It takes almost a full week for the judge to issue a bench warrant.

It's a struggle during that to keep Reeve calm; to keep him from wanting to deviate from the plan. He's got so little faith in the system, but I think he knows this is our best shot. We have to do things right, with the law on our side, or Blake will just worm his way out of prison and back into our lives.

Fortunately, Mom and I managed to channel Reeve's restless energy—and his knowledge as a cop—into an actionable plan. Once the warrant is issued, we're finally ready to get things rolling.

"Okay, one last rundown," Reeve says late one Thursday night.

A Thursday that will hopefully herald the end of this nightmare for all of us.

As it stands, Reeve, Mom, and myself are huddled around my tiny living room like the coffee table's a war table. There aren't any diagrams or maps or anything crazy like that, but Reeve's sent us all a list of numbers to keep on speed dial when the time comes.

"After the diner closes, Eric will text Blake and say he wants to make amends," Reeve continues.

I nod, trying to ignore the way my stomach churns in a mix of anticipation and dread. "Play into his ego. Make him think I've seen the error of my ways."

"Once he agrees, Gracie will call the sheriff's office and tell the deputy the guy who trashed the diner before is skulking around again."

Mom holds up her phone. "Already got the number on speed dial, and the extension for Deputy Bowman."

"When Blake shows up at the diner, all the cameras will be watching his every move, so if he tries anything it'll be on record," Reeve says.

"And you'll be there, too, right?" I can hear the trepidation in Mom's voice, but she seems to relax some when Reeve nods.

"Did we figure out the best place for me to hole up yet?" he asks me.

"Probably the pantry. There are slats in the door so you'll be able to see out without him seeing in."

The idea of Reeve cramming his large body into the pantry with all the diner's dry goods would be comical if we weren't trying to nail the guy who terrorized me for over a year.

Though honestly, it's still a little comical, and the thought of him having to carefully avoid knocking over anything in there at least brings a smile to my face and calms some of my nerves.

"The second he tries to hurt you, I'll be there," Reeve promises. "Then Deputy Bowman can issue the arrest, we'll hand over the security tapes and text logs, and that combined with the fact that he's violating his parole by even being out of New York should be enough to get him locked up for a fucking long time. And if it's not…"

Something simmers beneath the surface in Reeve's eyes. I reach over and lay a hand on his arm.

"It'll be enough. You have to trust that it'll work this time."

He stills and lets out a breath through his nose. Some of that intensity fades, and he nods.

"Sounds like the only thing left is to get it over with and get this bastard gone," Mom says.

I couldn't agree more. I've spent too long at Blake's mercy, and as satisfying as it might be to be the one to get him locked up, I'll settle for the peace of mind of knowing he can't hurt me or the people I care about anymore.

One way or another, this ends tonight.

* * *

About a half hour after the diner closes and everyone else goes home, I send Blake a text. The enthusiastic response he gives me not five minutes later puts our plan into motion.

"Okay," I say, blowing out a breath, "he took the bait."

Reeve's arms come around me and I lean back into his embrace, indulging in the feel of his stubble as he nuzzles against my neck. I would've never thought him the affectionate type, but I'm insanely glad for it right now.

"It'll be over soon," he assures me.

I wish he could just hold me through this whole ordeal—or at least until Blake gets here—but he has to send Mom a text and then get to hiding, just in case Blake was closer than either of us thought.

I tease Reeve about his hiding place because it's the only thing that's keeping my nerves at bay. But before long, the motion detector turns on, bathing the parking lot in bright yellow light.

And giving me the perfect view of Blake.

Even with the time in jail, he looks exactly like he did when we were dating. He's the kind of guy you'd expect to find leading the debate team or working on his valedictorian speech. The kind of guy who would be the quiet, unassuming CTO of a Fortune 500 company. From the outside, he looks completely harmless.

But most abusers do. At least the ones who get away with it. I know enough to know that Blake's charming smile means absolutely nothing, and I steel myself as I go to let him in. There's every chance he could try something the second he gets access to me, and I have to be ready for that.

Blake's ego knows no bounds, though, and he's all smiles as soon as he sees me.

"Hey, baby. Miss me?"

God. My stomach turns at the very thought of him, and some part of me just wants to give Reeve the signal to tackle him before he can do any damage at all. But I have to play my role.

"I'm finishing up in the kitchen. Why don't you join me?" For what I hope will be the last time, I put on my face and give him my best smile.

"I've always wanted to do it in a kitchen," he says with a grin.

My fingers curl against my palm and I swallow down bile as I lead him back there. The only good thing I can say for this situation is that he hasn't tried to get physical yet, but I know it's coming.

"Looks like the place is back in order," Blake says as I grab the spray cleaner. "I wish I didn't have to make things so hard on you, but you kinda gave me no choice, babe."

He flashes me that sickening smile, and I do my best to match it. This is what he does; what he did to me the entire time we were together. All those horrible things he put me through, he twisted them so that they somehow became my choice; a direct result of my actions.

"I wanted to talk to you about that," I say casually, reaching for a rag to wipe down the fryer station.

My whole body is on high alert, muscles tensed and ready for a fight. Blake's looking me in this way that might come across as questioning initially, but underneath it, there's an accusation just waiting to bubble to the surface.

"I wanted to meet with you face to face so I could be perfectly clear." He fixes me with a pinning gaze, but I stand tall. "I don't want a damn thing to do with you, Blake. You're an abusive narcissist, a pathological liar, and a terrible lay. You need help, but I'd rather just see you locked up where you belong."

As I speak, Blake's smile slowly grows more broad, his eyes turning wild as they reflect the kitchen lights. My pulse kicks into high gear, adrenaline already starting to pump through my veins.

"That's a real funny joke, Eric. Calling me out here, acting like you don't want me anymore. Real funny."

"Do you see me laughing?"

Blake's lips quirk and then he laughs. This dark, forbidding chuckle at first, but then something that edges closer to conceited asshole I know him to be.

"See, here's the thing. I'm not leaving here without you. I was really hoping you'd make it easy on me, but I guess I'm going to have to teach you a lesson." His voice turns patronizing, like he's talking to a dog he's training. "Just remember, you brought this on yourself."

I stand my ground, prepared to fight him off. But three things happen in quick succession. Blake lunges for me, as lightning fast and brutal as ever. The pantry door slams open, drawing his attention and startling me enough for Blake to shove me against the fryers.

And then he reaches behind him, into the waistband of his pants, and I see a flash of dark metal.

Ice floods my body, pumping through every vein with the frantic beating of my heart. Time seems to slow as Blake lifts the gun, pointing it right at a charging Reeve.

"Reeve, no!" My voice sounds distant, hollow.

And my warning comes too late. The shot goes off.

Reeve staggers, and something clicks over in my brain. I go into full-on aggression mode, not worried about anything other than making sure Blake can't hurt Reeve anymore. My hand strikes out, coming down hard against his wrist. The gun clatters to the floor, and Blake turns his attention to me, a smirk curling his lips.

"Well, look who got a little scrappy while I was gone."

He goes to grab me again, a trick that would've worked in New York. He's bigger and stronger than me and was always able to lock me in with a near chokehold.

But this time, I'm ready for him.

I throw my elbow hard into his solar plexus, and he stumbles backward, letting out a whoosh of breath. I don't hesitate. Stepping into him, I use his own size against him and grapple him to the ground, locking my thighs on either side of him. He fights desperately—especially once I hook my arm around his neck—but I don't let up until he stills and loses consciousness.

My heart's beating so fast and my whole body's shaking, but I still have the presence of mind to check his pulse and his breathing. He's fine, but Reeve…

Blood is pooling on the kitchen tiles, and I scramble over to my protector—the man who literally took a bullet for me. He's slumped against the stove, blood staining his shirt. One hand conceals the wound from me. It looks like the bullet went in between his collarbone and his right shoulder.

The relief that floods me at the realization that he wasn't shot someplace more vital is quickly dashed as I take stock of just how much blood he's lost. He's so pale, and the only thing I can think to do is replace his hand with mine, pressing the heel of my palms firm against the wound, his blood staining my skin.

He looks up at me, his eyelids fluttering open as he fights for consciousness. "Eric…"

His voice is so weak, and I can feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I fight them back; fight violently against the outcome that's staring me in the face.

"No. No, you're not allowed to die on me," I tell him, my voice almost frantic. "I need you, Reeve. Do you hear me?"

But his eyes are closed again, and he slumps more bodily against the stove as he loses consciousness. And all I can think as the sirens finally come into range is that it's not supposed to happen this way.

Good is supposed to triumph over evil. Love is supposed to win out over fear.

I can't lose him now. We've got our whole lives together, free from Blake. I can't lose him.