I have no way of knowing how well it went, but I know one thing with absolute certainty. I just put Kyle through the ringer. I've never had anyone do something for me like he just did, and I'm feeling nearly choked with gratitude towards him. He could have easily stayed out of all of this, and he would have been safer for it.

Testifying against his dad put an extra target on his back, and I wish I could have avoiding forcing his hand into doing this. I don't answer his question, instead opting to give him a hug.

"Thank you for doing that," I mumble against his neck as he returns my hug.

He doesn't respond to my thanking him. We both know that cost him something, and apparently, he has no interest in playing it off like it didn't. When I pull away from him, he offers me a small smile.

"It'll be all right," he tries to assure me.

I nod my head, looking as certain of it all being all right as he does. He's on edge. He's more stressed out than I've ever seen him. I don't think he generally gets stressed about things, but right now, he seems jittery.

"I'm sure it will be," I'm not an optimistic person, so when I speak the words aloud, I'm doing my best to convince myself along with him.

"How long do you think this will take?" Kyle asks me.

Kyle and I stay at the courthouse while we wait for the verdict to come back. The prosecuting attorney is across the hallway from us the whole time, but she doesn't make an effort to comfort us, and I have don't have any more of an interest in talking to her than she has in talking to me. Once the jury comes back, I'll be making sure she follows through on her deal, but right now, I'm taking things one step at a time.

The prosecutor is the first person in the hallway to get word that the jury has returned with the verdict. We all file back into the courtroom to hear it read. Kyle and I sit next to each other. I chose a seat in the front row. Backing down from Holland, no matter how much power the guy has over me, isn't something I'm interested in doing anymore.

Kyle takes my hand in his while we watch the jurors file back into the room. I glance at Holland, but he's not watching the jurors either. He's glaring at mine and Kyle's joined hands. I smirk at him. If there was ever a time when I wanted the man to find out about the two of us, this is that time. It's a small pleasure when comparing it to the way it felt when my fist connected with his face, but the smirk has its own impact.

He narrows his eyes at me, and I stare back at him as the judge addresses the jury.

"Has the jury reached its verdict?" the judge asks.

"We have your honor," the head juror says.

Holland and I remain eye contact. Until the verdict is read, we're on nearly even ground here. As soon as the prosecutor moves my dad, he'll be safe. For the first time in years, my dad will be safe from Holland, and that means I don't have to do what the man says. Until the verdict is read, he has no way of threatening me. His knowing about Kyle and I means the verdict matters. A not guilty verdict could mean I have to shift the energy I was using to protect my dad to protecting Kyle. So, I'm listening for the verdict while starring back at Holland, but I carefully conceal any stress I'm feeling over a not guilty verdict.

"You may read the verdict," the judge says.

"We find the defendant guilty," the jury says, and the tightness in my chest releases.

"So say you all?" the judge asks.

"Yes, your honor," the entire jury says.

Not backing down from Holland's eye contact has it's perks. It means I get to witness the moment the verdict lands on his ears. It means I get to see his face crumble in disbelief and anger. It also gives me the satisfaction of another smirk in his direction, and this one has much more impact. He stands up from his chair, appearing to be taking a step in my direction when the bailiff walks over to him. He escorts Holland out of the courtroom before anything can escalate out of control.

His anger snaps me into action, and I find the prosecutor in the courtroom. I don't say a word to Kyle, in too much of a hurry to reach her. Holland still has people on his payroll in prison with my dad. Until I get my dad out of there, he's unsafe. I rush over to the prosecutor, barely registering Kyle following me.

"You did well," she says before glancing behind me at Kyle, "you both did."

I ignore her praise. I could care less about her approval. The only thing I care about is getting my dad transferred to another prison.

"Well enough to make him out for blood. You have to move my dad now," I tell her, "if you don't do it now, he'll send someone to hurt him."

She holds up her hands in a defensive gesture, and she smiles at me.

"It's already been taken care of. After Kyle gave his testimony, I made sure he was moved. We've already made the transfer," she tells me, glancing at her watch, "and he should be calling any minute to confirm that for your peace of mind.

I have a hard time believing it once she confirms that she's moved him. I've wanted this for so long, and this has been so impossibly out of reach for so long, it doesn't feel real. What snaps me out of my disbelieving trance is my phone vibrating in my pocket.

It's a phone number I don't recognize, and I answer it as quickly as I can.

"You're receiving a call from Parkview Correctional, would you like to accept the charges?" a recording says.

The smile that broke out on Bryant's face the moment he got the phone call from his dad is etched in my brain. I've been unable to think of much else for the past two days. Bryant and I are staying in my dad's house. I was unsure of what would happen after the trial, but so far, not much has changed. Bryant's mom is seeing to it that all the bills are being paid still.

The only thing that has changed is Bryant. After the camping trip he seemed to be making a sincere effort with me. Things changed drastically after that night, but ever since the trial, a change just as drastic has been evident in Bryant.

He's not trying to be nice to me anymore. It doesn't feel like it's taking everything in him to be nicer to me now. It feels like it's his default setting now. He hasn't snapped at me one time since the trial. In fact, it's the complete opposite of that. He's been bizarrely nice, and what's more, he hasn't been avoiding me.

It's almost like we're friends. Only, the way he's been looking at me lately isn't friendly. There's fondness in his eyes when he looks at me. It's almost like I'm something precious to him, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't tilting my world on its axis.

What's even more crazy is what we're doing right now. We're in the parking lot outside of the prison. Bryant asked me if I would be willing to meet his dad. That's how he phrased it too—like it would be some kind of personal favor to him if I agreed to meet his dad. He looked so hopeful, I couldn't tell him no. Now we're in the parking lot of the prison, and I feel like I'm going to vomit.

First of all, I've never been inside of a prison before, so this whole thing is new to me, but it's more than nerves over that. My brain keeps replaying the day Bryant told me about his dad. While he was talking about his dad, he had more passion in his voice than I've ever heard from him. He genuinely cared what I thought of the guy, and it was clear to me he cares more about his dad than anyone else alive. It's crazy how much I'm concerned about making a good impression today.

"You look like you've seen a ghost. It's not that bad; I promise. You'll go through a metal detector, and they'll make you empty your pockets, but it's really no worse than going through airport security. Try not to stress about it," Bryant says.

I can't help but laugh at his assuming my nerves are caused by going into a prison.

"I'm meeting your dad, Bryant. Security is the last thing on my mind," I admit.

He smiles at me, bigger than I've ever seen him smile.

"He'll love you. You're a likeable guy," he tells me.

I scoff at that.

"I'm not the best at first impressions," I admit, "present company is a prime example."

He runs his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated by what I've just said. I don't want to frustrate him. I want this to be as easy for him as he seems to think it will be, but I'd be lying if I said I was anywhere near as calm about this as he is.

"That says more about me than it does about you. You made a great first impression. I liked you from day one," he says, and just before I'm about to call him on it, he tacks on, "it's why I hated you so much."

His words cause something to go a little wrong in my stomach. If he means what it sounds like he does, that puts a whole new spin on a story I thought I already knew.

"Thought you hated me because I was rich," I tell him.

He smiles at me, but he looks at me like he's looking at his puppy.

"That too," he jokes before climbing out of the truck, "come on."