Fiona, the bottle blond with an acidic smile, had changed who he was destined to be. The girl had redirected his life, and he’d been all too willing to let her. Tristan had left behind his family and embraced her as the only thing tethering him to happiness.

“Where were you?” Josie’s voice startled Tristan, and he looked down to see her eyes fixed upon his. “Up here,” she clarified, tapping at his temple. “Where were you?”

“In Wonderland,” he answered absently.

“How’s the Queen?”

“Which one?”

“Huh?” Josie asked. “The mean one.”

“Well, there’s the Queen of Hearts in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and then there’s the Red Queen in the sequel, Through the Looking Glass,” Tristan answered.

“Whichever one said ‘Off with their heads!’ I liked her.”

Tristan smiled.

“That’s Disney’s version. She’s more of a combination of the Queen of Hearts, the Duchess, and the Red Queen. Pretty much a sadist who is easily annoyed.”

“So she just goes around beheading anyone who irks her. I can get behind that,” Josie said.

“If we lived in a world like that, we’d have a much smaller population. Get cut off in traffic? Bang. Cashier doesn’t take your coupon? Bang. Chaos and no laws to hold people accountable for their actions.”

“Can you imagine the thrill, though? Never knowing when you were going to die? Maybe you piss someone off and that’s it. You’re gone. I think it would force people to live the best life possible all the time. No working at jobs they hate or staying in bad relationships.”

“And also people would go around fulfilling all of their selfish desires, however heinous they might be. How would you separate the general population from the guy who wants to chain women up in his basement and torture them? You couldn’t. Anarchism is a philosophy that holds the government to be immoral because of its use of violence, authority, and force. Seems ironic that, with lawlessness, the citizens would be just as immoral.”

“Depends on your definition of morality, I guess,” Josie said.

“Conformity to the rules of right conduct. But then, what is right?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Getting high and tagging pristine walls feels right.”

“Psychopaths and deviants believe what they do is right. Or they just don’t care.”

“Kind of like me,” Josie teased.

“I don’t believe you don’t care about your self-destructive behavior. I’d say you were more masochistic as a result of neglect and dysfunctional feelings about yourself.”

Josie popped up and stomped to the kitchen. She pulled a beer from her otherwise empty fridge and twisted off the cap. As she brought the bottle to her lips and let the coolness soothe her scorching insides, she squeezed the cap tight into her fist. The metal edges cut into her palm until she released it to the floor.

She kept her back to Tristan as she finished the beer. When she slammed the empty bottle down, Josie realized her fingers were trembling.

Tristan’s shadow cloaked her in darkness as he approached. Josie closed her eyes and titled her head toward the ceiling. She exhaled slowly and deliberately before speaking.

“Not you too,” she said. Tristan remained silent, but he wrapped his arms around her. His embrace was comforting and the answer to all her problems. “Don’t head-shrink me. I’ve had enough of that. Not from you, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Josie spun in his arms and gave her most convincing smile.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked.

“Yeah, where to?”

She just pulled him toward the door.

“Do you have your car?” He nodded. “Good.”

No questions asked, Tristan drove her to Trader Joe’s and followed her around as she shopped. He loved how domestic and utterly normal it felt to do this with her. As they loaded the bags into his car, curiosity finally got the best of him.

“Are you cooking?” he asked.

Josie laughed, throwing her head back and placing her hand over her stomach. Tristan just watched and waited for an answer.

“Uh, no. This isn’t for us.”

She instructed him toward Balboa, and when they were parked, she wordlessly grabbed half the bags and started walking. Tristan carried the rest of the food and followed her through the grass.

“Stems!” Gavin shouted. She sat on their usual bench smoking a cigarette.

“Hey, Gavin. What’s up?”

Tristan made it to the bench and set his paper bags down next to the others. He looked between the two women and waited for an explanation.

“Holy hell, Stems. Who’s this?”

“Tristan,” he answered, holding his hand out. Gavin placed her hand in his and smiled sweetly.

“Well, it’s certainly nice to meet you,” she said.

Josie laughed at the exchange while Tristan looked on.

“Stems?” he asked.

“It’s just Gavin’s nickname for me.”

“Yeah, it’s those legs,” Gavin answered.

“Oh. Well, I can second that appreciation. Gavin’s an interesting name,” Tristan said. “Some people think it originated with Sir Gawain who was a knight of King Arthur’s round table.”

“And smart too? Don’t you two make a pair. Damn,” Gavin said. Her eyes roamed up and down Tristan while she licked her lips.

“Gavin!” Josie almost shouted. “I thought you liked girls.”

“I did, until about two and a half minutes ago.”

The girls laughed while Tristan rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted from foot to foot.

“Anyway, make sure those get to the kids?”

“Of course, dear. She just loves to crack that whip,” Gavin said, giving Tristan a wink.

“You have no idea,” Tristan answered, returning the wink.

Josie stood and took Tristan’s hand in hers.

“I’ll see you around, Gavin.”

“You’re not staying for—”

“Nope. Don’t need to,” Josie cut her off.

Gavin smiled up at the couple as they walked away.

The ride back to Josie’s was quiet but not uncomfortable.

“Did we just deliver food to homeless kids?” Tristan asked when they parked in front of her building.

“Yes,” Josie said, looking out at the street.

Tristan sighed and looked at her. Every time he thought he had her figured out, something surprised him. He wondered if he’d ever truly learn all the secrets that made up Josie Banks.

“‘An outlaw that dwelled apart from other men, yet beloved by the country people round about, for no one ever came to ask for help in time of need and went away again without.’”

“What is that from?” Josie asked.

“The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood.”

“I don’t steal from the rich, though that’s an interesting idea,” she said.

“Let’s not add to your list of illegal activities, okay?”

Josie shrugged and stared out the window.

“When I turned eighteen, I left my foster home. I just had to get away from them. I didn’t have anything. So I ended up with a group of kids living near I-65 in the park.”

“Couldn’t anyone help you?”

“I was legally an adult. No one cared.”

“I’m not sure I’m an adult yet,” he said.

“After a few months Monica found me again. I had just started tagging. Throwing up pieces wherever I could. She tracked me down that way. She’s a persistent woman.”

“So she got you back on your feet?”

“She told me about my inheritance. Helped me get the money and a place to live. Now that I’m more fortunate, I bring them food whenever I can. It’s the least I can do.”

“That’s how you know Gavin and Gregory,” Tristan said, placing his hand over hers.

“The worst part is, most of us were better off on the streets than at home.”

Josie exited the car, ending the conversation.

A couple hours later, Tristan and Josie sat together on her couch.

“I’ve got to go soon,” Tristan said softly, running the pads of his fingertips along the back of her hand.

“What? No!” Josie protested.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do than stay wrapped up with you, but I can’t stand another day in these clothes, Josie. I have to work tonight.”