“It’s not a ring,” she says. “And if it was, would you say no?”

“Say no,” Matthew says.

“Matthew Grant,” my mother says in warning.

“Mom,” he says, “don’t even.”

“It’s not a ring,” Caroline says. “God, it’s not a ring.”

“Then I’ll take it,” I say, taking the box from her and opening it. It’s a silver chain with a medallion on it.

“It’s Saint Christopher,” she says softly and steps closer to me, and I pick up the silver medallion with the saint on it and the words protect us on the bottom. “It’s not new,” she says, and she turns it over, and I read it.

Caroline & Dylan

“I love it,” I say. Taking it from me, she pulls it out of the box, and I bend for her to put it on me. I stand, and she puts her hand on it.

“Does this mean you are officially living with me?” I ask, taking her in my arms. “And you are going to work with me?”

“For you.” She raises her eyebrows.

“Same thing,” I say and kiss her, and Matthew just laughs.

“It’s not the same thing,” she says against my lips but wraps her arms around my neck while I pick her up.

That night, everything is back to normal, and the next day when we walk in together, it’s done with me not worrying about Andrew just popping up.

I don’t think I’ll see him until we are in court, and then one day when I run back to the SUV to get something, he is waiting beside it for me. I stop in my tracks, and Matthew pulls up at the same time, getting out of his car without turning it off.

“Relax,” Andrew says, holding his hands up. “I’m not here for anything.”

“Then you better get the fuck away from my brother,” Matthew says to him, and he smirks.

“What do you want, Andrew?” I ask him, standing here with my arms across my chest.

“I’m here with a proposition,” he says, and I see he’s wearing the same clothes as on Sunday.

“You have nothing that I want,” I say, and he just laughs.

“Oh, that’s where you're wrong,” he says, waving his finger. “I have Dylan.”

“The fuck?” Matthew says from beside me, and my heart starts to speed faster.

“Ten thousand.” He says the number as if he’s selling a fucking car. “You give me ten k in cash, and I’ll sign over my rights to him.”

Oh my God. “Bullshit,” I say, trying not to smash his head into the truck.

“Get the papers ready and the cash, and I’ll sign it,” he says, shrugging.

“Tomorrow,” I say, and his eyes light up. “You show up at my attorney’s office tomorrow morning, and I’ll have your cash ready for you.”

“Twenty k,” he says fast.