“But they still haunt you.” I nod once. “They do.” It was the first time I was confronted with the possibility of failure. And that feeling has never quite let me go from its clutches. It’s the feeling that imprints on me like a bad tattoo each and every time I invade a ring. Her hand drops to the side, dangling loosely as she stares at me. I stare back, each of us trying to read the other. Figure out what the other is thinking. Feeling. “One last question,” she barters. “Ask me as many as you want.” “The roses. Why the roses?” I smile. I was waiting for her to ask me about those. “My mother. Her favorite flowers were roses. She always had them all over the house with the thorns clipped so I wouldn’t hurt myself. One year, I told her that I would be sad when she died because all the roses would die with her. So, she gave me a plastic rose and said that as long as I have that rose, she would never be truly gone.” I shrug. “I guess I wanted to see roses all over your house, too. Maybe because you feel like home.” She inhales sharply, seemingly taken aback by my words. Those beautiful eyes are fixated on mine, both shock and raw hunger reflecting in her caramel pools. Licking her lips, she admits softly, “It’s going to take me some time to fully accept some things, Zade. I can’t tell you how long it’ll take me, but I can tell you that I will try. But what I can definitively accept is you saving the children and girls.” Her lip wobbles. Before I can reach down and snatch it between my teeth, she sucks it between her own. After a few seconds, she continues. “I admire you more than I can say for being one of far too few people willing actually to do something to save them. The world needs more people like you, Zade.” “Maybe,” I murmur, giving in and placing a soft kiss on the corner of her lips. “But all I need is you.” Her eyes close, and she nods to herself. I don’t know what conclusion she comes to in that pretty little head of hers, but when she opens her eyes and gazes up at me, it looks a little like she needs me, too. My hand slides into her hair, and just as I’m closing the distance, a voice filters in through Addie’s bedroom door. “Who's ready for a murder inves—” the loud voice trails off, replaced by a loud gasp. Mine and Addie's heads both turn at the same time. Standing in her bedroom staring at us with a mixture of disbelief and anger is Addie's best friend.