I'm going through the motions of each day. Wake up, play games.

Games that feel more stupid by the minute.

I'm not running in the morning because Cata's not with me. The lack of exercise, combined with the crappier-than-usual food I'm eating, makes me irritable. I also haven't slept well since Cata left.

Basically, I'm miserable. I've thought about going to Maine, but I don't want to be overbearing. Maybe other men would, but I want Cata to want to be with me. She was right; I should have told her about the photos from the beginning. Which is why I want to give her space to decide what she wants.

I'll wait for her forever. And it's not like I'm going anywhere. I have a show to do.

A game to play. Although lately playing video games seem boring and kind of stupid. Everything is, without Catalina.

I take my place on the sofa. A big part of me wants to be outside, away from the TV, out of sight from the camera. Being an internet celebrity's not all it's cracked up to be. In truth, it's kind of confining.

"Okay, losers, I'm on," I grumble into my headset as I pick up the joystick.

"You gonna be an asshole again today?" asks one of the fans.

"Fuck you," I respond, and everyone laughs.

We're about ten minutes into a raid on Call of Duty when I hear a banging on the door.

"Liam! Sawyer! Get the damned door, bros," I holler. I don't hear anyone in response.

Both of them are probably in their own bedrooms, outside of the main house. Or in the pool, because they bought a GoPro and wanted to film themselves underwater.

"Hold on," I say to the online crowd, which numbers in the tens of thousands at that moment. All those people, doing nothing but watching me talk shit and play video games. I pull off my headset and stand up, and that's when I hear the door break open.

"GET DOWN," a man yells.

"SHOW ME YOUR HANDS," screams another.

I can't move, I'm so scared. My eyes flit to the TV screen, where I can see myself in the bottom corner, wide-eyed. I then look to the door, and there's a man in full SWAT gear, holding an assault rifle.

"GET THE FUCK ON THE FLOOR AND SHOW ME YOUR HANDS," he hollers.

I do as I'm told, shaking. My breath comes in shallow pants. I'm dead. Right?

Fuck.

I've been swatted.

* * *

I sing along with some stupid song on the radio as I drive toward the beach. My stomach is twisting with excitement as if it's Christmas morning. I cannot wait to see Diego, can't wait to throw my arms around his neck and give his beautiful mouth a long kiss. I pop in another mint, wanting to smell perfect, taste perfect, for him.

I'd stopped at my mom's house to change into a cute black dress and my favorite black sandals. And to grab Mom's car.

A few blocks from his house, I glance in the rear-view mirror, checking to see if I look as worn out as I did yesterday. I do, but I'm hoping my happiness about seeing him will disguise that. My heart's beating fast because I'm going to tell him that I love him and apologize. Hope he understands that I needed time to process everything, that I needed distance to figure out what I really wanted.

I hear a siren behind me. Startled, I slow the car down, praying I wasn't driving too fast. Was I?

I pull to the side of the road, and the cop roars past. That's odd. Cops almost never are in a hurry on Palmira. A breath of relief escapes my mouth, and I ease back onto the road. Only a couple of more minutes...

Wait. What are all of those flashing lights up ahead? They're dangerously close to Diego's house. I slow the car to a crawl, and my mouth gets dry when I realize that police cars, fire trucks, and a fucking tank – yes, an armored tank – are in Diego's circular driveway and blocking one lane of beach traffic.

I pull over and park on the shoulder of the road, near someone's mailbox that looks like a manatee. Shaking, I get out of the car and run toward the chaos. I get to the edge of the driveway when a cop yells to me.

"Hey, miss. You can't go in there."

Another cop is unfurling a roll of yellow crime scene tape across the driveway. What the hell?

"My boyfriend's in there," I scream.

The cop shrugs. "Sorry. Active investigation. You're going to have to calm down, else you'll be removed from the area."

I take a breath, trying to regulate my heartbeat and my sweating, but it doesn't work. Instead of hollering at the cop all of the thousands of questions in my brain, I remind myself to calm down and be polite. My legs are rubbery as I take a few soft steps toward him, trying to look nonthreatening as he's glaring at me.

"Sir," I say with precision. "This is my boyfriend's house. Can you tell me anything about what's happening?"

The cop stares at me for a second too long, and I burst into tears. All of my self-composure falls away, and I begin to shriek. "What's going on? Is Diego okay? Please tell me!"

The officer tilts his head towards his shoulder and presses a little button on the black radio box attached to his collar.

"Sarge, we have a woman here who says she's the girlfriend of one of the occupants. Want to come over and talk to her? She's distraught. I need backup. We're on the south side of the driveway."

Am I going to be arrested? What's going on? There's a pause and some crackling noise from the radio, and I think the disembodied voice answers in the affirmative.

"The sergeant will be right over, miss," the cop says in a clipped tone. "You're going to have to calm down."

While I wait, I pace next to the crime scene tape. I can barely see the front door from here because of all the tropical foliage and the stupid fountain with the woman and the water pail. I think I catch a glimpse of two men in SWAT gear, carrying shields and guns but I'm not sure.

A woman clears her throat, and I turn.

"Hi, I'm Sergeant Lynn Lawrence."

She's not much older than I am, maybe five or six years. Her eyes are blue and kind. "Hi," I say, exhaling. "My boyfriend lives inside. What's going on?"

She licks her lips, and I'm really about to lose my shit because I'm so worried about Diego. What the fuck happened here?

"We received a call of a hostage situation inside this residence," she says, her voice steady yet kind. "It's standard protocol to send a SWAT team inside."

Time, space, everything stops.

"Diego. Is he being held hostage?" I yell, incredulous. "And what about Zelda. My dog!"

She shakes her head. "Calm down. We don't know. We just got here. Still investigating. Why don't you come over near my patrol car? It's a bit shadier."

She puts her hand on the back of my shoulder and eases me forward. Surely she can feel me shaking all over. "Let's get you some water."

I don't know how I even make it over to her car. My fingers and hands are so sweaty that I can't open the bottle of water and Sgt. Lawrence does it for me. I don't know how I drink or swallow and eventually, I slump against the cruiser, defeated.

As a thousand questions run through my mind, I settle on one: what if the person who sent the photos of me naked is the same person who is holding Diego hostage? Since I'm on the other side of the driveway now, I have a clear view of the open front door and can see cops milling inside.

I look around for the sergeant but don't see her. Then, a voice booms from the driveway: "ALL CLEAR."

Dozens of SWAT-gear clad men come streaming out of the house. They stand around the driveway and in the blocked off part of the street, chatting and laughing. Another cop takes down the crime scene tape. What the fuck?

And that's when I see Zelda. She pokes her head out the door and spies me. Excited, she shoots out the door and past two cops. I barrel toward her and scoop her up, sobbing, pressing my face into her fur.

I look up and there he is. Diego. He steps out the front door and squints into the sun. I let out a cry and sprint toward him, the dog in my arms.

"Hey," one cop yells.

"Diego," I shriek, and nearly knock him over when I throw myself onto his body.

"Cata?" He repeats my name over and over as he hugs both me and Zelda.

"What happened?" I sob. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Hey, it's okay. Please don't cry."

I'm hysterical.

"Cata, we were swatted."

I pull back to look at him.

"Someone called the cops on us, told them we had a hostage situation here. I was playing Call of Duty when they busted in. It was scary as hell. We were live when it happened."

It must have been terrifying, because he was still trembling. Maybe more than me. I hug him again, tight.

"Are you okay?"

"What are you doing here?" he murmurs.

"I came back for you. Are you okay?"

He kisses my temple. "I'm okay. Shaken up. You came back for me?"

I nod and cry more, unable to talk.

"Let's go inside. The cops still want to talk to me. But we don't have to stand here in the doorway."

Diego takes my hand and leads me inside. "Officer, we'll be in here," he says and points to the kitchen. He mutters something about how he hopes the cops don't find Liam's weed. But I don't care about that, or Liam, or anything, now.

All that matters is Diego. And he's okay. We're alone now, and I can't stop crying. I put the dog down and she sits at my feet.

"I almost lost you," I blubber. "You and Zelda."

"No, Cata. You didn't. You'll never lose me."

He cradles my face in his hands and kisses me, slow and deep. I break away.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that. It was so wrong. I realize that, that, I love you."

"I love you too, Catalina."

"I want to make this work. I want us. If you'll have me back. I should have trusted you on your word."

Diego nods. "I do want us. And you have nothing to apologize for."

We're kissing when a cop pokes his head in the door.

"Sir? We need to have a word with you."

"Wait, Diego? Officer?" I say. "I think I have a clue about who might have done this."

____