“Okay. Is something wrong?”

She huffed out an aggravated breath and plopped her round form in one of the chairs at my little dining table.

“She’s moving.”

I adjusted my robe and kept an eye on the hallway.

“Okay.” I should’ve been asking where Mom was going, but I was too concerned about Nash popping around the corner in all his naked and tattooed glory to focus properly on what my sister was saying.

Faith shot me a dirty look and shoved her hands through the front of her hair. “What do you mean, ‘okay’? She’s leaving Colorado. Is that still okay?”

“I mean she’s an adult and has been acting like a lunatic for two years. Maybe getting away from Brookside, away from where she can run into Dad and any reminders that he moved on, is what’s best for her.”

“But we’re here. The kids are here. She shouldn’t have to pick up and move her entire life to another state … Dad should. He’s the one who messed up.”

She was right. Dad had messed up, the blame for the way our family was divided did fall squarely on his shoulders. Mom would’ve never gone so bonkers, acted so drastically, if he hadn’t sent her into a tailspin. But in all honesty, I was proud of Mom for taking a stand, for taking the reins back in her life and doing something for herself. Blaming Dad for being a jerk, not getting over the fact he had a wandering eye, wasn’t going to put Mom back to sorts, but I really thought a change of scenery and some room to breathe might. It had done wonders for me when I needed it most after high school. Faith was right that Mom shouldn’t have to move, but the fact that she was willing to finally be accountable for some of her actions made me happy inside. This was just the way our family looked now and both of us were going to have to live with it. And trying to tell Faith that she would feel the same way about Dad moving, that he also would miss out on spending time with us, with her kids, was just going to have to wait because I heard movement from the bedroom.

I sighed … more because Nash had finally emerged from the bedroom than because of what Faith was saying. He was on his way to meet Rome at the gym, so all he had on was a black tank top and a pair of black-and-white nylon track pants. His head was covered in that ever-present black hat he liked to rock, and I had to really try not to let out a dreamy sigh. He was hot, like stupid hot, there was no missing that fact. He was pulling on his black hoodie and texting on his phone, so I don’t think he even saw Faith when he walked right up to me and put an arm around my waist. He pulled me to that massive chest and dropped a hard kiss on my mouth. He smelled clean and slightly flowery from my body wash, which would have made me grin had I not seen Faith glaring at me over his shoulder.

“Don’t forget to show around nine tonight. The Bar, it’s kind of a dive and there isn’t really a sign, but it’s off Broadway and the Charger will be in the lot, so it’s hard to miss.” One of his midnight-colored brows shot up. “If you bail, I won’t be held responsible for what the girls do in order to get to know you better.”

His friends wanted to meet me, like for real meet me, not just passing by in the hospital halls, and I was panicked at the very thought. It made what we were doing seem more important than I wanted it to be, but I couldn’t figure out a way to slip out of it gracefully, and honestly, I could tell it mattered to him and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

I cleared my throat and put a hand lightly on his stomach. It was rock-hard and I wanted to pet it.

“Nash …” His other eyebrow shot up. “This is my sister, Faith. I don’t know if you remember her or not. She was a year ahead of us in school.” The implication was there: she knew all about the scars he had left on me when we were younger.

My sister was looking at him like she wanted to stab him in the heart, but Nash just gave her a lopsided grin and made his way toward the front door.

“Hey, Faith. Nice to officially meet you. Seriously, Saint.” His voice dropped a little. “If you don’t show, it’s gonna bum me out.”

I sighed again and put my hands flat on the counter in front of me. “I’ll be there. Promise.”

He smiled at me for real and vanished out the door, leaving me and my seething sister alone.

I held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “Don’t even start.”

She hefted herself up from the table and marched so that she was poised across the counter from me.

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” It would have been better if she screamed it at me, but the fact that it was almost a whisper twisted my heart.

“Probably.” I picked up my coffee, more to have something to do with my hands than anything else. “He’s different, and I don’t just mean from how he was in high school. He’s nice, funny, and gorgeous, plus he makes me feel good … like really good. I like being around him and he’s having a really hard time right now with his dad, so I want to make it easier for him. I think he kind of needs me right now.”

“This is the same guy that made you run to the West Coast, Saint. He hurt you bad enough that you hid from everyone, ran away from every relationship your whole life. This is a terrible idea.”

I raised a shoulder and let it fall. “I know. I’m trying hard to let it go—the past, I mean. He says it was a misunderstanding. That he wasn’t talking about me, and I really want to believe him, and the thing with the party …” I shrugged. “Maybe I read more into that than I should have. Teenage boys are just horn balls. I don’t think he would’ve ignored me had he known I was going there just for him. He doesn’t even remember seeing me there.”

She screwed her face up in an ugly scowl. “Of course he said that! How else was he going to get in your pants if he didn’t tell you that! Use your damn head, Saint. He is not the guy for you. It’s time to get over that idiotic crush on the ‘bad boy,’ or whatever. Grow up.”

“He’s not like that, Faith. He’s a really nice guy. He cares about his friends, he works almost as hard as I do, and he’s been really, really great the last few months or so about all the weird hang-ups I have. He doesn’t care that I get awkward and can’t make words work, he doesn’t cling when I freak out and bail on him, and he …” I made her look me in the eye so she could see how important this part was. “He makes me feel normal in bed and out of it.”

“You can do so much better, Saint.”

That made me angry, so I set the mug down and crossed my arms over my chest. “Better by whose standards? He’s the first guy I ever liked, ever. He’s also the first guy that I want to believe when he tells me I’m pretty. He’s the first guy I have ever been around that I want to strip naked and tie to a bed. I’ve never had any of that with anyone else, Faith.”

She snorted and glared at me. “Of course he thinks you’re pretty, you’re goddamn beautiful and anyone with eyes can see it. But what about before? What about when he didn’t think you were so stunning? Do you really want to be with a person that shallow? And this sudden about-face … the niceness … what if it’s all a calculated act to get you to fall for him because he does need you right now? What about when he doesn’t need to lean on you anymore, Saint? What then?”

I bit my lip because that was the heart of my fear where Nash was concerned. I knew she was just trying to protect me from more heartache, but her harsh words hit home some serious reservations I had about this thing Nash and I had growing between us. “He told me he always thought I was pretty. That I was too smart and too shy for him to think twice about, but that he always thought I was pretty.”

“Whatever, Saint. Even if he didn’t say that nasty stuff about you, he said it about someone, and that still makes him a royal asshole.”

That was what I struggled with. On the rare night I found myself at his place, that was what prevented me from staying the night, kept me from openly asking him to stay with me, and really it was what kept me from fully being able to trust him. I still didn’t feel like I knew who he really was. The Nash I was sleeping with, the one with the sad purple eyes every time he came from his dad’s house, the one who made me stretch what I thought I wanted and was comfortable with in bed, I was well on my way to falling back in love with. But there was this nagging doubt, these poking questions that jabbed under my skin, that there was still the part of him that could be hateful and cruel, and I just didn’t trust it. I had the unwavering knowledge that men, even men that I thought could do no wrong like my father, could forsake a relationship, no matter how great it was, for something they perceived as better. With that floating around in the back of my mind, I couldn’t allow myself to completely trust him, mostly because I was positive that if he disappointed me again, let me down, I would never get over it. The first time, when he was just a fantasy, had been hard enough; now that he was reality, it would kill me if he turned out to be someone I couldn’t appreciate or respect.