Freddy, the sweet dog that liked tummy rubs, leaped into the air and landed directly on Julian’s chest. Mom was standing in the doorway with a gun in her hand.

I was done.

My career was over.

“Mom,” I said, crawling off the bed, trying to get some distance. “Why do you have a gun? Maybe you could lose it, and we can talk about this like adults.”

“Where’s that fucking scrambler? And don’t try to tell me you don’t have one either.” She pointed the gun at Julian’s head. “Lily, I didn’t want it to come to this.”

“Come to what?” I was freaking out and rightfully so. My mom had a fucking gun pointed at my boyfriend who was struggling to fight off Cujo. “You’re the one with the gun. I’m over here trying to figure out if this is really my family or is someone going to jump out and yell ‘punk’d’ soon?”

“Little help,” Julian breathed.

“Can you at least call off your crazy monster?”

“Freddy, off,” Mom demanded.

Julian sat up and looked at his arms. He had several puncture wounds. “Really, Mom, was it really necessary to have Freddy attack Julian?”

“Well, if you would just stop using that damn scrambler, we would be fine.”

“We,” I scowled and grabbed a T-shirt to rip up and place on Julian’s forearm. “Guess we were right, eh?” I said, glancing at Julian.

In all fairness, I hate being right sometimes. Like, ninety-nine percent of the time it’s fun being right. Then just that little one percent is where I’m totally okay with being wrong.

“Where’s Otto,” I said, trying to look past her down the hallway.

“Don’t worry about him.” She held out her free hand. “Device.”

I looked over at Julian for approval. He nodded, so I reached under the pillow and tossed it her way. The moment she threw out her hand to grab the small device, she stopped paying attention to how she was holding the gun. Instinct kicked in, and I did one of my winning high kicks and knocked the gun from her grasp. Julian jumped forward and wrapped his arms around her body to keep her from running away.

“Let me go,” she screamed but couldn’t move. “You will regret this.”

“I’m really starting to regret a lot of things.” I shoved Freddy into my closet and closed the door. Turning in a slow circle, I searched for something that we could use to restrain my mom. There were two scarves hanging on a hook. “Will these work?” I held them up for Julian.

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “Why are we here in this house tying up your mom?”

“I was thinking the same thing. Or is it really my mom?” I shrugged my shoulders.

Everything in my life seemed too perfect now that I thought back. Too well thought out. Dad had me start fighting the moment I started walking. I was encouraged to fight in competitions as early as ten years old. After mom left the picture, he amped up our fighting schedule. The moment I turned eighteen, he drove me to the social security office to change my name.

Why?

Why had he done all of this? I knew the answer to that–to protect me. But more importantly, who was he protecting me from?

It couldn’t be my own mother.

“Renee,” I said, pulling a chair up and sitting in front of her.

“Not Mom?” She smiled, rolling her eyes.

“A mom would never hurt her child.” Julian was sitting on the edge of the bed, his knee touching mine. “Which makes me wonder.”

“I loved you,” she said a little too quickly.

“Loved. Did you wake up one day and say, oh I’m so bored of Lily?”

“No, I didn’t mean it that way.”

I closed my eyes and silently counted to ten. Opening them, I tried to look past the person staring at me. Instead, I let my mind see the good that had to be somewhere in her tiny body. “What did you mean?”

“Listen, there is a lot you don’t know. A lot I can’t talk about.”

“Wishing you had that scrambler?” I teased. She didn’t say anything, so I continued. “Was Dad the one that crossed off the names on the hit list?” She still stayed silent. “How about this? Did you hide that binder in Dad’s file cabinet so you could frame him?”

Julian let out a huff. “This is useless. She has no plans to talk.”

“Or she can’t.” I raised my eyebrows and gave an exasperated sigh. Pointing to the pad and pen on the nightstand, I silently asked Julian to hand them to me. I wrote on the pad, If I untie one hand can I trust you?

She nodded.

Julian stood behind her to ensure she wouldn’t do anything silly, like say, punch me in the face. I set the pad and pen on her lap. What she wrote down should have taken me by surprise. Unfortunately at this point, nothing was shocking me.

She handed the pad to me. My father worked for Giano Nesta in Toronto.

We started to write to each other.

Worked?

It’s a long story.

I have a lot of time on my hands.

Lily, if I tell you more, it could put you in danger.

Right as I was about to ask if her dad moved to California for a reason, there was a loud crash that came from down the hall.

“Lily, go. Just leave and don’t come back,” my mom said, pleading with me. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “I did care. I just had rules I had to follow, or my dad would intervene.”

Julian opened the window and motioned for me to jump. Right before I disappeared, I turned to my mom. “You were the one that crossed the names off? Not Dad.” She only nodded.

Dad was a good man. My body slowed, and Julian had to help me the rest of the way out the window. How could I ever have thought my dad was bad?

He did care.