When the girls arrive, we head out to get pedicures and when we return, Connor is still tinkering in his garage, working on the bike. When dinner is ready, I invite him in to join us, but he refuses saying he has to get something on the bike done. The girls and I eat and watch a movie until bedtime. When they’re settled down, I go outside to check on Connor only to find him getting on his Harley.

He doesn’t see me as he fires it up and takes off. My heart sinks. My mother got to him. I sleep restlessly all night, waiting for the sound of Connor’s motorcycle pulling in the driveway. It isn’t until the next morning that he returns while I eat breakfast with the girls.

“I want to see Mr. Jenson,” Mary-Anne insists.

“Maybe later I’ll take you over there.”

“I can go by myself,” she sasses. “He said I could come over whenever I want, and he’d give me candy.”

“You’re not going over there by yourself, twerp,” McKenzie snaps as she leans toward Mary-Anne and fixes her gaze on hers. “You go over there without Demi, I’ll knock you senseless.” Her tone is deadly serious.

“McKenzie!” I scoff. Where did that come from?

“I’ll tell Mom if you hit me,” Mary-Anne promises.

“No one is going to hit anyone,” I assure Mary-Anne as I give a pointed look to McKenzie. “I’ll take you over there later. I promise.”

“You two get dressed,” I tell them. I was up at dawn, unable to sleep, so I’m already dressed. Once they’re upstairs, I head outside in search of Connor.

He’s in the garage when I find him, throwing tools in drawers. I had to enter through the side door as both bay doors were closed. It was probably his way of saying, leave me alone. Too bad for him, I’m not listening.

“Hi,” I say, quietly. He stills but doesn’t turn to face me.

“Hi,” he replies gruffly.

“Are you . . . okay?” I ask delicately.

“I’m fine, Demi,” he retorts.

“Okay . . .” What do I say here? He’s obviously upset about something and trying his damnedest to give me the cold shoulder. Two nights ago I was sleeping in his arms. Now, he won’t even look at me. Has he changed his mind? Does he not want this anymore?

“It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind. We were drunk and—”

I’m stunned when he whips around and walks up to me, grabbing my face and pulling it to his, our mouths crashing together. My arms weave around his neck, and I cling to him as he walks me backward and pushes me against the wall, pressing his body to mine.

Pulling away, he stares into my eyes. “I want you. I do. But I’m not good for you.”

My eyes narrow. “You are good, Connor. I see it every day.”

Pressing his forehead to mine, he breathes, “You love blindly, Demi. I’m a bad man. I’ve done bad things.”

“What are you saying, Connor? Have you changed your mind? Is this just your way of backing out?” My voice cracks and even I’m surprised by how emotional I sound.

“I think we should think about this,” he says. “I don’t want to ruin our . . . friendship.”

Pushing him away from me, I snort. “Wow.” It’s been two days and he’s already backing out. “I don’t understand. I’m just . . . confused. I mean, weren’t you just kissing me a second ago?” My emotions have taken a turn, and now I’m angry. What is this? How does a man kiss me like that then tell me he’s not sure we should be more?

“Demi—”

“Don’t.” I hold up my hand, stopping him. “Just . . . give me some space.” With that, I walk out of the garage just as Dusty pulls up on his motorcycle and parks.

“Hey there, Demi,” he calls as he cuts the engine off. I’ve just reached my steps, but not wanting to be rude to him, no matter how angry I am with Connor, I turn and muster up my friendliest smile for him.

“Hi, Dusty. Connor is in the garage.” I jab my thumb toward the garage and turn to take my first step when I hear Mary-Anne cry my name. “Demi!”

Whipping around, I follow her voice.

“Demi!”

She’s running up the driveway, her mouth covered in chocolate, her eyes brimming with tears. “What’s wrong?” I ask, frantic, searching her head to toe for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“McKenzie and Mr. Jenson,” she cries, breathless, hiccupping with emotion. I have no idea what’s happened or what she means, but my heart catapults to my throat.

Grabbing her arm, I bend down and meet her gaze. “Stay right here. Do you understand?”

She nods yes and I sprint across the street, hoping to God McKenzie hasn’t done anything to poor Mr. Jenson.

When I was fifteen, I hit my head on a diving board and knocked myself unconscious. I was extremely lucky I didn’t break my neck. But I was unconscious for almost twenty-four hours. I remember when I woke up, in a haze of thick confusion, my mother explained to me what happened. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember anything. It was like one minute, I was walking the length of the board, and the next, I was waking up in a hospital bed.

And that’s how it is right now. One minute I was walking toward the Jenson’s house and the next, I wake up, or come to rather, strapped to a gurney beside an ambulance. Immediately, I begin fighting the restraints, wincing at the throbbing pain on the right side of my head.

What the hell?

“Ma’am, please stay still,” someone says, but I can’t stop myself. I struggle, pulling my arms out from under the straps until one is free, then I release the restraints, fumbling.

“Ma’am,” the voice yells and hands grip my shoulders as I sit up and tear off the neck brace.

“Get off of me,” I growl, my eyes roaming the area. The chaotic scene hits me hard, and I can’t breathe for a moment.

Police cars are everywhere down my street. If my heart wasn’t already in panic mode just seeing so many in my neighborhood, it certainly is when I realize they’re all in front of the Jenson’s and my house. Nosey neighbors stand in the street whispering to one another, trying to find out what’s going on as their eyes glance at me and back to the Jenson’s house. I slide off of the ambulance bumper, but someone grabs my arm.

“Ma’am, please sit back down. You’re hurt, and you’re in shock.” The young paramedic tugs my arm, gently urging me to follow his orders. Jerking my arm free, I run as fast as I can, holding my head, and make it to the bottom of my driveway just in time to see Connor handcuffed and being led to one of the police vehicles. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. What the hell is going on?

He’s wrestling them, yelling, “Just tell me if she’s awake goddammit!”

I have no idea what is going on, but I’m coherent enough to remember resisting arrest is a bad thing. I need to get Connor to calm down. Rushing up the driveway, I’m almost to Connor when a strong arm reaches out and grabs me by the waist, stopping me. It’s an officer, and lost in my panic, my fear for Connor, I shove him away and sneer, “Get off of me.” Then I move toward Connor again, only to be stopped by the same officer again.

“This is my house! Let me go!” I yell.

“Ma’am,” the officer drawls. “I need you to calm down.”

“Connor,” I yell, and when his gaze flicks up and meets mine, his dark eyes seem beyond relieved. He closes his eyes and mouths what I think is, “Thank God.” When he raises his gaze to mine again, he gives me a stern look. Then he mouths, “Say nothing.”

I want desperately to run to him, to cling to him, but the officer’s hold on me stops me.

“What happened Connor?” I shout.

His eyes narrow as he looks at me, his expression reading confusion. After a moment, he clenches his eyes closed.

“Connor,” I shout again. “What happened?”

But before he can answer, the large cop that’s been leading him to the car, shoves his head down and forces him in the backseat.