Eventually, no matter the dream, you always woke up.

FIVE

I'd been in my cell for less than a day, staring at the fucking wall when yet another correctional officer rapped on the bars of my cell with his night stick. "Let's go, let's go!" he shouted impatiently.

"What's with you guys and that shit?" I asked, rubbing my temples. Jail had seeped into my head and started giving me a migraine.

He ignored me. "Let's go, inmate." He unlocked my cell and produced a pair of handcuffs. "Turn around. You have a visitor."

The guard scuffed me, shoving me into a large bright room filled with circular tables. He left me at the door, and I was left to find my visitor on my own.

Inmates, decked out in the same orange prison attire I was sporting, sat next to or across from visitors and people who were very obviously lawyers. At a table in the far corner a woman sat crying, holding the hand of an inmate with a spider web tattoo on the back of his neck while an excited toddler with dark curls ran around the table screaming like he was in Disney instead of a prison. A couple at another table argued, the woman pointing at the man accusingly with a long curved fingernail, the inmate she was visiting appeared disinterested in whatever she was chastising him for.

I knew where Bee would be before I spotted her. I shifted between the tables and made my way to a quiet corner in the back of the room, the one most shadowed by the trees outside the high window. Bee was perched on one of the round stools attached to the table, her back against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest, chewing on her thumbnail, staring out into space.

Bee was always a little awkward when she was uncomfortable, in an adorable, didn't know what to do with her hands, kind of way.

It wasn't what she was doing that surprised me.

It was what she was wearing.

A fucking black hoodie.

Zipped all the way up to her fucking throat.

Just looking at her wearing that thing brought up fond memories of when we first met, and broke my fucking heart at the same time.

She was retreating internally, and I was already forming an idea on how to pull her back out.

I just had to get out of that shit-hole prison first.

Bee's red hair was well past her shoulder blades on the way to her waist, and unlike Georgia's adorable yet unruly curls, Bee's hair was naturally stick straight. She still didn't wear any makeup, her insanely big blue eyes and spattering of freckles were more than enough to dress up her already perfect pale skin and naturally full pink lips.

A year had passed so quickly, just a tiny blip on the radar of the length of time I really wanted to spend with Bee and Georgia. We were just getting started on the forever I'd promised them.

I couldn't lose it all now.

I couldn't lose her.

Ever.

Bee deserved better than me, but I was drawn to her innocence, and she was drawn to my darkness. Together, we made a whole lot of no sense, and it was just the way I liked it.

Lightning striking is too cliché for the moment Abby Ford appeared out of nowhere and literally fell into my life. It felt more like she had me on my knees with a knife to my throat and had me begging for my life, but a new kind of life. One with her in it.

A life worth living.

A person worth living for.

Every day I spend with Bee is another day she breaks my fucking heart and repairs it all over again. Being with her makes the tiny hairs on my arm stand on end and my heart drop into my stomach every time she enters the fucking room.

I LOVED her. I was OBSESSED with her.

If anyone tried to tell me a story that involved love at first sight, I would shake my head and call it a bunch of horseshit. Love in general was a sketchy concept. Instant love was just fucking ridiculous.

Until her.

The only thing with a stronger pull than the monstrous need to take the life of another was the pull of Abigail Ford.

She didn't show me that I was capable of love. She was the one who made me capable of love.

Of loving her.

Of loving Georgia.

The need for Abby was stronger than my need for anything else.

I loved her.

I still love her.

I will always fucking love her.

"Hey," She said. "You okay?"

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Am I okay?" There I was worried about her and Georgia and how I was going to protect them from inside a jail cell, and my girl, who was free to be out in the world, was asking me, her 6'1" deranged husband with a penchant for dancing with the devil, if I was okay.

"Yes," she said, answering my question, but not reacting to my outburst. Normally, Bee would have crossed her arms over her chest and asked me what the fuck I thought was so fucking funny.