“I need to get out of here,” she muttered, bursting into the room and grabbing at her bag, throwing in her toiletries and clothes from the day before. Hoisting it over her shoulder, she turned and almost fell over her mother standing in the doorway.

“Where are you going?” Eva eyed the bag and the white-knuckle grip Kat had on it.

“I’m sorry, but I need … I need to get out of here, Mom,” Kat answered, avoiding the gaze she knew would make her feel tiny and shitty all at the same time. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Eva spluttered. “You’re not going anywhere. You will stand there and explain to me just what the hell has been going on!”

But Kat knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t explain. She couldn’t be around people, much less the people who refused to understand—people who lied to her and treated her as if she were stupid. There was too much to process, too many questions with no answers. She needed to be alone.

“I can’t, Mom. I have to go … just for tonight.” It was a lie. Kat knew it as soon as the words left her mouth. Her plan was to get into a car and not stop until the gas ran out.

“I won’t allow it, Katherine. You will put that bag down, pull yourself together, and apologize to Beth. How dare you behave this way.”

Kat barked a sardonic laugh. “Apologize? Me? I have nothing to apologize for!”

“Enough! From what I’ve heard tonight,” Eva said in a low voice, “there are plenty of things you need to apologize for.” Her eyes widened with disbelief. “My God, Katherine, what the hell were you thinking? He’s dangerous.”

Kat gripped her temples. “Oh my God!”

“He’s just like those creatures that killed your father: evil, heartless. Is that who you want to be with? Do you understand how much you’re hurting me? How much you’d hurt your father if he were here?”

Kat’s breath caught hard. She stared hopelessly at her mother. Her eyes began to sting with furious tears. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down.” She moved around her, holding in her sobs. “I need to get out of here.”

Eva grabbed her arm. “You are not leaving. You are here for your father!”

That lit the fuse. “I know why I’m here, Mom,” Kat shrieked. “I was there the night those creatures fucking killed him, remember?”

The shock of the slap to the left side of Kat’s face stung much more than the slap itself. Her mother had never struck her before, but, deep down, underneath all the confused anger swallowing her soul, Kat knew she deserved it. She registered a gasp from her mother but didn’t stay around to hear what she had to say. She yanked her arm from Eva’s grasp, exploded out of the room, past Adam and Beth, and bolted down the stairs.

Ben was at the bottom, utterly perplexed. “What the hell’s going on?” He followed her to the cloakroom.

“Can I have the keys to your car?” Kat stuttered, grabbing her coat. She could hear the voices of her mother and Beth getting louder as they came down the stairs after her.

Ben shook his head. “It’s a rental. I can’t.” He rubbed her biceps. “Just stay and talk this out.”

A small, pale hand appeared over her shoulder, holding a set of car keys. “Take mine, darling,” Nana Boo said. Kat turned to her in surprise. “It’ll be an excuse for you to come back.”

“Nana,” Kat whimpered, taking the keys. “I’m so, so sorry. I can’t expla— Oh God. I just, I need to—”

“I know,” her grandmother interrupted with a small smile of understanding, and cupped the side of Kat’s face. She stroked her cheek with the flat of her thumb. “Go. I’ll look after your mother.”

Kat whispered, “Thank you,” and, with her bag in hand, she ran outside to the Jaguar XJ, unlocking it as she approached.

Her bag was thrown in, the keys were in the ignition, and her foot was to the floor as she sped down the driveway away from her friends and family. Kat tried her hardest to ignore the intense relief that consumed her as the miles mounted between them, and wished like hell for guilt to take its place.

It never did.

* * *

Carter had had a shitty week. And, because he was a bastard, he’d made everyone else’s week shitty, too.

He knew he’d been short-tempered with the guys at work, and his counseling sessions and home visits had been filled with uncooperative grunts and shrugs simply because he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it all. The only good thing about the week had been Carter’s session with Ross. He’d kicked seven shades of crap out of every piece of equipment that could handle it and, although it had made him feel better, he was still edgy as fuck.

He was starting to drive himself crazy. Hence why he’d decided to stay in on a Saturday night while Max and the boys went out. He really wasn’t in the mood for any of Max’s stupid shit. The asshole’s face was still a complete mess, but he was determined to go out, get wasted, and fuck anything with a pulse instead of dealing with his grief. Again.

Carter lit another smoke, and began strumming the opening chords of Kings of Leon’s “Fans” in an effort to relax. He peeked once again at his cell phone.

Nope. Still no fucking word.

The reason his panties were in such a goddamn awful bunch was simple. Peaches. The woman was gonna give him a heart attack, way before any pack of Marlboros or bottle of alcohol would. Dealing with her being away from him for a week was one thing. Having her ignore him, after they’d texted three days before, was another.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure the shit out.

The last he’d heard from her was a text asking if he could talk. He liked that she’d texted him, and he liked that she wanted to talk to him even more. Truthfully, he’d never had a relationship with a woman where conversations on the phone had happened. But he’d been more than enthusiastic to speak to Peaches.

He shoved the quiet cell phone across the leather. He wasn’t going to call her again. It’d gone to voice mail the other four times he’d tried, and his seven texts had gone unanswered.

He rubbed the heel of his hand across his sternum to soothe the heartburn that’d been plaguing him for days, and continued to strum, humming along.

The knock at the door of his apartment was as unexpected as it was inconvenient. If Max thought he could come and drag Carter’s miserable ass out into the city, he was in for a big surprise.

“Fuck off,” he mumbled, and flicked his smoke into the full ashtray. But the knocking came again, and this time, it was relentless. Slamming his guitar down onto the chair, Carter stormed barefoot across the loft to the door. Pulling back the dead bolt while still muttering curses, he swung the door open, ready to punch whichever motherfucker was disturbing his pity party for one.

Catching the door before it hit the wall, the ferocious expression on his face dropped like a rock in water.

“P-Peaches?”

She was standing there, looking a little worse for wear, in skinny black jeans and a red hooded top. Bizarrely, she was wearing flip-flops. Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail and her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in mascara as though she’d been crying for days, or—from the way she was swaying—drinking.

“What’re you doing here?”

She rested against the doorframe and smiled, but it was forced and was gone far too quickly. Her eyes were flat, missing their shine.

“I came to see you,” she replied with a playful tap of her fingertip against his nose. Carter frowned. “Can I come in?”

“Um, yeah, yeah, sure,” he replied.

He watched her walk in like a timid animal, and closed the door behind her. Keeping his grip on the handle, he closed his eyes for a beat, trying to collect himself. He took a deep breath and turned around to find her staring back at him in a way that made his pulse race.

“Peaches,” he began, “how did you know where—”

Carter’s words were eaten up by Peaches’ mouth as it smashed into his own. She came at him with such force that his back thumped hard into the door behind him. Her hands were suddenly everywhere: his hair, his face, his chest—oh shit—his ass.