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Adam is downstairs in the kitchen, still dressed as he was last night, leaning halfway over the counter as he whispers quietly to Alessia—who is wearing a sweatshirt and soft flannel pants I’m nearly positive belong to Adam Reiner. I wonder if he gave them to her, since she didn’t want to leave me here. The tension between them at the police station seems to have dissolved.

“Good morning, Paloma,” Adam greets first, but steps backward, giving me unneeded space.

“Good morning,” I reply, quiet, eyes still searching. “Um . . . where’s Bennett?”

The question seems to jolt Adam. He grabs for his phone and checks it before blowing out a heavy breath. “He went for an early morning run, I think. That’s good—he needs a little movement and quiet time, yeah?”

Yeah. Except Bennett doesn’t really run.

“Do you want something to eat? Coffee?” Adam asks me.

“Coffee,” I say. I don’t take him up on food, thinking only of Bennett. Cooking calms him and maybe feeding me will make him feel better. Maybe it will help us both.

Adam starts on my coffee from the expensive stainless-steel machine, while I step up next to Alessia at the counter.

“What happens now?” I finally ask, chewing on my lip.

“Everything is up to you,” Adam says. The words are meant to make me more comfortable, but they have the opposite effect. “But I think most important is setting up someone for you to talk to.”

“Oh, um—”

“Paloma already has a therapist she sees,” Alessia butts in as Adam hands me a steaming, frothy latte. “And, as long as this guy isn’t lying about how good of a lawyer he is, I think we’re all set. I wish I’d gotten a hit in, though.”

The memory of Bennett’s fist hitting Ethan square in the nose makes me grin into my mug. It’s a scene I’ll be playing over again many times in my mind for sure.

Adam tries to hide a brief, amused smile toward Alessia, but I clock it.

“I’m okay,” I say, taking a quick sip that burns my tongue. “But . . . I meant more that I’m not in trouble? And Sadie is okay? I just don’t want to cause something—”

“Everything is taken care of on that end,” Adam soothes me, sending me a quick wink. “I may not be the best father, but I’m not lying—I am a good lawyer.” He says it with a slight chuckle. It makes my chest squeeze slightly because . . . I don’t think he’s a bad father. I don’t think that Bennett thinks that either.

But trying to console him without Bennett here feels wrong.

“We can wait on everything else until you’re ready and know how you want to handle it,” Alessia adds. “And you have time.”

I nod. I want to ask more questions: What happened to Ethan? What happens now? Will I have to talk to more people about this whole thing?

But before I can say anything else, the door opens and Seven leaves his place on my feet. I follow him, moving swiftly to the front door where Bennett now stands.

Only clad in an athletic shirt and shorts, he’s pink from the icy wind and cold weather. Sweat soaks his clothes and his hair. His eyes are red rimmed.

My shoulders relax, though not fully because I can feel the tension hanging in the air, careful and almost electric.

“Are you all right?” I ask, calling his attention to me.

Bennett nods, pressing a hand through his droopy honeyed brown curls. “Yeah.”

“You’ve got to be freezing.”

“I’m fine,” he says, stepping out of his shoes and standing still—not moving toward me. “Good morning, Paloma.”

My heart warms at the familiar, belated greeting. “Good morning, Bennett.”

It’s almost like he’s unsure where he wants to move, if he wants to at all. He’s frozen in the hallway, muscles tense, eyes pointed at my feet.

“Are you all right?” he finally asks, the lines of his face tight, lips pressed together.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “Hungry, though.”