The sun in San Diego is strong. I’m sitting outside on a little patio. We’ve rented the upper floor apartment in a small house. The bottom floor’s vacant as far as we can tell. It’s private.

Knox found it through a friend of his, another SEAL. I guess with what they go through they get tight. He hooked us up within 24 hours of our arrival.

“Here you go.” Knox sets a lemonade on the table for me.

“Thanks.” I squint in the sunshine. It’s too bright. We’ve been here two days and I’ve yet to adjust.

He heads back upstairs, giving me some space. I want it, but I don’t. I’m a hot mess.

I’m jumpy, startling with every noise. Random people on the sidewalk look suspicious. Momentary worries flash across my brain—I have to call work and let them know I won’t be coming in today! Then I’ll remember, everything’s changed. I haven’t gone into work in weeks.

My clothes are all left behind in an apartment in Chicago. I was supposed to turn in a paper for my online degree program last week. I’m sure I’ve missed a test or two by now. All the worries and concerns and goals of my former life are heaped together like a pile of twigs, waiting for me to clean up the mess.

Will I ever go back and do it? Will I ever be safe? What do I do now?

I decide to answer the last question in the most basic way possible. I close my eyes and tilt my face up to the sun. Its beams hit me full and real, warming not just my cheeks, forehead and chin, but my entire body. My breathing slows. The muscles I haven’t even realized I’m holding tense start to relax.

It’s going to be all right. I don’t know how, have no idea why or when, but I can feel it in my bones. Everything’s going to be all right. Maybe even better than all right.

The first step in all of it is Knox. I need him. Now.

I head upstairs and find him standing in the kitchen looking unhappy and tense. He’s got his arms crossed against his chest, making it look even more massive. His biceps are bulging like he’s trying to look hot, only I know he’s not even giving it any thought. What he’s thinking about is me. I can read it on his furrowed brow, the concerned way he looks at me as I walk into the room. He’s standing there worrying about how I’m doing and it’s hot as hell.

“Hey, how’re you—?”

I cut him off with a kiss, reaching up and pressing my lips to his. My fingers twine up into his hair, pulling him down to me. He’s a wall and I want to climb him like a vine, leaving no room between the two of us, pressing myself so close.

“Baby.” He kisses me back like a starving man, dropping to his knees and taking me with him, then down onto the floor. He covers me, his hands, his kisses, pulling up the cheap drugstore sundress he’d bought me yesterday. I’m not wearing a bra and he cups my breasts, growling as he brings his mouth to my skin, hungry.

“Knox, I’ve missed you.” I can’t stop running my hands up and down his muscles, so lean and strong. I pull his shirt up and he helps me get it over his head. He’s a magnificent male specimen. I want to kiss every inch, run my fingers over every single part of his body, worship him until I finally get enough. I don’t think I ever will.

“Been so hard…” he pants, trailing kisses down my stomach. “Holding back.”

“Don’t hold back,” I beg, quivering before he’s even kissed me knowing where he’s headed.

His tongue finds me and I cry out, wondering how I’ve managed to survive so long without it. Why have I stayed away from him the past few days? Well, there was the sleeping off the drugs and the shock and disorientation, but still—oh God it’s so good.

“You taste so sweet, like honey.” He spreads me open more, holding my thighs apart as he takes a moment to gaze at my glistening pussy like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever seen.

I squirm with impatience. “Please.”

“You need it now, baby?” He settles back between my legs, a smile of satisfaction on his handsome face. “I do too so I’ll give it to you quick. This time.” He leans down and gives me a slow, expert lick that leaves me breathless. “But next time…” He dips in and does something with his tongue I can’t even describe, some kind of rhythmic pulsing that robs all thought from my brain it instantly has me so close to exploding.

“Next time, I’ll make you work for it.” He pulls away in a maddening delay, blowing on my sensitive, soaking wet clit.

“Knox!” I cry out, reaching for his shoulder, his hair, trying to let him know I need it now, right now.

He chuckles and easily grasps my wrists in his, stretching my arms over my head. Nuzzling into my ear, he whispers, “you need to cum, Olivia?”

“Yes,” I whine, writhing underneath him, feverish with need.

“Should I make you cum on my fingers?” He traces a path along my inner thigh, up and down, so close but not close enough.

“You said—” I pant, wanting to remind him that he’d said he wasn’t going to make me wait, but words fail me as his lips find my erect nipple. Arching up, I offer myself to him, my tender tip inside his wet heat as he plays with me, then bites. The sensation of him pinning down my wrists while denying me orgasm and toying with my breasts brings me so close, right to the edge, but he moves his mouth away.

“You want to cum in my mouth, Olivia?” he teases, back again whispering in my ear. The noises coming out of my mouth sound more like guttural pleas than any words.

With his free hand, he undoes his fly. “How about on my cock?”

“Yes!” I find words at the suggestion. I need him inside of me, stretching me to where it almost hurts, claiming me in the most intimate of ways.

He’s at my entrance fast, showing me he wants it now, too. I spread my thighs wide, shifting my hips to take him in all the way. “On one condition.” He delays again, positioning his tip right where I can feel him smooth and hard, ready to thrust. “You have to cum more than once.”

I comply immediately, with no problem. The second he enters me, in one sure movement, I come apart, crying out and bucking against him.

“That’s it.” He revels in my orgasm, thrusting into me, driving and forcing me to higher levels of pleasure before the warmth slows and spreads through all my limbs. “So good.” He starts to move easy and sure, cupping my ass under his large palms and working me with his huge cock. I’m so wet he slides in and out, building a faster rhythm.

He props himself up on his palms and looks down to watch where we join, where his cock pistons in and out. “Fuck, you’re sexy.” I smile up at him, exactly where I want to be, exactly what I want to be doing. “Cup your tits for me, baby. Let me see you touch them.”

I do as he asks, feeling naughty and dirty and sexy all at once. I’m not even sure what he means but as I reach my palms underneath my breasts and squeeze them I figure he must like what I’m doing. He groans, his eyes half-closing and he reaches around my thigh to push it up at an angle. He starts fucking me even harder.

“That’s it. Pinch your nipples.”

It feels so wrong and nasty, but I reach up and grasp my nipples between my thumbs and index fingers and pinch.

“Harder,” he barks, his voice harsh and commanding. I do as he says, the pain providing a knife’s edge to the intense pleasure of him pounding into me.

He pulls out at the last minute. He kneels over me, pure, intense pleasure twisting across his masculine face, every muscle in his perfectly sculpted body tense and rippling with release. The feel of his hot cum splashing across my tits makes me orgasm all over again.

Even as he marks me, claiming me with a guttural, “Mine,” I feel a deep sense of power. I’ve done that to him, not only my body but me, the connection we feel between us. I’ve given him that much pleasure.

Curling into him afterwards on the floor, he holds me close. Wrapped in his arms, I feel like I belong. Somehow here in this foreign city with no job, no friends, no family, I’m home.

We spend the next couple of days mostly in bed, with a few breaks to head out for food and a little exploring. I know people travel the world over to visit San Diego, and I figure one of these days we’ll get around to really doing some sightseeing. We go down to the beach once and it’s beautiful.

But I’m holding my breath. I’m waiting, for them to find us, for my father to pay. I don’t know which will happen first.

From our brief walks in the few blocks around our apartment, we get a relaxed feel. Everyone seems to be wearing flip flops and shorts or miniskirts in November. The one nod to the season are sweatshirts.

I’ve lived in Arizona with my mom, so warm weather isn’t completely foreign to me, but this has a different vibe. In Arizona, it’s sunny but the sun isn’t anyone’s friend. It gets up into the 120s. You have to plan around the sun, strategize, figure out when you can head out during the summer months vs. when it would be unbearable to set foot out of the door.

San Diego weather opens its arms to us at all hours of the day and night. I don’t know what to make of it. It almost seems like someone is playing a joke on us, like we’ve stepped into a movie set and once we find the exit door we’ll step directly into a hurricane or a blizzard like we’ve left behind in Wisconsin.

“S’up, Dude.” Knox likes to tease me by saying. He’s trying to lighten my mood. Sometimes it works. Who knows, maybe someday we’ll both be saying “dude.” If we stay in San Diego, maybe the town will work its laid-back magic on us, turning a hardened, war-weary loner and a shy, nervous college student/waitress who tried her best to blend into the woodwork into happy beach bums.

But there are a lot of “ifs” between now and that possible future. If we’re really safe here. Now, maybe we are. But what if we settle down, get jobs, re-enroll in my online degree program? We’ll pop back up on the grid and what’ll happen then? Will the door bust open in the middle of the night?

Knox walks into the living room where I’m sitting, fretting, biting my nails. “Hey, this is San Diego, dude. No worrying.”

I look up and try to smile. “Sorry. I’ll try to get a little more vacant.”

“We could dye your hair blonde.”

“You want it blonde?” My old insecurities rush right back in, as if he’s criticized me.

“Olivia, come on. I’m just joking around with you.”

“I know.”

“You want to make a couple phone calls?” He holds out a prepaid phone, the kind that can’t be traced.

“What? You think it’s time?” We’d talked about getting in touch with my mother and my father, but agreed we’d give it a few more days.

“I do. Call your mother. Then your father. Don’t tell them where you are. Not yet.”

“No, of course I won’t.”

“I know. I just had to say it.” He kisses me again. “I’ll give you some privacy. But I’ll be right out on the patio if you need me.” He slips out the door.

Taking a deep breath, I dial my mother. She picks up on the third ring. “Where are you again? Your boss at the restaurant where you work called. He wanted to know why you haven’t shown up.”

“Maury called?” Somehow it doesn’t ring true to me. One of my roommates, maybe, but my old boss was so lazy he wouldn’t lift a finger to swat a fly off his nose.

“He didn’t give his name. Left a number, though, and told me to call him if you called. You in some kind of trouble?”

“No, mom, I’m fine. I’ve moved.”

“What? Where? You said you were on vacation.” Then, to someone else in the room, she adds, “Yeah, just put it over there. No, by the TV. It’ll be fine.” She returns her attention to me. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of moving.”

“Again?” The question’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself. It’s like picking a scab. You know it’s not going to help, but your reflexes lead you to do it before you can stop yourself.

“I know you judge me for moving around too much. But all I’m doing is trying to better my situation. You talk to me in 10 years once you’ve dealt with real adult life and you tell me how easy it is.”

“Mom, I’m not trying to have this argument again.”

“And now who’s the pot calling the kettle black? Who’s just moved, too? Little Miss Perfect, that’s who.”

“OK, mom, I just wanted to let you know I’m doing fine.”

“Yeah, well…” We both take a few seconds to collect ourselves. It’s so easy to boil over with my mom. We know each other too well, have too much history. “I’m glad you’re doing fine,” she continues, “but I’ve got to go.”

“OK. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, you too.” It’s grudging, but it’s a better end than to some conversations we’ve had. I’m not sure how to untangle years of resentment. It’s like a mass of yarn all twisted and knotted up. It’s easier to just throw it out. But I guess you can’t really do that with a parent. Even if you don’t talk to them, they’re always part of you.

I go get myself a glass of water, put some ice in it and steady my breathing. I’ve been parenting myself from a young age. This is no different.

Wait, it is different. A smile spreads across my face thinking of the man waiting for me down on the patio. The man who kissed me and told me he’d be there for me if I needed him.

I go to the window and take a peek. He’s sitting there, drinking a beer, looking too handsome for his own good. How did this man happen to cross my path? Since when in life did a series of bad decisions plus being in the wrong place at the wrong time, lead to something so good?

As if he can sense my presence, he looks up at me. “How’d it go?”

I open the window. No screens. I guess they don’t have bugs in San Diego. Or they’re too relaxed to be bothered by them. “Talked to my mom. She’s just moved again.”

“Huh.” He looks up and nods at me with wisdom and insight. I haven’t laid out my whole history for him, just the bits and pieces of all the moving. But he seems to get it without my having to tell him the whole story. “So you can cross that call off your ‘to do’ list.”

“Right.” He makes me smile, reminding me that I don’t need her, not really. Not the way I used to when I was six or nine and she was my anchor, my constantly moving anchor who resented the hell out of me since I prevented her from going out every night.

“One left to go. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” He tips his beer bottle to me and I take another sip of my ice water.

It’s a good thing my father’s had the same cell number for years. Otherwise I don’t know how I’d get in touch with him, since my phone and all the contacts in it are gone.

“’lo?” He sounds like he’s eating something. A big sandwich, if I had to guess. He’s always liked an Italian beef sandwich, with all the slices of roast beef mixing with onions and peppers. I can picture it spilling out onto the wax paper it came wrapped in as he takes a bite. It makes me wince.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Liv? That you?” It sounds like he’s choking on something, sputtering and taking a long swig of liquid to wash it down. “Holy shit, you OK?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m OK.” Why does talking with my parents make me feel so weary? Like I’m a thousand years older than them.

“Jesus, you had me scared there, kid.”

“I had you scared?”

“You disappear on me like that. I didn’t know where you were. You had me worried sick.”

This guy is something else. “Yeah, that’s because the mob goons you pissed off kidnapped me.”

“What? What are you talking about?” He’s so bad, faking ignorance. He’s like a Vaudeville actor mugging for the camera.

“Dad, I don’t have time for this. I want to know, have you paid them what you owe?”

Silence. I can almost hear the wheels in his brain creaking as they turn. He’s wondering how to spin it, how to answer without actually divulging any truth. I wonder if a single thing this man has ever told me has been real.

“You see, it was all a little misunderstanding.”

“I got stabbed in the neck with a needle, knocked out and kidnapped. Twice. All because you owe the wrong guy money.” I’m not yelling, but I am speaking in a voice I’ve never heard myself use before. I sound authoritative. And it works.

“Now, honey,” he starts backpedaling, trying to appease me in a way he never has before. “It’s not like you think. I never—”

“I told you, I don’t have time for this shit. Answer me straight. Have you paid them back?”

“Yes,” he answers, reluctantly. “Wiped me out clean to do it, too. Bastards. How do they expect a man to get by?”

It’s his complaining that makes me smile. That’s real. That’s authentic. If he hadn’t paid them the money he’d taken, he’d still be full of platitudes, lying through his teeth, telling me there was nothing to worry about. Right up until mobsters broke down my front door and stuck me with a needle for the third time.

“You’re broke?” I ask like I’m sympathetic.

“Can you believe it? I bust my hump all my life. Then one little misunderstanding and look where I am. Say, how flush are you these days? Any chance you could help out your old dad? A little loan through the holidays? I’ll pay you back, with interest.”

“Take care of yourself, Dad.”

“Wait, Liv.” He stops me from ending the call.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. About all of it. I never meant for any of it to happen.”

“OK.”

“Where are you?”

“Got to go, Dad.”

I hang up before he can renew his plea. It’s a wonder I’ve ever trusted a living soul with those two as parents. And look who I go and trust? A man who kidnapped me right off the street in the dead of night.

“What’s so funny?” Knox is at the door and I realize I’m laughing. I’m sitting on the couch with my head in my hands laughing so hard I’m starting to cry.

“It’s over,” I manage, wiping my eyes only to have new tears form. I’m so brimming with emotions I can’t even name what they are anymore. “It’s over.”

He holds me as I repeat and repeat, like a bell ringing out, the nightmare is over.