Perhaps it was the girls (and Smithie) being so generous, therefore I knew the road to restoration would not be as painful as I thought.

Perhaps it was my epiphany that morning, with the various and sundry ones I’d been having the last few days.

Perhaps it was because I was in the best mood I’d been in for as long as I could remember.

But there was no mourning, just an understanding that the box was filled with nothing but what was now garbage. Understanding that Mo had carried a great many boxes of the same down to his truck.

All those little bits and bobs I’d collected over the years held no meaning to me anymore.

They were just things I’d bought along the way to make my space pretty.

And I wasn’t going to thank whoever did this for the opportunity.

But, silver lining…

It felt fitting that, where I was now, how I felt now, about a lot of things, that I had the chance to start from scratch.

“This for the heap?” Mo asked.

“Yes, Mo, thanks,” I answered.

He bent, hefted it up and looked to me. “The bed of my truck is filled. Lottie and me are takin’ it to the dump. We’ll come back and get some more of the furniture. Yeah?”

Obviously, Mo and Lottie showed as well to help.

“Yeah, Mo, thanks again,” I replied.

He jerked up his chin, disappeared, Lottie appeared in his place and it struck me again how perfect they were for each other.

She was a little thing, slender, slim-hipped, slightly above average height, lots of blonde hair, and even in a sweater and jeans and minimal makeup, she was top to toe feminine.

And Mo was tall, broad, bald and aggressively masculine.

Even in a lineup with choices, I’d pick those two to be together.

So maybe, the world just worked as it should.

Maybe, out of the crap, goodness rose up, and you just had to be aware enough of what was going on around you to see it.

I mean, they used manure to fertilize plants and flowers.

Was I right?

“We’ll swing by Fortnum’s on the way back and bring coffees. You girls in?” she asked.

“Totally,” Hattie said. “Do they do chais there?”

“Tex would disown me if I asked for a chai,” Lottie declared. “Runner-up?”

Hattie shared her runner-up and we all gave our orders (mine, it went without saying, was the Textual).

Lottie took off.

And Pepper got up from the ruins of my mattress to show me the picture of a couch she’d pulled up on her laptop.

It was orange velvet, had a slight curve and tucked upholstery at the back rest that gave it a ruched look.

It was the bomb.

I then saw the price tag, and it was also an eighth of the money they’d given me last night and I was mentally budgeting about half of that for a new sofa.

“You absolutely need this,” she declared.

How would Mag feel about an orange-velvet, curvy couch?

“Babe,” the man in my thoughts called, and I looked to the doorway. “Pots and pans proved indestructible, those are put away. Your plates and shit are mostly a wash, though a couple of cups withstood. And your vinyl was a mess, but I sorted it and most of it survived. Your Fleetwood Mac Rumours was cracked and Pearl Jam Ten was scratched, which sucks. But the rest is good, so I boxed them. We’ll haul them to my place.”

I had not noted he had a turntable, but although I was not emotionally attached to my knickknacks, I was to my vinyl, so I was down with having it in a safe place.

“Thanks, honey,” I said, then bid, “Come have a look at this couch.”

He moved into the room.

And we all watched as he did, and I had a feeling it wasn’t only me who enjoyed the show.

He looked at the laptop.

And his change of expression nearly made me choke on the effort of swallowing the bubble of laughter that surged up my throat.

He then looked at me. “Are you being serious?”

I started giggling and replied, “Not anymore.”

“Christ,” he muttered, but then cupped the back of my head, bent to kiss my forehead, let me go and sauntered out, warning, “It’s gonna be noisy ’cause I’m gonna be vacuuming.”

And he disappeared down the hall.

“I just had an orgasm because that man announced without a single hint of whining that he was going to vacuum,” Pepper decreed.

“I had an orgasm with the forehead kiss,” Hattie shared.

“I hope he doesn’t know you don’t own a pair of civvy high heels,” Ryn noted.

“Danny doesn’t care about high heels,” I told her.

She studied me a second before she looked to the hallway and murmured, “I’m rethinking putting off Boone.”

We heard the vacuum go on.

“And I’m rethinking putting off Auggie,” Pepper said, and when I looked to her, I saw she was also gazing at the hallway.

Hattie said nothing.

And I wondered if Axl could break through that shyness.

I hoped so.

Pepper closed her laptop and went to help Ryn with tidying my shoes as I folded down to the carpet beside Hattie, who was going through the pile of clothes that Ava and Lottie had set aside.

“These I think are mendable or still wearable,” Hattie said, pointing to a pile. She shifted her finger to the other pile. “These are—”

She didn’t finish because she jumped, I jumped, and the air went static because we heard the terrifyingly loud sound of glass shattering along with a gunshot over the noise of the vacuum.

Then another gunshot.

Mag!

I bounded to my feet, ready to head that way, but Hattie grabbed my hand, waylaying me, all while Ryn rushed the door.

She was closing it when she flew back as it flew open.

And there was Snag.

In my bedroom.

Pointing a gun at Ryn.

“Back the fuck off,” he growled to her.

She slowly backed away.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

A gun.

On Ryn.

And where was Mag?

He turned the gun on me.

I pushed Hattie away from me.

“You. Come. Now,” he ordered.

I didn’t hesitate a second.

I went to him.

He grabbed my upper arm in a painful grip and dragged me down the hall.

I whimpered when I saw the spray of blood on the wall in my living room, the vacuum resting on its side, still whirring, and Mag’s feet in prone position coming out from behind the remains of my couch that had been pulled from the wall in preparation of being removed from the apartment.

“Did you shoot Danny?” I asked tremulously, something snaking through my gut, so poisonous, I feared I’d throw up, at the same time the urge was so strong to pull away and go to Mag, I was struggling with beating it back.

But if I pulled away, the girls might be in (more) danger.

And if he took me away, they’d be free to call 911 to get help for Mag.

“Shut the fuck up,” Snag answered.

And then, even if I was willing, he dragged me out my front door with an excruciating yank on my arm.

“Where is it!” Snag shouted in my face.

“I don’t know!” I shouted back for the millionth time.

He then backhanded me so brutally, the chair he’d tied me to tipped over and skidded several feet.