“Nic, you look like you’re gonna puke.”

She grimaced at Cash. “You have no idea.”

“Put your head between your knees. Take a breath, and it’ll be okay.”

Easier said than done. Still, Nicola followed his directions, flipping her head down and pressing it between her kneecaps. Maybe she could squeeze away the headache that had tortured her for the past few days.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Sort of.

“Okay, I’m good,” she lied.

He threw an I-don’t-buy-that-for-a-second grin, then took her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Let’s do this. Move your cute ass.”

They opened their car doors and jumped out of Cash’s new jacked-up, black Rubicon. She liked it. It fit his personality. He said it’d do in a pinch, whatever that meant. The tires practically came up to her hip bone, and she stared at the front one until he came around the hood and took her hand in his again.

Roman’s truck was parked at the top of the driveway. So he was here first. Good. If they were angry at her, he may have calmed them down. How would I feel if my daughter walked away for ten years? Anger might be tops on that list, but when she’d talked to them on the phone, they were anything but angry. More like better than thrilled. Happier than elated. So why the butterflies?

Each step toward the imposing front door felt heavier than the last. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to practice that whole inhale, exhale thing, maybe sit on the front stoop, trying to re-master that skill set. But her parents were expecting her. Hell, they’d expected her since she called home to explain she’d been swept into witness protection then the CIA.

And here she was, on the front steps, unsure.

The red door swung open. Her beaming mom—with teary eyes and a smile spread wide across her face—had her arms outstretched. Dad stood close behind. He was still huge and commanding, with warmth plastered on his face that made Nicola cringe in an emotional ache.

Nicola’s feet stopped moving. Her legs were made of cinderblocks, her arms cemented in place. The only things she could feel were pain and shame and… Cash’s hand. She couldn’t focus. Somehow Cash moved them toward her parents, and they took over.

Hugs and kisses. Words, certainly, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of them because of the fierce sobs racking her body.

“I’m so sorry.” She repeated it over and over, feeling less like a woman in her thirties and more like a child.

Wrapped in warm arms, one of them smoothing her hair, another holding her tightly, the pain began to ebb. There was shushing and murmuring. But the only thought she had was how strong their love was. Their forgiveness, too.

She wasn’t worthy.

But everything they did communicated that was exactly what she was. Worthy.