With a semblance of a plan in place, I check the ball. It barely hits my hand when I fake right and dart left. He’s half a step behind me all the way to the basket, and I stop suddenly to let him pass – then take my shot when he’s out of my way. It’s a messy shot, but I’m nervous, and the ball eventually goes in after sliding around the rim twice.

“How did a girl like you learn to play basketball?” he asks, trotting after the ball.

“Girl like me?” I ask and eye him.

Faint red flares in his cheeks, and he smiles. It’s rare when he’s the one who is embarrassed, and it helps me feel better about how awkward I always feel around him. He’s human, too.

“No offense. I meant, someone who appears on the society pages.”

“My family thinks it’s uncivilized,” I reply. “Ari and I started playing to piss off my sister and ended up liking it.”

Dom chuckles and goes to the top of the key. I stand a few feet off and lower my stance. He’s looking at me the way the friends of Ari’s brothers look at me: like he doubts something so small is gonna pose a challenge, and he doesn’t want to hurt me. He bounces the ball to me, and I bounce it back.

“You’re not gonna knock me down,” I tell him, irritated and afraid he thinks I’m too weak to play him.

In real life, out in the world, I feel fragile. But in sports and cheer, which are structured with established rules, I’m comfortable. They take my attention off my thoughts, and I relish that break from overthinking. I want Dom to push me on the court even if I’m afraid to call him off it. The harder I play, the more I escape from my brain.

“You don’t weigh over one twenty five,” he says. “I’m almost double your weight.”

“If you play nice because I’m a girl, or because I’m an Abbott-Renou, I’ll –”

He doesn’t wait for me to finish. He drives forward.

I move enough to keep from getting run over, but I also slap the ball away, slowing him down as he lunges after it. I do what Ari’s brothers taught me: stand on my tiptoes, plant a hand on his back, and let my other hand hover close to his guard arm, which I’m pleased to see is now up. The moment he gives me an in, I’ll swipe the ball away from him.

Dom shifts back and jumps, squaring with the basket in the air as he releases the ball. I’m not tall enough to block, but I’m tall enough to tip, another trick I learned from playing with tall guys.

The extra push from my tip makes the shot too hard, and it bounces off the metal on the back of the basket. I dart after the rebound, Dom at my back. He jumps higher to grab it. I go up as he’s coming down and snatch it before he can pull it into his body. I yank it free and double over, elbows out to protect the ball. His arms are still around the ball, but my body is between it and him. I can feel his strength and heat, and for a moment, I forget we’re playing basketball.

His laugh tickles my ear. “You prefer this to self-defense?”

“I told you not to play nice!” I try to twist free of him. He holds fast. I’m pretty sure an elbow to his chest will free me and am about to try it when he speaks again.

“Slide your right foot behind mine and lean forward until you feel I’m off balance.”

I hesitate then follow his instructions. His weight shifts to me, and I struggle to hold us both up.

“Push me right.”

I do uncertainly. His hold breaks as he scrambles to catch his balance before falling.

“Good,” he says. “When someone grabs you from behind, throw their balance off first. You’ve got lots of options from there, depending on where their weight and hands are.”

“Okay,” I say, straightening. I’ve never thought of self-defense the way I do sports. The fact I’m already using some moves in basketball that might transfer over leaves me reluctantly curious.

“Your ball,” Dom says.

I don’t move. “Will you show me another move?” I ask reluctantly.

“Self-defense?”

I nod and lower the ball to my feet.

The next ten minutes, Dom shows me a few quick basics: where to kick first and how to break a couple of different holds. When I start to feel anxious about it, he stops and picks up the ball.

“Keep going?” he asks.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I reply.

“Anytime you want me to teach you more, let me know.”

I don’t answer. We return to our game.

This time, he puts more distance between us at the top of the key. We check the ball. He lowers himself into a defensive stance.

“You ready for me to come across that line this time?” I tease, looking down at the foul line between us.

“Good question. Are you?”

I meet his gaze, surprised. Is he talking about basketball? Am I reading too much into everything? I don’t know how he does it every time. I feel as though I’m missing something every time we interact.

He darts forward, and I dismiss every thought but the one of stopping him from stealing the ball.

We play until he hits twenty one without saying another word. I suspect he started out careful, until he saw I can handle myself. Even so, he only knocks me down once, which means he’s probably playing nice. I can’t put him down – he’s too solid – but I hit hard enough to dislodge him. Speed and the sneaky moves Ari’s brothers taught us keep me in the game. Dom beats me anyway.

Both of us are sweating and breathing hard by the end of the game.

“Good game,” he says, offering his hand. I take it.

“Yeah, but you won,” I say with an exaggerated sigh.

“I usually do.”

“Even when you play someone your own size?” I retort.

“That defensive shit again.”

“Whatever, hero, like you’ve been straight with me.”

Something about my whatever, hero really does drive him crazy. I see the guarded flicker in his eyes. But he smiles, which usually means he’s about to trump me again. Except this time, he’s quiet. He says nothing. I say nothing.

We’re not shaking hands anymore, either, just standing here, hand-in-hand. It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t. I’m holding his hand. He’s holding mine. We’re looking at each other.

It’s … surreal. Not because it feels weird, but because standing here with him like this is the safest, most normal moment I’ve experienced in months. As if we’re real and the rest of the world – and everything I’ve gone through – is a dream. I don’t know how to interpret this weird tension between us.

It manages to unsettle me. I drop Dom’s hand and take a step back.

“Ms. Abbott, your car is waiting.” A voice says over the intercom.

“I guess I’ll see you around,” I mumble and turn away quickly.

“Have a nice evening, Mia,” Dom calls.

I wave over my head without looking back. I hope he doesn’t notice that my hand is shaking or that I break into a run once I hit the darkness of the hallway leading into the clinic. Our game and verbal exchange leave me feeling alive for the first time in months. I grab my stuff from my desk and join my bodyguards in the lobby area. We make it to my car, and I arrive home tired and hungry.

My adrenaline is still spiking, my body humming, when we pull up to the house. It’s not fully physical and not wholly mental but a combination of the two that sends my blood racing and my stomach fluttering. I’m afraid to dissect what this is I’m feeling – so I don’t.

The minute I walk in the door, I know something’s up. The fear I’ve had since my eighteenth birthday is finally coming true.

Moving boxes are stacked at the bottom of the stairs. They’re already full and taped and waiting to go.

My heart slows. Instead of hurrying to my room to make sure no one touched my closet, I go to the study. Half of Chris’s people are still in the hallway. Chris is seated at the table, in jeans and a t-shirt, the most informal I’ve ever seen him.

Has he slept? Circles line the undersides of his eyes.

“What’s going on?” I ask, already suspecting the truth.

“The inevitable,” he says without looking up. “You’re leasing a condo in a secure building from the Stevens Foundation. I’ll have all your stuff there Friday night. Saturday, you’re officially out of the house.”

I’ll be alone. What if they find me?

My chest feels like it’s in a vice. The buzz I got from being around Dom vanishes.

“Is it safe?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Chris looks up and meets my gaze. He’s cool and calm as always. “Absolutely. In every way. Safer than here. Mr. Stevens is the most security conscious person I know, and this place is a fortress. Dignitaries and diplomats from all over the world stay there when they visit the city. Okay?”

I nod. I understand what he’s saying, but I don’t think he gets what I mean. I’m going to be alone for the first time in my life. Maybe safe isn’t the right word but I’m too shocked to know how to ask what I mean.

“Your father is putting distance between you and the case, so he can focus on his reelection,” Chris adds.

“You mean he chose his loyalty to the Connors over me,” I snap. Fresh anger floods me.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

“He’ll go on being normal while I rot in some fortress.” I spin away and start to leave.

“I agree with the decision, Mia,” Chris says. “You’ll be better off.”

“How? Exiled from my family?” I ask. Tears are forming in my eyes. My father doesn’t want me in his life – and I did nothing wrong.

Chris glances at his lackeys and stands. He doesn’t speak until he’s close enough to me for his people not to hear.

“You’ll be better off when you’re not around someone who rejects you at every turn. You can be you,” he says. “You’re free, Mia. Free of his influence, free of the life you didn’t ask for. You can start to make your own life.”

The tension in my shoulders relaxes. When Chris explains it this way, it doesn’t sound as bad. I still want to cry.

“I’ve only ever wanted him to love me,” I whisper and hate both the truth of the words and how broken they sound when I speak them.

“He does in his own way. Dr. Thompkins and I agree that moving you away from him will help you come to terms with all that’s happened as well as allow you to heal and grow on your own. While the timing is unfortunate, your father’s decision may reflect that he feels the same, and he’s willing to let you live your life instead of forcing you into his.”

“You give him too much credit.” I wipe my eyes and look away.

“Regardless, it’s decided.”

“I wish he cared about me as much as you do.” I walk out and go to my room.

Most of it is packed up, except for the contents of my safe closet. I take a long shower, trying to scrub away the hurt I feel knowing my father doesn’t want me around.

It doesn’t work. When I climb into my sleeping bag on the floor of the closet, I grab my phone. I text Ari first and let her know I’m being exiled from home.

I move into the ditch Saturday, I type to Dom.

Let me know if you need a hand. He responds.

I hesitate, recalling his words from the hallway two weeks ago. He’s letting me decide the terms of our relationship. Friendship. Whatever. I don’t know what to think, except I don’t feel any instinct telling me not to let him in my life. I appreciate what he’s doing, but I’m still not sure I should play this game of allowing anyone else into my life. I played a game with Robert and lost everything.

Dom isn’t Robert. There have never been two more opposite people, except for maybe Molly and me. Robert gave me no choice; Dom put the ball in my hands and walked away, waiting for me to decide if I’m going to shoot or run. I don’t think I understood that fully, until we played our basketball game. I still don’t understand what we’re playing for, or what I want exactly, but I know whatever it is, I want to take that shot.

Did you play football? I ask Dom. If he says quarterback, I know not to go near him.

Strong safety.

I Google it. I know the positions in basketball and soccer from playing. Football isn’t my thing. I read through the description online and am not surprised. The strong safety is on the defense, responsible for either running or tackling. He goes where he’s needed. I can’t imagine a better spot for Dom.

I have lackeys to move me but we can meet for coffee Saturday morning. I hit send then breathe deeply.

Deal. His reply is instant.

I’m starting to freak out now. I do something I haven’t ever done. I turn off my phone, just in case he responds with anything more. Part of me hopes he changes his mind before then and part of me is terrified he won’t.