“Why?” she asks, same tone as before.

I shrug and give her a half-truth. “I just want to see if I’m any good.”

“So why can’t I go with you?”

“Because you’d be a distraction. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate knowing you were there—watching me—worried about me. And that doesn’t even count the amount of times I’d be looking over at you making sure no assholes were making moves on you.”

She smiles, but it’s sad. “Do you have to?”

“It’s not a big deal, Maddy. It’s all legit. They have doctors—”

“No,” she cuts it. “That’s not—” She kisses my chest, then looks back up at the ceiling. “Never mind. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

I kiss the top of her head. “I promise you, nothing will happen. I’ll tap out as soon as I feel the need. Like I said, it’s not about the victory or whatever...I’m just curious.”

“Just make sure you come out alive, okay?”

***

I didn’t train that morning so I could rest up for the fight. I’d love to say that I was confident about the win, but after researching James Hayden online—I knew I had a decent fight on my hands.

But the fight wasn’t what made me anxious—it was my word to Jackson. I’d do what I could to find out as much information as possible. Truthfully—I wanted to find something, anything that was substantial enough for Jackson to use so we’d both be happy—or at the least, satisfied.

Madison looks up from behind the counter of Debbie’s Flowers when I step in, a huge smile on her face. She straightens her arms on the counter and pushes up—her eyes closed and lips puckered and waiting. I wipe the sweat off my face and make my way over to her, kissing her quickly—just once. Then I go in for another, and another, and another. When I pull back, her smile’s still in place. “Another one?” she asks.

“Hey! That’s my line.”

She laughs.

I give her another one.

“You want to see what I’ve been working on?” she asks, rocking on her heels.

“Of course.” I drop my gym bag and wait while she goes to the back room and I take the time to check my phone.

Jackson: Call me. It’s urgent.

She returns a second later holding something behind her back.

“Ready?”

“For you? Always.”

“Ta da!” she says, revealing a bouquet of flowers. Half white lilies, half Madisons. “You like?”

“I love.”

“You think Christine will like them? I’m getting them delivered to her.”

“Really?” I can’t help but smile. “You don’t have to do that.”

With a shrug, she says, “I want to.” Then she reaches behind the counter for a pen just as Debbie appears from the storeroom.

“Oh good, Kyler’s here,” she sings. She rises to her toes and picks up an old Polaroid camera from the shelf behind the counter.

“They still make those?” I ask her.

“Nothing will ever replace instant memories,” she says.

She stands behind the counter and fiddles with it while mumbling, “We can send a picture of you two holding it when it gets delivered. It’s more personal that way. This damn thing...”

I chuckle as Madison wraps her arm around my waist. “You’re sticky and smelly,” she whispers.

“And you love it,” I tease.

She scrunches her nose.

“Okay!” Debbie shouts like we’re in another room. “Make it a good one,” she says, lifting the camera to her eye.

I look down at Madison, but she’s already watching me—contentment in her eyes that I’m sure matches mine.

I feel like a teenager experiencing love for the first time. Like the world has never shown me an ounce of sadness or regret. Madison—she makes everything feel like the first time. “I love you,” she mouths.

“I love you,” I say, before I close my eyes, lean down and press my lips to hers.

I hear the bell above the door chime.

The click-whoosh of the Polaroid camera.

Then Debbie’s gasp, followed by a deathly shriek.

My eyes shoot open and snap to her, but she’s no longer standing there. She’s sitting behind the counter—knees raised and her hands covering her head, shielding her.

My heart stops. “Debbie?”

“Oh my God,” Madison whispers, and I turn to her quickly. She’s facing the front of the store, all color drained from her face.

My eyes follow her gaze.

“Nate,” she whispers, just as he comes into my vision.

But the man before me isn’t the Nate DeLuca I’ve always seen.

There’s no calm in his eyes.

No intimidation in his stance.

His cap’s pulled low, his hoodie covering it.

His arms are at his sides, one hand loosely gripping his gun.

I pull Madison behind me, my heart thumping against my chest.

DeLuca steps closer, wiping his face with his sleeve.

I think it’s sweat, but the closer he comes, the clearer I see him.

His body shakes, his hand trembling as he wipes at the tears filling his eyes.

I hear Tiny’s voice. “Boss Man, don’t do this.”

Madison’s grip on the back of my shirt tightens.

She lets out a sob.

DeLuca’s movements are slow.

Or so it seems.

Then he lifts the pistol and aims at my head.

He takes the final steps to get to me.

I should move.

I should do something.

Anything.

He’s two feet in front of me now—his gun still pointed.

His chest heaves with each shaky breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Madison releases my shirt.

I feel her move next to me.

His gaze switches to her.

Then he blinks.

Once.

Twice.

He speaks.

“Get in the fucking car, Bailey.”

Jackson: It’s Madison.

Jackson: She’s not who she says she is.

Epilogue

I REFUSE TO look at Doctor Aroma when I ask, “You said your parents were on crack?”

“Yes, I did say that.”

“Were you serious?”

“No, Ky. It was a metaphor. They’re just loopy.”

“My parents were on crack. No metaphor.” I uncross my arms and look around her office.

“They your parents?” I ask, looking at the framed picture of her in a graduation gown with an older couple.

“Yes.”

“I could have been you,” I mumble.

“What do you mean?”

“I found my birth dad. He’s straight edge. I could’ve gone to college, got a degree. I could have been you.”

“And why don’t you think you turned out that way?”

“Like I said, my parents were on crack.”

“And it affected you how?”

“I’m allowed to be bitter, right?” I ask, ignoring her question.

“You’re allowed to feel however you want to feel, Ky.”