He took his time, never deepening the kiss, holding me there with his grip, before finally pulling back. He left a trail of pecks near the corner of my mouth before letting go, laughing under his breath. "So worth hauling my ass up here for."

With that, he was gone.

The fire escape shook, the metal violently rattling as he carelessly took the steps two at a time. I opened my eyes and craned my neck to watch, leaning out the window in just enough time to see him fearlessly leap over a railing on his way back down.

I was grinning like a fool, watching the reckless boy.

God, I loved him.

"Grace."

The stern voice behind me sent me into a sudden panic. I jumped, startled, and misjudged how much room I had.

BAM.

The back of my head banged against the window, shooting sharp pain through my skull and forcing tears to my eyes. I grimaced, pulling myself back into the apartment as I grabbed my throbbing head. "Shit."

The curse slipped from my lips and hung in the air around me, squeezing all the oxygen from the room. Shit. Shit was right. My watery eyes peeked across the dark living room, coming face-to-face with my father.

He stood in the doorway to the apartment, the front door wide open with his hand still grasping the knob. He was dressed casually, as usual, but his expression was perpetually stern. His hair was light colored, sort of long around the sides. He looked a bit like a guy from the old west. He even carried a Colt revolver tucked away somewhere, except . . . you know . . . he wasn't what I'd call a cowboy.

"Uh, Dad, hey." I rubbed my scalp, damn surprised that it wasn't bleeding considering hard as I banged it. "I didn't hear you come home."

"That's because the place was wide open," he said. "What did I tell you about locking doors, Grace?"

"To always do it."

"Exactly," he said. "So why wasn't this door locked?"

I had no excuse, except that I forgot, but I knew that answer wouldn't fly with my father, so I didn't bother saying anything at all.

He stared at me skeptically as he closed the front door, making a point to lock it before addressing me again. "What are you doing over there?"

"Just, uh, sitting here," I said, looking down at myself. Yep, still kneeling on the floor. "I was hot, you know . . . it's warm in here . . . so I thought I'd get some air."

I hoped that would explain the flush on my cheeks if he noticed it, but I was a terrible liar. Always had been. I couldn't fool anybody.

His expression clouded with suspicion as he strutted across the apartment, keeping his gaze fixed on my face until he was right beside me. His eyes flickered past me then, out of the open window, studiously scanning the fire escape before drifting toward the sidewalk. I glanced out, spotting Cody right away as he jogged across the busy street to where a group of boys were gathered on the corner. One of them playfully shoved Cody as soon as he reached them before pulling him into a headlock. Cody sucker punched him, breaking free from the grip, as another boy lit something and took a drag from it before passing it over to Cody.

From up there, the glowing embers looked just like a cigarette as he inhaled deeply, but I knew it wasn't. Cody had vices, and he certainly wasn't perfect. Not even close. He smoked weed and fought and didn't listen to anybody, but there was more good to him than there was bad. I had known him for as long as I had been breathing, and in that time, I saw the heart he tried to conceal.

It was the things he did when he thought nobody was watching-generously tipping, picking up litter, trapping spiders instead of killing them-that truly made him who he was, but I sometimes thought I was the only one who saw them . . . the only one who really saw him. Everyone else saw the boy with the filthy mouth and a tongue he didn't quite know how to hold . . . the boy with the bloodshot eyes and the constant scowl. The truth is, he was soft, and sweet, and compassionate . . . he just wore armor over all of it, armor meant to shield his sensitivity.

He had no choice.

He had to do it.

As the only son of Cormac Moran, notorious leader of the largest Irish gang to ever run the streets of Manhattan, Cody had no choice but to put up walls of protection around him. In these streets, children often paid for their parent's sins, and he was no exception.

I watched as Cody blew a puff of smoke, releasing it from his lungs, before passing the joint on to another guy. The group started to leave, to walk away, but Cody hesitated on the corner and glanced back my direction. He didn't acknowledge me-I didn't know if he could really even see up there-but I could feel his gaze burn through me, anyway.

My father reached over then, not even pretending to be delicate as he slammed the window shut. He turned the squeaky old lock on top, securing it. "He's too old for you, Grace."

"He's only eighteen."

"And you're sixteen."

"And a half," I clarified. "Sixteen and a half."

"Ah, yes, and a half."

His voice was borderline mocking as he stood there, staring down at me. His suspicious eyes had an edge to them as he clenched his jaw, like he was fighting the urge to say something more.

Something we both knew I wouldn't agree with.

Saying anything else about Cody was a waste of breath.

"Get some sleep, Grace," he decided on before turning to walk away. "Get a fan if you're hot, but don't open that window. It's not safe."

Twenty minutes pass-maybe less, maybe more-but it feels like an eternity, my entire body soaked with sweat, every inch of my fair skin tinged pink from the scorching sunshine, before a tow truck comes roaring down the highway. It pulls right up to my defunct car, the engine rumbling as the driver jumps out and ambles toward me. He's a big guy, about as round as he is tall, wearing coveralls and a tattered baseball cap. His beady eyes zero in on me like the scope of a sniper's rifle. I can practically see the red dot bouncing around my breasts. Creep.

I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him, but I say nothing about his ogling. I wonder what he'd think if he knew the real me, if he'd be gawking at me like that if he knew the truth. If he knew I wasn't this shy girl without a voice. If he knew I'd been raised in a world where we didn't take shit from anybody.

"So I got a call about-"

I don't let him finish, don't pay his words any attention as I turn away, reaching into the car to grab what I need to salvage before slamming the door and brushing past him. I don't wait for an invitation, walking right over to his truck and climbing into the passenger seat, waiting in silence for him to do whatever it is he does.

He shrugs off my dismissiveness, grumbling something about a 'stuck up little bitch' as he sets to work. A year ago those words would've bothered me, but now?

Maybe that's just who this girl is.

He gets my car hooked up to tow it and climbs in beside me, saying nothing else as he pulls out onto the highway. He must've already been given all of the information because he doesn't ask me for an address, doesn't inquire about where he's supposed to take me. The man drives through quiet Snowflake, heading right down Main Street, passing only a handful of cars along the way. Although it's just the beginning of December, the town has been decorated for Christmas for weeks, big red bows affixed to all of the streetlights, lights on most of the businesses.

It's about a ten-mile drive to the little corner of nowhere where I live, isolated even in isolation, the small two bedroom house surrounded by abandoned, useless acres of desert land. The driver pulls right up to the house and turns to me, addressing me for the second time during this excursion.

"Your fella already paid," he grumbles. "Used a credit card when he called about you, so we're all squared away."

I nod, glad that my sunglasses conceal my eyes when I roll them at the word 'fella'. It certainly wasn't my fella that called, but I don't correct him. It's probably better if he just thinks that, anyway. Getting out of the tow truck, I head for the house, leaving the man alone out in the front yard with my car, not telling him what to do with it.

He can have the piece of shit for all I care.

The house is expectedly quiet, and empty, but what I don't anticipate is for it to be so goddamn stifling. The air is hot and hazy, at least a few degrees hotter than outside, even without the sun's rays shining on the place.

Groaning, I toss my things down on the splintered wooden coffee table before heading for the controls for the central air. I press buttons, turning the thing off and back on again, dropping the temperature down a few degrees, hoping it'll kick on, but nothing happens.

"Great," I grumble. "Just what I need today."

Giving up, I open every window I can manage to pry open and start striping, leaving a trail of clothes from the living room to the only bathroom in the house. I turn the water on cold, starting the spray for the shower, and climb beneath it, leaning against the tile and just letting the coldness soothe my skin.

When I get out, the sun is starting to set outside. The tow truck is gone, my car parked right near the front door of the house. I throw on another pair of shorts and a tank top, twisting my wet hair up into my signature messy bun, not bothering to even brush it. I stop by the kitchen and search through the mostly empty refrigerator, finding little more than a six-pack of Guinness and some questionable leftovers.

I grab the beer.

It's too hot to eat anything, anyway.

I haven't had an appetite in days.

Plopping down on the old, threadbare couch in the living room, I kick my feet up on the coffee table and drink-one after another, until my body is tingly and my mind is fuzzy and I give up on pretending to be this miserable girl for the time being.

"The sausage is bangin'."

I was taking a sip of fresh hot coffee when Cody slipped right into the booth across from me. No hello, no nice to see you, no other greeting . . . nothing except for those words.

The sausage is bangin'.

"The sausage," I repeated, "is bangin'?"

He reached over and grabbed the fork from in front of me, stabbing a sausage link from my plate to take a bite of it. Chewing, he nodded, making a point to swallow before he said, "definitely bangin'."

Shaking my head, I took another sip from my cup. "Nice to know."

"You want a bite?" he asked, waving the fork toward me as he raised his eyebrows.

"No, thanks."

"Come on," he said. "You don't want my sausage?"

"Technically, it's my sausage," I pointed out. "And no, I'll pass on . . . you know . . ."

"My sausage," he said again, deliberately, as he stared across the table at me. Blush warmed my cheeks at the blatant innuendo. After a moment, his lips started to curve with a smile. It was barely there, but I saw it, the sight only making my blush run rampant. Stupid boy and his stupid disarming smiles. He let out a little laugh at my reaction. "You're missing out, you know. It's bangin'."

Rolling my eyes, I focused on my drink, taking small sips as I watched him take another bite. He had no qualms reaching over eventually and just grabbing my whole plate, pulling it to him to finish what I didn't eat. That would probably annoy some people, maybe most people, but not me.

I found it amusing.

It was nice to see him act like a typical, obnoxious teenage boy sometimes.

I knew he wouldn't have hijacked my breakfast if he thought I was still hungry.

It was early in the morning on a Sunday. We hadn't planned to meet here, we never really did, but he always seemed to know where to find me. He always seemed to know when I was feeling lonely, when I could use his company. I never had to tell him.

He just knew.

I woke up that morning to an empty apartment. Nothing new in my life. My father was usually gone all hours of the night and most weekends, off doing God knows what God knows where with God knows who, leaving me to fend for myself. He left plenty of money, sure, but money couldn't buy everything. It didn't give me time or attention, love or affection. Money bought me breakfast there at the diner on the corner, but it was always this boy who supplied the rest of it.

Cody devoured what was left of the food, which was quite a bit. I wasn't really hungry to begin with. He ate it like he hadn't eaten in a week, which was absurd, because he was a spoiled little twit when it came down to it. Anytime he was hungry, all he had to do was say the word and his mother would make him a four-course meal.

"So I'm guessing the old man didn't come home again."

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Yeah, Cormac decided not to grace us with his presence at breakfast this morning, either."

It always threw me off, even after years of hearing it, when he called his father by his first name. I regarded him curiously as I considered that, his actual words not sinking in for a moment. "Wait . . . breakfast? Does that mean you've already eaten this morning?"

"Of course."

Reaching over, I snatched my plate back away, my expression making him laugh. In turn, he stole the cup from my hand and brought it to his lips, taking a drink. Grimacing, he quickly set it back down and shoved it toward me. "I don't know how the hell you stomach that shit, Gracie."

Shrugging, I picked it right back up. "It's good."

"Coffee's only good when it's got Bailey's in it," he said, pointing the fork at me. "Add a little Irish Cream and we're in business."

"I'm not old enough for alcohol."

"Not old enough for coffee, either, if you ask me," he countered, "but that doesn't stop you from drinking it."

"There's no law against drinking coffee at my age."

He lounged in the booth, draping his arm over the back of it as he raised his eyebrows. "Bucking family tradition and being a law-abiding citizen, are we?"

If I hadn't loved my coffee so much, I'd have thrown the cup right at him. But being as I did love it, I merely took another drink. He liked to tease me. I liked to act annoyed, but we both knew I got a thrill out of it. I never saw his playful side with anybody except me. I brought it out of him.

"More like my father would have my ass if he caught me drinking."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Conner always was a hypocritical bastard."

I didn't bother jumping to my father's defense when Cody said that. I didn't even get offended. If anything, I agreed with him. My father was never the practice what you preach type. He was always more the do as I say and not as I do kind of guy. Double standards were a way of life living under his roof.

A year and a half, I told myself. Eighteen more months until I was an adult, and then he couldn't stop me from living the way I wanted.

Cody and I sat in silence after that. It wasn't uncomfortable, not in the least, and I certainly didn't feel lonely anymore with him across from me. We always seemed to have that sort of connection-even as little kids, before hormones made everything tricky-where just being in the same place, at the same time, comforted us. We wouldn't even have to speak, or touch. Just breathing the same air did the trick.

I sipped my coffee, finishing what was left of it, and watched Cody as he stared out the diner window. I wondered what he was thinking about, but I didn't ask. I knew he would tell me if he wanted to talk about whatever was on his mind.

The waitress brought my check, slipping it on the table. Before I could even reach for it, it was already in Cody's hand. He pulled some cash from his pocket, dropping a fifty-dollar bill beside my plate. I'd eaten here so much I knew my breakfast cost just shy of eleven bucks.

I followed him out of the diner. The moment we stepped out onto the sidewalk, Cody slipped his hand into mine. As we strolled down the block, his thumb gently stroked my skin, the movement so subtle I could barely feel it.

My apartment was across the street, only a few buildings away. It was barely a minute walk. Cody paused outside of my building and looked up at it, squinting from the sun, before he looked back at me. Silence surrounded us for another minute as we just stood there, holding hands. Even after knowing him for so many years, Cody had never been inside my apartment. He wasn't allowed. One of my father's many rules, but it had nothing to do with what he was packing in his pants.

I just wasn't allowed company. Ever.

No birthday parties, no sleepovers, no visiting friends.