Houston does and I hate how he keeps bouncing his gaze over at me like he’s my friend or something. I gave up friends and I don’t need to give up any more.

“Was last week really about supply issues?”

No, it wasn’t. I check the mirrors again. No cars behind us. My stomach twists, untwists, then twists again. Paranoia comes with the territory of this job, but I’m walking a fine line. Houston was my easy sell, the rest can be questionable, and I need to chill the freak out.

A buzz with a text from my next buyer. His name is Karl and he’s a newer client. I took him on to make Ricky happy but the guy gives me the creeps. Every time I’m near him the hair on my arms stands on end and I’m bombarded by made-up images of him torturing puppies with lit cigarettes while watching porn on the internet.

I blow out an unsteady breath as I have to sell to him next. My face flushes hot and I lean my head against the colder glass of the window. I won’t allow Karl to pull away from the curb. Ricky will say something, but I don’t care. This deal will be done within screaming distance. I can do this. I can do my job.

After him will be Oscar. Oscar likes to try to “mistakenly” touch me. My thighs. My breast. He never gets far and his “mistakes” never last longer than seconds. Selling to Oscar results in hot showers that nearly cause third-degree burns, but Oscar buys more than anyone else. Oscar keeps my grandmother safe.

“Abby,” Houston pushes. “Are you okay? I’m serious, you look like shit.”

“Pull over here.”

Because Houston has played this game before, he does without argument. I put my fingers on the handle and when I crack the door open, he says, “If you’ve got problems, I’ve got ears.”

Great. Even my clients think they’re shrinks. “Next time I want smaller bills.” I ease out of the car and walk away. One deal down without dying. Too many more to go.

* * *

For the first time, I’m thankful for the ramp going up Grams’s porch. My feet and legs ache, my stomach sloshes, and my head and shoulder hurt. I weakly clutch a bag of antibiotics and wish I could take the painkillers the doctor also prescribed, but once again, I don’t possess the luxury of time—not even to heal.

It’s eleven at night. Can’t decide if I’m early or late. I haven’t seen Grams in too long. I haven’t seen a shred of myself in what feels like forever. Hearts were broken today, mine included. Deals were done. My boss and my bodyguard were happy. Somehow, I just feel terrified, exhausted, and hollow.

The large oak door whines when I open it and makes a clunking sound when I shut it behind me and lock it. Triple lock it. With the knob, the chain then the dead bolt. Not that the locks would keep out a shooter, but I’ve kept this place a secret like my father did. Hopefully, I’ll be able to keep it a secret a little while longer.

I turn and my heart leaps into my throat. A quick recognition and the sucking in of air prevents me from screaming, but the large helping of anger is encouraging me to yell anyway. Sitting on the stairs is black hair, broad shoulders, and a key dangling from a finger—my key—and he’s the last person I need to see right now...he’s the only person I want to see right now...it’s Logan.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper-shout then throw my hands in the air. “Never mind. Don’t care. Get out.”

Being Logan, he says nothing. Does nothing. He’s a wall that never changes color.

“Are you stalking me?” I bite out, then a rush of hurt runs through me. I know he wasn’t. Every day I was in the hospital, Logan came here at three and read to my grandmother and then he checked on her every night because he knew I was worried about her going to sleep, because some nights were rougher on her than others. And then he’d text me to let me know how she was.

“Heard who you left with,” he says in an even and lifeless tone. “Figured you’d be working. My bad if you didn’t want to know how she was doing.”

My cell burns in my back pocket and I think of the buzz I had received seconds before walking onto the ramp. It’s like someone reached in and is crushing my aorta. No doubt that text was from Logan. I left with Linus, knowingly setting Logan up to be hurt, and Logan still checked on my grandmother—for me.

My frame shakes and I pivot away from Logan because I don’t know what to do, what to say. The television is on low in the living room, the late news, and I follow the sound, wondering how many times the alley shooting was on last week, wondering if my name was mentioned.

I lean my shoulder on the doorway and Nate smiles when he sees me. “Welcome home, Abby.”

I nod because I’m too tired and shaken to do anything else. “She okay?”

“It’s been a rough week on her, but we made it through.” Nate’s the best night nurse on the face of the planet. Strong, friendly, a night owl by nature. The proud black man who can bench-press both me and my grandmother combined. Three times a week, he’s cracking jokes as he helps lift Grams into the shower as Nadia bathes her. “Your friend was a big help.”

Of course he was. Logan’s one of the good guys. The hero. The right. The moral. The just. Sitting on the stairs of the house full of people damned by the in-between.

“Has she been sleeping okay through the night?” My eyes automatically fall to the baby monitor next to Nate on the couch. There have been many nights that he’s sat by my grandmother’s bed because she’s become scared of the dark as she’s grown older.

“Last night was a tough one, but I think she’ll do better once she sees you again. How are you doing?”

I find the strength to wink at Nate. “That sounded an awful lot like a personal question.”

He just flashes that big white smile and laughs. “Just conversation. You look dead. Head upstairs and go to sleep for the night. Ms. Lynn won’t be happy if you look this bad in the morning.”

Nate knows Grams might not recognize me, but he’s one of those good guys that try to say things to make me feel better. Nate lives with me in the land of gray. I pay all three of my nurses under the table, in cash, all without Uncle Sam collecting his taxes.

When I turn back to the stairs, Logan’s still sitting there. He wasn’t a dream or a hallucination.

“Why are you here?” There’s no anger in my voice, just exhaustion. I hurt him today. He shouldn’t want to be anywhere near me.

Logan circles the key on his finger. “Isaiah told me everything. How you’re trying to push us all away.”

A long weary breath falls from my mouth. That I never counted on. “Seriously? Has he not seen a movie or read a book? This isn’t how things work. I need his help, he gives it, then takes the secret to the grave. I needed the manipulative misunderstanding to work. People aren’t supposed to talk to each other. Especially you two. Men aren’t supposed to have actual conversations. Get your gender roles straight.”

Logan finally breaks his stone-wall appearance as his lips tug up then go back down. “Pushing him away pissed him off.”

Stupid boys and figuring out they have stupid feelings. “Doesn’t change anything.”

“Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. You really want to talk about this right here?” His eyes roam to where Nate sits. I pay my nurses well enough that I could prance around naked with pot pasted all over me and they’d keep quiet, but I keep my business dealings a secret to protect all of us.

Short of pushing, pulling, and kicking Logan off the stairs, I can tell by the rigid set of his jaw he’s bent on talking, and let’s be honest, Logan’s massive and would win the physical push-pull contest. “Fine.”

I trudge up the stairs, walking around him, holding on to the railing. My eyes keep closing on their own volition and falling down the stairs would seriously suck. Falling down the stairs and having Logan go all hero and catch me would suck more.

The stairs creak as Logan stands and then follows. I should keep going to my room at the end of the hall and slam the door in his face, but my heart causes me to pause at the first room at the top of the stairs.

It’s Grams’s room. The front room. The one her parents and before them her grandparents shared. The one she moved into once she had my father. It has white curtains that are now slightly yellowed with time. Wallpaper with fancy designs that curls near the baseboard. Furniture that was made new with the house and is all solid wood, easily a hundred years old, and could withstand plagues, wars, and natural disasters.

Logan’s body heat warms my back and I whisper, “Did she remember you? When you visited every day, did she remember you?”

Logan shifts and the heavy pause gives me the answer. “No.”

I nod because it hurts too much to acknowledge the answer with words.

“I need to see her.” But I shouldn’t. I should wait for morning. Going in now could wake her and scare her. If her mind’s not in the right place, she could go into hysterics, crying and yelling, and break what’s left of my already shattered heart, but there’s this longing ache inside me. This need to be held, to be unconditionally loved, for someone to tell me that it’s all going to be okay. All things Grams used to do before the devil cursed her mind.