Tristan felt comforted knowing that his mother was looking after Josie. But he wished his father would hurry so that it could be his arms around her instead of Bitsy’s frail and shaking limbs.

Daniel finished with Tristan and wrapped the wound with a bandage. Tristan bent his elbow and flexed his arm as if trying it out for the first time.

“Dad, check on Josie,” Tristan said. “She may be in shock.”

As Daniel took a seat next to Josie, Tristan followed. He knelt in front of her, the water from his jeans creating a new puddle on the tile floor. Daniel checked her vital signs and asked her simple questions, which she responded to robotically.

“She’s responsive. Just needs some dry clothes and rest.”

“Where is Monica?” Bitsy asked.

Josie’s eyes snapped closed and she let out another cry.

“She’s gone. She’s dead,” Josie said. “And it’s my fault.”

“No, it’s not. She saved you,” Tristan said.

Tristan slid Josie into his lap and he held her until their breaths became synchronized. One by one, Alex, Bitsy, and Daniel left the room. Alex said nothing as he passed. He simply squeezed Tristan’s shoulder, letting the gesture say everything that he couldn’t. I’m sorry. I’m here.

Tristan’s legs were numb, his feet prickled with pins. The kitchen cabinet dug into his back, but he would not let Josie go. When she finally fell asleep, he carried her to his room and held her through new nightmares.

Two days later, Josie was finally feeling human again. Tristan’s parents had been very sympathetic and accommodating. Bitsy seemed eager to cook for and entertain her houseguests. Josie felt cared for and safe in this place. She wanted to carry that feeling with her always.

Josie made her way down the curved wooden staircase and smiled at what she found there. Tristan and Alex were embraced in a hug. The two had grown closer through this ordeal and she was happy for it. They both meant the world to her.

“It’s been proved relationships that begin with a shared traumatic event never last,” Tristan said, smiling.

“Relationship? I don’t wanna marry you. Not my type, papito,” Alex answered, pinching Tristan’s cheek until he was swatted away.

“You sure we can’t take you to the airport, hon?” Bitsy asked.

“Nah, I got a cab,” he said.

Josie cleared the bottom step and slid between the two men.

“Aye, mami. What am I gonna do now, huh?”

“You could stay here, you know,” Josie hedged. “Start over.”

As an adult, Alex had always been free to come and go as he pleased, answering only to his mentors on the streets. The one day that wasn’t his was Sunday. On the Lord’s Day, his mother insisted that he attend church and visit with his brothers and their families. In the past, Alex had always loathed those days, feeling trapped by the traditions and customs of a dying generation. After this experience, he’d learned the importance of afternoon barbecues and quality time with loved ones. He would never take them for granted again.

He knew Josie didn’t have any of that back in San Diego. So while he was going to miss her, he understood her wanting to stay here. This was the only family she had left.

“Nah, you know this city can’t hold me.”

Josie nodded and threw herself into his arms. Her feet hovered above the floor as he swayed back and forth before setting her back down to earth.

“Thank you, Alex, for everything. There’s nothing I could ever say that wo—”

“No worries, Jo,” he said, smiling. “Take care, mocosa.”

A horn honked outside, and in an instant he was gone.

Josie sat on the end of Tristan’s bed and eyed the designer bag at her feet. It seemed to stare up at her and demand attention. Inside were clothes, two pairs of shoes, toiletries, makeup, and this month’s Elle magazine—probably purchased at the airport. It was all Josie had left of Monica Templeton.

She didn’t know what to do with the bag, but after ignoring it for days, she couldn’t take it anymore. Anger erupted from her.

“Why her?” she shouted to the empty room.

She stood and kicked the bag, watching it fly across the room and hit the door.

“She was good,” she said.

She followed its path and kicked it again.

“It’s not fair!” she shouted as she kicked the bag a third time.

This time shoes, the magazine, and a toothbrush came tumbling out of the bag. Josie dropped to the carpeted floor and sat staring at the items. She wanted to pick them up and put them away. But the thought of touching them made her nauseated.

“Josie?” Tristan called from the door. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m pissed off,” she said pulling her knees up and placing her chin on top of them.

He appeared in front of her and sat down.

“I know. It’s fine to be angry. It’s the second stage of grief,” he said.

Josie rolled her eyes and focused on the paint on her toenails. Purple. Pump Up the Jam.

“I know what’ll make you feel better,” Tristan said. He stood and retrieved her journal from his desk and lay down on his bed. “Come quiz me.”

“That won’t help,” she said.

“Sure it will. Look, I’m a master of distractions. Come on,” Tristan pleaded, patting the bed beside him.

Josie stood from her spot and lay on a stack of pillows flipping through the pages of her purple journal. Tristan lay beside her in the opposite direction, his body pressed against hers at every possible point. He lazily traced patterns up and down her smooth legs.

“I’m going to give you a hard one this time,” Josie said.

“Babe, they all have the same level of difficulty to me.”

“Fine, page one twenty-two,” she said, smiling up at him from behind the journal.

Tristan laughed and pressed a kiss against her calf.

“There’s a new girl at school. Her name is Danielle Ryan. We met in English class and instantly became friends,” Tristan recited in a high-pitched voice. “She’s really pretty and her hair is this gorgeous red color that doesn’t seem natural. I’d never ask. I found her sitting alone in the cafeteria and invited her to sit with us. Big mistake! Huge! All she did was smile and flirt with Tristan the whole time. Right in front of me. By the time I finished my sandwich, the girl was practically planning their wedding.”

Josie laughed and closed the book.

“I didn’t talk like that, ass.”

“That’s what it sounded like to me,” he said, smiling. “There’s also a doodle in the margin of a dog wearing a wedding dress on that page.”

“You remember everything,” she said. “That’s amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he countered.

“As amazing as Danielle Ryan?”

Tristan raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if contemplating the answer.

“I guess. I mean, she had really nice hair. And killer boobs.”

Josie threw the journal at him, hitting him in the chest with a thump.

“Ouch! You wound me, woman.”

“That’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do!”

Josie sprang to her knees and tackled Tristan. She was no match for his strength, but he surrendered. The feel of her body pressed against his sent his imagination running wild.

“You know I’ll win this. Just give up,” he teased.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Never. Danielle’s boobs would be hurt and offended if I retracted my statement now.”

Josie leaned down, bringing her lips to his ear. Their chests pressed together, their hearts beating for each other.

“Do you care more about Danielle Ryan’s tits or being inside me again?”

Tristan sat up quickly, knocking Josie back onto the pillows. He crawled over her and placed a kiss against her neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered against her warm skin.

She smiled up at him and ran her fingers over his hair.

“That’s better.”

“I’ll never mention Danielle and her stellar rack again.”