Pure bliss.

That’s all I feel as I lie on my stomach, staring at my newest Creative Writing assignment. I’m on the lumpy mattress in a dank, dark motel room that smells weirdly like stale cigarettes, old Doritos, and mold, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.

It’s not though my assignment is good, though it is, I think, the best thing I’ve written. It’s that Cain came in and fucked me senseless, before announcing he was going to the donut shop around the corner to get me breakfast.

I think I’m in love. I should be scared out of my mind. After all, Cain Hill doesn’t do love anymore. But last night, he’d said some things that made me think he’s ready to give it another try. Maybe his doting on me for the past few days is the best I’m going to get out of him, but I can’t help it. I’m completely, hopelessly drowning in him, and maybe I’ll only be content for this moment and the rest of my life will be misery. But right now?

I don’t care.

It’s enough.

I stretch my toes out to the headboard as my fingers work the keys on the assignment. Every so often, I stop to sniff the sleeves of the enormous white dress shirt of Cain’s that I’d put on, which smells deliciously like him. When I think about him coming back, taking me in his arms and touching me again, I’m practically giddy.

When there’s a knock at the door, I realize Cain must’ve forgotten the key. I hop off the bed, smiling as I swing open the door. “What are you—“

I stop.

There are two police officers standing outside my door.

I don’t need to think hard to know that my mother is behind this. But I’m an adult. She can’t possibly think that calling out the police to search for me is a sane thing to do. I’m about to tell them that when they say something that throws me totally off-guard.

“Ms. Wilkinson?”

I stare at them for a full ten seconds, confused, until I remember the false name I’d given the hotel manager when I’d rented the room. I wasn’t sure exactly why, just that I thought it would be safer should my mother call around to find me or report me missing. “Yes?”

The short, stocky man with a graying moustache points into the parking lot, past the police cruiser, to my red Jeep. “Is that your vehicle?”

I nod, pulling at the hem of Cain’s shirt, even though it covers more than enough, nearly hitting my knees.

The tall one advances on me, reaching for his belt. He pulls out handcuffs, and before I can think to take a step backward, he says, “That vehicle was reported stolen last night. You’re under arrest.”

I shake my head as he takes my wrists and snap the metal cuffs on. “No, that’s my car . . .” I start to explain when I trail off. Actually, it’s my mother’s car. And I’m not even a McBride now, I’m a Wilkinson. “I can explain.”

“You can do so at the station,” the officer grumbles, leading me outside and into the bright sun of early morning, reciting my Miranda rights in a monotone. We only manage two steps before Cain’s car pulls up into the lot, screeching to a stop beside the cruiser. He hops out, his eyes ablaze.

“What the fuck is this?”

He races over to us but the officer holds out his palm and says, “Stay back, sir. This woman is under arrest.”

“They think I stole my mother’s car,” I say to him as I’m jostled into the back of the patrol car.

“That’s ridiculous. It’s her car,” he tries to explain to them, but it quickly becomes clear by the way they move around him like he’s invisible that it’s not happening. When the officer slams the door, I can still hear Cain’s voice, loud and forceful, like gunfire. His eyes flash to mine. “Listen. Addison. I’ll get this sorted out. I promise.”

I’m going to jail. The realization hits as the officers get into the car and I start to pull away, leaving Cain alone in the parking lot. As I watch him, he bangs the top of his car with his fist and shakes his head. I don’t know how things could’ve gone from so perfect to pure hell in the matter of minutes.

I watch his form get smaller and smaller as we drive away from the hotel, and I realize that today’s the meeting with the Dean and my mother. She seems to delight in messing with my life, and I’m her own daughter. He’s a good man, and he doesn’t deserve what she’s going to do to him. She’s not going to stop until she’s completely, totally destroyed him.

I cover my face with my handcuffed hands when I start to cry.