When I wake up the next morning, my head is on Dylan’s chest, and his arms are around me.

I slept like a rock. The first time I’ve slept soundly next to a man, and we’re about to break up.

I ignore the thickness in my throat and head for the shower. I have to leave Dylan and then drive to the home of the woman who left me over two decades ago. Getting my heart broken once today feels like too much, but potentially twice? I don’t think I can take it.

“So, our last day is up today.” Dylan glances up from his plate of eggs and toast as we sit together in a private corner table at the hotel restaurant. “We managed to extend it, but even the extension has run out.”

“It has.” All good things run out eventually. At least this one has a clean break and can’t sneak up on me.

Dylan runs both hands through his hair, his expression agitated. “I’ve been thinking how we can—can you take a sick day?”

Sick day. I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a sick day in my life. Even if I’ve been ill, I’ve gone to work. Nothing to stay home for.

“I’ve never had any reason to take one before,” I tell him. “But I could definitely use one of them up for you.”

“Wait, how many sick days do you have?”

“Tons. This company’s policy is to never expunge your time off even when the year ends, and I’ve never taken a vacation, either.”

“Never taken a vaca…” His eyes widen. “Baby, you need a rest.”

Once Dylan mentions it, I realize I am tired. From running, from pressing, from driving.

I put my head on my hand and look at him. “I guess I do.”

“So I have an idea.” His eyes light up. “Let’s spend this whole week together. Just you and me.”

I swallow hard as I meet his eyes. I could either sink or swim in them, but it looks like I’m past the point of forfeiting. Looks like I’m going to find out what I’m made of.

I reach across the table and take his hand in mine. “Yes. Let’s spend the week together. Just you and me.”

He gets up and comes over to my side of the booth so he can plant little kisses all over my face. I laugh and hug him tightly to me. Behind him, I notice Dante and Harlow standing by the bar. They’re fighting, and Dante’s already got a drink in his hand. Harlow slaps him and storms out.

“Something wrong?” Dylan pulls back as he feels my body stiffen.

I compose myself and force a smile. “Nope. Everything’s great.”

I put my arms around him again and hope I’m not being as naïve as Harlow. I hope Dylan really is as different from Dante as he seems and that I’m not completely over my head in a world I don’t understand.

I call Bill about my week off.

When he threatens to fire me, his usual retort to any request, I respond with the only comeback I can think of. “It’s illegal to disallow me to use personal time. I’ve never once taken even one day off. Are you going to give it to me, or do I need to take this to your supervisor?”

Bill gives me the time off, and then he abruptly thanks me for my work on the Cougars’ event.

“I think we’re going to get the contract. But I’m frustrated because damn Hal Cotton hasn’t called me yet.”

So that explains his testy mood.

“But if we do, Ms. Gordon, I’ll tell you right now that the promotion is yours. I’ll send you a text when the account is a go.”

I thank him and hang up.

Then I send Rosita a text.

Can you take care of the kitties for one more week?

Her answer comes immediately.

Of course! But what are you doing?

I hate not telling her about Dylan. But I feel like I’ll jinx myself if I put it into writing.

Just a small change of plans. Going to be delayed in Arizona for one week. But I’ll be home after that. I promise, and I’ll tell you everything! I’ll text you tomorrow.

I tap the screen on my phone and pull up my bank account. As I stare at the recent deposits, I admit the truth. I’m not ready to see my mother. I’m still working up the courage to approach her. And that sucks because I know she needs the money soon. But maybe staying in Tucson for the rest of the week will give me the strength I need to follow through on my plan. I just need a few days to figure out what I’m going to say to her. Here’s your money, and by the way, where have you been the last twenty-plus years? doesn’t sound like a great opener.

“All set?” Dylan asks me as I meet him in the lobby.

“All set.” I give him a kiss. “What do you want to do today?”

He kisses me back. “How about we go for a drive into the mountains? Do you want to?”

“Yes, I love the mountains. We can bring a picnic lunch maybe.”

“Definitely,” he says. “We’ll stop at the store down the street.”

“I’m going to get an orange,” I tell Dylan when we’re in the bread aisle. “You want one?”

“Sure, baby.” He leans down and kisses me, right there in the aisle.

I laugh as Dylan blows on my neck. “I’ll be right back. Try to control yourself while I’m gone.”

“Not possible!” he calls after me.

I head for the produce aisle. The first orange I pick up is perfect, still firm, but I can tell it’s juicy underneath. It takes me a while to find a match for it, though.

But I finally get what I want.

As I round the corner into the bread aisle, juggling the two oranges as a way to surprise Dylan, I halt.

Dante and Harlow are with Dylan.

I straighten my spine as I get closer.

“Hey, Jasalie!” Harlow calls out as I reach them.

“Hi, Harlow.” I nod at her. “Hi, Dante,” I say as I drop the oranges into the cart.

“Hey, girl.” He holds out his hand, almost like he’s making some sort of peace offering.

I don’t want to take it. I think he’s a prick. But I look up at Dylan, and he’s smiling at me.

And so I take Dante’s extended hand. But as soon as I do, Dante squeezes my hand in a way I don’t like, and I wish I hadn’t accepted his obviously false overture.

Dylan frowns and says we need to go. But Dante reaches out to hug him.

“You looked like such a pretty boy in that Football Forever story.” Dante punches Dylan’s arm. “What kind of hair product was that anyway? I think I’m gonna tape a copy of it to your locker and let the media have a field day for the season opener.”

Dylan laughs it off, but Dante keeps going.

“Seriously, man. You haven’t gone Hollywood on me have you? Mr. MVP? ’Cause then I might have to kick your ass.”

“Man, you just don’t know when to let up.” Dylan says this last part with a bare hint of a chuckle.

“So, you’ve come round on Dylan here, huh?” Dante says as he turns on me. “You finally realized you had a good thing going?”

“I always realized that, Dante,” I say.

“Didn’t seem like it to me.” He laughs loudly and elbows Dylan in the side. “Dy-boy, you’d better watch this one. I think she lies.”

“Hey.” Dylan gets up in Dante’s face so fast Harlow jumps. “Keep any crap between us. Jasalie doesn’t lie, has never lied, and none of that is any of your damn business—got it?”

Dante steps back and mumbles an apology in my direction.

But there’s still a woman around he can mess with. And he does.

“Fine, your girl’s off-limits. But mine?” Dante puts his arm around Harlow. “She’s always up for my harmless teasing. Aren’t you, baby?”

Harlow pulls away from Dante’s grasp. “Not now.”

Dante kisses her neck. “What do you mean not now? What’s wrong with a little PDA? Huh?” His hands go to her ass. “Are you telling me to go somewhere else to find what I need?”

“Yes. Because I’m pretty sure you did just that last night.” Harlow’s eyes meet mine, and for the first time I see the shame.

“Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Jasalie, can you talk to my girl? Get her to chill out?”

“Dante.” Dylan’s voice is lethally quiet. “Quit while you’re ahead.”

Apparently Dante doesn’t take his eyes off of me fast enough because Dylan suddenly has him by the shirt. He backs Dante up against the shelving as cans topple off and onto the ground around them.

“I told you to leave Jasalie alone.” Dylan’s expression is so fierce, and under normal conditions, I would find it hot, but now?

Now I hate that he’s fighting with a teammate because of me.

“Dylan!” I unsuccessfully try to force myself in between him and Dante and end up standing next to them and waving my hands in the air. “Please. It’s okay. I’m okay. Let him go.”

Dylan ignores me as he and Dante shoot death stares at each other. Dylan’s hand is around Dante’s neck, but Dante’s still being stupid and licking his lips like he’s ready to pick a fight.

“You won’t hurt me,” he challenges Dylan. “You don’t have it in you.”

“I’ll kill you if you so much as talk to her sideways ever again.” Dylan’s voice has dropped another octave. “That’s a fucking promise.”

Harlow and I make eye contact, and I read her stunned expression clear as day—she envies me for the way Dylan’s defending me.

But I’m ultra aware that we’re in public and that two teammates fighting is not a good look, especially not for a star quarterback. And I may be decent at self-defense, but I know better than to continue to try to insert myself between two professional athletes. So I come up with a different plan. I have no clue if what I’m about to do will work, but I’m out of ideas for how to get Dylan out of here before some shopper’s camera finds him first and he ends up on the front page of a tabloid.

“Dylan.” I tug at his belt. “I’m leaving.”

He jerks his head over to face me. His eyes fill with confusion and…fear?

“What did you say?”

“I’m leaving.” I try to keep my voice even. “Are you coming, or are you staying here?”

His gaze hooks with mine, and I lift my chin in what I hope is enough of a challenge to sway him.

I’m not sure what does the trick, but Dylan, with a last growl at Dante, releases him. Leaving our cart where it is, we turn and leave the store.

As soon as we’re safely inside Dylan’s car, I turn to him. “You don’t need to defend me like that,” I say.

“Jasalie.” Dylan curses under his breath and then grips the steering wheel with both hands. “I hate that I’m the reason you just had to go through that.”

“You’re not the reason!” I say. “Dante’s the one who said those things. And while I love that you want to protect me, I’m really okay. I don’t ever want to come between you and a teammate. What happened after the Super Bowl was one thing…”

“Green deserved a lot more than getting cut from a football team,” Dylan mutters.

“He crossed a line, obviously, but in this case…and I’m not saying Dante wasn’t being a jerk. He’s…” I refrain from saying everything I really think about Dante, starting with that he’s a jealous asshole. “He clearly likes to push people’s buttons.”

“He always has. He doesn’t usually get to me like that, though. It’s just that when he turned it on you…”

“And Harlow,” I add.

“Of course I think that’s shitty.”

“What about the way he treats you?” I say in a tone so soft I can barely hear myself. “Does that bother you?”

Dylan’s eyes flash with a rare show of temper. “I can’t talk about Dante and me right now. I’m sorry. He…” He punches the steering wheel. “He pisses me off.”

He starts the car, and we drive back to the hotel in silence.

As we step into our hotel room, I touch Dylan’s back. “Hey. I get why you’re extra protective with me. But…”

Dylan’s blank expression gives me nothing as he lets out a deep breath. “I think I need to go to the gym. Get this whole thing with him out of my system.”

He’s shutting me out. I know because I do this, too. I learned the hard way that it’s easier to take my own way out the door before I’m kicked out. Dylan may not shut down the way I do, but he’s making it clear he’s not up for company at the moment.

“Why are you pushing me away?” I ask him.

“What do you mean?” He doesn’t look at me when he says it.

I’ve never once seen him avoid addressing me directly. Until now.

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“I’m not,” he says firmly. “I just hate the idea of seeing you hurt, especially because of me and my job.”

I nod and step back as he packs his gym bag. “I don’t want a superhero, Dylan.” I swallow. “I just want you.”

His eyes soften. “Jasalie, I get it. But I had to defend you back there. I’ll always defend you.”

He kisses me quickly, picks up his bag, and he’s gone.

I shut the door behind him, feeling frustrated and lonely. But there’s something else. Something I haven’t felt since I lost my mother. It’s grief.

I get out my clay and sculpt Dante and Harlow—two snake-like figures intertwined with one another in a death spiral. When I’m finished I pick up my cell phone.

Before I visit my mother, I want to remember the years I was without her. Maybe that way it won’t hurt as much if she rejects me again.

Lionel answers the phone.

“Hello, Lionel. It’s Jasalie. How are you?”

“Hi, Jasalie,” he says. “Long time, huh?”

Lionel was the father in my second foster family. They had a lot of money and traveled and helped give me the belief that I could reach for more.

“Yes, it has been. How’re things?”

“Good, real good. Just got back from a business trip to Brussels. Got to stop in Paris as well. Lovely weather, too.”

“Great.” I work hard to sound enthusiastic. “I’m glad you had a nice time.”

“How are things with you?” he says.

I can hardly hear him because another phone starts ringing in the background. “I’m good.” The ringing keeps going. “Do you need to get that?”

“Yeah, hold on a second.” I hear him answer the other line, and then he’s back. “I have to take this call, okay? But don’t be a stranger. Take care of yourself, and make sure to let us know how…”

“Is Zoe home?” I interrupt him.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Zo! It’s Jasalie!”

I hear footsteps, and then she’s there.

“Sweetheart,” Zoe breathes into the phone.

“Hi, Zoe.” I wonder if she’s already started her cocktail. I glance at the clock. Not even two o’clock. She can’t be drinking yet. But it’s never too early for those pills.

“Where are you?” she says.

“Arizona. Business trip.”

“Wonderful. We just got back from a trip ourselves.” Zoe’s voice sounds muffled now. She must be holding the phone between her shoulder and ear while she paints her nails. That’s something she did quite often when I lived there.

I lasted with the Hughes from eleven to fifteen when they needed to use my bedroom for two younger foster kids. So I went back into the system and bounced around until I turned eighteen. And at that point, I was on my own and still a senior in high school.

The first apartment I tried fell through, and that’s how I ended up on the streets for six months. I dropped out of high school, ate at the soup kitchen, and was lucky to never be abused. But I learned how to defend myself really quickly—a woman who’d been homeless for ten years taught me a short course in self-defense, and I used it whenever I had to. Then I lucked into an apartment with a few other girls. One of them took pity on me and helped with my share of the rent so I could get my GED. Then it was up to me—between working as a sales clerk and other odd jobs, I made it work until I got my college degree. Then Bill hired me, and the rest is history.

“Yes,” I say to Zoe. “Lionel mentioned it. Paris must have been nice.”

“Oh, it was,” she says. “Although it’s a dirty city, especially in late winter. All that rain ruins the streets you know.”

I don’t. But I remember how Zoe and Lionel were kind to me, and so I answer her politely. “Yes.”

“We must do lunch sometime soon,” Zoe says.

I know she doesn’t really mean it. We were never that close, but I know she thinks she does. The Hughes had a number of foster children in and out through the years—they had the money and the room, and they were generous that way. They weren’t able to conceive children of their own. Lionel has an affair a year; that’s what we all used to joke. And Zoe numbs her heart to the pain. But they were never mean to any of us.

“We must,” I agree.

When we hang up, my mind won’t stop racing. Between my past and my future, I feel so mixed up. The only way I can hope to make this work with Dylan is if I clear all my skeletons out of the closet. So I reach for the phone again, and before I can think too hard about it, I dial his number.

As soon as he says hello, I feel like I’ve made a mistake. But I plunge onward. “Hi, Joel. It’s Jasalie.”

Your ex-fiancée, I almost add in case he’s forgotten about me, but I think that may be going too far.

“Jasalie.” Joel sounds surprised. “Hi. How are you?”

“Good,” I say. “I’m good. You?”

“I’m good, too. Um, why are you calling?”

I laugh. God, I feel like an idiot. “I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to you since we broke up, and I just wanted to…” I choke up. “I just wanted to thank you. For trying. I know I’m not easy to be with.”

“You weren’t that bad.” But I can tell he’s smiling. “We weren’t close to being in love, were we?”

“No.” I exhale. “We wanted to be, though. We gave it a shot.”

“That we did.” Joel says. There’s a small silence, and then he gives me the permission I’m looking for. Either that, or he lets me forgive myself for what I thought was my fault. “I hope you have a happy life, Jase.”

“I hope you do, too, Joel.” I put the receiver back onto the phone softly.

I make one more sculpture, and when Dylan still hasn’t returned, I flop down on the bed, hug one of the pillows to my chest, and fall asleep.