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“Totally. But I got them strapped in at the moment.”

“You at work?”

“Yup. Did you know that sweaty guys in a gym, who beat each other up for a living in a ring they call a cage, are hot as fucking hell?”

I smile wider. “So, Steve’s two-hour parking limit is up, I take it?”

“So up. Dude, he was talking about kids. Do you believe that shit? I am not mother material. I mean, seriously. Anyone who knows me knows I am not mother material. I’m fun party material. I want no ties for at least ten more years. I’m all about enjoying your youth while you have it.”

“Did he cry?” I laugh. Bebe has been known to make men cry. Hell, Vaughn is even afraid of her.

“Almost. Pffft. Wimp. So what’s up with you, chica? Living la vida loca?”

Fucking Bebe. I miss her so damn much. “Eh. I’m at home in bed. Vaughn is working. So… eh. I’m at home in bed.”

“What’s wrong?”

I hesitate. Because even though a few minutes ago I was trying to pretend that I didn’t know what was wrong, I know what’s wrong. “I feel like… going home.”

“You are home.”

I take a deep breath. “No. My home.”

The silence hurts. It really does. But I suppose my words hurt Bebe even more.

“Why?” she finally asks. “I mean, after all these years. Why now?”

“I don’t know. It’s a bad idea?”

“Such a bad idea.”

I knew it.

“But,” she adds after a few seconds, “if you need to go, Grace, then you should go.”

“I have a private jet. Well, I mean, I have one available to me. As Mrs. Asher. I’m coming right now.”

“Now? But I’m at work.”

God, I love my adopted sister. She just naturally assumes we’d do this together. “That’s OK, Bebe. I can go alone. Really. It’s not a big deal. In fact, I want to go alone.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. How about I call you later and maybe we can have dinner?”

“OK.”

She sounds hesitant, so I say goodbye and quickly hang up before she can ask any more questions. I don’t want to be alone. But I don’t want her to feel obligated.

I stare at my phone for a few seconds to get up my nerve. When Vaughn gave me this phone the day after we came home from the hospital, it had all his contacts in it already. His agent. Big Hollywood producers and movie stars. Restaurants he frequents. And the flight coordinator.

I press that tab now and tell them I want to go to Denver. It’s a three-hour drive up to the town I grew up in from Denver, but I can use the thinking time. Plus, I don’t want those people to know I’m coming. I don’t know why, but I don’t want them to know I’m coming. And if I take a jet up to that little airstrip, they will know.

Once the arrangements are made, I get up and take a shower and get dressed. I skip breakfast—they always serve food on the jet—and then I climb into the Audi Vaughn says is mine, and drive out to the airport.

By the time I get there, it’s fueled, the captain is on board, and the only thing missing is me. Vaughn didn’t call and ask me what the hell I’m doing, so I can only assume they didn’t inform him of my plans.

I breathe a huge sigh of relief at that because he’d have all kinds of questions. And I’m not ready to answer those questions.

I really just want some space. I need some space to put things together.

I spend the next few hours staring off into said space. Just thinking.

Thinking about too many things, if I’m honest. About the kidnapping. Both times. About Vaughn. About my leg. It’s better, almost one hundred percent better, but it was very painful. You know, in movies and books they always make it look like getting shot in the leg is no big deal. Well, it was a big fucking deal. My scar is four inches long. It took me three weeks before I could walk without a crutch, and then it took weeks more of physical therapy to get rid of the limp.

The first time I was taken, I came back with no injuries. I mean, he injured me plenty during those eight months. But there was no medical attention required. I didn’t need fixing. I was fine.

This time it’s different. This time everyone knew I was damaged and that I needed attention. And believe me, I got a lot of attention. I almost prefer no attention. In fact, I know I’d prefer no attention.

I like to blend in.

I like to lie low.

I like to be still, and quiet and—

Wait. No, that’s not right.

Grace—or the old Grace, at least—likes to talk. She likes to tweet, and Facebook, and chat. That was my whole social life before… before this happened.

How did I get so confused?

The captain comes on over the intercom and announces that we’ll be landing in ten minutes. I never took my seatbelt off, so his spiel is wasted on me.

I don’t even know why I want to go home to see those people. I guess it’s just killing me to know that I have real blood relatives but I have no connection to them at all.

I sigh and push all those melancholy thoughts away as we descend. And when the wheels touch down, I’m resolved to see this through. No matter what.

“We have a car ready for you, Mrs. Asher. It will pull up into arrivals in ten minutes and should be waiting for you by the time you get outside.”

I nod absently as I chew on my fingernail. Why am I doing this?