DARKNESS PRESSED IN ON her from every direction.

She stumbled with splayed hands, her powers useless. No sound reached her ears, the maddening void sending panic through her, sending a scream climbing up her throat. Her eyes strained against the black, but all she found was a nothingness so heavy, so complete, that it was a living thing, squeezing her until her lungs burned. She dropped to her knees, though they never found the ground as she fell down and down.

Dita shot out of bed with a gasp.

Sweat beaded on her brow, her hair lank. She pressed her hand to her chest, and her heart banged back, as if it were trying to escape.

Nightmares had plagued her ever since Adonis was lost to her and Elysium along with him. When he’d drunk the Lethe, he had forgotten his human life, forgotten her, closing the door forever. The comfort of his arms through the portal of her dreams was gone, replaced with vivid nightmares.

Ares was at the helm of each lucid dream and every waking moment, lurking in the back of her mind, slithering and snaking through her thoughts, leaving no room for peace. The threat of him was a tangible thing. She pictured him over and over, huge and red in his wrath, felt his fingers around her neck as he choked her, heard his voice as he told her he’d never let her go.

Dita touched her neck at the thought as Bisoux pulled himself toward her on his stomach. She took a breath and let it out slowly, but the pressure in her chest stayed where it was.

“Bonjour, mon ami.” She scratched behind his ear.

He leaned into her hand.

Dita lay back down in her warm bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, burying herself in a cocoon of down and Egyptian cotton. She daydreamed about staying there, wistfully wondering how long things would stay the same, if her problems would all just disappear.

But she knew she was at the end of the line when it came to avoidance. Once she left the confines of her sanctuary, it would all be over. The bubble would pop.

She burrowed even deeper in her bed, and Bisoux climbed onto her chest and curled up in a furry ball with eyes. Soft daylight came through the artificial windows that hung on the walls like paintings, an invention that had been waiting for her when she returned from Greece. Heff had known how much she hated living underground with him, but she had been mandated to reside there by Zeus, and that was a fight that wasn’t even worth it.

Dita gazed out the window and tried to motivate herself to get up. The next round of the game would start within hours, and she’d have to face all of Olympus. Part of her wished she’d come back sooner and eased into life instead of prolonging her return to the last possible minute. The fanfare of the beginning of a game was stressful under normal circumstances, but after being absent for weeks in the wake of everything that had happened, all eyes would be on her.

Being in the spotlight wasn’t something that usually bothered her, but she knew for a fact that she was the headline of everyone’s conversations. Who knew what they assumed? Because they assumed plenty, she was sure. Gossip was so much more entertaining than the truth, and even though she hated being the object of negativity, all she could do was hold her head up and face it.

And face it, she would. Everyone would be upstairs, waiting for her. Including Ares.

Anxiety flashed through her, as it did every time he crossed her mind. While she’d been in Greece, she’d thought of him less and less with every day—every night was a different story entirely—and for a second, she’d convinced herself she was coping. Getting over it. But then she would hear something, smell something, see something that reminded her, and her memories would kick her back in time with a jolt.

She knew she’d be a swinging pendulum until the right amount of time passed, but that knowledge didn’t stop her from hoping her heart would somehow heal faster. That she would wake up, and the pain would be behind her. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t even close to being over. She’d stopped crying though, which was something.

In just a little while, she would see Ares in the flesh. She pictured him standing before her with cutting dark eyes and fists clenched at his sides, imagining him reaching for her, invading her space, invading her mind and life and heart.

She pushed the thought away before it could run away with her and bucked up. Maybe he wouldn’t show; it wasn’t his competition after all. Maybe he was just as nervous and upset about seeing her and would stay away since he had a choice in being there, whereas she didn’t.

But then she remembered he was undeniably Ares. Of course he would be there, and she’d take it a step further and wager he’d probably do something to upset her.

The thought cranked her nerves up another notch, and she took a deep breath, trying for reason. She told herself he would be cautious enough. All the gods would be watching. Surely he wouldn’t do anything stupid, not with Zeus’s threats of banishment looming over him. If all that were true, there would be little he could do to get to her.

If she didn’t let him affect her, she’d be fine.

Sure, just don’t let him get to you. Simple.

Dita flung off her covers and padded to her infinity closet, ditching her tight little sleep shorts and tank for jeans and a cotton henley, making sure the small buttons at the collar were buttoned nearly to the top. The last thing she needed was to draw any extra attention from He Who Must Not Be Named. She had no idea how she would handle seeing even a hint of desire in his eyes. Maybe she’d vomit. Or punch him.

Worse — she could feel answering attraction. Of course, that could also result in vomit or punching.

Baby steps.

Dita walked to the elevator with Bisoux trotting behind her. She picked him up and looked into his little black eyes, hanging on to him like a life preserver.

“We can do this. Right, buddy?”

Bisoux let out a little bark, and Dita stepped into the elevator, finding comfort in knowing that, at the very least, her robot dog was on her side.

Her nerves ticked like a time bomb as the elevator climbed and the doors opened.

She stepped into the expansive foyer and toward the sleek, modern kitchen where the Olympians were bustling around, making breakfast or coffee—or, in Dionysus’s case, a White Russian. A handful of gods sat around the kitchen island bar, eating, and before anyone had a chance to notice her, she froze just outside of the room with a twisted stomach, scanning their faces for Ares.

Instead, she found Perry, who sat at the long dining table and waved her over.

Relief slipped over Dita, and she uprooted her feet to make her way over.

The noise in the room fell to hushed whispers as she passed, but she locked eyes with Perry and put on a plastic smile. Several dozen eyes followed her until she sat down.

“You okay?” Perry’s brows knit together with worry as the conversation began to rise to normal, non-asshole levels.

“For now.” Dita’s eyes roamed the room from wall to wall, as if Ares would just appear out of thin air.

“Breakfast?”

Dita shook her head. “Not unless you want me to puke.”

The waiting was unbearable. She had nothing to say, not with every ounce of brainpower she possessed anticipating him, anxiously waiting for the shock and hurt and anger to slap her in the face when she laid eyes on him.

Heff took the seat on the other side of her, and she felt a small amount of relief, sitting between the two of them. Her stomach rumbled when she saw the bacon on his plate, next to his eggs and toast.

“Want some?” he asked, his blue eyes and rumbling voice full of concern.

She smiled, grateful that he hadn’t asked about Ares. “I’m okay.”

He relaxed only a little, smiling in answer from behind his beard. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I missed you, too. Thank you so much for the windows, Heff. They’re brilliant.”

“I worked on them for years, but I couldn't ever to get them just right. It was my top project while you were gone. Almost didn’t get them ready in time.”

“They’re perfect, really.” She beamed at him.

He flushed. “I’m glad you think so. Did you find the remote on your nightstand?”

“No. How did I miss that?”

He leaned back in his chair and hung an arm on the back of hers, his eyes warm and pleased and smiling as they looked into hers. “I’m sure you had other things on your mind. You can change your view to New York, Paris, London, Santorini. I programmed over a hundred views.”

So much thought, so much care he had put into the gift, just like he always did. Because he was one of the truest things in her life.

Her eyes misted up. “I don’t deserve you,” she said, meaning so much more than anything to do with the windows.

He scanned her face as he brushed her hair away from her cheek. “Dita—”

The elevator dinged, and Dita’s eyes flew to the doors as they opened.

Ares was leaning against the back wall with his arms folded across his broad chest and his dark hair in disarray. His eyes snapped to hers as if he’d known exactly where she was, sending her nerves firing down her back, her skin tingling in warning from nape to fingertips.

“Shitstick Von Chili Rim,” Perry whispered.

A shocked burst of laughter passed Dita’s lips, her heart jump-starting in her chest.

Ares pushed off from the back wall of the elevator, his eyes holding her until he reached the kitchen. To everyone else, he appeared nonchalant. His face was placid—for Ares, at least, which still included a smoldering scowl—and his gait was long and lazy like a cat, but Dita noted the tension in his shoulders, the tightness at the corners of his eyes, the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Selfishly, she was glad the whole ordeal was difficult for him, too. Because every single cell in her body was focused on him, and knowing he was affected made it a little bit easier for her to endure.

Not much, but every bit helped.

Artemis moved into Dita’s line of vision, setting her bowl of Cheerios on the table and taking the seat directly across from Dita.

The huntress had never fully adopted the new ways, not in the way the rest of Olympus had. Dita would have paid a token just to see her in jeans and a leather jacket instead of short blue hunting robes and calfskin sandals. Or to see her black hair spilling down her back instead of twisted and braided around her silver diadem, inset with an opal moon, flanked by topaz stars.

“Aphrodite,” she said with a sardonic smile and a nod.

“Artemis.”

Perry shook her head, her eyes on Artemis’s bowl. “You’re so adamant about keeping the old ways, so why aren’t you eating porridge or something?”

Artemis shrugged. “I like Cheerios.”

Dita could still feel Ares even though he was across the room, drinking coffee and sullenly leaning against the counter. But, instead of looking at him, she kept her eyes on Artemis’s. She was almost lost for a moment in the brilliant blue of her irises, the deepest shade of twilight, her long lashes lining her lids black against the milky-white moonlight of her skin.

It’s a little early in the day to be waxing poetic, Dita, she told herself as she tried to shake off her rambling nerves flitting around her stomach like moths.

She laid on a smile she didn’t feel. “So, Artemis, have you already chosen your player? Not that it matters since you’re probably going to lose.” Dita glanced at her nails.

Artemis’s eyes narrowed. “I have chosen, and I will not lose.”

“Statistics say you’re wrong, so I wouldn’t go making any foolhardy bets. Especially not now. I’ve got nothing but time to spend on plotting ways to take you down.”

Artemis rolled her eyes. “Gods, Aphrodite. May I eat breakfast before you start acting like a child?”

Dita threaded her fingers under her chin and laughed. “Okay, but eat fast.”

Artemis shoveled cereal into her mouth, scowling around her spoon.

The second the conversation died, Dita’s bravado seeped out like a leaky tire. Her eyes found Ares again. His eyes were almost hidden in the shadow of his brow, but they were on her. The feeling was so strong, he could have been touching her.

She realized she was holding her breath and breathed deep, forcing herself to look at Artemis again.

“So, what’s your player like?” Dita asked, desperate for a distraction.

“You will know soon enough,” was all she offered before taking another bite of cereal.

“Ah, come on. Not even a teeny-tiny hint?”

“You have enough of an advantage as it is.”

Dita’s cheer slipped into a pout, however fake it had been. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Artemis set her spoon down and leaned forward, raising a black eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.” Dita leaned forward in answer.

Artemis chuckled with a condescending shake of her head. “You have an unfair advantage. Your love matches are practically impossible to stop. This competition is, by its very nature, unbalanced. Very little skill is required for you to win.”

Dita’s ears were hot, her cheeks warm. “You think this is easy?” she asked, her tone sharp. “I’ll admit that a love match is hard to stop, but I have an extremely tight time limit.”

“Four weeks is ample time for you to make two humans fall in love,” Artemis said.

Dita was too ranty to note that she was being baited. “It’s not ample, given the humans you guys always choose. I mean, last round, both players almost died. You all love to choose the most fucked up players you can find, which makes it really, really hard to combat. Winning takes wit and planning. I have to constantly adapt and detour to get the humans to each other. It’s not like I’m sitting around, painting my nails and eating chocolates and…and…I don’t know. What the fuck do you think I do all day?”

“I care very little.” Artemis shrugged.

Dita’s teeth ground together as she glared across the table. “It does take skill, and I don’t have an advantage,” she said a little louder than she’d meant to.

“You are set up to win, and we are set up to fail. The game is rigged.”

“It is not!” Dita slapped the table.

A hush fell over the kitchen, but Artemis only smiled.

Dita pushed her chair back and stood, her eyes never leaving Artemis. “Let’s go. You and me. Right now. Fuck your Cheerios.” She turned on her heel and blew out of the room.

The Olympians abandoned their breakfasts for the drama, filing into the theater room behind Dita. She walked past the rows of leather armchairs to stand in front of the screen with her jaw clenched and lips pursed.

Perry stopped next to her. “Breathe.”

She folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “I am breathing, dammit.”

“Okay. Choke, hag. Better?”

“Actually, yes. Thank you.”

Ares was all but forgotten. Dita’s thoughts were busy obsessing over Artemis.

“You have an unfair advantage,” she muttered to herself in a mocking voice. The fucking nerve.

Artemis made her way in with her chin high and a smirk on her face, and Dita resisted the urge to permanently banish it.

The Goddess of Hunt stopped at the far end of the room with the remote, pointing at the humongous screen as Hermes attempted to thread his way through the crowd to reach her and announce the game. But she didn’t wait for him. His face screwed up with agitation when she turned on the television.

The screen lit up with the image of a woman wearing a look of solid determination as she drove into an alley in New Jersey. Her long red hair was tied up in a tight ponytail, and her big brown eyes were trained on the road in front of her.

Dita recognized her and smiled, catching herself before she laughed out loud. Her plan clicked into place and was set in motion that second, and giddiness bubbled up in her as she realized just how easy winning would be.

“I would like to introduce you all to Josie Campbell,” Artemis said.

And the screen jumped into motion.

Josie pulled into the New Jersey alley late that morning and stopped just down from the bail-jumper’s house. The pavement and grass were slick and shiny from the trickling rain, the sky gray and heavy as she grabbed her cuffs from the passenger seat and stuffed them in her back pocket. She reached into her brown leather jacket and touched the handle of her gun for comfort, though she was sure she wouldn’t have to use it. It was only Chester after all.

Chester was a repeat offender whose favorite pastime was committing acts of indecent exposure. The old man had been nabbed more than a dozen times for exposing himself in public—from malls to movie theaters and everywhere in between. He’d once flashed a woman in the produce department of a grocery store while delivering a choice joke about cucumber and melons along with lewd hip gestures for illustrative purposes. Chester always got out on bail and never showed up when his court date hit the calendar. At that point, his bondsman would call one of the private investigators on their list.

That was where she would come in. Chasing skips was the bread and butter of any private investigation firm, and hers was no exception. It wasn’t the first time she’d been called to bring the old man in for skipping bail, and she was certain it wouldn’t be the last.

The rain hit the pavement in soft pats as Josie slipped through the short gate of the chain-link fence around Chester’s backyard, stepping around tires, beer cans, and tools to make her way up to the back door. She skipped the first step up to the patio. That one always squeaked like crazy.

Josie pressed herself up against the wall next to the screen door and closed her eyes, listening for any sign of him.

Nothing.

He was either asleep or he wasn’t there. She crept around the house to his bedroom window and peered in. The breeze pushed the curtains away, and she saw his rumpled, empty bed. Her lips pinched together as she moved to the living room window, bending into a frown when she didn’t find him on the couch either.

Josie cursed as she hurried to her car, bowing her head against the drizzle. She should have known he wasn’t there. He was well acquainted with how the system worked, though she figured she’d have been irresponsible not to at least check to see if he was home. But Chester wouldn’t wait around for someone to come pick him up and haul him in. Instead, he’d find some dive to get drunk in until someone found him and dragged his ass to jail.

She fired her engine and thought about where he could be, cycling through his favorite haunts. The Grand Duke, she thought, her gut telling her to start there. And so, she did.

Dita sauntered across the theater room until she reached Artemis, holding out her hand for the remote.

Artemis laid it in her waiting palm, looking all too proud of herself.

Dita’s eyes were narrow, but inside, she was all but jumping up and down and giggling. Artemis was too easy to provoke for her plan not to work.

“Since you’re so keen on talking shit,” Dita said, “and since you think all of this is so simple for me, why don’t we up the stakes? For my player, I’ll choose the man Josie despises more than just about anyone—her ex who left her without a word, who dumped her and broke her heart into a million pieces. Would that make it fair enough for you?”

Artemis laughed with a shake of her head. “Impossible. Josie would never fall in love with him again. Not after what he did to her.”

How little you know.

“So is that a yes, Artemis?”

“Yes, this is fair. I accept.”

Artemis looked so very sure of herself, though Dita was sure her own posture didn’t look any less confident.

“Not that I need your permission. This is just to prove to you that I can play this game on your terms and still beat you. And when you hand over a token, you’re going to eat a big, fat slice of humble pie. Deal?”

Artemis smirked. “Deal.”

Dita pointed the remote at the television, and the image switched to a tall, well-built man with dark hair that curled against the collar of his leather jacket. He was stepping out of his Jeep, and Artemis’s eyes went wide when she saw where he was.

“And now,” Dita said to the crowd, “I have the pleasure of introducing you to Jon Landreaux.”

She hit play.

Jon closed the door to his Wrangler and made his way across the parking lot to the entrance of The Grand Duke, a dirty dive bar where he hoped he’d find the bail-jumper he was after. He’d gotten the call only a few minutes before, but he knew Chester’s habits well enough. The Duke was one of Chester’s favorite haunts, and it happened to be the closest when Jon had gotten the call to pick the flasher up.

He pulled The Duke’s door open, and the sad, haggard faces of the men at the bar turned to the light. Jon stepped in and shook the rain off his jacket as he scanned the room for the face he was looking for without luck.

A heavyset, middle-aged woman gave him a halfhearted smile. Her hair was an electric shade of color that fell somewhere between red and orange, and her eye shadow was a similar density of blue.

“What can I get for you, honey?”

He glanced at the door, his gut telling him to wait a few before he took off to check the next spot. The clock on the wall read eleven.

It’s five o’clock somewhere.

“What do you have in bottles?”

“Plenty.”

“How about Sam Adams?”

She glanced down at the bin in front of her. “Don’t have it.”

“Okay, how about Heineken?”

“Nope.”

He leaned over the bar and looked in the ice bin of beers where he found Bud Light, Budweiser, and Miller.

Lite.

“Well, that certainly is a mighty wide selection you have there.”

“We do what we can, sweetie.”

The door to the bar swung open, and their faces turned to where Chester staggered in the doorway, dirty and wrinkled, his gray beard gnarled and cheeks red.

Jon’s lips pulled into a lazy smile. “Well, how about that? Looks like you have what I was lookin’ for after all.”

Chester’s eyes passed over the room, landed on Jon, and flew open. He turned and ran, and the door slowly closed on its own behind him.

Jon shook his head. “They always do that, though I can’t figure out why.” He turned to the bartender. “Thanks anyway, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat and took off after Chester.

Josie parked in The Duke’s lot with her nerves tingling. Chester was there; she could feel it on her skin, and her eyes scanned the parking lot. As soon as she stepped out of her car, he stumbled around the side of the building and shuffled toward the entrance. She froze, hoping she could wait for him to get inside where he couldn’t run, and she stayed just where she was until he pulled the door open and walked in.

She hadn’t made it five steps before the door burst open again, and Chester bolted around the building, toward the alley behind the bar.

Josie smiled as she took off after him. Gotcha.

That alley was a dead end.

Her boots slapped the wet pavement as she made it to the mouth of the alley. Chester had come to a stop at the end.

He turned and faced her. “Well, hello there, Miss Josie. Fancy meeting you here.” His words were slow and drawn out, and he listed a little, swerving as he tried to stay upright.

“Hey, Chester,” she said genially, though her body was tense and ready to move. “We gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?”

A deep voice with a Southern drawl said from behind her, “Oh, I don’t know about you, Chester, but I always find that the hard way’s a little more fun.”

Josie turned and looked up, and when their eyes met, her heart shot into her throat.

Jon’s hair was damp and flipping at the ends from the rain, his leather jacket dotted with condensation. His eyes were so blue, so bright, and she blinked, breaking the contact.

How he always did that to her, she’d never understand.

She put all her energy behind the anger bubbling up in her instead of his crooked smile as he looked down at her.

“What are you doing here, Jon?” she asked flatly.

He shrugged with a casual grace so gorgeous, it should be criminal. “I got a call a minute ago from Jerry J’s to pick up Chester, and I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d stop by The Duke.”

She huffed. “How is that possible? They’re only supposed to call one PI.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, did you set this up?”

That stupid smirk of his stretched higher on one side. “Don’t flatter yourself, honey.”

“Don’t call me honey, asshole,” she shot. “They called me hours ago, and I was here first.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I was here first. I was inside when Chester here came ambling in.” Jon’s slow smile never left his jerk face. His stupid, hot jerk face.

She scowled. Bastard.

“Hey now, Jo, no need to get mad.”

“I’m not mad.” She was well past mad and edging into blind fury.

Jon’s eyes moved behind her, and his smile stretched wide. He leaned forward, mouth angling for her ear, and dropped his voice. “Don’t look now, but I think Chester’s got a little something for you.”

Josie turned and rolled her eyes when she saw Chester swinging his naked dick at her. “Jesus Christ, Chester. Put that thing away.”

She trotted over to the old man, giving him a wide berth as she made her way behind him, cuffs in hand. Jon covered her from the front, getting the full assault, to ensure that Chester wouldn’t make a break for it. Not like he would get very far with his pants around his ankles.

Josie chuckled, her anger tempered by only a small margin. “Why do we have to do this every time, Chester?”

He was almost pouting as he glanced over his shoulder. “I’m too pretty for jail, Miss Josie.”

“Well, you end up there anyway, so why not just go with it?”

Chester looked back at Jon, who looked even more amused than she did. Chester’s eyes twinkled under his salt-and-pepper caterpillar eyebrows, and he gave a wistful smile from behind his grizzly beard.

“She don’t understand, but I bet you do, Mr. Landreaux. Nothing makes you feel more alive than being on the run.”

Jon walked up and grabbed ahold of Chester’s arm with an understanding nod. “You know, I get your meaning. But now we’re gonna have to take you in.”

“Naturally.” Chester tripped on his pants when he tried to take a step.

Jon tightened his grip to keep Chester on his feet. “Whoa there, buddy.”

Jon couldn’t help but smile when he heard Josie’s smoky voice from the other side of Chester.

“Somebody needs to pull up his pants, Jon.” It was more of a directive than a statement.

He looked around the old man and into Josie’s velvety brown eyes. “Just watch out for his business while you’re down there.”

She shook her head with a haughty laugh. “Oh no, not me. You.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Rock-Paper-Scissors?”

Josie mirrored him. “You’re on.”

They each held a fist in front of them and air-pounded in time. Josie chose rock, and Jon landed on scissors.

Josie smiled, and Jon couldn’t even be mad at his misfortune, not when she was happy. Every time he saw her, he would try to coax a laugh out of her. It was rare indeed when he succeeded, so he figured pulling up Chester’s pants was a small price to pay to see that smile, like sunshine from behind a rain cloud, always gone too soon.

“Like you said,” she said, smug as hell, “watch out for his business. No one wants a dick in the ear. Chester would do that, wouldn’t you, Chester?”

“It’s true,” Chester admitted with a shrug.

Jon sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. Then, he stepped behind Chester, deciding that his ass end was the best bet.

“You always pick scissors,” Josie said.

He bent down and grabbed Chester’s pants. “No, I don’t.” Jon pulled the dirty khakis up.

“Yes, you do.”

Jon glanced at Josie, who wore a know-it-all look if he’d ever seen one, before peering over Chester’s shoulder. He shook the skip’s pants in an attempt to wiggle his dick back into them.

“Well, I will say that scissors are the best of all the choices in the game.”

“How so?”

“Aha!” Jon cheered as he got Chester put away, reaching around to zip and button the man’s pants before grabbing his arm again. “Rock, well, it’s just unrefined, and paper, well, paper’s got no personality.”

“And scissors are superior?” Josie asked as the trio made their way out of the alley.

“Sure, I mean, think about it. They’re sharp and shiny. One might even call them sophisticated. You could use scissors for good or evil. They’re like the multitool of Rock-Paper-Scissors.”

“Except that they’re all equal in the game.”

Jon shrugged. “Still, superior as an individual player.”

As they rounded the corner of the building, Josie tugged Chester toward her car.

“Oh no, I’ll take him. You can follow us,” Jon insisted, pulling Chester toward his Jeep.

“And have you shake me and get there first? No way. I’ll take him.” She pulled Chester back in her direction.

Jon watched her for a split second. “All right. Then I’m riding with you.”

She stiffened. “And you can take a cab back to The Duke from the station.”

He nodded. “Works for me.”

Josie gave him a look that said she wasn’t happy with the arrangement before hauling Chester to her car.

Jon stuffed his hands in his pockets and watched her walk ahead of him. Even mad and uncomfortable, she was beautiful. Her hair shone like copper, and his fingers tingled as he remembered the feeling of the silky strands between them. His heart ached at the reminder that he’d lost any rights to touch her after how he handled things, finding himself wishing for the millionth time that he could go back and do it all over. Do it better. Do it right.

Josie could feel Jon’s eyes on her, and her brows furrowed with discomfort as she put Chester in her backseat. She climbed in and turned the key, and Jon slipped in next to her, smelling like rain and leather and man.

She swallowed hard.

Should have made him sit in the back.

He grabbed her auxiliary cable and held up the end. “You mind?”

“Rude. But fine, go ahead and hijack my radio.”

He plugged his phone in, and trumpets blared in the speakers as “Ring of Fire” began.

She backed out of the parking spot and took off toward the police station. “You are such a Southern boy.”

He looked at her like she had nine heads. “Southern or not, who doesn’t like Johnny Cash?”

Chester drunkenly sang along from the backseat.

Jon hitched his thumb at Chester, and a smile crept across his lips. “See?”

Josie’s eyes were on the road, but she found herself smiling despite herself. She snuck a glance over at him just as he looked away. The windows were cracked, and the wind whipped his hair out from behind his ear and across his face. His hand moved to tuck it back in place, and his fingers grazed the bridge of his nose.

She snapped her eyes forward and took a breath that was achingly full of Jon as Johnny sang about the fire that consumed hearts when they were stupid enough to fall in love.

Josie cleared her throat and turned the radio down, though Chester kept singing. They were otherwise silent through the short distance to the station, the quiet accompanied by the occasional glance from Jon, who was clearly entertained by Chester’s enthusiasm.

After they turned the flasher in, they made their way out of the station, neither knowing what to say as they descended the cement stairs.

They stopped for a moment when they reached the sidewalk.

Josie stuck her hands in her jacket pockets, suddenly feeling guilty for her refusal to take him back to his car and for being an ass to him. It wasn’t like he’d planned on crashing her job. She didn’t think so at least.

“Listen,” she started, “I can take you back to your car if you want.”

Jon waved her off. “Don’t worry about it, Jo. Really.” He walked backward with a smile on his face. “I’ll see you around, okay?” he said with a wink before he turned and walked away, whistling his beloved Johnny Cash all the way.

She watched Jon for a little too long before finding her senses and turning for her car, trying to talk herself down, like she did every time she saw him.

He hurt you, she told herself.

He left you, she pleaded with her heart.

He chose her, was the only thought that made a dent, and she found her resolve as she drove away.

It was near dusk as Josie walked to her parents’ house in Hell’s Kitchen.

After she’d collected her check from Jerry J’s Bonds for turning in Chester, she had run errands and had even gone for a jog, though she figured she should put jog in quotations since it’d ended up being more of a sprint than anything.

But, despite it all, Jon was still on her mind as she climbed the stairs to the Campbell residence.

Seeing him always did that to her, and it never ceased to infuriate her. Because she didn’t want to think about him. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. She just wanted him to disappear like he had before.

Things would just be so much easier if he went away and left her alone.

Sunday dinner at the Campbell house was a loud and loving affair and one that no member of the family was exempt from. Josie simultaneously looked forward to the comfort and dreaded the pressure she knew would rest on her shoulders the second she opened the door.

The smell of pot roast hit her so hard, her mouth watered. Her mother’s cooking was about the only decent eating Josie was acquainted with, as most of Josie’s meals were more in the neighborhood of ramen than rib eye.

Josie’s little sister, Liz, sat on the couch with her chestnut hair in a messy bun and earbuds in, her fingers banging out a text on her phone. At fifteen, she cared about very little that fell outside of the realm of boys and whatever her friends were into at the moment.

“Hey, Liz.” Josie closed the door behind her.

Liz didn’t look up.

Josie waved a hand in front of her, and she popped out an earbud.

“Huh?” Her eyebrows were up, her eyes big and brown, just like Josie’s.

“Just saying hello. Doing okay?”

“Sure, if okay is code for complete disaster.”

“Wow, Liz. Sounds serious.”

“Only if you consider Jamie kissing Ellie’s boyfriend at Ellie’s birthday party serious, which Ellie does.” Liz rolled her eyes. “I don’t, particularly because everyone knows Ellie’s boyfriend is an asshole, but it’s been nonstop drama.”

“Ah, the life of a teenage girl,” Josie said with mock nostalgia. “Where’s Mom?”

“Kitchen. Watch out. The boys are in there arguing over cop movies.”

“What’s new? I don’t know why they even bring it up.”

“Because arguing is the number one event in the Campbell Family Olympics. Duh.” Liz laughed and turned back to her phone.

Josie walked into the dining room and leaned over her father’s wide shoulder to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Daddy.”

He patted her hand and jerked his chin at her brothers where they were angled over the table, so deep in their discussion that neither saw her.

Paul, her older brother, shook his blond head, his meaty forearms resting on the surface. “Mikey, there’s no way you’ll ever convince me. You can’t even put Beverly Hills Cop and Die Hard in the same category.”

Mike, her younger but not smaller brother, narrowed his eyes. “You know I’m right. Look, I’m not saying that McClane isn’t a badass. I’m just saying that Axel Foley is a better cop.”

Paul waved his hand. “Foley’s smart, but he can’t stay in line.”

“And McClane does? Come on, Paul, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“You’re both wrong,” her father chimed in. “It’s Riggs and Murtaugh. Every cop is better with a good partner.”

Josie’s heart lurched, and three faces turned to her for a reaction.

Not only would she never get to be a cop like she’d always dreamed of, but she’d also lost her best friend, her partner, only months before. It was a double-whammy comment that he’d made offhand, but such was the new state of her life.

She woke up every day and found a way to trudge on, but something would inevitably rip the wound open again. She’d almost gotten used to the feeling.

Almost.

She smiled back at them, hoping she looked reassuring. “It’s the truth. Everybody needs somebody to watch their back.”

Paul and Mike stood.

Paul pulled her into a hug. “Hey, Jojo.”

She punched him in the side. “One day, you’ll quit calling me that.”

He laughed. “Not today.”

“Where’s Gia?”

“My beautiful wife is in the kitchen with Mom and Gran. Tell her I said that because the more pregnant she gets, the more likely she is to either cry or yell at me. I need all the help I can get.”

Mike gave her a side hug.

“How’s it going, Mikey?”

He ran a hand through his copper crew cut. “I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be a rookie forever.”

“They’re still razzing you? I figured they’d have found fresh meat by now.”

“Last week, somebody put shaving cream in my shoes, and yesterday, they glitter-bombed my locker.”

Josie laughed. “Oh, Mikey.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. I got ’em back by stealing all their deodorant and replacing them with Teen Rave Island Breeze.”

“That was my idea,” her dad said from her side and kissed her temple. “How are you, baby?”

She put on a smile. “I’m fine.”

He sighed and gave her a look that said he didn’t buy it. “Mmhmm. Boys,” he turned to his sons, “get in there and get the dishes so we can set the table. And Jo, go say hi to your mom.”

“Yes, sir,” she teased.

“Twelve years I’ve been a captain, and I will never get tired of hearing that.” He gave her a wink.

She followed the solid shoulders of her brothers into the kitchen where laughter mingled with the clinking of silverware and plates.

Her mother bustled around the kitchen as she passed stacks of plates to the boys, tucking an errant strand of auburn hair behind her ear that almost instantly began to slip back into her face. Gia slid off her barstool and waddled around to the stove with her hand on her belly.

“Ah, ah, ah” Josie’s mother shooed her back to her seat as the boys left the room with armfuls of dinnerware. “You just sit down and finish cooking that baby. Leave dinner to me.”

“Laura, I am so over being an incubator, I could scream. I actually did earlier. Paul had no idea how much rage I could expend on him for drinking out of the milk carton.”

They all laughed, and Josie made her way around the room to greet the women of her family. She came to her grandmother last, who was sipping sherry from a small crystal glass.

“Hello, Josephine,” Gran said with a smile, her gray hair coiffed like Jackie O and lips red—always elegant, always beautiful.

“Hello, Josephine,” Josie answered as she gave her grandmother a hug, breathing in the scent of rose water that reminded her of being a little girl.

“And what is new in the life of my favorite private investigator?” Gran brought her sherry to her lips with her gray eyebrows high.

“Well,” Josie said as she took the barstool next to her grandmother, “a few hours ago, I was exposed to a sixty-year-old man’s genitalia, but I guess things could be worse.”

“I’m not sure I’d complain.”

Josie snickered. “He’s not your type. You wouldn’t have been impressed with his level of hygiene or sobriety. That’s on top of the fact that he likes to show said genitals to anyone with eyes, solicited or not.”

“He sounds charming,” Gran said with a flourish. “How about you? My opportunity to be choosy about men might have passed, but yours, my dear, has not.”

Josie shifted in her seat and avoided Gran’s eyes. “You know I’m too busy with work to date.”

“Yes, yes, so I’ve heard,” she said.

Laura pulled the roast out of the oven, closed the door with her foot, and turned for the dining room. “Everybody, grab a dish and follow me,” she said with the swing of her elbow.

They did as they had been told and followed her to the table where the men of the family sat, chatting. Josie took her usual seat between Liz and Gran, across from the boys and Gia, who laid a napkin over her giant belly and sighed.

“I can barely even reach my plate.”

Paul laid an arm over the back of his wife’s chair. “Just a few more weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled as everyone loaded their plates and passed dishes around.

“Well,” Laura said as she handed Gran the mashed potatoes, “I’ve got one grandbaby on deck. Who’s going to be next?”

Josie kept her eyes on the roast as she forked it onto her plate.

Just don’t, Mom. Not today.

“Don’t look at me,” Mike said as he leaned on the table.

“I don’t know, Mom. If I have anything to do with it, it’ll be my turn,” Liz said. She took a bite of peas. “I know how you really want me to be on 16 and Pregnant. Having a baby’s basically like getting a puppy, right?”

“Don’t even joke about it, Elizabeth Marie,” Laura warned. “I’ll skin you, and your father will skin any boy stupid enough to even think about it.”

Everyone smiled down at their roast and peas and potatoes, except for Laura, who turned her attention to Josie.

“How about you, Josie? Meet any eligible young men this week?”

“Mom,” she warned.

Laura’s eyebrows were up as she reached for a bowl of carrots. “Is that a no?”

“That’s a no.”

“Well,” Laura said as she spooned carrots onto her plate, “it couldn’t hurt to be a little more lip gloss and a little less gunmetal.”

Josie’s mouth hung open for a split second before she snapped it shut. “I don’t have time for lip gloss, and I happen to like guns.”

Paul snorted. “Speaking of boyfriends, I saw Jon at the station the other day.”

Josie shoveled roast into her mouth to stop herself from responding.

Her father chuckled. “Rosie made him wait an hour for a check she’d cut him weeks ago. I think it was sitting on her desk the whole time he was waiting.”

Josie set her fork down with a clink almost loud enough to be disruptive. “Am I the only one who doesn’t find it amusing that half the precinct knows the details of my love life?”

“Oh, come on, Jo,” Paul said with a smirk. “Giving Jon hell is the least we can do to dish that asshole a little payback.”

“Language, Paul.” Laura gave him a look.

Josie eyeballed him too. “Look, as much as I appreciate the thought, I just wish everyone would drop it.”

Paul leaned on the table, his smirk fading and face hardening. “The guy left town with his ex he’d knocked up and didn’t even have the guts to tell you he was leaving. I mean, what kind of coward doesn’t break up with someone face-to-face?”

A thousand thoughts fired through Josie’s mind, so many that her mouth couldn’t even pick one.

Gia elbowed him in the side. “Paul,” she hissed.

He looked at his wife like he had zero clue. “What? I’m just saying, we all hate him just as much as she does.”

Josie shoved her rage down from cracking skulls to spitting nails. “I don’t need reminding, and I very seriously doubt that your feelings about him are stronger than mine. Can we just not talk about it? Please? For God’s sake, I just want to come to Sunday dinner and not have everybody up my ass.”

“Language!” Laura said, exasperated. She turned her fury on her husband. “Hank, control your children.”

Hank set his fork down and leaned on his forearm. “Josie, honey, on behalf of our entire misguided but well-meaning family, I would like to apologize. I know we have a funny way of showing it, but we only want you to be happy.”

Josie made eye contact with each member of her family. “It would make me happy if everybody dropped it. I’m fine, okay? I don’t want a boyfriend, and I don’t need help from the vigilante heart police. Now, can we please change the subject?”

“Sure, Jo. Sure.” Hank turned to the other side of the table. “Gia, I think we would all love to hear about the nursery. Has Pauly finished painting, or do I need to knock some sense into him?”

Gia let out a breath and smiled, breaking the tension with the details of paint swatches and curtains before she and Laura entered into a debate about stomach versus back sleeping. Josie ate her meal in silence as the family chatted, and the only real comfort she felt was in the moment her grandmother patted her hand, and they shared a smile.

Dinner eventually ended, and the table was cleared by Liz, who stacked all the dishes in the kitchen for Josie and her grandmother to attack, as they did every Sunday.

Josie leaned against the counter with a towel slung over her shoulder, watching as Gran rolled up her sleeves and buried her weathered hands in the bubbles.

“Don’t be mad at Paul or your mother, Josie.” Gran’s eyes were on her hands as she scrubbed a plate.

“I’m not mad. I’m fine.” Josie thought maybe she’d sounded convincing.

Gran eyed her and dunked the plate in the rinse side of the sink. “You can’t fool me.”

Josie sighed as she took the plate from Gran and ran her towel over it.

Gran picked up another plate and went to work on it. “Your mother believes that a family would satisfy you because that’s where she’s found her joy. She just doesn’t realize how horrible she sounds when she tries to help.”

“I know they mean well, really, but I dread coming over here every week. How can I keep moving forward if everyone keeps bringing up the past?”

“Moving forward, hmm?”

“What? I’m fine,” Josie insisted.

“You keep saying that. When was the last time you went on a date?”

Josie’s lips pressed flat. “That’s not the point.”

“Okay, when was the last time you went out with your girlfriends?” Gran raised an eyebrow and handed Josie another wet plate.

Josie dripped the excess water into the sink. “I…” She had no excuse. “A long time. It just doesn’t feel right anymore. Nothing does.” Not since Jon. Not since Rhodes. Not since Anne.

Gran’s face went soft, though she didn’t make eye contact, just nodded to the bubbles. “When we’re grieving, it feels that way, I know. But I promise, one day, you will wake up and things will be different.”

That was all it took to make the back of her throat burn. She swallowed her tears. “I keep thinking that will happen, but every day is the same.”

“You just have to give it time. You have been through so much over the last few years. You lost your best friend just months ago in a way few could imagine. You lost Jon—” Josie opened her mouth to speak, but Gran cut her off with a look. “And don’t you tell me that he doesn’t mean anything to you, Josephine Campbell, because I will call you a liar.”

Josie shut her mouth.

Gran looked back at her hands as she rinsed a glass. “That kind of pain changes you. I know that for a fact, just as well as I know that you will find happiness again. You don’t live as many years as I have in this world without learning to endure.”

Josie couldn’t find a way to get to that point. She could barely even imagine the possibility of being happy again. “How do you find happiness after so much hurt?”

When their eyes met again, Gran only smiled and said simply, “It’ll find you when the time is right.”