The smell of coffee and bacon wafted through the morning air. No longer was I splayed across Ryker’s chest. Though he was gone, the tenderness between my legs confirmed to me that he’d been here. I rolled myself into a sitting position and stretched. My eyes burned from leaving my contacts in too long. I was trying to squeeze another week out of them, but if it resulted in pain, it wasn’t worth it.

Grace appeared in the kitchen door. “I want details.”

I dropped my face into my hands and pretended to rub the sleep out of my eyes, but in reality I was trying to hide the blush that I knew colored my face. I should have known Grace would somehow know, but I looked around trying to figure out how.

It was like she’d read my mind. “Two half glasses of wine and you’re wearing his T-shirt.” She prodded me with a plate full of bacon and eggs and sat down beside me. “Spill.”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“That’s bullshit. You gave me every last detail about Mark Hopkins’s dick, and he wasn’t even interesting.” She nibbled on the edge of the bacon and waited expectantly. “At least tell me he made you come.”

My head spun toward her. She was relentless, and I knew if I didn’t give her something, she’d make it the topic of discussion for the entire day.

“Twice.” My stomach knotted with yummy tension at the thought of what he’d done to me. There was no romance or finesse; it was pure carnal sex—and it was amazing.

“Holy shit.” She took a bite of her overcooked scrambled eggs and sighed. “I’m going to miss orgasms.”

“It’s not like your vagina is closed down forever.”

“No? Have you ever Googled stretch marks? What about vaginal delivery? If eight pounds can squeeze itself out of there, how will a dick ever feel the same? The next time I have sex, I’m probably going to have to tie a lifeline around the guy’s waist just to pull him out, or maybe attach a two-by-four to his ass so he doesn’t fall in.”

“Oh, please. First of all, most guys don’t care about stretch marks. The minute a woman drops her top, all they see are boobs. Nothing else matters. Second, if vaginas didn’t bounce back, no one would have siblings.”

“You do remember that we are both only children, right?” She used her bacon like a spoon and scooped up a bite of egg.

“I’m an only child because my parents died. You’re an only child because your dad is a jerk.”

It was true. During her mom’s only pregnancy, Grace’s father had had an affair. Her mother didn’t let him back into her bed after that. Mrs. Faraday turned to wine and travel, and Mr. Faraday turned away from his mistress and turned toward God. He went to seminary school and became a deacon. Their family became the model of Christianity to the outside world. The only problem was that Grace was more like Mary Magdalene than the Virgin Mary.

“I’m not convinced that what you say is true.”

“Look at the bright side. You won’t need that boob job after all.”

“There is that.” Grace set down her plate and cupped her already heavy breasts. “So are you and Ryker a thing now? Didn’t you tell me his name was Hawk?”

“I did, but apparently it’s a nickname only used by his inner circle.”

Grace scrunched up her face. “He has one friend. That’s a damn small circle.” She licked her fingers and pressed them against the bacon crumbs on her plate. “And doesn’t climbing between your legs last night give you access to that circle?”

Grace’s reasoning was twisted, but her question was valid. What did last night change for Ryker and me? “I’m not going to make too much of last night. It was nice, and I learned a lot about the man.”

My friend shook her head. “You always liked the ones with the broken wings.”

“Call me crazy, but I’m a magnet for tall, brooding, wounded men—the more broken the better.” Gramps had said I had a savior complex; Grams had once said I was like my mom, always falling for the wrong kind of man. In her mind, I was a bum magnet, and she might have been right. Ryker was plenty extreme; he was angry and hurt and fractured. But something inside told me he was worth my effort, and I wasn’t one to give up easily. Hell, I’d lived in an apartment with a blowup mattress and a plastic lawn chair for six months. If that wasn’t a testament to my will to prevail, I didn’t know what was.

“Be careful or you’ll end up like me.”

I stared at my beautiful friend and brushed her red hair from her face. “I could only be so lucky to be as amazing as you.”

A tear slipped from her eye. “Now you’re making me cry. What kind of friend are you?”

Pregnancy was doing a real number on her emotions. One minute she’d laugh and the next she’d cry. It was a roller coaster, but I’d take that ride with her because Grace was all that I had, and I loved her. “I’m the keeping kind.”

She leaned in and hugged me tight. “I don’t want to be a burden, but can I stay a little longer?”

“Let’s find another bed and you can stay forever.” I rubbed her back and held her like Grams would hold me when my life seemed to be falling apart. Back then it had been because someone had teased me or stolen the boy I had a crush on. Grace’s issues were a lot bigger and would require more hugs.

She sat up and looked at me. “Really?”

“Of course, but there are conditions.” I picked up our plates and walked them into the kitchen. She followed behind.

“What are the terms?”

“You provide the chocolate cake once a week, and the rest we’ll figure out.”

She leaned against the counter while I soaped up the sponge. “How about I buy a new bed for the spare room, and I take you out for dinner and chocolate cake once a week?” She bounced forward with another carrot to dangle in front of me even though I’d already told her she could stay forever. That was Grace. She always gave more than required. “Oh, and I get a television and cable so we can watch reruns of Friends.”

“You drive a hard bargain, but I think those are good terms.” We gave each other one last hug, and she ran toward the bedroom, mumbling off items on her to-do list: “Get a bed. Get cake. Cut my boss’s nut sack off.”

I hoped she was successful with her first two goals. The final one, not so much; visiting her in jail would be tough.

I’d finished washing and drying the plates when a knock sounded at the door. I rushed to it thinking it was Ryker, but I was greeted by Mona and a pitcher of lemonade. She’d been coming over a couple times a week. Her favorite thing was razzing Grace. They were quite a pair. One was a young woman who loved to talk about sex, and the other an old lady who never tired of listening.

“Hey, Mona, come on in.” I opened the door wide and waited for her to enter. “Grace is getting dressed so she can regale you with stories about long nights of hot sex.” I took the lemonade from her and led her to the leather chair. It was her favorite place to sit.

“I’m not here for Grace’s story. I want to know about you and Ryker. Was it as amazing as I would imagine? Can he bring the goods?”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. “You are not blind. You have an eagle’s eye behind those dark glasses.”

“The Lord blesses me with moments of clarity. Last night I had terrible gas that kept me up, and so I sat on the porch and sipped tea. I watched that boy sneak out of your house in the wee hours. Only one thing happens in the wee hours.” She pointed to the lemonade and Solo cups, and I poured us both a glass.

“You’re wrong, Mona, two things happen in the wee hours. Apparently men sneak out of my house and you get gas.” I left it at that, despite her sly hints for more juicy details.

A few minutes later, Grace came into the living room and invited Mona to go shopping with her, and I was never so grateful to be alone. I looked at my bare walls and decided that today would be art day, and I’d start with the picture I painted for Grams. It was the last thing she responded to, so obviously it was important to her, and that made me feel good. Grams’s picture would have a place of honor in the home she gifted me. I’d hang it so everyone would see it when they walked in.

Once the picture was up, the rest of the walls looked barren, so I grabbed my craft paints and started painting a border of brambles and branches up near the ceiling. Every so often, I’d add a bird. I’d placed a finch in the brambles, and a blue jay on the tip of a branch with a little sparrow tucked under his wing. I’d wound my way around one wall and had started on the next when a knock sounded at the door. I climbed down the ladder to see who was there.

In front of me was Ryker. His eyes were no longer hard and angry but soft and inviting. Their blue was like the summer sky.

“Hey, I wasn’t sure if you were going to come around today.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He moved forward and brushed his lips against mine. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

My insides twirled and flipped. He made me feel emotions I’d never allowed myself to explore. Things like love and happiness and hope. I leaned against the doorjamb. “I just didn’t know what to expect.”

“I would have come earlier, but I had someone interested in buying a motorcycle I’m selling.”

I wondered whether things were that bad for him. I knew he needed money, but selling his motorcycle seemed like a big deal. “You sure you want to sell it?”

“I don’t, but it’s a necessity. I need to pay for the investigator.” At the mention of the investigator, the light in his eyes dimmed to a cloudy gray. “Are you going to invite me in?”

I swung open the door, and he stepped aside. His eyes went directly to the painting on the wall and then followed my hand-painted border around the room.

He marched to Grams’s painting and took it off the wall. I expected him to pull it closer to look at the detail, but he didn’t. He threw it across the room and turned on me. “What the fuck are you pulling here?”

I stumbled back until I hit the wall. “I’m not pulling anything here, and why would you do that?” I shot forward to where the picture hit the wall and fell behind the couch. When I picked it up, I started to cry, because the frame was broken and a small tear marred the canvas. “How could you do that? This was one of the few things I had left of my Grams.” I pulled the broken picture to my chest.

“How could I? How could you? You knew this house was special to me.” His eyes went to the lines on the doorframe that I hadn’t had the heart to paint over. “You knew she was special to me.” He fisted his hands and pounded them against his thighs.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I rarely know what you’re talking about because you don’t share much of anything. Last night was the first time you really talked to me. I thought we were making progress.”

Ryker stomped toward the door. “Last night was a mistake.” He brushed past Grace and Mona, who were walking up the sidewalk. He didn’t say a word to them before he hopped into his car and sped off.

“What the hell happened in here?” Grace helped Mona over the threshold and looked around the room. “You’ve been painting.”

I set the broken picture on the floor and slid down the wall. “Apparently Ryker isn’t a fan of birds.”

Mona walked to where I’d placed the picture. She picked it up and brought it close to her face. “He likes birds all right. It’s just this bird was special, and he feels responsible for her death.”

We all sat down while Mona filled in the blanks of Ryker’s life. She told us about Sparrow, her mother, Finch, and her father, Jay, whom many called Blue because of the color of his eyes. She talked about the War Birds and their hangout, called The Nest. She retold the horrors of that day and how Ryker blamed himself for everything.

At that, Grace chimed in. “It sounds like it was the little girl’s fault. If she hadn’t followed Ryker, the box wouldn’t have tumbled over, and everyone would still be alive.”

“How can you blame a four-year-old, Grace? Imagine your child making a mistake and being memorialized as the blame of some horrific accident.” I didn’t know why I fought to protect the little girl. I didn’t know her, but I knew that at her age, she wasn’t capable of knowing her actions could create such havoc. “If anyone is to blame, it’s the parents. Who brings their kids up in a gang? Who asks an eight-year-old boy to babysit three children?” My heart broke for Ryker. I was angry that he’d damaged my picture, but I was more upset because I hadn’t had all the facts. And now that I did, I was heartbroken for the man who’d lost and given so much.

Mona raised her hands in question. “Would of, should of, could of, it’s all speculation, but I agree with you, Ana. Ryker isn’t at fault, and yet he’s been carrying the blame on his shoulders for two decades.”

I stood up and grabbed my purse from the floor in the corner.

“Where are you going?” Grace asked.

“I’m going to bandage a broken wing.”