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What the hell was going on?

"Zev?" she asked again, terrified, but also angry. What had he gotten her into?

"I\'ll explain when we get inside," he said.

She looked out the windows then and realized they were on her block. She wasn\'t sure how she felt about that. She\'d yearned for the day Zev would come to her apartment. Dreamed about it. But somehow she\'d always imagined that he wouldn\'t happen until they\'d reconnected. That out of the blue one day he would call her, or find her on social media. Something. He\'d be the one to make contact. And he\'d beg for forgiveness. He\'d offer some fully believable, forgivable offence for why he\'d left. And they\'d slowly reintroduce themselves to each other. Maybe a few phone calls? Then she\'d invite him to come see her and…

She\'d never imagined being shot at, watching a man almost die at his hands, and then listening to him swear like a sailor and bark into a burner phone like some kind of bad movie villain.

Zev had always had an edge. A sharp edge. But he\'d also always held it in check around her. His strength and confidence had been a wall between her and the world to keep her safe, not put her under threat.

But that was five years ago.

He wasn\'t a teenager anymore.

Her eyes followed the line of his very broad shoulders and measured the thickness of them, the sheer strength that rippled under his skin. Even the sleeves of those ugly overalls were taxed by his biceps, pulling tight over them every time he moved his arm.

But when she\'d known him before, his strength was a tool. Something he used to help, or protect. Now…

Now he felt like a weapon.

What had happened to him? Where had her tender warrior disappeared to in the past five years?

The image of him standing in front of her on that roof, his hand held out, and all the ways that simple gesture conjured their past—the way he\'d known it would.

And the hurt that had flashed in his eyes when she didn\'t take his hand. So different from the last time he\'d offered himself to her like that…

It was over a year after the first time. Dozens of open hands later.

They were in her room in the bright afternoon, both windows glowing with the late-summer sun.

They\'d talked about wanting each other. He hadn\'t pushed. Sasha had decided she was ready. That day her parents were gone until late and… and she loved him. And, maybe more importantly, he loved her.

But she hadn\'t told him her parents would be gone. She had wanted to give herself a chance to change her mind if it didn\'t feel right. But instead, she\'d found herself buzzing with excitement, hopping around all afternoon, waiting for him to arrive. Because he didn\'t know, and she did, and she was ready.

When he finally arrived, walking easily into their kitchen the way he always did, the afternoon sun throwing sparks off his dark hair, his handsome face softening when he found her, she\'d practically thrown herself into his chest, arms around his neck, taking the kiss deep fast.

He was surprised, but he caught up quickly, his breathing turning heavy, his arms coming around her in that gorgeous, warm, wall she adored.

"What—?" he\'d rasped a minute later as she pulled him towards the hallway and the stairs up to her room.

"Just come with me," she whispered, and kissed him again.

They\'d kissed and breathed and stroked their way through the house to her room, only pulling apart when they were at the door and she needed to turn to open it. She\'d stared at him a minute first, and he stared back, his eyes a little wider than usual.

His hands shook. And that was what made her certain. She\'d been so certain.

She took his hand then and led him inside, then came to a stop in the middle of the carpet. He walked right up behind her in that way he always did, putting himself over and around her, his fingers trailing down her sides to rest at her hips.

But she\'d stopped, suddenly, Swallowing hard.

Her little, single twin bed she\'d had since elementary school stood stark in the middle of the floor, beckoning—and taunting her with her innocence.

He\'d felt her tense and immediately given her more space. She turned to find him, chest heaving, his broad shoulders rising and falling, but his eyes… those eyes… they were always a bright, startling ice-blue, but today in this light and with they ways they\'d had their hands on each other, his eyes glowed, sparkling like ice over lights.

"It\'s okay, Sash," he\'d croaked. "I can wait." He didn\'t want to—she could see the yearning in his gaze. And the lump in his jeans. But he meant what he said. He could wait. And he would. For her.

He was so fucking perfect, he put her to shame.

She sucked in a breath and shook her head. "I know you can," she whispered. "But I can\'t."

He\'d blinked and offered his hand, then a slow, heated smile started on his beautiful lips as she stepped back into his arms. He\'d cupped her face and taken her mouth so deeply, so slowly. His trembling fingers brushing her hair back off her face, then dragging down her nape, to her spine. And she shivered.

She\'d shivered a lot that day—

"Sash?" his voice was deeper now, harder. But as she blinked back to the present, his eyes were unchanged.

The same eyes as she\'d seen that day—shadowed in the dark of her apartment building parking lot. Sharper and almost haunted, looking for the predators. But he\'d turned in his seat and when their eyes locked, his ice-blue eyes… melted.

"You\'re here," she said, like an idiot.

His throat bobbed. "I never really left."

She felt her face fall, pinching with confusion and pain. "But—"

"I\'ll explain, I promise, Sash. But we\'ve only got a few minutes. Because they think I\'m leaving you here, and I\'m not.. But as soon as we step out of this van, we\'re probably being recorded. So you need to listen to me for a minute, okay?"