I can’t remember what happened. One minute I was with Mom, and she was trying to talk to me, but she couldn’t find the words, and then…

And then I was out in the rain, and Gigi was there, her small, warm hand held in mine.

It’s like a time jump, back to school when she used to walk beside me, chattering about everything and nothing, soothing my angry, bitter thoughts. She’s like warm, golden syrup, molding over my hard edges, calming me down, shoring me up.

Making the bitter sweet.

Even though I can’t remember where she said she’s taking me. Not that I care. I’d go anywhere with her. Do fucking anything for her. But as my senses return, as I start to shiver and notice where we are—a car, an Uber?—I wish I knew the answer.

To where we are going, to why she’s here with me, and where my life is heading. Nowhere good, I guess.

But she’s here now, and her hand is still in mine, so I wrap it carefully in my fingers, like the precious thing it is.

“Almost there,” she says, and I look up to find her smiling at me.

I smile back, uncertain. “Okay.”

I feel I skipped time. Or is this a dream? It’s damn warm in the car, and another shiver wracks me. I’m soaking wet, cold water running from the ends of my hair into my eyes. If it’s a dream, it’s a good one, despite the shivers. She’s looking at me without anger or regret, and I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in a very long time.

Better not poke the dream too hard, or it might burst like a soap bubble, and right now it’s all that’s keeping me from going off the fucking rails.

“Here.” Her slender fingers squeeze mine, and the car stops. She climbs out, never letting go, so I have no option but to follow her out.

I don’t want options. I just want her to stay with me, now, later… for as long as she’ll have me.

She’s my only option, my only choice, and… I don’t wanna remember now all the reasons why I shouldn’t be here with her.

Even when I’m standing beside her in front of a house, and realize it’s her house.

She brought me to her home.

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t hit me like a ton of bricks, but this trust after today’s fucked-up ending, after realizing Mom is getting worse so fucking fast… it’s about to break me. I can’t be here. Can’t do this.

But she smiles up at me again, and tugs once more on my hand, and I follow her.

I’ll always follow her.

She’s my bright light.

* * *

We climb the steps to the porch. The door swings open before we reach it, and yeah, this definitely feels like a time loop. Or dream.

Because I know the guy standing at the opening. Barely, as I’d never been to Gigi’s house back when we were neighbors, but I remember her brother from school.

Merc.

He gives me a long look, obviously caught by surprise at my presence on his doorstep. If I’d realized what it meant to visit her home…

But then his expression clears. “Jarett, right?” he says, as if we’re old friends, and opens the door wider, a grin spreading on his face. “Come on in, man. Damn, you’re all wet. Your lips are fucking blue. Were you walking in the rain?”

“Something like that,” I say through chattering teeth when it becomes obvious he’s waiting for an answer, and Gigi is yanking on my hand to get me inside.

“How about making us all some hot chocolate, Merc?” she says, and he nods, as if that’s normal. That she’d ask her brother for hot chocolate, and he’d make it.

Like that’s what brothers are like. Like Seb could have been like that with me, but…

Fuck, there’s a knot in my throat, like earlier tonight, not letting me breathe. I’m choking on air, and warmth, and kindness, and it’s so fucked-up.

Yanking my hand away, I walk away, into another random room, trying to get oxygen into my lungs, and failing. I clench my fists and bow my head, and I just want to crash the whole place down, smash and break and bleed until the fucking pressure in my chest goes away.

“Rett…” She comes behind me, walking so softly I start at the sound of her voice.

I expect her to ask me if I’m okay, what happened, what the fuck’s going on with me and why I’m acting like an asshole again, but she doesn’t say anything else.

Then I expect her to go away and leave me alone, but she doesn’t.

I wait and wait, but she’s quiet, just… being there, and the pressure in my chest builds and builds.

And right about when I can’t take it any longer, she puts her arms around me from behind and just holds me.

Through the jacket, through the layers of cloth between us, I feel the slight pressure of her tits, of her body pressed to mine, her arms bracing me like a lifeline, keeping me afloat.

Air trickles into my lungs. I draw a shuddering breath, and another.

Fuck.

“It’s okay,” she says, her voice soft like velvet. “It’s okay.”

And just like that, my breath catches again.

She has to stop ambushing me with kindness. It’s my weak point.

She’s my weak point. If anything can take me down, it’s her. I wonder if she has any idea of all the power she has over me.

Of what I’d do for her.

I draw another shaky breath. “Gigi…”

“Are you guys rea—? Shit, sorry.” Merc’s voice fades, and I hear his steps retreat.

Gigi laughs quietly. “Come on. I think the hot chocolate is ready.”

Again I expect her to ask me something, anything, but she just holds out her hand, and I take it, and we return to the living room where Merc is setting up coasters with huge mugs of hot chocolate and plates of cake, and it’s unreal.

“You need to change first,” Merc says, all business-like, not like he walked in to find me trying not to fall apart with his sister soothing me. “I can give you some old sweats of mine. Come.”

My fingers slip from Gigi’s, and I wince. It’s like a physical pain every time I let go, a visceral fear that I won’t get to do it again.

Merc points me to a bathroom, then comes back with a towel and some clothes that he shoves into my arms. “Change, and come back,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s so… cool, I think, as I shiver so hard my teeth rattle. Composed. Nice. I wonder again for a brief second how it would be to have Merc for a brother, and I stop that line of thinking quickly before it goes downhill once more.

I’m glad Gigi has him, though.

With that thought, I manage to steady myself enough to undress, get dry and pull on the borrowed clothes. The sweats are fine, with pockets where I shove my keys and my wallet. The T-shirt and sweater are kind of narrow at the shoulders and chest, but I can breathe, so it’s fine.

I can fucking breathe. It’s easier when she’s around, and the memory of her arms around me is a hot sear of pleasure straight to my chest. Like a hot blade cutting through me, but sweet. Far too sweet for the mess I’m in.

Toweling my wet hair one last time, I try to marshal my scattered thoughts, and then I hear her calling my name.

And I get out, towel in hand, heading to her, before my brain catches up.

I can’t fucking help myself when it comes to her. That’s the one truth in my life, the one true thing in all the lies I keep telling myself to keep sane.

* * *

I limp out into the living room, my knee aching like a bitch from the cold, but I forget all about it cuz it’s warm inside, and Gigi’s curled up on the sofa, changing channels on the TV.

With her pale hair in a long braid falling over one shoulder, her socked feet folded under her, her short skirt riding up, she’s… hot. This girl is so damn hot. She’s holding her mug in her other hand, and she licks her lips absently as I pad quietly into the room.

Fuck. Me. A hot wave of arousal hits me, and I swallow hard, my borrowed sweats suddenly tightening at the crotch.

She glances at me and smiles, her gaze zeroing in between my legs, and shit, I want her so fucking bad I’m ready to push her down on the sofa and fuck her right here, consequences be damned.

“Sit with me,” she says, and her voice sounds a bit uneven, like she’s out of breath.

“Why don’t you sit on me instead?” My voice is rough like I’ve been smoking too many cigarettes.

“Rett…” She licks her lips again, and I want to push her sweater up and lick her nipples, then make my way down to her pussy, fuck her with my tongue and fingers until she comes. I remember her taste, and the memory only serves to make me harder, until my dick’s trying to drill a hole through the sweats.

Then Merc walks in and fuck, I’d almost forgotten about him, lost in the haze of this damn lust. I drop down quickly beside her, drawing a cushion with golden tassels over my lap to hide my hard-on.

This clusterfuck just goes to show how much control I have over myself tonight: exactly nothing. A big fucking zero. My mind’s in this damn tailspin and won’t focus on one thing, on what I should be doing.

Like getting out of here. Not coming here in the first place. Checking on Sebastian, on the gang. Doing what I’m supposed to do.

“Where’s Mom?” Gigi ask, and licks the rim of her mug.

Okay, it’s fucking clear. This girl’s trying to kill me.

“Just out visiting one of her friends. She’ll be back soon.”

Yeah, this is an alternate universe like the one I’ve dreamed of all my life, where moms do normal stuff like visit each other for tea and gossip, bake cakes and keep pretty houses, not live in nursing homes and start to forget how to speak, or—

“Here.” She passes me a mug with a smile, and I automatically take a sip, burning my tongue.

I gasp, but I take another sip, my eyes closing. It’s a sugar orgasm. Melty marshmallows, thick chocolate and heat slipping down my throat to my chest. A different kind of heat, one that unclenches my tightly wound muscles and spreads to my limbs until I lean back on the sofa with a sigh, warmed from the inside out.

“Good, huh?” Merc says, a note of smugness in his voice. “I make the best hot chocolate this side of town.”

“My little brother is so humble,” Gigi mutters, laughter in her voice.

Yeah, I can’t begrudge her a brother like that. A family like that. She was always kind to me. She deserves this. She deserves the best.

Even if I want her to choose me, the worst choice, even—

“You’re thinking too hard.” Gigi arches her back slowly, like a cat, and my eyes instantly go to her tits.

My fucking mouth goes dry.

So I take another sip of hot chocolate, glad for the burn, and settle back against the cushions.

Two seconds later, she turns and curls up against me, her knees pressed to my side, her eyes looking up at me, a teasing flicker at their centers. “You haven’t tried the cake.”

As if I can swallow with her so close to me, her scent everywhere, and fuck, I’m getting hard again. My body’s getting so tuned to hers, just looking at her stretching on the sofa, still fully dressed, gets me raring to go.

“Get a room you two,” Merc says, but when I look up he’s smirking and toasting us with his mug, so I just shake my head.

She flips some more channels and settles on music vids. “You like rock?”

“Yeah, it’s cool.”

“Really? Favorite groups?” Merc’s eyes go all bright, and he looks like an excited eight-year-old talking about his toys—if eight-year-olds were as tall and almost as wide as me, with some damn impressive biceps. He must be, what, eighteen? He was quite younger than me in school, I remember that.

“Uh, Guns and Roses? Metallica…” I try to remember. Haven’t listened to much music since Connor died. “Queen, The Who…”

“Classic rock, then? Or are you just listing all the groups you remember?”

“Hey, I love the Who. Tommy is my favorite.”

“Tommy’s great.” Merc nods, appearing mollified. “Your dad’s influence?”

“Merc,” Gigi says sharply, sitting up.

“Adopted dad’s,” I say, and put a hand on her to keep her down. I like her curled beside me, our bodies touching. It keeps me centered even as it pushes me off balance.

Merc gives me a long look, putting his mug down on the table. His eyes, so similar to Gigi’s, narrow, then look away. “I see. Well, you’ll learn a thing or two about music in this house.”

It sounds like a threat.

Or a promise. Like I’ll be coming back a lot to this house, and it makes me wanna smile, but it’s dangerous. Everything, from the warm, comfortable room, to the sweets, the pretty girl sitting by my side and her nice brother offering to teach me about music, is fucking dangerous.

It makes me wanna stay.

* * *

Merc’s rambling about Massive Attack and trip hop music some time later, Gigi replying to him or laughing at something he said, and I’m dozing on and off, my head propped on the backrest, my bad leg stretched out under the coffee table.

I’m as cozy as I’ll ever be, toasty warm. Comfortable. It’s peaceful, safe, and being next to Gigi is twisting up all my thoughts into a maze until I can’t find a way out, lost in a jumble of dreams and strange feelings.

Then a new voice sounds from behind me, and I jerk upright on the sofa, trying to remember where I am, my heart pounding its way out of my fucking chest.

Fuck, fuck.

“Hey, Mom,” Merc says, and it takes me a few long seconds to process the words.

Gigi stirs beside me, but instead of getting up, she lays an arm over my stomach, as if to keep me down. “Just my mom,” she whispers.

Not sure who I thought it was.

Sebastian, in one of his moods.

Angel or Mav or Declan or Jorge.

The kids from the halfway houses.

The blood and darkness and screams from my dreams.

Merc gets up and kisses a slender woman on the cheek. Her hair is caught in a ponytail and if not for the deep laugh lines of her eyes and mouth she’d look like her son’s older sister.

I remember Mrs. Watson. Haven’t seen her in so many years. Time hasn’t touched her, unlike my mom. Since they moved away from our neighborhood, everything changed for me.

I rub at my chest.

Merc goes away, to get her a hot chocolate, or to go off to party, no fucking clue. If he said, I didn’t hear, my blood rushing in my ears.

Last time I saw Merc and Mrs. Watson was before it all went to hell, and here they are, same as ever.

It’s reassuring. For sure. The world is still turning like before.

It’s also a mindfuck and a half. Maybe that’s why it takes me a long moment to realize she has sat across from me, in Merc’s vacated seat, and is reaching out a hand to me.

I meet her warm gaze and sit up once more, catching her hand. It’s small like her daughter’s, a bit rougher, and feels dry and brittle like a fallen leaf. “Mrs. Watson.”

“Please call me Maggie.” She smiles, tugs on my hand and my sleeve rides up, baring lines of my ink. “So you’re the boy my Gigi likes so much.”

“Mom!” Gigi sits up, too, and from the corner of my eye, I see her cheeks flush and eyes shine.

“What, you don’t like him?” Mrs. Watson—Maggie—asks, still looking at me. “And look at what a handsome young man you’ve turned into. Gosh. A fine wolf. Those cheekbones, those eyes, that face. My daughter sure has good taste.”

Unfamiliar warmth seeps into my face. But there’s something soothing about the way she’s looking at me, studying me, something like approval. She’s still smiling, and fuck if I’m not smiling back at her, caught in a spell.

Girls have to be witches where they come from. Beautiful, sweet-talking, kind. I mean, where do you find girls like that in real life? Real life sucks you in, chews on you and spits you out.

But Gigi presses herself to me again, and her arm is still wrapped around me, her mom is still holding my hand, and time seems to have stopped once more.

It keeps happening lately.

Then Maggie pulls back her hand and smooths down her skirt, settling it primly over her knees, and she looks like Gigi in a tarnished mirror, an older version of her, and that sense of déjà vu, of traveling back in time makes another appearance.

And I think, I’d still like her that way. I’d still want her.

I’d still love her.

“Mom, I think Jarett is tired,” Gigi says, and I jerk my gaze back to her. “He’s had a rough day. I thought we’ll just watch some TV and relax, you know?”

“I know, honey.” If anything, Maggie’s smile turns warmer when she directs it at her daughter. “I just wanted to ask Jarett about Becky.”

Of course. They were friends back then. I draw a bracing breath. “Mrs. Lowe—”

“You can call her mom, sweetie.”

I meet Maggie’s kind gaze, and have to drop mine, my heart hammering again. “I… I can’t.”

“Nonsense. Why not?”

“I’m not her son.” There, simple.

“She adopted you.”

“She was going to adopt me,” I correct her. “Then Dad—Mr. Lowe died, and Sebastian dropped out of school, and she got sick, and…” I shrug. “She didn’t finish it. But it’s okay,” I hurry to say, before they think I’m complaining. Because, shit. “Totally fine. Hell, she took me in at an age nobody else wanted me. I could never ask for anything more.”

Now she looks concerned. Dammit. “Jarett, sweetheart—”

“No, really. I’m so damn grateful to her. Excuse my language, Mrs. Watson—”

“Maggie.”

“Maggie, okay. I’ll never forget that they took in someone like me, when they already had a son—”

“Someone like you?” Gigi frowns. “What do you mean? You’re a great guy. There’s nothing wrong with you, Rett.”

“You don’t know,” I choke out.

“Know what?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I was too old. Had a record. They didn’t have to—”

“Rett. Know what?”

“That everyone who takes me in dies.”

Godfuck. And why am I telling Gigi’s mom all this? And Gigi. My heart won’t stop racing, and bile rises in my throat. Stupid, Jarett. I bet they’re already regretting inviting you in. Get out. My heartbeat thumps in my ears. Sweat rolls down my back.

But Gigi somehow holds me down, keeps me from getting up and leaving. “Mom, enough,” she says, her words coming in weird echoes, and that’s when I realize she’s sort of wrapped herself around me, not just one arm anymore but both, her chin resting on my shoulder, one leg thrown over mine. “We’re going to bed.”

What?

Maggie leans over and pats my knee. “Becky loves you like her own, Jarett. Remember that. Ah, I’ll go make myself some tea and watch my favorite show. Off you go, kids. Sleep well.”

I blink at her as the buzzing in my ears subsides and the pressure in my chest starts to ease. Wait a sec. I’m staying the night?

Not sure when that was decided. Did Gigi ask me to stay?

Not that I’d object, but her mom doesn’t, either?

“Come on, let’s go.” Gigi untangles herself from me, and I shiver. She gets up and holds out her hand to me, smiling. “Unless you don’t want to stay?”

There’s nothing I want more in the world right now. Stay in this house.

Stay with her.

So I take her hand and heave myself to my feet, then stagger after her upstairs.

“You have a guest room?” I ask, buying time between climbing steps for my creaking knee to bend and unbend.

“No.”

I’m so stunned by this new turn that I climb the rest of the stairs not feeling my knee at all. “Gigi…”

“Don’t worry,” she says as she pulls me into a room—her room, I realize, with posters on the walls and a hot pink comforter. “Mom is relaxed. She trusts me. And she likes you.”

“Yeah.” I look around as she tugs me determinedly toward her bed. “That’s cuz she doesn’t really know me.”

“It doesn’t take much to realize you like someone,” she says, turning to face me, her eyes very bright. “Just a few clues. And I have mine.”