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Great memories.

Dad’s still looking at me expectantly after his comment about Damiano “obviously” sleeping on the couch back at the cottage on campus.

I give him a flat smile. “Do you really want me to answer that?"

His face scrunches up. “No,” he mutters before diving back under the hood. Then he pops his head back out. “So, you two…?”

“Share a bed.”

He makes a gagging noise.

“Dude, I did warn you,” I giggle.

“Pass me the three-quarter-inch breaker bar,” Dad grunts as he buries himself back under the hood.

I frown. “What the hell do you need that for?”

“To smash myself in the head so I forget we ever had this conversation.”

I giggle as I lean against the driver’s side door.

“Oh, hey, new topic…” Dad eases out from under the hood, straightening up and stretching his tattooed arms. He wipes his hands on his dirty, ripped jeans and fixes me with a look. “I saw something on the news about some massacre that went down in a Midtown penthouse…”

I smile blankly. “Yeah?”

“Yep,” he says flatly. “Ten victims. Apparently, it was real fucking horror-show. Bodies mangled, blood everywhere. They’re saying the murder weapon was a fuckin' sledgehammer?” He folds his arms over his chest and leans against the front fender. “And you’re not gonna believe it, but somehow, they couldn’t recover a single frame of security footage.”

I smile innocently at him. "Imagine that."

“My sweet, lovely daughter wouldn't know anything about that, would she?”

I shrug. “Gee, I wish I did! I sure hope they catch the bad guys!"

He rolls his eyes. "Seems the victims were the bad guys. They all had major ties to a sex trafficking ring."

“Really.” I frown dramatically. “In that case, I hope they don't catch them."

Dad levels a look at me. “Bella..."

“May I remind you,” I grin, “that you’ve told me on several occasions that you never want the details.”

He exhales heavily and rolls his eyes again, and I spot it.

That flicker in his expression that he gets sometimes—Mom, too.

I know my parents love me more than anything. I’ve never doubted it. But sometimes, when they look at me, there's this tiny hesitation behind their eyes. Like they're standing at the edge of a terrifyingly deep chasm and looking over the edge.

I mean, I get it.

I’d be scared of me, too.

"I come bearing hydration."

I turn and grin when I see Mom picking her way across the oil-stained concrete in heels, holding three bottles of water.

Okay, Dad might be stupidly handsome as he approaches fifty. But my mom, in addition to still being gorgeous, is a fucking boss. Elsa Drakos is the whole package: beautiful, blonde, sharp as a blade, and if that weren't enough, a senior partner at Crown & Black, the biggest law firm in New York. This is why she’s wearing heals and a stunning cream Chanel skirt-suit. She just drove up here to meet us from a deposition she had back in the city earlier.

The second he sees her, Dad grins wolfishly and makes a move toward her. Mom shrieks as she jumps back from him.