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I swing. My fist catches the side of his face badly enough that pain shoots through my knuckles. He staggers into the bed, catches himself on one hand and turns back with blood already brightening the corner of his mouth.

Then he punches me properly.

The room tilts. I hit the floor on one knee and grab him around the waist before he can move past me. We go down together, him landing half across my shoulder while my cheek smacks the rug hard enough to make my teeth click.

He tries to crawl over me. I catch the back of his shirt and yank. He rolls, takes a fistful of my hair and pulls hard enough that my scalp lights up.

“Motherfucker.” I swing blindly, catching his ribs instead of his face.

He folds just enough for me to get on top of him for about two seconds.

His knee comes up between us and throws me sideways into the bedframe. The edge catches my hip where Heather likes to put her hand. The thought makes me furious enough to launch myself at him again.

We hit the side of the bed together.

He gets an arm around my neck. I drive my elbow into his stomach until his grip loosens, then shove him onto his back and catch his wrist before he can hit me again.

He uses the other hand. His fist clips my cheekbone. I taste blood.

“You stupid fucking bastard,” he says, breathing hard beneath me. “She’s going to kill us here.”

I slam his wrist into the carpet. “Stop giving her a reason.”

He stares at me. Neither of us moves.

Then he bucks hard enough to throw me off.

We roll into the nightstand. The drawer flies open and spills receipts, lotion, and the charging cable across the floor. He reaches for it automatically.

I grab him by the shirt and drag him away from Heather’s things. He turns and hits me again. This one splits my lip. I hit him back.

Headlights sweep across Heather’s bedroom wall.

Oliver freezes with one hand fisted in my shirt. I hear tires grinding over the edge of the driveway, and every part of me that was busy trying to hurt him remembers what matters.

I shove him off and run.

My hip slams into the hallway. Blood from my mouth trickles to my chin. I wipe it with the back of my hand as I take the corner too fast and slam my shoulder into the office doorframe.

I drag the key out of my waistband and reach for the hook.

“What the fuck is that?” Oliver’s behind me.

I get the key onto the hook.

His eyes move from my hand to the locked closet. He goes completely still.

Outside, Heather’s car door shuts.

Oliver crosses the office slowly. He looks at the closet again, then at the little key hanging beside the door. “That opens it.”

I step between him and the closet.

He closes his eyes and breathes in. “You had that the whole time.”

The first deadbolt turns.

I wipe my mouth again. “I stopped you from doing something fucking stupid.”