I loved it back there. If I was home, I was back there. I even had two space heaters back there so when it was winter, I could still be there.

So I went back there, grabbed a pack of smoky treats, a lighter, ashtray and camped out on the couch with my beer and the folders.

What seemed minutes later but I knew by how much I’d read wasn’t, Creed came out with a plate of food that smelled divine in one hand and another cold one in the other.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he muttered, handing me the plate and setting my beer on the table in front of me.

“You shouldn’t either,” I threw out my guess and his eyes caught mine.

“That’s why I know you shouldn’t do it,” he replied, confirming my guess and moving back into the house.

I looked at the ziti. It was baked. There was tons of cheese, some of it baked brown. It reeked of garlic and I knew at a glance it would be delicious.

I set the plate aside, put the file that was open on my lap on the low, rectangular table in front of me, grabbed the plate again, nabbed the fork stuck in the food, sat back and commenced eating. Upon my first bite it was confirmed. It was delicious.

Creed joined me, sitting in the wicker chair furthest from the door, putting his booted feet up to the edge of the table and his eyes to me.

He shoved a big fork full of ziti in his mouth and asked through it, “Questions?”

I didn’t have any. He was thorough. He didn’t miss a trick. This was added proof he was skilled, talented and experienced.

“You did a shit ton of work and got a month of nothing,” I told him something he already knew.

“This is why I know the ride’s gonna get bumpy,” he replied then shoved more ziti in his mouth.

I shoved more in mine, chewed and swallowed.

“So, no questions about the file, let’s get this closeness crap outta the way,” I suggested and he grinned while still chewing.

Then he invited, “Shoot.”

“Arizona?” I asked.

“Phoenix,” he answered.

I shoved more ziti in my mouth, buying time to find it so I could ask it.

Then I found it and asked it, “Married?”

“Divorced. Six years.”

Six years, divorced. His oldest child was twelve. I wondered how long he was married before the divorce. In other words, his first child was born four years after he left me so I wondered how long it took for him to replace me.

I didn’t ask this. It was clear we had to talk about our pasts, get to know each other. There was no avoiding it. But there were places we weren’t going to go.

I nodded then continued, “You work out of state often?”

“If the job feels good and the pay is right, yeah.”

“How long you been in state?”

His eyes held mine even as he shoved more ziti in his mouth, chewed and swallowed.

He was preparing me.

He didn’t have to. I was already braced.

Then he gave it to me. “Left Kentucky, went to Michigan. Moved from Michigan to South Carolina. Met Chelle there. Her parents moved to Arizona, she got pregnant, wanted to be close, we moved there.”

“Chelle?”

“Ex.”

“Right,” I muttered, leaned forward, grabbed my beer, sat back and took a swig before I looked back at him. “See your kids often?”

“Often as I can.”

“Close?”

His eyes grew sharper on my face before he answered but when he answered, with the words he said, this warning would be lost on me.

“Yeah, with both. Kara’s gettin’ to a stage, doesn’t get along with her Mom so I try to be around and if I can’t, I’m a phone call away. Something she takes advantage of so it’s good for me since I connect with her often though it sucks why she feels the need to do it. Brand’s all me, top to toe to heart to mind, all my boy.”

His casual, yet careful, words pierced through me like spears and I froze in an effort to contain the pain.

Then the pain engulfed me and I couldn’t contain it anymore.

As it swallowed me into its dark, fiery pit, I tossed my plate of ziti on the table. It went skidding across the files and flew over the other side as I drew my other arm back and brought it forward in a sidearm slice, releasing my beer so it sailed past him and shattered against the low wall under the windows at his back, foaming beer spraying in wide spatter all around.

His feet came off the table and I knew by his eyes, he knew.

He knew.

He didn’t forget.

That motherfucker knew.

“Sylvie, let me –” he started.

“You named her kids my names,” I whispered, my breaths coming heavy.

“Sylvie –”

Shit, f**k, shit.

I couldn’t take it.

We’d talked about it. We’d talked. Frequently. Talked. Dreamed. Planned. Frequently.

I told him, we had a girl, she’d be named Kara. We had a boy, we’d name him after his Dad.

Those were my names.

My f**king names!

“You named her kids my names!” I screamed then attacked.

Launching myself over the table, I hit him in the chest. His chair slammed back, taking us and his plate with it, ziti smushed between us but I did not give one, single, solitary f**k.

He named another woman’s children my names!

That f**king motherfucker!

I shot up to straddling him, my knees in the back of the chair, my arm coming back in preparation to land a blow and he shot up with me, arms coming around me, effectively taking away my target. He pulled me to him, rolled the both of us free of the chair then kicked it and I heard it slide and crash against something that stopped it.

I’d learned early and quick that my size was a major detriment to pretty much anything, especially if it was physical. I was in shape, no doubt about it, but I was small, thin and a woman so I had to aim true, be willing not to fight fair and be smart, fast, ballsy and sly.

I was so pissed, I lost sight of all that and Creed immediately gained the advantage. If I didn’t pull my shit together, his weight, height and power would have me defenseless in seconds.

But there was no way in f**k he was winning this.

No way.

No f**king way.

Therefore, I lifted my head and sank my teeth in his neck so hard, I tasted blood.

“Fuck!” he ground out, reared back and I went with him, using his momentum to take him to his back. I shot up, straddling him again and didn’t delay in pulling back an arm and landing a fisted blow to his cheekbone.

He grunted and his head shot to the side.

I didn’t get a second one in. He got his hand around my wrist and rolled me to my back, him on top of me.