They were different.

Everything was different.

I wasn’t angry at Todd.

I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on with him and whatever foolhardy thing he was doing, but I guessed I understood.

After all, my father, who I loved completely, had gotten me into this. So I knew that good people made mistakes.

God knew I’d made my fair share, hurting him among one of my worst.

But I still hadn’t formulated a way to tell him that it was over. To make him understand that there was no future for us.

And more importantly, make him understand that he was playing a dangerous game.

I knew him well enough to know that he thought he was helping me.

I also knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t believe me when I told him that he was putting his life at risk.

Knew that he believed it was his responsibility to protect me despite the risks.

Didn’t want to think about what would happen if he got in the Petrosyan family’s way.

I opened my eyes and looked down at my T-shirt. It was a million years old, and I’d gotten it on my first trip to Cancun.

A trip I had taken with Todd.

I remembered that trip fondly, the sweetness of our young love, how anything had seemed possible back then.

I’d gone to Cancun with Elias, too.

It was a neutral spot to meet, neither the cartels nor the mafias wanting the attention that a gang war at a tourist trap would bring.

Hated to acknowledge it but knew that those tense days navigating the politics of organized crime had been more exhilarating—had felt more like me—than a thousand vacations with Todd ever would.

The phone buzzed again, the sound snapping the last of my patience. I snatched it up and answered angrily, “Hello!”

“Am I interrupting something, Kayla?”

At the sound of my mother’s voice, I softened, then let out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry, Ma. I’ve been getting spam calls all day,” I said.

“Oh! I hate those. You know there’s supposed to be some list you can go on to keep you from getting spammed,” she said.

“Maybe, but Mama, stop reading stuff on the internet. You’re going get scammed,” I said.

“Probably,” she said with a jovial chuckle.

“What’s going on?” I asked, feeling some lightness.

Nothing had changed, and my position certainly hadn’t improved, but a chat with my mom might be just the thing I needed.

If nothing else, she was completely untainted by the bullshit swirling around me.

And I needed the distraction.

“Nothing much. Your daddy was talking about putting something on the grill tonight. You want to come by?” she asked.

I could hear the tentativeness—and the hopefulness—in her tone, and I couldn’t stop the smile.