I’ve barely finished the healthy egg-white omelet Marisol brought to me as I sat on the couch when I hear the banging on the door. I have a flash of fear at the loud sound, but it’s quickly abated when I hear Tiffany in the hallway. “Open up, bitch. The ice cream’s melting!”

I laugh, and Marisol gives me a weird look. “Did she say ice cream? It’s ten o’clock in the morning!”

I nod, a big grin on my face as Marisol opens the door and Tiff barges right in like she’s owns the place. “Yes, ice cream, for the root beer floats. Now, important question . . . one or two scoops?”

Marisol looks to me, finally saying, “If you’re okay, Maddie, I think I’ll escape to my room for a bit, give you time to visit with your friend. Call me if you need anything, and do not get up without me—Mr. Danger’s explicit instructions—and I don’t want to upset him.” She looks terrified of Scott and would probably shit herself if I told her that I got off on his telling me what to do just so I could do the exact opposite. Drives him and me crazy . . . and we like it like that, apparently.

But she escapes, and Tiff winks at me. “Now that that’s handled . . . one or two?”

Knowing the right answer, I tell her, “Two.” I watch with delight as she commandeers Scott’s kitchen—I mean, our kitchen . . . still not used to that. A few minutes later, she brings me a foamy mess of ice creamy goodness, and I take a tiny sip and moan at the deliciousness.

“Damn, girl, you barely took a taste and are acting like it’s damn-near orgasmic. You that thirsty?” Tiff wiggles her eyebrows at me, laughing at her own joke.

“Just taking it easy on the cold ice cream. I definitely do not want a brain freeze post-concussion,” I say matter-of-factly. “Actually, yes, though . . . getting pretty desperate for the D, living with Scott and not able to do anything about it. He’s always walking around shirtless and taking showers naked to torture me,” I say overdramatically.

Tiff laughs. “Would you rather the man take a shower with his clothes on?”

“Maybe . . .” I say, then giggle softly, still careful with my voice and my head. I’m definitely feeling a bajillion times better than I was a week ago, but certain things still trigger a headache, like loud noises or flashing lights. So no TV and no crazy laugh fest like Tiff and I would usually do.

Instead, we’re chill, curled up on the couch as we catch up.

“What’s the latest on . . . Rich?” She pauses before she says his name, unsure of my reaction. But I’m fine now, moving beyond the fear and into the anger portion of my recovery, even if I do have occasional moments of panic. But Scott’s always there to talk me through it, or I have mantras I tell myself over and over on a loop.

“Still in county jail,” I tell her. “When the DA arraigned him, they denied bail, so he’s sitting there until the trial, and by the time it’s all over, Rich won’t be getting out for a long time. They got the whole thing . . . car chase, hitting my car, the choking . . . from multiple angles on various security cameras. So there’s no way he can deny it. They’re mostly just arguing over a plea deal sentence because Scott is adamant that Rich gets the maximum sentence. I tend to agree.”

It’s a relief, one I never thought I’d get. Rich’s manipulations and abuse were always so subtle, so sneaky, I never thought I’d see him actually punished for any of it. I hate that it had to get so bad for him to be caught, but I’m glad he’s at least not free to do it to another woman.

Tiff nods. “I hope he rots there myself, but I’m glad to hear you feel the same way.” She takes a long lick around the rim of her float, catching the drips of suds before they can run down the cups she brought with her to ‘keep it real’. “So, how’re things with Mr. Moneybags?”

I grin, laughing at the nickname because Scott’s money is really the last thing I care about with him, but it’s the flashy thing most folks see first. “Really good. Great, actually. He’s been taking great care of me, and we’ve had some pretty deep conversations about the future and the past . . . mostly about how messed up we both are. We’re making our edges a little more obvious to each other, as awkward as fuck as that is, so that we can keep from getting cut.”

Tiff has a moment of wisdom. “Daddy issues, Mommy issues, trust issues, control issues, insecurity . . . you two are a veritable cornucopia of therapy waiting to happen.” It’s ugly when she says it like that, even though she’s half-kidding, but she’s not wrong.

We are pretty fucked-up people, but at least we can be fucked-up together and help wipe away the dirt, reveal the shine underneath the pain we’ve each had, maybe even heal some of the damage with love and a spit polish. It’s not a pretty process. It’s a bit two steps forward and one step backward, which Scott says is my favorite dance, while his only move is forward, full steam ahead. But it’s our dance.

Trying to lighten the mood, I tell Tiff with a raised eyebrow, “Yeah, we’ve definitely agreed on no Mommy or Daddy kinky shit and that he can be a control freak all he wants while we’re having sex because I like it then, but outside the bedroom, we’re equal partners. Ones who say ‘I love you’ and give reassuring comments like a fucking Hallmark movie.”

“Y’all are a Hallmark movie! Except for the bossy bedroom stuff. That’s more Skin-a-Max After Hours. Bow-chicka-bow-wow,” she says with a little shimmy. “But he’s the rich knight come to save the day of the poor barmaiden in distress.”

“Yeah, definitely not,” I tell her, knowing I’d told Scott that several times when we’d first started out and she’s well aware of that fact. “I know we’re annoying as fuck, but it’s working for us. Especially while we’re still learning better communication. Feels good.”

Tiff looks around the big room, taking in the tall windows, the plush couch we’re sitting on, and the bright kitchen before her eyes settle on my face, searching it just as closely. “Are you happy here? With him?”

I bite my lip, not because I’m unsure but because I know that if I yell my joy the way I want to, I’ll surely scare Marisol and likely have a headache from the noise. Instead, I tell her the truth quietly. “So happy. I didn’t know it could be like this, Tiff. It’s beautiful and he’s mine. And I’m his. And it’s . . . us.” Halfway through, I give up the battle against the tears and let them run down my face, feeling cleansed by the salty release of happiness.

“I’m really happy for you, Maddie. If anyone deserves a happily ever after, it’s sure as fuck you. Just to clarify, you’re living here forever now, right?” She says it casually, but it sounds like a loaded question.

“Uh, yeah,” I hedge. “Why?”

Tiff smiles. “’Cuz I’m getting a new roomie now that you’re out. Devin needs a new place to crash. Guess his current roommates are getting a bit too bitchy for his taste, so he wants something a bit more chill. Plus, we can carpool.”

It feels a little like she’s replacing me, which stings. But I know that’s not the case. Tiff is my bestie through and through, and Devin is a great guy, so I’m glad they can help each other out with bills. “All right, he can have my room, but I get dibs on the left end of the couch anytime I come over.”

Tiff smirks at me. “Duh. Of course. That’s your end.”

“How is Stella doing? I hated that I was still in the hospital when she had the funeral for Daryl.” Stella had offered to hold off for my release, but I’d known she needed closure. It’ll be an open wound for a long time, but at least the service gave her a chance to grieve and connect with family and Daryl’s friends.

“She’s doing as well as can be expected. She misses Daryl terribly, but she’s a strong woman. Right now, she’s in survival mode . . . just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” Tiff mimics the popular kids’ movie line. “But we’re keeping the bar running like a well-oiled machine. Still no word from Carl though. Stella’s afraid he’s dead somewhere too. He’s an ass, but he’s never disappeared before so she doesn’t know what to think.”

I nod, hoping Stella at least gets an answer because the not-knowing is soul-crushing. I know that Carl did scare me, and he was grossly inappropriate, but in the scope of everything else that’s happened, it seems so much less of a big deal now. Of course, if he comes back, I’ll probably feel quite differently about that, and I’ll never risk being in a vulnerable position with him again. But that seems nebulous and full of ‘what-ifs’ . . . what if he shows up, what if he doesn’t think he did anything wrong, what if I were alone with him again? I just can’t think about it right now, and I vow to handle it better when and if Carl ever shows up.

Tiff and I hang out all day, vegging and talking and laughing until Marisol runs her off, saying, “Mr. Danger is on his way.” Tiff had feigned fear and scurried out like a field mouse who’d seen the plow coming. But she’d left the supplies for a root beer float for Scott, so I know she approves of him.

Scott stalks into the living room when he gets home. There’s an energy to his presence. I don’t notice the void when he’s gone, but when he returns, everything suddenly feels right, like a piece I didn’t know was missing is returned to its rightful place.

He places a chaste kiss to my forehead and sits down on the couch next to me. He looks distracted, and I wonder about his meeting today. I’d been so busy with Tiff that I hadn’t been concerned about his not calling, figuring he was busy playing catch-up since he’s been out with me for a week. But his voice is gravelly. “Hey, baby, can we talk?”

Oh, shit. That’s the beginning of the end, never a good question to hear. My heart races, and my voice is quiet. “Of course. What’s up?”

His eyes are scanning the rug, his fingers fidgeting, and finally, he gets up, pacing across the room, back and forth in the sunset light coming in the windows behind him. It worries me. The back and forth is my part of the dance, and I wonder if it’s my turn to be the full-throttle dance partner.

“So, the meeting today wasn’t what I expected.”

“Yeah?” I prompt.

“My dad resigned as CEO. It’s effective immediately, although he keeps his voting position on the board.” His voice is clinical, like he’s reading statistics on a graph.

“Okay, so what does that mean? I feel like you’re spoon-feeding me something big, slow and easy so I don’t freak out.”

He grimaces. “Maybe. Dad backed Chase as his replacement, but the board . . . they voted me as CEO.” His pacing stops as he eyes me, waiting for my reaction.

“Oh, my God, Scott! That’s awesome! Congratulations! That’s what you’ve always wanted.” I’m genuinely thrilled for him. It’s his dream come true. I hop up and grab him in a big hug. He melts into me for a moment, then holds me back a little, his hands still on my upper arms.

“There’s more. I made my first move as CEO, and they agreed with me. Everyone but my dad voted to make all three of us joint-CEOs . . . me, Chase, and Olivia.” His eyes look to mine, and now I see it. He’s not mad, not cold or upset. He’s in shock, stunned at the turn his day has taken.

I pull him to me, cupping his face in my hands, knowing what he needs. “I am so proud of you, Scott Danger. You are a good man with so many talents, but your biggest gift is your heart. You were literally given the thing you’ve wanted most in your whole life, the personification of your value, the symbol of success. And rather than flaunt it, revel in it, or in your own self, you shared it with the people you knew would appreciate it the same way you do. You are such a good man, and I love you so much.”

The words click in his mind, but it’s his heart that hears them, the relief and sheer joy transforming his face to a big smile. “We did it, Madison! Thanks to you, I’ve got my siblings and my company. And because of you, I have a better future than I could’ve dreamed. Thank you, baby. I love you so much!”

He goes to swoop me around in a circle but remembers the concussion protocol at the last moment and settles for picking me up to kiss me passionately. It’s everything we need. Not quite a perfect fairy tale, but so much better than either of us had ever envisioned.