I can’t help smiling.

We are pretty disgusting.

And incredibly happy.

I peek out the kitchen window and see Connor, Jeff, and Dusty all standing in a little circle with beers in their hands. Connor has the biggest smile on his face as he talks, throwing his head back occasionally, and laughing.

He’s happy.

I’m happy.

That’s all that matters.

I try not to think about what might have been, about going to prison, because it’s behind me now. Turns out, Leslie’s testimony was what saved me from prison. The judge had mercy on me.

I was convicted of Voluntary Manslaughter and given ten years of probation and required to perform five hundred hours of community service. My case received news coverage across the country, and many have questioned the judge’s ethics—Jim says he’s going to retire soon anyway. The judge couldn’t care less what people think of his ethics.

My conviction was ten months ago.

I took it and my sentencing gratefully, even though it meant losing my job as a teacher. Being unemployed is scary, but jail is scarier. I know everything will be okay, though, one way or another. I thought about selling the house, not wanting to live across the street from Mrs. Jenson, but she sold her home, extremely cheap as most people don’t want to buy a home where a murder has taken place. So Connor and I decided to stay for now. With me out of work and him growing his business, it just isn’t the right time.

Wendy and I finish up in the kitchen and carry out the last two dishes. It’s just a small barbecue with the people we love most. As I place the bowl of potato salad on the table, Connor comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist pressing his mouth to my neck and whispering, “I want you.”

Turning my head, I kiss him and whisper back, “Meet me in the house five minutes after we eat.”

He growls and squeezes my hip before quickly sitting to hide his erection. I bend down and kiss his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I murmur. “I’ll take care of that.”

The meal is fantastic, and everyone seems to feel the same. Not one of the Tuffman children complained, so that’s success in my book. It’s been the perfect, relaxing day. I think we all needed this. Connor and I aren’t the only ones that have had problems lately. McKenzie and Mary-Anne are seeing counselors now, and we are all doing what we can to support them, doing whatever we can to help them heal. They have a long road ahead of them, but McKenzie already seems a little . . . lighter. I think finally making the secret known that she’s been carrying for so long has helped. Grayson will start special education Pre-K this year, and once Wendy and Jeff can get insurance, hopefully, they can get him more therapy. Dusty is still warding off my sister. Poor guy. Lexi loves nothing more than a challenge and Dusty is doing a damn good job of it. But when he doesn’t know I’m looking, I’ve seen the way he watches her. I think he may be a little more interested than he lets on.

After the meal, everyone helps clean up, except Lexi, and a pretty intense volleyball game is happening in the backyard. Connor and I decline to join in, wanting to play a little game of our own in private. I’m grabbing the last of the dirty paper plates from the table when he leans toward me and growls.

“You have two minutes to get that sexy ass of yours inside.”

“Yes sir,” I say, with a grin.

“I have to grab something. I’ll be right there.” He takes off for the garage, and I hurry inside hoping to have enough time to check myself in the mirror. I toss the plates in the trash and rush to the bathroom, running my fingers through my hair. I’ve missed feeling this giddy for someone, feeling so . . . alive. There was a time I thought maybe I’d never experience that again. After a few attempts, I’ve just perfected my sexy pose for when he enters when I hear a loud pop. It’s so loud I nearly jump out of my skin. What the hell was that?

I walk briskly out of the bathroom and when I reach the back porch I see the backyard is empty. Where did everyone go? My heart starts pounding when I hear someone yelling, but I can’t make out who it is or what they are saying. But whoever they are, or whatever they’re saying, they sound distressed. I rush down the steps, the screen door smacking closed behind me and round the corner of my house, stopping dead in my tracks. Connor’s about twenty feet away, his back is to me, and he’s standing right in front of Mrs. Jenson.

Mrs. Jenson is here.

And she’s holding a gun aimed at Connor.

My heart is in my throat as dread and fear choke me. Please don’t shoot him, is all I can think, Please, God, please don’t let her hurt him.

“We would have been married forty-one years today,” she says through gritted teeth. Then her gaze moves to me. “You!” she shouts as she whips the gun at me. Connor immediately moves to stand in front of me as Mrs. Jenson stares at me, wide-eyed with rage, her frail arm shaking from the weight of the gun.

“No, Connor,” I gasp, but he ignores me and reaches back, pulling me to him, my front to his back.

“You ruined my life,” she sobs, balling her free hand up into a fist and biting it in what appears to be an effort to contain her emotion.

“Please put down the gun,” Connor says, to her calmly.

“My husband is dead,” Mrs. Jenson continues, her voice hoarse. “I can’t show my face in this town ever again with the lies you’ve spread about him.”

“Mrs. Jenson,” Connor pleads calmly, lifting his hands in the air as he walks toward her. I grab the back of his shirt and pull him back.

“Don’t,” I beg.

He turns his head slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on the insane lady pointing a gun at us, and says, “It’s okay, baby. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” I want to scream at him, I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you, but before I can respond, Dusty rounds the front of the house, creeping quietly so he doesn’t alert Mrs. Jenson he’s sneaking up on her.

Connor stops trying to approach her and instead attempts to keep her busy until Dusty can get closer. In the distance, police sirens blare, but they’re still a good distance away. She could easily fire off a few rounds in seconds. “Why don’t you put the gun down and let’s talk about this,” Connor wages.

“Move out of the way,” Mrs. Jenson orders, wagging the gun to indicate what she wants. “It’s her I’m after.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Connor replies, his voice direct and stern. He doesn’t even seem nervous. How is that possible?

Dusty is directly behind Mrs. Jenson now, and he gives a nod to Connor letting him know he’s about to grab her. Dusty is on her left side, so when Connor whips his head to her right as if he sees something, she reacts by turning that way which gives Dusty the opportunity to grab her and Connor a chance to sprint in and help.

It all happens so fast. When Dusty tackles her, it’s a blur of grunts and tattoos, and an old woman crying in pain. Connor moves in to aide and in the span of mere seconds, just before Connor reaches her, her gaze meets mine dead on, a sort of calm almost washing over her despite the fact she’s being taken to the ground. The look rocks me to my core. It speaks volumes.

She has nothing left to lose, and I . . . I have everything to lose.

Then two shots ring out.

The courtroom is silent. Every once in a while someone coughs or adjusts in their seats causing the old wooden benches to creak. I’ve been on the stand for forty-five minutes now. Mrs. Jenson’s defense attorney is a real dick, but now the prosecutor is up, and he’s digging into me, really making me relive every single moment of that horrific day.