"I'm fine," I say for the thousandth time since I got home, wishing I meant the words.

Because if I'm being honest, I'm not fine. How could I be, after everything that's happened lately? I was basically kidnapped by a psycho ex-gang leader, put into the most precarious position of my life. And then I had to watch the boy I love be taken away from me in handcuffs, unable to do anything to help him.

I glance up at my mother and father, seeing the worry and fear on their faces clearly as they both look down at me, as if unsure of what to do. I know that they've been worrying about me, and I know that worry only increased when I was brought home in a police car after being gone for hours. The police officer who dropped me off didn't really explain in depth what happened to me today, leaving the explaining for me to do.

Needless to say, I've only worried my parents further.

"Mia," Mom starts, edging closer to me. I sit on the couch in the living room, while my parents choose to remain standing—just staring at me. "If you're not—"

"I'm fine!" I blurt, cutting my mother off mid-sentence. I look into her eyes with a pointed expression on my face, shaking my head. "I'm fine, Mom. I'm fine." I choke on the words a little, my voice hoarse from all the screaming and crying I've been doing today. My eyes sting when I close them, bringing new tears to the surface. My hands shake in my lap.

I'm not fine. But I'm lying for my parents benefit. I'm doing this for them.

When I risk another glance up at my parents, I find that Mom and Dad are sharing a knowing look. They look so scared . . . so broken. On my behalf. I can't remember the last time my parents seemed to care about me this much. I mean, I know they care. They've always been uptight and overprotective. But they're hardly ever around. I mean, it's always business trip after business trip. Hell, I was able to keep the fact that I had a boyfriend a secret from them for months!

Maybe I'm not lying for their benefit. Maybe I've just gotten used to not being close with my parents; maybe I've just gotten used to not letting them in. Old habits die hard.

"Mia." Mom's voice breaks as she says the words. Her eyes look shattered, like the fact that I'm lying to her is worse than what she knows I just went through. For a moment, I just expect my parents to accept my answer and move on—that's what normally happens, anyway. We've never been a tight-knit family. I guess I've just learned to accept that.

But then Mom is sitting on the couch next to me, wrapping her arms around me and holding me tightly in her arms, a hand smoothing back my dark hair. "Oh, my baby," Mom whispers in my ear, her voice quivering. "I know you're not fine. How could you be? It's okay to not be okay, Mia. Just tell me. Let me in."

She cares, I find myself thinking, even though I already knew that. But there's a difference between knowing someone cares about you and having them show it. Actions do speak louder than words, after all. The most important conversations in this world can be spoken without a single sound, and in this moment I know that this is one of them. To let my mother in, I don't have to say anything. I just have to show her how much I care, just as she is showing me.

I break down.

I melt into my mother's protective arms, feeling like I'm a little girl that just needs her mother for a minute. I sob into my mom's shoulder, not bothered by the fact that I'm a mess. As I start to fall apart, I feel my father's presence appear next to me, his hand on my shoulder, the touch warm and comforting.

"I was s-so scared," I admit through a sob. And I really had been. All the emotions I've felt today seem to wrap themselves into a tight little ball that is slowly unraveling through me, making me feel them all over again.

"Oh, honey," Mom whispers. I don't even have to look up at her to know that she is crying. "I'm sorry, Mia. I'm so sorry."

"They took him, Mom," I croak, my voice breaking along with my heart as I say the words. "Thorne. They just . . . took him."

"He's going to be okay, Mia," my father assures me, his grip on my shoulder tightening. "Right now, we're just worried about you."

"I'm sorry," I wail, shaking my head through my tears. "For lying and sneaking around and for being such a terrible daughter." And that's what I feel like in this moment. The world's worst daughter. After what I put my parents through today . . . I've never felt worse about myself.

"No, Mia." Mom cups my tear-stained face in her hands, forcing me to look into her watering eyes. "You are the best daughter your father and I could ever ask for. You made mistakes, yes. But you're human, Mia. We all do. Your father and I expect you to make mistakes. But we also expect you to learn from them. And I know that you have. We forgive you, Mia. Your father and I forgive you. Because we love you. You're our little girl. We'll always love you."

I cry harder at my mother's words, and my father takes my shaking hand in his and squeezes gently. I feel so overwhelmed with emotion—good and bad—that I can't speak for a moment.

When I finally find my voice, I manage to choke out, "I love you guys, too. So much."

With that, I am buried in my parent's arms. Mom holds me into her tightly, resting her head on top of mine. Dad keeps a comforting arm wrapped around my shoulders, just enough to let me know that he's here. Here for me in this moment, and future moments. Just like my parents were there for me in the past, but I was just too blind to see it.

Mom plants a warm kiss on my forehead, smoothing my hair back as I cry softly. Slowly, I can feel my eyelids becoming heavy. My breathing steadies as my tears fade, giving way to exhaustion. I begin to drift off, too tired to fight the feeling. Before I know it, I'm asleep, wrapped in the comforting presence of my parents.

For the first time all day, I feel really, truly safe.

★★★

Until today, I've never been to jail.

But I guess I've never really had a reason to go to one until today, either.

It's not a comforting place, but I expected as much. Once I get past the entrance and request a visit with an inmate and fill out some paperwork, I'm led by a female officer to what looks like a waiting room, though I know it's really where inmates and visitors can converge. The room is drafty and bleak, and if I have to describe the place, I'd say it looks . . . hopeless. But I know that's all jail is, anyway. A place meant to break your spirits, a place where you are sent to wait out your punishment for whatever crime a person has committed.

Only, in my case, the person I'm visiting didn't even commit a crime. Well, technically, at least.

I take a deep, cleansing breath as I wait for Thorne to appear, telling myself that this is going to work. For the past four days I've been rendezvousing with Charlie and Thorne's other friends, trying to come up with a plan to get him out of this place. More specifically, a plan that hit me the second I realized I had to get Thorne out of here. Thank God he was sent to jail and not prison, because I don't know what I would have done if he had been sentenced to a long-term condemnation.

Lost in thought, at first I don't notice when Thorne appears. I glance up and spot him heading my way from the corner of the room, and once I see him I can't look away. He's being led toward me by a gruff-looking male cop, but I can't really focus on the police officer. All I can see is Thorne.

For the first time in my life, I wish I didn't.

Thorne's dark hair is a mess—more than usual, which is saying something. He looks pale, his cheeks a little more sunken in than the last time I saw him. His normally bright green eyes are dark, like a storm is brewing in his irises. He's dressed in an unflattering orange jumpsuit, the hint of a white shirt peeking out from beneath. His hands are cuffed in front of him, shiny metal bounding his wrists together. He shuffles more than walks, sending me the idea that he doesn't really want to be here. As in, seeing me.

The thought hurts me more than I'd like to admit.

"Sit," the officer who has been directing Thorne barks when the two of them finally reach my table. I flinch at the man's tone, but Thorne looks virtually unbothered. He just does as he's told without so much as a protest, which I find a little alarming considering it's Thorne I'm talking about.

"You have ten minutes," the officer tells us, eyes trained on Thorne. "I'll be monitoring you, so no funny business. Oh, and no touching." With one last withering glance at Thorne, the cop walks off to the corner of his room, eyes trained on us the entire time.

For a moment, I can't form any words. I study Thorne carefully, hardly able to contain a sob. He really does look pale, which isn't a good sign. There's a nasty bruise on his forehead. His eyes look so broken, nothing like the bright and mischievous eyes I've come to know.

"Thorne," I finally manage to say, my voice dangerously close to breaking.

Thorne's gaze lifts from the table in front of us, his eyes meeting mine. I still feel a rush of adrenaline when he looks at me, the simple action of our gazes locking sending a rush of emotion through me. So badly I want to reach out and touch him, to kill the space between us. My hands remain firmly clasped in my lap.

"Mia." Thorne's voice is hard and cold, nothing like I thought he would sound when we saw each other for the first time since the Franco mess. I guess I'd hoped he'd be as excited to see me as I was to see him. Only, I'm not so excited to see him anymore. It's this place. It takes everything good and crushes it, turns light into darkness.

I've got to get Thorne out of here.

"You shouldn't have come here," Thorne finishes, and I note that he didn't call me Sunshine.

"Of course I should have come," I counter, glaring at him. "You seriously think I was just going to be okay with this? That I wasn't going to bother seeing you because you're in jail?"

"That's exactly why I didn't want you to see me." A vein in Thorne's neck appears, his jaw clenched tightly. "Because I'm in jail."

"Thorne—" I start, shaking my head in an attempt to show him that the fact that he's been arrested doesn't matter to me. It doesn't change how I feel about him. I get the feeling that there's very little by this point in our relationship that could. I love him. I'm sure of it.

"I didn't want you to see me like this," Thorne whispers, eyes downcast. The vulnerability in his voice hurts me to the point of physical pain, and I start to understand what he means. He doesn't want me to see him in a light that doesn't do him good, doesn't want me to know the side of him he tried to hide from me. In his mind, he probably thought he was protecting me. But that's not what love is. I love Thorne with all that I have, and that means I love everything about him. The good, the bad, the ugly. Every aspect he has to offer.

"Do you love me?" I ask boldly, straightening in my seat. The question sends Thorne's gaze rushing to meet mine, as if I've just said something that shocked him. He gives me a questioning look, tilting his head slightly to the right as he looks at me.

"Of course I do," he assures me. He seems almost afraid, like I've suddenly decided that he doesn't. Like maybe I don't love him anymore.

"I love you," I tell Thorne, eyes on his. "The fact that you're in this . . . place doesn't change that. I still love you. I always will, Thorne."

His gaze softens as he looks at me, a little bit of the darkness in Thorne's green eyes fading as they lift to my hazel. He smiles faintly, and for a moment he looks just like the Thorne I remember. The annoying yet attractive boy I fell for all those months ago.

Like a switch being flipped, Thorne's expression turns hard and guarded. His gaze slips from mine yet again, staring down at the cuffs on his hands. In a barely audible whisper, Thorne reveals, "I don't deserve you."

"You don't," I agree, my voice soft. "You deserve the world, after all it's put you through."

When Thorne looks up again, his guards have crumbled once and for all. I know that I've finally broken them, gotten through to the boy I love. The boy that Thorne really is under this mask of toughness, under his hard exterior. I know Thorne's heart, how kind and fiercely protective and loving he is on the inside. And that part of him is the only part of him that matters, because it's who he really is.

"Oh, Sunshine," Thorne chides, shaking his head sadly, like he knows something I don't. "You are my world."

I force back my tears, trying and failing to muster a believable smile. I've done enough crying in the last few days to last a lifetime. Now it's time to focus on Thorne, on getting him out of this place so that I can finally have him by my side again. Where he belongs. Where he's safe.

"What happened?" I question, because I'm still unsure of exactly what led Thorne to this place. I mean, I know about the drug-dealing. And I know that Franco wanted money from Thorne. But there are still so many missing pieces that need to be put together, and I know only Thorne has the power to do that.

"Right," Thorne mutters, suddenly looking exhausted. He purses his lips as he glances at me, mumbling, "I guess I have some explaining to do, huh?"

I raise my eyebrows, shooting Thorne a look that says big time. He inhales a shaky breath before clearing his throat, shifting in his seat as he opens his mouth to speak.

"Franco is—was—the leader of the gang I joined back when I was a kid. The Circle, as we were called. He basically took advantage of me, sending me off to do the jobs nobody else wanted to do, like small drug deals and stuff. He let me keep some cash from thedeals on the side, and he even helped pay some of my mom's medical bills. He'salways been a pretty pushy guy, so you can imagine what he was like when I wasready to turn my back on all of the criminal activity. After I was arrested for the first time, I thought that was endgame with The Circle. While I was serving my time, though, Franco somehow managed to find out who my father was—as I never told him his name before. When he realized my dad was loaded, he saw me as an easy target to get a hold of a shit ton of money. For the past month and a half, he's been blackmailing me, trying to get me to hand over cash that I don't have access to. My dad's a jerk, but there's no way I was going to steal from him. I don't want to associate myself with him at all. And I knew stealing from him would only land me in jail."

Thorne pauses, grinning a rueful smile that dances with dark humor. He glances at me as if to say, look how that turned out, anyway.

"After the incident at the bar—the night you caught me, Mia?—I understood how grave the situation with Franco was starting to get. After you, uh, dumped me, I decided I needed help. I went to Charlie, begging her for advice on what to do. I told her everything, about the money, my dad, the blackmails, even the gang. She told me I should try laying low, hiding out with her until the coast was clear. I basically just moved all of my stuff to Charlie's place, because I didn't really have another option. Then I heard about Franco holding you hostage from Asher—he's kinda like my spy on the inside, if you remember that he's still part of The Circle. Charlie and I went out of our minds trying to find you, wondering if you were okay. Asher took a while, but he finally got hold of the address of the building Franco was hiding out in with you. So Charlie and I dragged our asses out to get you, and I decided to end things for good. I called the cops on my way, had Franco and his stupid team arrested. As long as he's behind bars, I think we'll be all right. Of course, that meant I had to be put behind bars, too. I didn't think the cops were going to spare me."

"Why?" I question, still unsure of how Thorne could possibly be so selfless, all for me. "Why would you risk that?"

"I'd risk anything for you, Mia," Thorne admits sheepishly, smiling faintly as he gazes at me. "I had to help you. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I had to."

I know I'm not supposed to touch him, but I can't help myself. I reach across the table and grab Thorne's fingers in my hands, squeezing gently. His eyes meet mine, finally having returned to their beautiful emerald color.

"I'm going to get you out of here," I whisper, because I don't want anyone to overhear me. "Charlie and I have been working on something, okay? You won't be here much longer."

Hope shines brightly in Thorne's eyes as he looks at me, though he starts to shake his head. "Mia, I don't want you to—"

"I'm getting you out of jail, Thorne," I interrupt, pursing my lips as I hold his fingers in my grasp tightly. "I want to be with you. I'm selfish that way."

Thorne smiles, though I know he's trying to resist it. He still looks wary, somewhere between wanting freedom and wanting to leave me out of this mess. I know he wants to protect me, but he needs to learn that I'm far past that stage.

"Mia, I don't—" Thorne starts, shaking his head once again.

"I have a plan," I cut in, squeezing his fingers as I meet his gaze. "You just have to trust me."