Okay, do not go ballistic.” I shudder as I offer up the final few moments of a pep talk I’ve indulged myself in on the drive from Leland. As far as pep talks go, it wasn’t your standard fare—more like, do not rip the donkey balls from his body upon seeing that smug expression on his face. Not that it’s a given for Dexter to offer up a smug expression, but it is sort of his go-to look. No sooner do I take the final bend on the way to his palatial estate than my phone pings. I don’t waste a second before pulling over. I’m about a house away, and this is the perfect distance to rehearse all the madness that’s been ruminating in my brain for the last few days. Yes, I was pissed when I discovered that my love could actually be measured in ounces, aka a Porterhouse—and I’ll admit, that glistening piece of meat looked mighty delicious that night just prior to me accessorizing his outfit with it—but as Sophie and Vi pointed out, I had reduced his own heart to a year full of potential venti iced lattes. So instead of having it out with him at Leland, I decided that I should ambush him on his home turf and maybe take his ego down yet another notch by letting him in on my own little latte wager.

Dexter sent about fifty texts, all letting me know that what began as a farce ended with something he’d much rather tell me in person. So here I am. In person, ready and willing to hear whatever Dexter Houston has to say.

I glance at my phone, and it’s not a text from Dexter. It’s Trish.

Where the hell is Chelle? Dexter’s not picking up. The police are looking everywhere. Do you have her? Please help.

“What?” I hiss, staring at my phone as if it were suddenly sprouting fiction. No sooner does my hand grip the handle of the car door than I look and spot a figure moving in the black Jaguar in front of me. “It’s Chelle!” I exhale a burst of relief and sag into my seat a moment. Just as I’m about to text Trish back, a woman in a dingy white sweatshirt with the hood pulled partway over her eyes jumps into the driver’s seat and takes off with both the Jag and its pint-sized passenger. “What in the hell?”

I start the engine and roll up a notch, still keeping an eye on that Jag. I glance over to Dexter’s house, and the door is closed.

“Huh.” My gut says ditch Dex and follow that Jag so I do. There’s something odd about her. Was that the old sitter? The one Chelle loved so much? I mean, clearly Dex knows they’re together because she just left his home.

The Jag makes a haphazard U-turn and races back my way. Her hood is off and in its place a spray of red hair surrounds a familiar face that just about any pre-teen in the country could identify.

“Scarlett Stafford!”

She speeds by so fast I can hardly see the top of Chelle’s head in the back seat.

“What in the hell is going on?” I turn my poor clunker around and hit the pedal to the floor, gunning it as fast as I can to keep her in sight. She makes a left back out onto the main road just as the sound of sirens pierces through the air. And instead of driving toward the threatening howls, the Jag makes an abrupt right, ditching into a set of dangerous switchbacks that are carved into a steep hillside. It’s a shortcut that leads to a long, winding road, which eventually spills out into major traffic. I’ve driven it a handful of times myself, but it’s so steep and scary I try to avoid it at all costs. Scarlett takes the blind turns as if she knows them like the back of her hand. Which I don’t believe for a minute, but even if she did, it would be considered dangerous driving and she has Chelle in the back of the car! My God, what if she’s kidnapped Chelle, shot Dexter and left him for dead? I shake the ludicrous thoughts out of my head. There’s no way Scarlett Stafford is that insane.

The desperate video she put out plows through my mind like a semi truck.

“Oh God! She’s that insane!”

Scarlett speeds and swerves her way up the embankment, driving over the lines, skidding out with every other turn. There’s no way she’s sober. She can hardly keep on her side of the road. I have to get Chelle out of that car.

The road opens to a clearing up ahead, and Scarlett sees this as an opportunity to hit the gas, so I do the only thing I can think of—I do the same.

As soon as the road opens up into a four-lane highway, I glide up on her right and give her car a gentle grazing. I glance over, knuckles white over the steering wheel, only to find that the love tap didn’t even phase her. She must know I’m after her.

She speeds past me, and soon I’m left in her dust.

“No!” I cry as she races on ahead. I pump the gas, say a quick prayer, then floor it. There’s only a small stretch of land that I can safely stop her on before the switchbacks pick back up again, and as it stands, I’ve got about fifteen seconds.

My bumper comes up on hers, and she pulls ahead at the sight of me.

Chelle turns around, and I can see the fear in her eyes, her face red, her mouth open as if she’s screaming.

“My God! Oh my God!” I yank my wheel hard to the left before coming up alongside her rear and giving the Jag a punishing whack. The sound of metal hitting metal is the worst sound in the world when you’re making contact with another driver.

The Jag flails a moment, but Scarlett presses on. I can see the end of the second lane up ahead. Soon she’ll be flying off the hillside if she keeps up her erratic driving.

“Hang on, Chelle, because this is it, baby.” I floor it once more, and this time I jackknife right into the driver’s side rear, proceeding to ram the Jag into an overgrown dogwood bush the size of a small house. I don’t waste a second before maneuvering my front fender and embedding it into the driver’s side door, pinning Scarlett in as best as I can. A scream evicts itself from my throat as I jump out and Chelle runs straight into my arms wailing and screaming.

A couple runs up with a dog on a leash, shouting to ask if we’re okay.

“Call the police!” I scream through tears, my body bucking and shaking with relief. “There’s been an attempted kidnapping!” My arms tighten around little Chelle as she sheds hot tears over my shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. I promise you that. You’re safe. It’s all over.”

Scarlett scrambles out of the passenger’s side, and while the gentleman calls the police, the woman sprints into action with her Maltipoo and tackles Scarlett to the ground.

“Good going, sister!” I shout with laughter rippling through me. I press a quick kiss into Chelle’s hair. “Are you okay, honey?”

She hiccups while nodding yes. That’s a good start, but I’m sure the final verdict is for the paramedics to determine. I hit that car pretty hard. I fumble for my phone and call Trish, doing my best to relay the madness that just ensued through panicked tears—tears of joys.

It takes less than a few minutes for a fire truck to pull up to the scene, and Arlo hops out before it ever makes a complete stop.

“What the hell!” he barks as he collapses his strong arms around both Chelle and me. “You girls okay?”

I relay everything that’s just happened in what feels like a microcosm of time.

“It’s the girl we’ve been looking for!” Arlo shouts to the group of firefighters pouring out behind him. He heads over, and they help Scarlett to her feet, keeping her wrists bound behind her back as she walks calmly to their truck. Both an ambulance and a police cruiser show up simultaneously as Arlo jogs back to me.

Chelle jumps into my arms, and her limbs tighten over my body. “I’m not leaving you!” she screams so loud, pouring her pain into the world.

“Don’t worry.” I run my hand over her glossy thick hair. “There’s no chance I’m leaving you.” I look to Arlo. “We need to call Dexter. I’ve already let her mom know she’s safe.”

Arlo winces, the same expression I give when I’m trying to spare someone discomfort, and a new fear grips me.

“I saw her leave his house,” I hiss lower than a whisper. “Please send someone there,” I practically mouth the words as Chelle sinks her face into my neck.

Arlo shakes his head. “He’s not there anymore, Em,” he whispers. “They’ve already taken him to the hospital.”

The ground beneath my feet does a quick flip, and Arlo catches both Chelle and me.

It’s all a blur from that point on. A couple of beefy firefighters help us into the mouth of the waiting ambulance. The numbness that’s taken over my body, the fog that’s taken over my brain doesn’t allow me to recall the drive to the hospital. No sooner do the back doors reopen than I try to take Chelle and bolt, but a kind, yet firm, EMT stops me from doing so. I manage to hop out, but Chelle screams at the top of her lungs for me not to leave her. I pause a second, looking at the sliding door that leads into the back of the hospital emergency room. Dexter might be in there dying right now, but no matter how much my feet demand to bolt in that direction I can’t do it.

I can’t leave Chelle.

---

As soon as Chelle’s gurney is wheeled in through the hospital doors, I spot Trish down the hall—the flash of relief in her eyes is palpable.

“Where’s Dexter?” I shout, my voice reverberating off the wall like a mad woman.

Trish rushes for the gurney and gives it a yank. “Trauma unit. They’re prepping him for surgery.” Her arms collapse over Chelle, tears soaking her pink shirt like oil stains. “Baby. My sweet baby. Are you okay?” Her voice is pitched and garbled.

“I’m okay, Mommy,” Chelle squeals through tears of her own, her tiny body bucking with each word. “Where’s Daddy?” she shrills out his name with a scream.

Trish scoops Chelle up, lifting her straight out of her seat belt. “This little girl is coming with me,” she growls at the EMT while bolting into a room to the left, partitioned with curtains. And there he is, a sight for sore eyes. Dexter Houston, the man that I love—thankfully still breathing.

Trish still looks pale and shaken, but Dexter—he looks wild and wooly as if he hasn’t shaved in a year, his shirt is off, his shoulder and part of his chest covered with a giant white pad taped to his body like a map grid. There’s a smattering of blood on the exposed parts of his flesh, and he looks as if he lived through a battle. He lived. My heart swells with relief at the thought.

Both of their arms are flung tight around their little girl. It warms me to see it. To see Dexter alive, and the color returning to Trish’s face as she sheds uncontrollable tears.

Dexter pours kisses over Chelle’s tiny face, whispering feverishly, lovingly, into her ear. She nods before clasping her arms around her mother’s neck.

Dexter looks up at me, the whites of his eyes reflect bright as the sun, but I don’t dare look away. He reaches over and grabs the tips of my fingers, closing the distance between us with one aggressive yank. He pulls me in hard, his heavy breath falling hot over my neck.

Nurses flood the room and extract both Trish and Chelle without too big of a fight. Something about needing to do a comprehensive workup on her first. The room clears out, leaving the two of us alone for a minute.

Dexter pulls me to the bed and curls his arm around my waist. The weight of his stare bears down over me as he does his best to hold me tight with his good arm.

“You’re hurt.” My voice breaks as I pull back and examine him at this close proximity.

“I’m alive.” He tucks his head in an effort to catch my gaze once again. “But I wasn’t until I met you. Not really.” He offers up a sheepish smile. “You healed me.” His thumb wipes the tears from my cheek, and I pull it down and kiss it. “I didn’t even know I was sick.”

My lower lip quivers out of control as his once white bandage pools with crimson. “We need to get you some help.”

“In a minute.” His finger curls under my chin until my eyes are locked over his again. “I need to tell you something.” His jaw tightens as if he’s stomaching the pain, and in an instant he relaxes as he bears his gaze over me. “I love you, September Sparks. I love you with all of my heart, every ounce of my being. I never want to be apart from you. And yes, it started as a ridiculous dare—and I’m sorry about that. But it ended with a cosmic twist of fate that I wouldn’t trade the world for. I promise I never set out to hurt you. I love you more than I ever thought possible. You’re my family, Ember. You’re a living part of me, and I don’t want to lose you.”

My lips part as a series of croaking sounds emit. My mouth closes, and I press out a delicate smile, swelling waves of relief pouring from me as I take in this beautiful man. “First, I want to apologize for the fact I turned a Porterhouse into a hate crime—although those mashed potatoes really did bring out the gold flecks in your eyes.” I bite down on a nervous smile. “And second—I have a slight confession to make.”

His features darken, his once cool and calm countenance replaced with worry. “You don’t love me,” he says it flat like a fact.

“No.” I shake my head wildly. “I mean, yes! God, I do! I love you! I love Dexter Houston!” I shout that last part over his shoulder, and we share a small laugh. “In fact, I like you a latte.” I grimace at my own bad joke. “Which brings me to my next point. You see”—I wince as I take in his handsome features—“I sort of had a little wager of my own going.”

His lids hang heavy at the drop of a hat as if he’s quickly coming to an epiphany. And it’s not necessarily a pretty one.

“Will you collect a Porterhouse now that I’ve declared my love for you?”

“More like free coffee for a year.”

“A year?” he ticks his head back, amused. “I think you got the better deal.”

“Women are traditionally better negotiators by nature.” I give a sly wink. “But I need you to understand that I decided to risk my latte fortune and tell you that I loved you first—because I meant it. You healed me, too, Dexter. I meant what I said all those weeks ago. I didn’t believe in love—not romantic love anyway. And look at me now. Holding onto the love of my life.” My voice runs threadbare. “You are everything to me, Dex.” I shake my head, fighting my way past the fist of pain in my throat. “I love you. And when I thought I lost you…” I glance down at his chest, and the bandage is completely saturated as blood seeps out past its borders. “Oh my God.”

“Shit,” he hisses as he looks down, his face grows white in an instant. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Not even my own.” His eyes meet up with mine before he gives a few rapid blinks and collapses in a heap.

I do the only thing I can think of to save him.

I scream my head off.

---

“Oh my goodness!” Sophie slaps her hand to her chest, as both she and Vi look to me aghast at the level of crap the universe decided to throw my way this morning. I let them know before I left that I was going to confess to Dexter about my own ridiculous dare. But that didn’t mean I appreciated what he did. I just thought maybe we could open up a dialogue. I certainly didn’t expect to hear him say it back with so much fervor behind it.

“Is he okay?” Vi winces. “I mean, it’s kind of sweet how he looked past his own well-being to make sure you knew how he felt about you. I hope the poor guy lives.”

“He’s fine. He was in and out of surgery. I was right there when he woke up. He asked if I could run by his place and pick up a few things. They’re keeping him overnight. I just wanted to shower and change.” I hold out my arm, exposing the crimson stains on my sweatshirt.

“Aw”—Sophie nudges me with her foot—“the couple that bleeds together… Wait, that’s disgusting.”

Vi clears her throat. “The couple that declares their love for one another—stays together. I guess there’s just one person left to run this by.”

“Who would that be?” I laugh at the thought of having to run my feelings by anybody.

“Lenny.” She takes a sip from her drink.

“Lenny,” I groan at the thought of the final taping looming. “I’ll talk to Dexter about it later this evening. Hey? Maybe if Lenard is open to it, he can do another round with someone else? I think the viewers would love to see him get his happy ending.”

“How about you?” Sophie grimaces. “You and Dex can’t exactly go public.”

“I thought about that.” That horrible heavy feeling I’ve felt for the last few days creeps back up on me. “And I don’t want to think about that anymore. I guess we’ll have to figure it out. The last thing I want is for the university to fire Dexter after all he’s just been through.”

Vi nods “It will all work out. In fact, you already have it all.”

Sophie lifts her latte. “To you and Dexter. To finding true love where you least expected it. I guess we can all drink to that.”

Vi and I lift our cups and do just that.

Dexter Houston is the love of my life, the man of my dreams, the one who stole my heart when I wasn’t looking—and I never want it back.

No matter what the future holds for Dexter and me, we’ll walk boldly into the sunshine of life—we’ve already survived the storm together—we’ve already taken that hellish descent. There’s no place to go but up.

I can’t wait to go anywhere with that man.

Vi is right. We already have it all.