Grier described what I felt toward Jesse as love. But I wasn’t so sure what actually existed between us, which made all this rash decision-making even crazier. If Jesse found out about my deal with Darren, she’d kill me. And I wouldn’t blame her. I needed to terminate it immediately and come clean if I wanted half a chance to make it right.

But do you want to make it right?

Along the years, I’d watched as plenty of idiots around me formed long-lasting relationships. Maybe I could, too. All I needed was to remind myself that I was not my father, that I was worthy, and that I deserved her. Even if the mere deal I’d struck to get to her in the first place suggested otherwise.

I texted Snowflake one more time before I dragged my ass back to bed.

Bane

Still can’t unsee that orange onesie. Send a pic w/o it.

She responded back with a faceless selfie of her tits pressed together inside her black My Bloody Valentine tank top, a smutty book open on her bent legs. I bit my fist.

Bane

Is that My Bloody Valentine? I hate them, too. Remove.

Snowflake

Is there something you don’t hate?

Bane

Yes. You.

Snowflake

Interesting. So you don’t hate me?

Bane

Not even close. Not even close to close. What’s the antonym of hate?

Snowflake

No way I’ll be the first one to say the word.

Bane

Sleep tight, Snowflake. Big day tomorrow.

I stared at my peeling ceiling for the remainder of that night, ignoring the chiming cell phone beside me as a stream of messages from clients started pouring in, from irate to panicked to mildly offended.

Maybe love wasn’t about feeling happy and whole.

Maybe love was about breaking so the person you cared for would feel a little more whole.

THINGS WERE TENSE AT THE dinner table that evening.

The only reason I’d decided to show up at all was because I was feeling increasingly normal and thought I could handle it. I tried not to think about how attached I’d suddenly become to my own life. How suddenly things, and people, and events around me had begun to matter. How Roman reshaped the way I looked at men—not completely, but enough for me not to be scared of them. How Gail had reminded me that good friends are worth having.

Earlier, she and I had raided Hot Topic like we were twelve again, then had ice cream, then sat by the ramp on the promenade and rated random guys on skateboards from one to ten based on hotness, even though they were all sixteen. It just felt so real, so simple, so normal, I even managed to shove away all the bad stuff. The flashback, Shadow’s blood work, and even Mrs. Belfort’s request. I left another message on Dr. Wiese’s answering machine and decided that tomorrow I would deal with Mrs. B’s kids and pay Wiese a visit after I finished my shift at Café Diem.

Hannah clocked out for the day, but left us some grilled asparagus and sautéed potatoes, along with her mouthwatering lemon-garlic chicken. I carved the chicken and served the food while Pam read something on her cell phone and Darren drummed his fingers on the table. Shadow was all but tap-dancing under the table. It’d been a while since I’d seen him like this. Back when I was still the old Jesse, I used to eat dinner at the table every evening and slip him food when no one was watching. It was our own little secret. We had a few of those. Making him happy again was the one thing that kept me positive about this whole scenario.

When I sat down, both pairs of eyes flicked to me.

I looked between them. “Anything interesting about myself I should know?”

“Nothing.” Pam snapped open her napkin theatrically, resting it on her thighs. Darren didn’t answer.

“Did you get a phone call from Dr. Wiese by any chance?” I asked no one in particular. It was odd that I hadn’t heard from him yet, but I read on the internet that sometimes it could take weeks. I slipped Shadow a piece of lemon chicken, and he chewed so loudly, I had to fake a cough. They both looked at each other, puzzled.

“No.”

“Hey, honey.” Pam stabbed a piece of chicken and brought it to her mouth. She would eat her own foot before touching potatoes or anything else with carbs. By the term of endearment, I gathered she was talking to Darren and not me. “Did you know that Jesse started hanging out with Bane Protsenko? Do you know him?”

“I do,” Darren said conversationally, cutting his potatoes into tiny pieces. The aggression in his movements suggested he was either annoyed with Bane or with the potatoes. My money was on the former. “He’th bad newth.”

“Not to mention he’s got a name for himself as the town’s escort,” Pam added, chewing on a piece of chicken twenty-seven times. She’d read about it in a women’s magazine once and had been eating like a toothless turtle ever since. It was abnormal on so many levels. I refrained from mentioning how Pam didn’t seem too bothered by Bane’s reputation when she’d wanted to get into his pants, and a flame of jealousy immediately licked at my core. She’d tried to hit on Roman. My Roman. And now she was acting like he was dirt.

“Well, whatever his reputation is, I accepted a job at his café,” I said, and, because I knew timing was everything, brought an asparagus spear to my mouth, biting the tip and patting Shadow underneath with my socked foot. Pam’s eyebrows nosedived, and Darren put his utensils next to his plate, trying hard not to slam them.

“I wanted to talk to you about it. I’m tho happy you’ve dethided to find yourthelf a job. How about you come work for me? I’ll offer a nithe paycheck, a daily ride, and of courth, you can take ath much time off ath you need.”

There was an apology in his smile, and his eyes clung to mine.

“I’m happy at Café Diem. Thanks, Darren.”

“Stop being so ungrateful,” Pam snipped from across the table. “Darren is offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I think you should take it.”

“You took it.” I grinned. “Didn’t make you too happy, did it?”

She stood up, throwing her napkin on her plate. Guess she was done with her tiny piece of chicken. “How dare you!”

“How dare I?” I asked, still seated, my pulse slow and calm. “How dare you? You conveniently forgot about my existence until Bane walked into the picture, and we both know why you’re interested in my life now.”

“Jethy!” It was Darren’s turn to stand up and slap the edge of the table. “Don’t talk to your mother like thith!”

For the sake of good, synchronized choreography, I stood up, too. “Grow some eyes, Dar. She is sleeping with the better half of Todos Santos, and not even hiding it.”

“I don’t care about her!” he snapped, his face red, his eyes bloodshot. “I care about you. Are you and Bane friendth, or more?”

“More,” I chirped. “So much more, Darren. You have no idea.”

This was directed at Pam, a clear back-off statement, but it was Darren who looked about ready to explode.

“You’re thleeping with him?”

“Sheesh!” I shook my head, laughing. “It’s none of your business who I sleep with. You’re not my real dad, remember?”

“In that case, you’re not my daughter!” Pam yelled from across the table. God, I wished it were the truth. Unfortunately, the resemblance between us prior to her plastic surgeries was uncanny.

I shrugged. “I would tell you to sue me, but I have nothing to my name other than a rich stepdaddy.”

“That’th not true. You will inherit everything I have, Jethy. You know I care about you. When I die, everything will go to you.”

Actually, I had not known that. Pam hadn’t known it, either, based on the way her eyes widened and searched for his, but he was still looking at me.

I pushed my chair back and rounded the table. “I know you’re protective of me, Dar, and I understand why, because my mom isn’t, but please know Bane is not the issue. He is the only person who really understands me.”

“He doethn’t underthtand you.” Darren gripped the back of his chair, his face reddening further. What the hell was up with him? Sometimes I wished he’d just man up. Stand his ground and say what he needed to say. It was sad, but if he were to divorce Pam and find a nice woman who wasn’t turned off by his submissive nature, I’d be really happy for him.

“Hmm, yes he does.”

“He’th…thweetheart, your mom thaid it right. He ith an ethcort. He shouldn’t be mething with you. He should be helping you.”

“You don’t know him,” I gritted out.

“Neither do you.”

I wasn’t proud of what I did next, but it needed to be done. I stormed out of the kitchen and went up to my room, where I slammed the door like a moody teenager and dove headfirst into a sea of fluffy pillows. It took me minutes to finally catch my breath and look up at the pin board wall. At all the backs of all the faceless people I’d taken pictures of.

I’m losing my mind trying to find out what happened. But I will. I will solve this riddle.

Then Roman sent me a text (or maybe it was a sext?) asking for an orange onesie-less picture, so I complied.

At some point, he stopped texting and just called me.

“I needed to hear your voice.”

“Why?”

“Because I had a feeling you were touching yourself, and I would pay good money to listen to that shit.”

“How romantic,” I said, a smile on my face. “You know, sex is not about money.”

“My little grasshopper. Everything is about money. Are you gonna touch yourself?”

“Are you gonna touch yourself?” I taunted.

He was silent for a moment. “I’m a dude, and I’m talking to my girlfriend in the middle of the night. I’ve been playing with my dick like it’s Nintendo for the past ten minutes now.”

I snickered, allowing the conversation to take a very sharp, unexpected turn. Most of the time I wasn’t really sure of what Roman was doing. I simply enjoyed tagging along for the ride. For a while, we just panted, taunted, and described what we were going to do to one another. My whole body was clenched before it loosened with a tsunami of an orgasm.