Prologue

Five Years Ago…

"I'm pregnant."

Jade Jax stared at herself in the mirror—wide green eyes tinged with a hint of shock and panic. She knew if she didn't practice saying the words aloud, she'd never get them out when it was time to do it for real. So much for birth control.

Nausea rolled through her and she gritted her teeth and breathed out slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. Her face was pale and clammy, and she'd become good friends with the end stall in the ladies' room in the Department of Justice building over the past three weeks.

"Dammit." She raced into the stall and emptied what was left in her stomach. It was only vaguely annoying she'd been in there often enough to notice one of the floor tiles was cracked in the shape of the Virgin Mary. Mostly it just reminded her she needed to pray. Then maybe she could put something in her stomach without it reappearing again.

She stumbled back to the sink and splashed cold water onto her face, and then she wetted a few paper towels and let the cold trickle down the middle of her breasts. She had to pull herself together. There was less than two hours until go time. The next mission was an important one, and Max would detain her and make her stay stateside if he thought she was sick—even if it was her own husband who was the mission.

Donovan Jax had been in deep cover inside Alexander Ramos's organization for the last eighteen months. It was a dangerous job—a job she'd begged him not to take. They'd fought over it for weeks, but in the end she'd lost the battle. Donovan felt he was the right man for the job—the only person who could infiltrate the organization and pass on vital information to the DEA. And the hard part was accepting he was right. He was a good man, a good agent, and justice would always be more important than his safety. Falling in love with a hero was hell.

Their time together over the last year and a half had been sparse—stolen weekends in remote locations where they hadn't wasted time talking but instead had fallen straight into bed. When the time was added up, they'd actually been apart longer than they'd been married. It had been four weeks since she'd seen him last—four weeks since they'd made love. And made a baby.

Her hand went to her stomach protectively. Maybe this baby was a sign. She and the rest of the team were flying down to extract Donovan from Mexico. The assignment had gotten too dangerous, and Ramos was beginning to suspect some of his top men of betraying him. More than one body of his known lieutenants had been found—at least what had been left of them.

Don't think about it. He's coming home.

The DEA had enough information to begin the process of ending Ramos's reign forever. Donovan would come home, and they could be a family without threats or danger hanging over their heads at every turn. In fact, maybe it was time to turn in her badge and her weapon. The past ten years felt more like fifty, and the weight of the world was getting awfully heavy—not to mention the rifle she had to use much too frequently.

The more she thought about it, the more she knew it was the right decision. Max would throw a fit, but he could find another agent to replace her. The child growing inside of her couldn't grow up without a mother if anything happened to her.

Jade patted her face dry with a towel and slapped her cheeks for a little color. She had a mission to prepare for, and it was the most important mission of her life. Donovan was coming home.

"I'm pregnant," she said one last time to the mirror. This time she couldn't help but smile.

The DEA offices were on the fifth floor of the Department of Justice building, and she headed down the long gray corridor to her small office. They were supposed to meet at 14:30 for a briefing before the plane took off. She had just enough time to change clothes and check her weapons one final time.

Her office was a small square dominated by a metal desk. The floors were gray industrial-grade carpet and the walls were stark white. A bookshelf stood in the corner, and the shelves bowed under the weight of books—anything from nonfiction to thrillers to the romances she kept on the bottom shelf so the guys wouldn't give her a hard time. She spent more time at work than home anyway, so it made sense to have the things she enjoyed close by. A green plant flourished on the corner of her desk, and pictures sat on every free surface. It was a cramped and overflowing space, but she wouldn't trade it for anything. It was hers. And having things that belonged solely to her was something she'd learned to treasure.

Jade pulled her pack from the bottom drawer of her desk and changed into black cargo pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. She pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders, brushing it out quickly before pulling it back in a ponytail. Maybe it was time to cut it short. She wouldn't want to deal with the hassle of long hair when the baby was born.

Jade checked the magazine in her Sig and pocketed another two, but her pride and joy was in the long black case under her desk. She pulled it out and set it on top of her desk, flicking open the locks with her thumbs and pushing back the lid. The M40A3 rifle gleamed back at her—the black so smooth and polished she could see her reflection in it.

The knock on her door had her yelling out, "Enter," and she closed the lid on the case with a snap.

She knew something was wrong the moment Max stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Max was a good boss and a great agent, and she knew his responsibility weighed heavily on him. He truly cared about his agents, and he'd flip his middle finger to the bureaucrats and politicians if it meant those under his command were going to get screwed. There weren't many she'd trust to watch her back if things went to hell, but he was one of them.

But the Max she'd worked with the last few years was almost unrecognizable in the man who stood before her. His face was drawn and his eyes shadowed with grief. His hair was disheveled as if he'd been running his fingers through it, and his normally impeccable clothes were wrinkled—his tie shoved in his pocket and the collar of his shirt unbuttoned.

"What's wrong?" Her voice was foreign to her ears. Her palms slicked with sweat and her lungs felt as if they were bursting in her chest. Somewhere deep inside she knew—knew that whatever Max had to say would break her.

She wiped her palms on her pants and shook her head, coming around the desk to face him head-on.

"Jade," he said. And she knew. She knew Donovan was dead, as if someone had flicked a switch off inside of her.

"No, you're wrong." Her soul was splintering into pieces and he expected her to just believe him, without proof. "You'll see. We can leave early and go get him. We'll do the extraction and you'll see he's okay. We'll bring him home." Her voice rose higher and higher as panic took over. She was trained to never panic—to breathe deep and keep her focus. But she couldn't do it this time. She just couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Jade." Max reached out for her, but she moved back, knocking the picture frame from her desk to the floor. Glass crunched beneath her feet, and she bent down to salvage what was left of her wedding photo.

Glass sliced at her finger and blood welled instantly, but she pulled the picture from the shards and held it against her breast.

"No," she said again. "No, no, no. It's just a misunderstanding. I want to talk to our contacts in Mexico. I want someone to go in and bring him out now. If he's in danger, then we don't need to waste a minute."

Max knelt down beside her and held her trembling hands. The blood from the cut on her finger welled faster, soaking into the white cuff of his shirt.

"He's gone, Jade." His voice cracked, and he had to swallow a couple of times before he could go on. "I've spent the last three hours trying to cut through red tape and lies to get the answers I needed. Let me get this out," he said. "You know I have to say the words."

She shook her head, but it didn't stop him from speaking. "I'm sorry for your loss. Donovan Jax was killed in the line of duty."

"I said no!" she screamed. Her fist connected with the side of his face before she could control it, as if someone else had taken over her body. She scrambled away, knocking over one of the folding chairs she had against the wall. Her hip hit the corner of her desk, but the pain didn't penetrate.

"Get out, get out!" Tears clouded her vision, but she grabbed the first thing she saw—the plant in the ceramic pot—and threw it at his head. Max dodged and got to his feet, but he didn't try to stop the storm brewing inside of her. The look of sympathy on his face only made the tears fall faster. God, she never cried. Not when she'd been shuffled from one foster home to the next and not when a bullet had pierced her flesh.

The door to her office opened and worried faces peeked in.

"Get out," Max said, and they closed the door with a snap.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he was still and silent, letting her rage around him until there was nothing left inside of her but despair. Her breath heaved in and out of her lungs and she let her arms hang down at her side as a sudden weakness seemed to overtake her. Her head dropped down and a chill settled over her skin, making her shiver uncontrollably.

"I want to see him," she said, her voice breaking. "I need to see him."

"Oh, baby," Max said, coming toward her. She let him gather her close, so her head rested on his shoulder. He was grieving too. She could feel the fine tremors coursing through his body. Max and Donovan had been close—as close as most brothers. "You know I can't do that."

"Don't play games with me, Max. I don't care about the red tape or expense reports. I want his body brought back here. I need to see him."

His arms wrapped tight around her and he buried his head against her shoulder. She felt the heat of his tears against her neck, and she tightened her own hold around him, trying to comfort the both of them.

"I can't, Jade." He paused for a few seconds. "There's nothing left of him to bring home."

Something broke inside of her—an agony that started in her womb and ripped and clawed its way through her body. She would have doubled over if Max hadn't been holding her upright. Liquid rushed between her thighs and the coppery scent of blood filled the air.

She tried to scream, but the pain had taken control of her body, rendering her useless.

"Jade!" Max cried out, catching her as her knees gave out and she crumpled to the floor.

She'd lived through unspeakable tragedy in her life—the death of her parents when she was a child, the loss of friends she'd worked and served with, wounds, betrayal, and the loss of her husband—a man she'd loved with everything she'd had to give. But she'd never wanted to die before—not until she lost the only piece of Donovan she had left—the child she'd already imagined to have Donovan's wide grin and her green eyes.

Now there was nothing but blackness as the pain lessened and a cold numbness filled her body. In the back of her mind she thought she heard Max yelling something, calling her name, but she ignored it and embraced the cold. A smile touched her lips when she saw Donovan's face—one last time.

Six Months Later…

His body hurt. Everywhere.

It felt like his brain was caught in quicksand—his every thought disappearing into darkness just when he thought he finally had a good hold. He remembered being in Mexico with the team, on the search and rescue for an American hostage. And he remembered looking into the black eyes of Alexander Ramos just before Ramos pulled the trigger and hit Max in the leg as he dived to the side. The bullet had burned like fire, and he'd felt the crack of bone as the bullet lodged in his thigh. The last thing Max remembered was Ramos's arm around the hostage's throat and the gun in his hand pointed right at Max's head. He hadn't even had time to pray before everything went dark.

But, God, had there been pain. Pain that pulsed and tore inside his body and sat heavy on his chest like cinder blocks so he could only scream in his head. His arms and legs were mired in the quicksand and the pain built and burned inside him until he wondered if he was in hell.

He didn't know how long he spent there—days—weeks—eternity. But he yearned for the one person who soothed his pain like a balm. When she came, her voice cut through the fire in his head, and her touch eased the confusion and fear that crept up on him when the darkness came again. He'd latch on to her words, though he couldn't always understand her, and he'd hold out hope that he'd one day get to see her again.

It was foolish, really. Jade Jax didn't belong to him. She'd never belonged to him. But a man who'd experienced death could be nothing if not honest with himself. He'd loved her from the first moment she and Donovan had been transferred to his team, and he'd been envious of the obvious love between the two of them. He would have hated Donovan just on principle if he hadn't been such a good guy. So he'd been a friend to them both and kept his feelings to himself. It was all he could do.

And then when Donovan died, he hadn't given the job of breaking the news to Jade to someone else. To another female agent or to a doctor or the chaplain. He'd felt he'd needed to do it himself, and his need to be the one to comfort her had cost her everything. She had every right to hate him. But she kept coming back to soothe his pain just when he started to lose hope again.

Then one day the quicksand around his limbs wasn't so heavy and the fire in his head died down to a simmer. And she was there again. Only this time her words were clear.

"Don't die on me, Max," she said, rubbing soothing circles in his palm with her thumb. "You're the best partner I've ever had. Though I wouldn't admit it to Donovan if he were still alive. You know how he liked to try and protect me instead of letting me do my job."

He couldn't say he blamed Donovan for being overly protective. He'd do the same thing in Donovan's position. Warmth covered him like a blanket at the sincerity in her words. She didn't hate him. She wanted him to live. He wanted to squeeze her hand, but his hand wasn't obeying what his mind was telling it. But it was close—so close.

"You're going to miss out on the fun stuff if you stay in here too long. Atticus has big plans for all of us. There are changes coming."

Interesting. And cryptic. Did that mean Atticus had gotten the backing he'd petitioned for? Only a select few of them knew of Atticus Cameron's plan to open his own security agency and fulfill off-the-books government contracts.

Her hand brushed his hair back from his face, and he wanted to nuzzle against her, to soak in the warmth she brought everywhere she went.

"Just—just don't die on me," she said. "I don't think I could go through it again. I'm not strong enough."

She squeezed his hand and then he knew she was gone because the emptiness made him cold once more. But he didn't return to the blackness he'd been mired in. His thoughts were clear and tingles pricked at his fingers and toes.

He believed in a higher power, and if this wasn't a sign he didn't know what was. Jade was his light. The person who'd brought him back from the brink of death. And she belonged to him. It could take months or years. He didn't care. He'd wait patiently and bide his time. A gift like her wasn't meant to be rushed.

Max felt the heaviness of sleep weigh down on him, but he didn't fear it this time. It was only sleep. And just before he dropped off, he thanked God for giving him a second chance to love Jade.

Three Months Later…

"Come on, Devlin," Jade said. "Ten more reps."

"I'm going to kick your ass if you don't get out of my face," Max said. Sweat soaked his skin and his leg was on fire. He was in a pisser of a mood, but nothing he could say or do would budge Jade.

"You can certainly try," she said, grinning. "But that old guy over there looks like he could take you. You've really let yourself go. Too many Cheetos and General Hospital marathons. Eight more reps."

"I know how many more reps I have," he panted. "I can count."

He hated this. Hated that his leg felt as new and uncoordinated as a newborn's. He hated that he had to use a walker or crutches just to go anywhere. At least he was out of the godforsaken wheelchair, but he wasn't much better off. He couldn't drive or go back to work. He was useless.

"I know that look," she said, getting right into his face. "You're feeling sorry for yourself again."

Max hadn't expected Jade to dedicate herself to seeing him through rehab. They were friends—they'd always been friends—but Donovan had been the glue between them. Or that's what he'd always thought. Maybe he'd tried to keep that barrier between them because she was definitely in the "off limits" category. But loyalty meant something to Jade, and she'd picked him up from his house and driven him to rehab three days a week for the last two months, and she'd stood in front of him yelling encouragement and taunts in equal measures.

Spending so much time with her was heaven—and hell. She'd slimmed down since Donovan's death—her tall frame was lean and muscular—and she had an edge to her that looked dangerous. Her dark skin had lost its healthy glow and she'd cut off all of her beautiful dark hair, so it was short as a boy's and wisped around her face, making her cheekbones more prominent and her face more angular. And her eyes—he'd always been a sucker for those eyes. Brilliant green and a little too lost—a little too sad.

He wanted to hold her—to hug her and take care of her. She'd had much too little of that in her life growing up, and he knew that's why Donovan had been so protective of her. But she didn't need anyone to take care of her. And wouldn't welcome it.

"You're slacking on me, Devlin. If you've got time to daydream then you're not working hard enough."

He leaned forward and took her mouth in a hard kiss before she could say another word. When he pulled back, her eyes had that deer-in-the-headlights stare and her mouth had opened on a gasp.

"Good," he said, nodding. "Looks like I figured out a way to shut you up."

"Why'd you do that?" she asked. Her face paled and she took a step back, running her hand through her short hair with trembling fingers. He felt like a total cad.

"Sorry. It was self-preservation. I thought you'd prefer a kiss instead of my hands around your throat."

Her breath shuddered out with a laugh and she relaxed. "I guess I have been pushing you pretty hard. Maybe we should call it a day."

"I'll finish the stupid reps, woman. I'm not an invalid."

Jade rolled her eyes and Max gritted his teeth. He struggled through the last two reps and let the leg weights drop back to the machine with a clank. He felt a little sick and a lot exhausted. "Finished. Kiss my grits, Jax."

"It's a good thing I know you so well. Someone else might take offense."

She wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him stand and stretch a little. He squeezed her shoulder, silently apologizing for his behavior, and said, "Yeah. I guess it's a good thing. Sorry about the kiss."

"Your technique needs work, Devlin, but I guess it beats being strangled to death."

Max stopped her before she could drag him out to the car. His limbs were shaking with exhaustion and he just wanted to lie down, but he needed to get the words out. "I haven't thanked you for being here for me." What he didn't say was that she'd been there for him when even his own family had been absent over the last months.

"That's what family does, babe."

He couldn't have said it better himself. There was the family a person couldn't choose, those who shared blood and were obligated to love you because of it. And there was the family who didn't share blood but chose to love you anyway. He much preferred the latter.

Six Months Later…

"Good grief, Devlin," Jade said, clapping her hands over her eyes. "Your neighbors must love you."

It was just past eight in the morning and she'd only planned to drop off the little going-away gift and leave. She hadn't been prepared for Max to answer the door stark naked and angry as a bear. His morning beard was scruffy and glinted with hints of red in the sunlight, and his arm was thrown across his eyes. His chest was broad and ridged with muscle, his waist trim, and a light smattering of white-blond hairs trailed down his flat stomach.

She'd taken in the full sight of him before slamming her eyes closed. Not that having her eyes closed would erase what she'd seen. Her mouth went dry, and something like fear clutched in her belly. She never thought of Max as a man—well, maybe she had a little, but that was only because he'd kissed her and she remembered the heat of his lips against hers and the tingles that had awakened inside her dormant body. He was her friend and he stayed nicely tucked away in that "friend" box.

He grunted something unintelligible at her and went back into the house, leaving the door wide open. Jade followed him in, admiring the back view as only a woman could, and closed the door behind her. She'd have to be dead not to notice, and that was something that had become increasingly clear over the last few months—she wasn't dead. Shame ate at her as thoughts of her husband came to mind and she averted her gaze.

Max's house had always been a little stark, even though it was about ten times the size of her apartment. It was all white walls and neutral colors, light hardwood floors and stainless-steel appliances. A few photographs of the team sat about here and there, but he wasn't one for plants or dust-catching knickknacks other than a signed football that sat in a glass case on his mantel. Boxes were stacked and labeled, and it looked like he was all but ready for the moving company to come load his things.

"I take it the boys decided to send you out in style," she said, breaking the silence.

Max ignored her and walked into the kitchen. It was a big open space, and the only thing that divided it from the living room was the long island counter and the barstools that sat in front of it. He dunked his head into the sink, dousing himself with cold water. He'd let his hair grow longer since the accident, and when he came back up for air it dripped into his face and onto the counter.

Beads of water snaked down his naked chest, and Jade licked her lips, following the trails with her gaze until they disappeared. Her skin flushed. Her mind fought against what her body seemed to want—screamed that she wasn't ready for this—even though she told herself it wouldn't mean anything. It would be mindless sex, and just because her heart was dead didn't mean her body needed to suffer needlessly.

Max dug around blindly in the drawer next to the sink and pulled out a dish towel, drying his face and giving her a look that would have had her shaking in her skin if she'd been anyone else. She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow.

"Why the hell do you always have to be so damned chipper at the crack of dawn?" he asked. "It's an unforgivable personality trait."

"That's funny, because I've always thought the fact you can't hold your liquor better than a college freshman was pretty unforgivable."

"I'm sure that's supposed to be funny."

"Maybe you'll feel better if you put on some pants. It's probably not a good thing for every housewife on the street to know you're circumcised." Please put on some pants, she prayed. Her control was slipping by the second.

A piratical smile slashed across his face. "It's nice to see you're looking out for me, but no. I'm pretty sure nothing will make me feel better. Not even pants. Though a couple of aspirin couldn't hurt. You could always come back later—when I'm wearing pants—if I'm making you uncomfortable. Or maybe you just like what you see a little too much."

Her lips pressed in a thin line, and she felt her blood surge at the challenge. She knew he was kidding. She was used to banter. Hell, she worked with a team of men, almost all of them ex-military, and she would have left long ago if she hadn't been able to take their colorful vocabulary and trash talk. But this time the banter was too close to the truth.

Wasn't she allowed to need? Donovan was dead, dammit. And no matter how angry she was or how many times she'd gotten down on her knees and begged for his death to be a lie, he wasn't coming back. She was tired of being alone. She was tired of rolling over in a cold bed with no one there beside her. And she was tired of the constant ache inside her soul.

Her emotions warred inside her until she finally found the courage to say to hell with her brain. She wasn't dead. She wasn't dead . And Max was safe. She wasn't interested in hooking up with a stranger. It just wasn't part of her makeup to do that. But Max knew her better than anyone, and she knew him.

Max was a sexual creature by nature. He never seemed to be without female attention, and she figured with as many women who had shared his bed that he probably knew what he was doing at this point. She wanted someone who knew how to give her what her body craved and then the ability to walk away with no hard feelings later. It should've been an easy enough task because Max wasn't the type of man to get attached to any woman.

"Maybe you're right," she said.

From the look on Max's face, she could have knocked him over with a feather. Jade stalked her way around the counter and smiled when he took a few steps back.

"I guess it's nice to know it's not one sided," she purred.

"Listen, Jade—" He backed away again when she took another step closer.

"You're the one who made the challenge. I'm just calling you on it."

His jaw clamped shut and she could see the pulse pounding at the side of his neck. His eyes were hooded and the blue of his irises had darkened to the color of a lake in the evening. Jade grabbed the hem of her tank top and slowly lifted it over the top of her head.

"You're making this really difficult," he choked out.

"No." Jade took another step closer, and then another, and Max was effectively trapped with his back to the island. "I'm making this very, very easy."

Her hand reached out and she pressed her palm against his chest. His warmth seeped into her skin and she was suddenly ravenous for more. She was five foot ten in her bare feet, so there was only a few inches' difference in their height. His heart pounded beneath her hand and she leaned up to nip at his chin before fusing her mouth and body to his.

He stood still as a statue for a minute while she kissed him, while she gave him all the pent-up longing and frustration and desire she'd just started to feel again over the last months. And then he was kissing her back and she wanted to shout in triumph.

Max's brain deserted him the moment her soft lips touched his. He'd wanted this, dreamed of this for three long years, but even though his dreams seemed to be coming true, he knew this wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

But she was relentless in her pursuit. There was a hunger and desperation inside of her he wanted to soothe. A wildness built inside of him he'd never felt before. She was his mate, and his body recognized her as such, and all he wanted was to possess, to take.

Her lips parted and her tongue licked into his mouth, and the flavor of her exploded through his system. She was sweet to the taste, like sweet cream and melted sugar, and he'd never in his life experienced anything that felt as good as touching her.

"You taste so good," she moaned. "Touch me."

His hands came around her, and he pulled her against him. She groaned into his mouth and he drank in the sound. His tongue dueled with hers and he growled as her fingers threaded through his hair and tugged him closer.

"Please, please," she chanted, and he was helpless to deny her.

His knees were weak and he couldn't seem to find his balance. She was going too fast—racing too hard to the end—and he wanted to take his time now that he finally had her where he wanted her. Their rhythm was off, and he tried to pull back and shake some sense into his head.

Max knew he needed to get control of the situation because she clearly wasn't. He placed several kisses along her collarbone and then kissed his way up her neck to the lush mouth that had tempted him from the first time he'd seen her. Her top lip was fuller than the bottom and utterly bitable.

"Look at me, baby," he said. Her nails dug into his arms and it was the sweetest pain he'd ever felt.

Her eyes opened and he had to kiss her again. She was stunning. Her face was flushed and there was a glow about her he hadn't seen in much too long. The green of her eyes was vibrant, and she looked like a woman ripe for loving. But he knew her like he knew his own soul, and this wasn't how he'd dreamed of their first time together.

"Don't stop, Max," she cried. "Don't you dare stop."

"I won't be a substitute for anyone else." His breath was labored with his restraint, but he made sure he got his point across. "I've wanted you too long. And if you're coming to my bed it's because you want to be there. Because you want me ."

She shook her head in confusion and tears filled her eyes. His heart broke at the sight of her tears and all she'd had to endure, but he couldn't do this. He wouldn't do this. He'd waited too long for her to see him as a man. As something other than a friend.

"It's okay if you don't want me," she said, pushing at his chest. "But maybe you could have told me before we got to this point. Now I'll just have to find someone else."

She struggled against him harder as the tears fell, and she swiped at them viciously, but it was like a dam had broken inside of her and nothing was going to stop them from falling.

"Don't make threats, baby. We're past that now."

"It's none of your business, Max. If you don't want it, no big deal. Someone else will."

He clamped a hand on her leg to keep her from running, but she wouldn't look at him. "It is my business. I've wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, but you weren't mine to have. And I haven't waited this long to be some itch you can scratch because you're still grieving for someone else. When you come to my bed, there won't be anyone between us."

A choked sob came from deep inside of her as she struggled to get up. He released her leg and she bent down and scooped up her shirt from the floor.

"This is your fault, Max," she said, pulling the shirt over her head. She turned and headed for the door as fast as she could. "You're the one who made me feel again, and now you're not man enough to follow through with what you started. Well, to hell with you. Have a nice life in Texas."

He waited until she got to the door and jerked it open before he called out to her. She froze, but didn't turn to face him.

His body throbbed with unfulfilled desire, and his heart felt as if it had been stomped into the ground. But she didn't mean what she said. She wasn't the kind of woman to sleep with just anyone. He knew a part of her had to trust and care for him deeply for her to go as far as she had. But he wanted more. He wanted all of her and he'd meant what he said. He wasn't going to be a substitute for Donovan.

"I've made you feel again," he said. "Remember that it was me when you're alone in that cold apartment. And when you're ready to live for real, you know where to find me."

She didn't look back as she stepped out of his house and his life, and when the door closed with a quiet click, he felt the emptiness of not having her near like a fist to the solar plexus.

"Well, hell," he said. He punched the wall with enough force to leave a dent.