It took everything in me not to pull Scarlett's naked body to mine and hold her in that water, kissing her under the moon.

I didn't, but fuck did I want to.

Now I'm standing outside my apartment, staring hopelessly at the door. I know Rocky is inside. I gave him a key last time he visited. I'm not ready to face reality. I liked being in my bubble with Scarlett. Our bubble.

I reluctantly pull the door open to my apartment, Buck and Bear immediately barreling towards me. They jump on me and bark loudly, provoking a groan from Rocky.

I see Rocky passed out on my couch, his limbs sprawled out all over the place. "Shut up," he mumbles.

I stand in front of him, poking him with my foot. "Rock," I nudge him again. "Rock, I have a guest bed."

I see his eyes open slightly, registering his surroundings. He sits up and rubs his eyes. "Huh?"

"This is a two-bedroom apartment, Rocky." I laugh, leading him to my guest bedroom.

Once we're in the room and I give him some blankets, he looks at me with a sad smile. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you."

I frown. "It's okay. When's the hearing?"

"Tomorrow at noon. Mrs. Adelaide said you could take the day off or come in for the afternoon if you're up for it." Rocky informs me, sitting on the bed and stretching his arms with a yawn.

I sigh, sitting next to him. "Do we have to go?"

He shakes his head. "No. But we can say something about why we don't want him out of prison. If we have compelling statements, his release can be denied."

"I don't think I'm ready to see him, bro," I say honestly, staring blankly at the wall ahead of me. I'm not ready to face him again. Not after I was a witness that helped lock him up.

"I can speak on your behalf," he assures, patting my back. "You don't have to see him if you don't want to."

I stand up, running my hands through my hair. "And what if he gets released? You really don't think he'll come after me?"

"We can get a restraining order if anything happens, which it won't because he's not getting released," Rocky says with conviction, but I can tell he doesn't truly believe it. How can he get out on "good behavior" after taking a life?

Thinking about this shit is making my head hurt.

"Okay, I need some fucking sleep. Goodnight, man." I give him a side hug and head for the door.

"Night. And Z?" I stop and face him. "Why are you all wet and barely clothed?"

I laugh, looking down at my sandy body. I'm wearing my jacket over my shirtless chest and my work pants, my shoes off. My hair is definitely a mess, and I'm sure I look ridiculous. It's all worth it, though. I would relive this day a thousand times over if it meant splashing Scarlett in the ocean again.

"No reason," I say before heading out the door, closing it behind me. That's not a conversation I feel like having tonight.

I don't want to talk about Scarlett because our relationship, or whatever we have, feels sacred. It almost feels too good to be true, and I feel like talking about it makes it real and adds complications.

I take a quick shower and think of Scarlett's perfect body the entire time. I tried not to stare at her out of respect, but fuck did I want to. Even now, I'm trying so damn hard not to imagine her in this shower with me.

Everything about her is perfect. The way she views the world is admiring. I could listen to her talk for hours, even if she were reading the Constitution. There's something about the way she talks and how she carries herself that is intoxicating. When I'm not around her, I'm thinking about it, and I think that's the most concerning part about all of this.

I spend most of the night tossing around in my bed, overthinking everything. I'm a weak son of a bitch for not going to my father's parole hearing, but I can't do it.

The thought of facing that sick fuck after the years of abuse I endured makes me want to vomit and scream all at once.

I settle on sleep, for now, and fall into unconsciousness.

---

I sit in Rocky's Toyota Camry outside of the familiar grey building. Los Angeles County Jail.

I wrote out a statement on the way here, letting my childhood trauma write for me. I know Rocky is struggling too, but he was always the stronger brother. He's damn protective, too. Facing my father while I took the stand was hard enough, I'm not about to go to a damn hearing to solidify that he is still a monster.

I glance at my phone as the screen lights up, Scarlett's name appearing.

I hope your day goes a little better today.

I smile at her text, but I can feel my entire mood lighten when she sends me another iMessage game, demanding a rematch.

Fuck, now she's got me smiling at my damn phone.

After another half hour of iMessage games and singing along to the same five songs on the radio, Rocky gets back into the car.

"Hey," I say, looking warily at him. "How'd it go?"

He looks nervous, as though he's scared to look into my eyes. "I think- I think it went well, but it was hard."

I nod, looking down at my clenched fists. "Yeah. I'm sorry, Rock. Thanks for doing that for us."

"You know I've always got your back, little bro." He grabs my shoulder and gives it a short shake before letting go and starting the car.

"Does he look different?"

Rock shakes his head, clenching the wheel. "No. He has a lot more tattoos and his hair is long and grey, but other than that he looks the same."

I don't answer. I shouldn't have asked that. I don't want to even start to think about what he looks like now.

"He asked for you," Rocky says, catching me completely off guard.

"He did?"

"Yeah. I told him you were busy working. He asked what your job was, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing anything about your life." Rocky sounds pissed as he describes the encounter to me.

I feel terrible letting my brother do that all on his own. "I'm sorry. I should've just gone in there and done it with you instead of being a pussy."

Rocky punches my shoulder, making me groan. "Shut up, Zayn. You're not a pussy. You made an adult decision that was in your best interest. There is nothing wrong with that."

"Okay."

I decide to take the day off of work and go with Rocky to the nearest bar. I don't give a fuck what time it is. I need a drink.

Absolutely nothing makes sense to me. The justice system baffles me, and my world has the opportunity to fucking explode at any minute if this goes south. My whole profession revolves around the one thing that has fucked me up the most. The law.

"So, are you ever gonna tell me about this girl?" Rocky asks, nearly making me choke on my sandwich.

"Girl?" I question, pretending to be clueless.

"C'mon, I've grown up with you in close quarters. I know what you look like coming home from a date." He laughs, sipping his beer.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Fuckin' liar," Rocky mumbles, stealing a handful of fries from my plate. "Where'd you meet her?"

I roll my eyes, ordering more fries and flipping Rock off. "It's none of your business, really."

"Hey, you're going to be my best man at my wedding this year. I deserve life details. Especially when it comes to your pathetic love life." He jokes, punching my shoulder.

Rude.

"I'm your best man?" I ask, raising my brows in shock.

"Of course you are," he rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively. "Who else could it be?"

"One of your boys," I shrug, finishing the last of my sandwich and diving into my new set of fries.

"Don't try to change the subject. The girl?" He presses.

"I met her at a coffee shop in the middle of the night. It's twenty-four-hour." I confess.

"No way! You can have a vampire girlfriend to match your vampire ass!" Rocky exclaims. He always called me a vampire when we were little because I wouldn't sleep much and always did my school work at night.

I shake my head and chuckle at him. "We're not vampires. We just like the nighttime." Also, I am a raging insomniac, but hey, who cares.

"We?" He questions.

I nod, taking another sip of my beer. "Yeah. We."

"Well, fuck. I never thought I'd see the day."

"Hm? The day I what?"

"Let someone in," he says, looking at me with a sad smile. "I'm sick of seeing you alone all the time. I want you to be happy, man."

I roll my eyes, feeling awkward that he's noticed my loneliness. "I have the dogs. I'm not alone."

"Dogs don't count."

I mock a look of offense, holding my heart as if he shot me. "Dogs do count. Dogs are better than people anyway.

Rocky laughs as we continue to talk about practically anything we can think of. The bartender gets involved in a few of our conversations when he has a second, laughing as we reminisce. Rocky lets his two beers from earlier pass through his system before getting in his car and driving home to his fiance.

I'm lucky my brother lives within driving distance from me. Luckily Talia loves California more than Rocky ever could, so they'll be staying here for a while.

By the time the sun sets, I'm still sat on the same barstool, drunk and fighting back the urge to punch the nearest wall.

I thought I'd be okay. I didn't have to see him or talk to him. I didn't have to speak at his hearing. I didn't even have to hear his voice or see him beg for forgiveness, and yet there is still so much pain inside of me.

I can't get the image of him out of my mind, no matter how many shots I take.

I stumble my way into the bathroom and lock myself in a stall, allowing myself exactly two minutes to break down and let some tears out. Once my two minutes are up, I rub my bloodshot eyes and sigh at my reflection.

Weak. He makes me weak.

I can't be alone with my thoughts anymore. I'm too exhausted. I make my way back to the bar, ordering another shot, paying my tab, and walking out the door.

The darkness of the sky is comforting. There's a chill in the air, and I sigh heavily, knowing I'm at least an hour away from my apartment by foot.

I shrug off my flannel and drunkenly throw it to the ground, taking off in a sprint. Maybe running will help me get these heavy emotions off my chest. I feel like I have two left feet, but somehow I'm able to keep myself upright.

I see the familiar liquor store just before my apartment and buy myself two bottles of whiskey, preparing myself for a long night.

It's nearly nine by the time I make it into my apartment. I walk the dogs and attempt to play with them, but they're far too energetic for my drunk ass.

I order myself a pizza and turn on a random movie, wallowing in my self-pity as the couple gets their happy ending. The next movie starts, the opening credits making me want to chuck my bottle across the room at the overly joyful song.

I keep drinking. It's not working, though. Sure, the room is spinning, and I can't exactly see straight, but the memories of my father's cut fists and angry piercing blue eyes won't leave my brain.

I pull my phone out and press on her name without thinking, holding the phone to my ear as I wait for the ringing to be replaced by her soft voice.

"Hello?" Scarlett's angelic voice greets me.

"Scarlett," I breathe out. "Can I see you?"