Prologue

prologue

JULES

"Holy shit, have you seen how much food Leo can put away?" Ginger shook her head, her pretty copper coils swaying with the movement. "Where does it all go?"

I chuckled. "He's a growing boy. I'm pretty sure they're all born with hollow legs."

We were cleaning up the kitchen at Lupe—the Guadalupe County Group Home for Teens—and the space still rang with echoes of the laughter and shouting that'd filled it not five minutes ago. The first day of school was fast approaching, so the Lost Boys were taking the kids to the San Antonio Zoo, and Ginger had stayed behind to take a well-deserved break from her responsibilities.

That I'd stayed behind, too, had not been a coincidence.

Ginger was everything: beautiful, smart, and kind. She was a mouthwatering combination of fit and curvy, slightly taller than me, with a heart-shaped face, full eyebrows, luminous tan skin, brown eyes you could drown in, and a riot of fiery curls that brushed her shoulders. And did I mention the freckles on her nose? *sigh*

Even in her Lupe polo and cargo shorts, she was the closest thing to divinity I'd ever seen. My never-to-be-requited crush on her had devolved into masochism, it seemed, but in the face of all of that I couldn't help myself.

"I'm still a little worried about him," she admitted. "But watching him slowly— so slowly —mature into the man he will be…" She looked wistful as she scrubbed the last bits of egg from a massive pan. "I never knew it could feel this way."

I took the pan from her, shivering as her fingers brushed mine. Shaking my head to bring it out of the clouds, I rinsed the pan, then set it in the drying rack. "I hadn't really thought about that. How fulfilling it must be to see people go from scared and feeling alone in the world to knowing that they have support."

She swallowed thickly. "It really is. Never imagined I could be so lucky." She seemed to be avoiding my eyes as she started putting the dishes in the industrial dishwasher.

Ginger and I had had an immediate connection when we first met, but then she'd made a ribald joke that was insensitive to the trans community. As a trans woman, I couldn't let that stand, even if her beauty was immortal.

To her credit, when I pointed out the inappropriate language and the fact that she worked with trans kids who'd been bullied and harmed by their own families, she had immediately apologized and promised to do better.

She'd kept her promise, too, and that as much as anything drew me into her orbit. The more I learned about her, the more I wanted to know. Around the kids she was kind and accepting, if a little strict. When they came to her in pain, though, she was at her best. She knew when to listen and when to give advice, when to hug and when to step away. She was, in a word, brilliant.

With all of that in mind, I didn't think I'd ever forget the look on her face when she'd expressed disgust for the body parts I had. Even as I came to realize that this sentiment was based on her horrific experience with human trafficking—rather than any anti-trans sentiment—the image of her making the vomit gesture stayed with me.

After getting to know her, an ache had taken up residence in my chest. I'd become enchanted with her, and I had no way of breaking the spell. I was in a peculiar kind of purgatory whenever I spent time with her, knowing that we couldn't explore a romance while I fell for her bravery and warmth a little more with every encounter.

And yet… if her longing looks and hitching breaths meant anything, maybe I wasn't alone in Dante's intermediary fun house. These blink-and-you'd-miss-it microexpressions filled our interactions, making my heart zoom and crash in a matter of seconds while I fought tooth and nail to keep my voice steady.

In a previous life, I'd been a sniper in the Marines, able to slow my heart rate on command. Today Ginger brightened when I offered to help with the dishes, and the Peter Pan collar on my sleeveless minidress vibrated rapidly in time with the beat of my heart.

Ginger noisily dumped the utensils into the carrier, bringing my focus back to the here and now.

"I think you have it the wrong way around," I finally responded. "I think Lupe got lucky with you."

Ginger didn't take compliments very well, and I expected the flushed denial and nervous fluttering of her hands, as if she didn't deserve a ticker-tape parade for the things she'd accomplished with these kids.

I was gearing up to (gently) argue with her when I noticed her eyes meeting mine and not skittering away. Today I was the one who blinked, while her gaze didn't waver. Even after I shifted on my pretty ballet flats, those amber-brown depths were locked in. It was enough to make me wonder if she'd read the thoughts in my head.

"You think so?" she asked, wiping her hands dry.

"W-what?" I asked, thrown by the question.

"Do you really think that Lupe is lucky to have me?" she asked, offering me the towel.

I took it, breaking eye contact long enough to beg my brain to produce an intelligent answer. "Anyone would be happy to have you around, Ginger. You're the best."

I'd meant to say something smoother, but that was what had fallen out of my mouth. Her chest raised and lowered with a shallow inhale and long exhale, and somehow, we were standing closer than we had before, heat arcing between us as our eyes met again.

"Jules…" She bit her lower lip.

I set the towel aside. "I'm not lying. Anyone who has you in their life—in any capacity—is one of the luckiest humans on the planet."

I opened my palms to her, and something complicated crossed her face, like she was terrified and trying not to be. I waited, my heart still racing, and then she slowly, miraculously put her hands on mine. I squeezed gently, then brought her knuckles up to my lips, kissing them one by one. Water dripped in the sink as her breathing intensified. Her eyes went wide, and the vein in her neck fluttered like a hummingbird's wings.

"I really want to kiss you," I admitted on a soft breath.

She froze like a prey animal, then just as quickly recovered. "Me, too," she said, barely audible.

Those simple words sent relief scraping through my insides, and it was all I could do not to shout for joy. Instead, I cupped her face, leaning in until our lips met. Something elemental shifted inside me. She ran her hands up and down my back as we deepened the kiss, and I was done for. There was no turning back. Not for me.

Ginger let out a whimper against my searching mouth. "I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world," she blurted, wonder in her eyes. "I don't know what you see in me."

Children.

A lifetime of laughter.

Good days and bad days and everything in between.

Forever.

"What I see is beauty and heroism," I replied. "Someone who had to be rescued, but then kept reaching back to save others. I'm blown away by you."

"That's not heroic," she muttered, dipping her chin. "All I did was make them look for my friend. The ones who rescued me—Beckett, too—are the ones who got me this job."

"Don't do that," I said sternly. "Don't diminish the actions you've taken. Nobody would've blamed you for simply feeling grateful that you'd been lucky against all odds. Instead, you begged them to go after Ant. You were relentless until they found him. That tells me everything I need to know about who you are."

Her cheeks flushed, reddening her bronzed, freckled skin. "I couldn't let that man keep him like property."

"And that's why I can't get you out of my head."

My words seemed to flip a switch inside her. She spun us around, bodying me against the counter, kissing me with a renewed ferocity. Unlike my kisses, which I'd tried to keep soft, hers were hungrier, deeper, more insistent. Her hands glided up my ribs, and electricity shot through my chest and neck. I groaned, wishing I could thrust against her, relieve the pressure, but I didn't wanna push things by showing her how hard she made me.

When she tightened her grip on me, I convulsed and pulled away. "Sorry. Sorry . You are so sexy, and I'm having a… reaction."

Her eyes widened as they fell to my skirt, noting the tented fabric. I held my breath, then marveled as she squared her shoulders and met my gaze. "It's okay. I'm okay. I don't want to stop kissing you."

"You sure?" I asked, crossing my fingers.

She nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

"Then I don't want to stop kissing you, either."

This time, when our lips made contact, I didn't hold back. I slipped my tongue into her mouth and relished her taste. The smell of her shampoo. Overcome with lust, I rolled my hips, pressing my hard-on against her.

"You feel so good," I groaned between deep, searching kisses. "You're so fucking brave, and I love your body so much."

She answered by pressing up against me, and I couldn't believe we were here, finally admitting how much we wanted this.

I trailed ardent kisses up the long column of her neck, working my hardness against her hip. Who I was in bed differed greatly from the way I presented myself to others, and I didn't have it in me to hide the passion she'd stoked in my soul.

I shivered, anticipating a massive orgasm, when, suddenly, I was no longer in her arms. She was five feet away from me, and it was as if I'd been violently awakened from a trance. I gaped, uncomprehending as she curled over, shaking and sobbing.

"Wha—?" I started, but she held up her hand, silencing me.

"I'm. So. Sorry ," she managed through gasping breaths. "I'm not brave. Not even close. I can't do this."

I widened the distance between us, nearly tripping over the open dishwasher door as I moved to the other side of the machine. "I'm backing away. I'm not going to touch you. What can I do to help?"

She shook her head. There was nothing I could do as sobs racked her body. It was torture, to watch her come undone before me and be unable to do anything to comfort her. As a marine, I'd witnessed more triggering episodes than I cared to recall, but this was the worst reaction I'd ever seen.

"Can I call someone for you?"

"Beckett," she choked out. I grabbed my phone and fired off a hastily worded text. He'd planned to go to the zoo after a counseling session, and I was terrified that he might already be in transit and not see the message for a long time.

Relief flooded my chest when the three dots immediately started to bounce.

Beckett: I'll be there in 20 minutes.

Me: Thank you so much. I don't know what to do.

He responded with sound advice, and I turned to Ginger, whose sobbing had melted into brokenhearted tears. "Would you like for me to stay here and sit with you? Or would you prefer to wait alone for Beckett? He'll be here shortly."

"Please go," she said, her voice trembling. "Sorry, I just?—"

"It's fine. You're not doing anything wrong."

"Then why does it feel so wrong?" she asked, sounding devastated. "Why can't I do this with you, of all people?"

"The why doesn't matter right now. What matters is that you're upset, and I'm gonna give you some space. Can I text you later to make sure you're okay?"

She sniffled wetly and nodded. I wanted to reach out to her, squeeze her hand, do something to make her feel better. But if anyone could make her feel better today, it wasn't going to be me.

It wasn't ever going to be me.