” Con wags his eyebrows at her, and she snorts as he leads her toward the door. “Oh—Cari must’ve dropped this.” He wiggles the fingers draped across Tess’s shoulder. Between them is a slip of paper.

The check.

I snap it from his fingers and nod. “Thanks, man.”

“You gonna be okay?” he says, concern clouding his face. “Want to come flirt with Nora? Maybe score some free pie?”

I consider it. It would be easier. Cleaner if I leave. Stay gone until she’s asleep. Stay gone until she leaves for good.

“No—we’ll be okay.” I walk them to the door and open it for them. “See you guys tomorrow.”

They wave at me, strolling slowly toward Tess’s place to drop off Shad before they head to Benny’s. I watch them disappear down the sidewalk, jealous of how easy things are between them. How simple and clean. Shutting the door, I lock it and set the security alarm. Turn off the lights and give the place one last once-over before I head upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, is the pizza box I dropped, its cardboard lid splattered with blood. The door still hanging open, the snapped chain dangling uselessly from its frame. The coffee table is destroyed, exploded into a pile of splintered wood. Looking at it, I get a flash. Me, lifting James by his throat. Flipping him over, slamming him onto the table while Cari choked and gasped for air behind me. Like it was happening all over again, my jaw fuses shut. My ears start to ring. My chest feels tight. Dragging my gaze up from the ruined table, I find Cari. The moment I see her, everything else fades.

“Hey,” I say, stepping past the mess I made. “Con found this.” I hold the check up, and she looks at it like she has no idea what it is. Her hand comes up slow, her wrist slack as she plucks it from my fingers. I have a bad feeling about giving it to her.

“Thanks,” she says, barely sparing me a glance. “What do you see when you look at it?” She keeps her gaze fixed and steady on the painting, hanging on the wall, a few feet away from us.

I can’t even force myself to look at it let alone dissect the feelings that looking at it invokes. “I think you need some sleep, Cari,” I say, ignoring the question completely.

“Are you a better person now that you got fucked by a boy scout?” she says, still staring at the painting. She turns her face and looks at me. “That’s what James said to me. Like I’m not capable of being something good on my own.” The corner of her mouth jerks upward, more grimace than smile. “Maybe he’s right.”

The ringing in my ear resurfaces. The tightness in my chest. It starts to pull me under, but I shake it, focusing on her to ground myself. “You’re the best person I know.” It’s true, but I know she doesn’t believe me.

Can’t.

She looks at me, laughter bubbling on her lips. “How can you say that after everything I’ve done?” She jabs her finger at the painting. “After what I made you do?”

“Fuck me,” I groan, running my hands through my hair, barely curbing the urge to pull it out. “You aren’t the lone gunman here, Cari—I’ve been with you, every goddamn step of the way, giving as good as I get. You didn’t make me do anything.” I can say it now because it’s the truth and it’s high fucking time I own my behavior instead of pushing it off on her. “I’m in that painting too. My choices. My mistakes.”

She shakes her head, instantly rejecting everything I just said. “Would you have—” Her neck flames red and gaze shifts just over my shoulder. “Would any of it happened if I hadn’t pushed you into it?”

I drop my hands and look at her.

No. I never would’ve touched her if she hadn’t opened the door. Made me angry enough to forget who I am—who I pretend to be. That’s what she does to me. Makes me forget. Makes me want.

“That’s what I thought.” Her hand snaps out and yanks the painting off the wall. I watch her, rooted in place as she stalks into the kitchen, rifling through the cabinet under the sink. The drawer next to the dishwasher. Painting in tow, she disappears down the hall. I follow her, just in time to see her disappear into the bathroom.

When I get there, she’s tossed the painting into the tub. “What are you doing?” I sound dumb. Like I’m too slow and stupid to put the puzzle of her together.

“What does it look like?” she said, the bottle of starter fuel I use to start the BBQ when we grill, in her hand. She flips open the nozzle, squirting a long, thin stream onto the painting.

And then she sets it on fire.

The flames shoot up, the muffled whomp! of it blowing at her hair, pushing her back. Fire licks at the ceiling. The shower curtain blackened almost instantly. Lifting her hand, she steps closer to the tub. Too close. The shower curtain is engulfed in flames, smoldering plastic dripping onto the bathmat. She throws the check into the flames.

I lunge at her, dragging her out of the bathroom as it fills with thick, black smoke. Above us, the smoke detector starts to screech. Darting into the bathroom, I stick my hand into the flames, hair and skin instantly singed while I feel around for the faucet. Finding it, I crank it open, dousing the fire, putting it out almost instantly. Jerk the shower curtain down and toss it into the tub. The bathmat too.

Spinning around, I stride into the hallway. Reaching up, I curl my fingers around the lip of the smoke alarm, ripping it off the ceiling. I fast pitch it into the bathroom where it explodes against the tile before falling into the tub full of water and smoldering debris.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I bellow at her, hands gripped around her shoulders, shaking her. I’m being loud. Rough. I shouldn’t do that. Treat her like this, but she’s scaring me. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I hate her,” she screams in my face.

It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about herself.

“I love her.” I counter, my hands softening around her shoulders. “I love the girl who put James in the hospital. I love the girl who shoves onion rings in her face because she knows it pisses off my cousin’s bitch of a fiancé. I love the girl who makes me watch shitty reality shows and the girl who paints me when I’m not looking.”

I drop my hands completely and take a step back. “I love the half-naked girl who knocked on my bedroom door and asked me to take her home three years ago, and I love the woman standing in front me now. I love you, Cari. I’ve always loved you...” I take a deep breath. Surrender. “And I know you love me back.”

She jerks away from me like I slapped her in the face, eyes wide. Mouth hanging open. She’s about to deny it. She’s about to tell me I’m wrong. That it was just about the sex. That none of it mattered. That I don’t matter.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I know you’re scared—I’m scared too.” I step back again, pressing my shoulders against the wall. “I’m scared that you’re never going to figure it out. That you’re never going to accept the fact that this is real. We’re real.”

“There is no we, Patrick.” She flings her arm down the hall. “I’m leaving remember. This is over.”

“You’ll be back.” It hurts. Hearing her say it again, but this time I can accept it because I understand. This isn’t about how she feels about me. It’s about how she feels about herself. “I’m not going anywhere. You can run to hell and gone—I’m still going to be here, and I’m still going to love you. You do whatever you need to do to figure out what I already know. I’ll wait.”

“And what do you know?” I can tell by her tone she’s trying for sarcastic. Instead, she sounds scared. “What am I supposed to figure out, exactly?”

“That you’re enough.” I sigh, suddenly tired. Worn down. “That I love you.”

Her mouth snaps shut, and she wilts against the wall behind her, sliding down until her ass hits the floor. I step away long enough to turn off the shower. When I step back into the hall, I find her the same way I left her. Curled into herself, knees drawn to her chest.

I promised I’d leave her alone. Keep my hands to myself. Behave.

I know what I promised. What I said.

I don’t care about doing the right thing. Keeping my promises.

Doing what’s good. What’s expected.

All I care about is her.

I pick her up and carry her down the hall to her bed.

Our bed.

I lay her down and stretch out beside her.

I hold her.

And she lets me.