The drive back to the safe house was absolutely quiet. Aside from stopping at a gas station to pee, and a fast food joint for burgers, Angie didn’t say much. 

When we finally arrive, I pull into the garage, and she hops out of the van before I even shift the gear into park. She disappears into the house and yellow light spills from the door she left open. It’s warm, inviting, and I need a nap, but the reality of what happened to Alma awaits. So, I head inside and jog up the basement stairs to speak with Jackson. He needs to know what Richie said, and I need his advice about what to do. 

Allowing Richie to see Mindy would mean revealing that I’ve been holding her deadbeat ex-husband hostage this entire time. It would mean, telling her that I’m a liar and a horrible person. Then again, she already thinks I’m scum for sleeping with her hours after sleeping with Celia. So what’s one more notch on my belt of shame?

However, all of that swipes away as soon as I step into the kitchen. My eyes go wide. 

“Gwen?”

Her head whips in my direction, surprise in her expression.“Hi.” 

“Relax,” Jackson says. “Alma called her. I’m actually proud of her for reaching out, even though… you know.”

“Yeah, I do.” I remain frozen because the last thing I wanted was to drag another innocent bystander into this. 

“You guys don’t have anything to worry about,” Gwen assures us. “All I know is what Alma told me about escaping a human trafficking ring. I don’t need to know whose house this is or why there are guards with guns, and I sure as hell don’t want to know why Angie’s shirt has blood or why your hands do, too. For legal purposes, the less I know the better.” 

“Our lips are sealed,” I say.

“Now, Dr. Banaag and I agree that Alma should be dropped off at the hospital. They have tools to perform a thorough evaluation, and an ultrasound since Alma thinks she might be pregnant. Don’t wait any longer to take her.”

“Alright.” Jackson nods. “I’ll go help her get ready.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch. Alma is going to need a lot of therapy in the coming months. Lord knows what she just went through.”

After Jackson leaves the kitchen, I’m left with Gwen in an awkward silence. The last time we spoke, I was pretty awful to her. I told her to fuck off when she was trying to help me sort my feelings about Augusta assaulting me, and I’m an asshole for that. 

“So…” I dig my hands into my pockets and stare sheepishly at my feet. “I’m sorry for storming out on you. It was a lot to digest.”

Gwen chuckles. “You’re not the only patient to ever treat their therapist like shit. It comes with the territory.” 

“I was an asshole.”

“When someone realizes what happened to them was sexual assault, it comes with many mixed emotions. Your anger was valid.”

Furrowing my brows, I think back on what I blurted at Angie in the bathroom. “I believe I know why what happened makes me feel so sick.”

“Why?”

“Because part of me enjoyed it. I got off on how many times I could make her orgasm. Like a power trip. She’s a rich woman who treats me like shit and wants to control me, but in that moment she was clay I could mold in whatever shape I wanted.” 

“That’s understandable, and not uncommon. Part of what makes sexual assault confusing is when our attacker makes it feel good. It messes with our head because we know what happened was wrong, yet it gave us pleasure, so it causes shame.” Gwen places her hands on my upper arms and looks me in the eyes. “You did nothing wrong. That woman took advantage. She’s the scum of the earth. Not you.”

“You overestimate me, Gwen. I’m a terrible person.” 

“And you underestimate yourself. In the coming weeks, I’d like to work with you on your self-esteem.” She pats my arms.

“My self-esteem? I’m an arrogant dick. My esteem isn’t low.”

“You just called yourself an arrogant dick. I’d say it’s pretty low.” Gwen winks. “But one day, Miguel, you’ll see the man I see. Anyway, it’s time for me to go.”

She swings her purse over her shoulder and is about to leave the kitchen, but my body lurches forward, and I stop her. 

“Wait,” I blurt, and she turns back. “What do you see?” 

Gwen smiles. “A good friend. A loving son. Someone who would do anything for the people he cares about. Those are great qualities, Miguel.”

A smile spreads across my face, and warmth fills my chest as tears burn my eyes. Gwen wouldn’t lie to me, so maybe there is hope for me to become a better man.

“One last thing, before you go,” I say.

“Sure. Hit me with it.”

“Do you think two broken people can make each other whole?”

“Are you talking about Angie?”

“Maybe…”

“With therapy, two broken people can heal their wounds individually, and grow together using the tools their therapist teaches them. But both people have to want it. Being with someone who doesn’t want to heal will hinder your progress. Understand?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“See you at our next appointment?”

“I’ll be there.”

∆∆∆

The apartment is dark when I push open the door, and it's like I haven’t been here in over a month. Maybe I should get a cat to make this place not feel so lonely. Cats can take care of themselves, which is perfect for my hectic life. The keys clatter as I toss them onto the small dining table, and go straight for the buffet table where the liquor is. 

“Want one?” I say over my shoulder.

“Sure.”

The door closes behind Angie with a soft click, and she drags herself over to the yellow sectional, then plops down. I grab two tumblers and a bottle of rum, then ease down next to her. However, she seizes the bottle from me, uncaps it, and sucks back a long swig. When she’s done, she releases a ragged breath, then wipes her mouth.

“Yeah, ok, easy tiger.” I yank the rum away.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

My eyes flick to hers. "I thought you just wanted to use the bathroom?"

"I do have to pee, but..." She shakes her head. “I don’t want to go home and be alone. Plus, I think Jeremiah bugged my apartment.”

“What?”

“He said something when he visited me at the hospital and it's been bugging me. It was something about how bringing me flowers was a waste of money because I never water my plants.”

“Why was that odd?”

Angie furrows her brows. “Because when I moved into the apartment, I thought it would be nice to buy some plants, but I’m not much of a gardener, and most of them died. The funny thing is when I talked to the guy at the home improvement store, he said that watering plants too much can cause them to die. So I did give them water. I just gave them too much.” 

“And how would Jeremiah know that?”

“That’s what I’m saying. I think he has cameras hidden in the apartment. The place has always creeped me out—like someone is watching me, and it didn’t make sense until Jeremiah said what he said. So, I don’t want to go back there.” 

“Then don’t. You can sleep here and take the bed.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“The couch. It’s comfy.” I shrug.

“I can’t let you take the couch. I’ll sleep here.”

“Angie, just take the bed.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “Can I take a shower? I’m still all dirty from the desert.”

“Of course.” I lean forward with elbows on my knees and rub my eyes. “Towels are in the linen closet in the hallway, and you can borrow a shirt to sleep in. If you need sweats, they’ll be in the bottom drawer.” 

Angie gets to her feet, hugs my head then kisses it. “Thank you.”

She leaves the living room and the hallway closet door creaks when she opens it. Moments later, my dresser squeals as she sifts through the drawers. I nestle myself into the soft couch cushions, ready for an eight-hour coma, and close my eyes. Water drums bathroom tiles when Angie turns on the shower, and I should seriously take one when she’s done, instead of falling asleep in my filth. 

But I'm too comfortable after such a long day, and I drift to sleep.

When they open again, I have no idea what time it is, but the shower is still running so it must have only been a few minutes. I check my phone and rub my eyes, then check the screen again because there is no way an hour has gone by. Angie is still in the bathroom. 

There goes my water bill.

Rising, I lug myself into the hallway and tap on the door. “Angie, you almost done? I’d like to get in there, too.”

But there’s no answer. So I knock.

“Angie. Don’t hog the water.”

Still nothing.

There is no way this woman would let me stand here without giving me a sassy attitude for rushing her. So I knock a few more times, and it's met with silence. Did she leave? I would have heard the front door. But where would she go late at night? 

Unless…

Panic stirs in my belly. So, this time I pound on the door. 

“Angie. Answer me!” 

However, it’s still quiet aside from the shower running.

Fuck it.

I ram my shoulder into the door, busting the frame as it flies open, and I’m prepared to rush into an empty bathroom to find a ransom note. Or worse, slits wrists or maybe an overdose on the sleeping pills I keep in the medicine cabinet. However, I see Angie right away, curled in the corner of the shower, naked and hugging her knees. She looks up at me with mascara running down her face. 

And I already know.

So I dive onto my knees and engulf her in my arms. Her cries are heavy, with her chest shuttering as she releases each one. Water from the showerhead beats down on my back, soaking my clothes, and I don’t care that it’s running cold now. The shock of today is finally hitting Angie. When I killed my stepfather, I didn’t have anyone to hold me when the reality of murdering someone hit me. So I will sit here, and embrace Angie for as long as she needs me to.

Time passes, and her cries subside, but her body is trembling and her flesh is freezing. I turn off the faucet and rise with her still in my arms. Water drips off both of us, so I snatch a towel from the wall hook and march us down the hallway to the bedroom. When I set her down, I wrap the towel around her shivering body and lift her onto the bed. She shifts onto her side and curls her legs up to her chest, and I remove my wet clothes but don’t bother putting on pajamas. Instead, I grab a large blanket and ease in behind her, wrapping us both in the fleece and simply hold her. 

Next thing I know, it’s twilight, and the room isn’t as dark as before now that the sky is preparing to reveal the sun. At some point, while we slept, we shifted positions. I’m on my back and Angie is snuggled into my side with her arm across my stomach and her head on my chest. The towel is now somewhere by her waist, so the softness of her breasts rests against my skin, and suddenly I’m forming a tent under the blanket. 

Yet, sex is so far from my mind. 

Weeks ago, I would have awoken Angie with my face between her legs, but after what happened with Augusta, I can’t. Not without her consent. I’d rather just lay here, and enjoy this innocent moment of holding her while she softly snores. 

“Miguel,” she murmurs.

“Mm?” I spiral a lock of her hair around my finger.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she whispers.

“You’re not.”

“I have a bad habit of closing people off and being angry at the world for what Jeremiah did to me. So, I thought I'd feel good stabbing Gino. Like a release of everything I've been holding in, but instead, I feel empty. Maybe Jeremiah is right, and I’m a soulless, unloveable person?”

“He's wrong.” I lift her chin so she’ll look at me, and I swipe the tears from her cheek. "You are not unloveable. I can’t predict what will happen in the future, but I care about you, and in my own way, I love you.” 

“But yesterday you didn’t sound sure, and when I brought up Mindy—”

Without thinking, I cut Angie off by kissing her, and our lips remain pressed for several seconds without any slip of tongue. Instead, we’re simply existing in this moment of breathing the same breaths, and our hearts beating as one. In the past, my hands would've been all over her, grazing every curve, cupping her breasts, and sliding my fingers between her legs. However, they don’t leave her face, and her hands don’t leave my torso. 

It’s just a pure, innocent moment of two damaged souls connecting, and clinging with hope to be better people.

And it means more to me than any orgasm ever could.

∆∆∆

The fold-out chair screeches across the storage shed’s floor as I drag it in front of Richie. He’s tied to a chair, so I lean forward and yank the gag out of his mouth. I’m surprised he doesn’t scream like every other time. Instead, the first sound to come from his mouth is the utterance of Mindy’s name. 

“I don’t know,” I say in response to his question.

“We had a deal! Now take me to Mindy, you fucking asshole or I swear to God I won't tell you a damn thing about the gala. I will take it to my grave.”

Spittle has gathered around his mouth and he’s never looked more pathetic. 

“Are you done?” I laugh.

“Not even close! I meant what I said about you betting on the wrong horse, but if you trust me—”

“Trust you?” My eyes widen with another laugh.

“Yes, trust me, you fucking dumbass dipshit. Maybe if you weren’t such a meathead on ‘roids you’d make the wise choice. But no, keep thinking you’re steps ahead of me when you’re not.”

“At least I still have my nipples.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, for the love of God!” Angie barks behind me. “Are you two going to continue this dick-measuring contest or shall we get on with more important matters?” 

“Who are you?” Richie asks as if she’s a pesky mosquito. 

“I’m Angie, and it turns out my deadbeat ex-husband lubricates the wheels for Rohan’s political reputation in the media.” 

“No way,” Richie snort-laughs, and it’s the first genuine sound I’ve heard from him. “Wait. I know about you. Jeremiah locked you in the looney bin so he could shack up with his mistress. What a cold fuck. When he wants something he makes it happen.”

Angie scoffs. “Yeah, and what a grand time it was. Like staying at a resort.” 

“So you must want him to pay for what he did to you.” Richie grins.

“Oh, I don’t just want him to pay, I want him to regret, with every last breath, ever fucking with my life.” 

Richie smirks at me, “You two are perfect for each other.”

“Listen, this isn’t a happy hour at the bar,” I say. “We’re here to talk business. I’ll arrange for you and Mindy to meet, but I cannot have you telling her about the last few weeks or running off to tell your dirty cop friends.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t trust you. You’re a damn snake.”

“Well, I think I have more reason not to trust you considering you kidnapped me multiple times.”

“Listen…” Angie pinches the bridge of her nose. “Neither of you will ever trust each other, but we do have common ground. According to my private investigator, Rohan is no better than you, but with him being in politics, and a drug dealer, it does make him slightly worse. Help us, so we can help you keep your crown.”

 “Angie!” I whip my attention in her direction because this is not what we talked about before coming here.

“Hear me out, Miguel.” She holds up her hand. “We can make this work. We can all win something. You won’t have to worry about going to jail for kidnapping him, he gets to keep his position as heroin princess, and I can see Jeremiah suffer when he loses all of his bets on Rohan. No one else has to die.” 

“Not bad,” Richie teeters his head.

Standing, I begin to pace. We can’t trust this sleazebag at all, but Angie has a point. If we can work an angle where we all win something, and Richie feels like he’s coming out on top, then we can walk away keeping our secrets without looking over our shoulders. 

“Alright, fuck-face.” I sit back down. “If we help you, then we all walk away free. You don’t come after me or her, and we don’t go after you.” 

“I can’t guarantee you won’t be touched. As I said, you chose the wrong side, and there are eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Well, then you better make it happen or I’ll gamble with putting a bullet in your head right now.”

“That wouldn’t be wise.”

“Well, you could be bluffing. So fuck the consequences.” I remove the gun from my waistband, tug the slide with a click, and press it to his forehead. “I’m counting to three.”

“No!” Angie screams and lunges forward.

“One.”

“Miguel wait.”

I place my finger on the trigger. “Two.” 

“Alright, alright,” Richie barks. “I can make sure no one touches you or her, but I need one last thing.”

“What?”

“After the meetup, you are to stay away from Mindy. I mean it. She’s mine, and she will always be mine. If you even glance in her direction, it voids our deal.” 

The answer to Richie should be an easy yes, but the brightness in Mindy’s eyes whenever she smiles, flashes through my mind, and her infectious laugh echoes in my chest. There was a time when her friendship was all I needed to feel whole after divorcing Celia, and recently I accepted that we're not getting back together. However, to never see her again? That’s like erasing a period of my life that helped me grow. 

“What’s it going to be?” Richie asks.

Despite the unease rolling in my belly about abandoning Mindy in the arms of this abusive, asshole, I lower the gun.

“We have a deal.”