The days following Danielle's arrest passed in a blur. Val and I were brought into the police station to give our statements, along with a stern warning against breaking and entering. After they told me everything Danielle was spewing against us - me in particular - I made the decision to hand over my phone to the police so they could see a history of her threats against me. I hated knowing that I was putting my family at risk, but it was time for the nightmare to be over.

It took less than three hours for the news to break on social media. All of the major magazines picked up the stories, and pictures of Danielle were splashed on the cover of every gossip magazine in the country by the next day. Although the police hadn't released many details yet, rumors were flying about how Danielle blackmailed me into breaking up with Andrew along with speculation about several of his past girlfriends. Official 'sources' claimed that she had a history of mental illness, and one of the magazines even interviewed someone claiming she was Danielle's best friend from high school. The girl rambled on and on about how she was always a bitch, had extreme jealousy issues, and even tried to convince that girl's boyfriend to cheat on her.

Even though I seriously disliked Danielle, especially after all she did to ruin my life over the last six months, I couldn't help but pity her. She was obviously troubled enough to go to such extreme measures to snag a guy, especially since she was willing to pull a gun on me and Val, and now there were people capitalizing on her misfortune for their own fifteen minutes of fame.

Karma's a bitch like that.

After putting it off, I finally called my dad for the first time since I moved to New York. He cried when he heard my voice, something that shocked me to the core since I rarely saw him cry whilst growing up, and I broke down in tears as well. Blubbering like an idiot, I told him everything that had happened over the last six months. I told him about Andrew (which he knew about, thanks to my sister), Danielle, her threats - everything. By the end of my confession, I apologized over and over for failing him and my family.

He shushed me, calling me his mija preciosa, and told me that he was proud of me.

"What?" I asked him, utterly confused.

My dad chuckled, "You are so strong, amorcita. Your mother would be so proud of the woman you have become."

"Papá, what if you get hurt?" I replied frantically. "What about Frank? It's all my fault. If I had never moved to New York--"

"Then you would never have found your joy again, mi cielo," he crooned. "You took on such a burden for your family, Caity. You didn't need to do that for us! We will be fine, no matter what."

I sighed as I ran a hand through my hair. Guilt ate away at me, and I was a walking ball of stress ever since Danielle's arrest. I felt like it was only a matter of time until the rest of my family was ripped away from me, just like my mother had been, only this time I could've done something to stop it.

"Mija," my dad's voice crackling through the phone snapped me out of my thoughts. "Someone else stepped forward. Frank's behind bars - permanently - and I was able to confess to the police."

"What?" I breathed in disbelief. "What if he does something? What if he has friends on the outside? You need to be careful, papá. Gabriel needs you. I need you."

I could practically hear him rolling his eyes through the phone, his typical response to my anxious rambling. I got it from my mother, he always said, and he would pretend to be annoyed by it every single time. Eventually, I realized that he loved her even more because of her worrying, because it meant that she cared.

"The police have offered me a deal," he told me. "They're dropping charges against me and putting us into witness protection in exchange for my testimony. It--"

"Wait, what?" I interrupted him. "So, this will all be over? You'll be okay?"

He laughed, "Yes, mija. See? All is not lost."

"What abou--"

My dad laughed, interrupting me, "It's okay, mi amor. You can even talk to the agents on our case, if you'd like."

I blinked back tears, letting his words sink in as the rest of the conversation passed in a blur. My family - although at risk - might be okay after all. Frank was in prison, and he would stay there for a very, very long time. As long as my family is safe, nothing else mattered. My dad would be able to atone for what he did without risking his life, and one less criminal would be on the streets of Texas.

I could only hope that everything else would work out like this in the end.

"Have you talked to Andrew?" Val asked, munching on a bag of M&Ms.

Ever since the 'incident,' as we've taken to calling it, she's been nervously munching on chocolate twenty-four seven. She claims it's because she realized that life is short so why worry about calories, but I think it helps with her anxiety. I'd rather have her turning to chocolate than alcohol, however, and I definitely don't have any room to talk.

"Nope," I said, holding out my hand for more of the multi-colored candies. "I've texted him, called him - I even sent him a message on Instagram."

She frowned, "Has he posted recently?"

"Nothing," I shook my head. "I even checked out all of the magazine articles about the incident, but no one connected to him has said a single thing. I think Jazmin is keeping a tight lid on it."

"That girl has a gift," Val said before tossing back a red M&M.

I agreed. She was a wonderful publicist, and she clearly had Andrew's best interests at heart, but it wasn't exactly the best thing for me. Now that Danielle was behind bars, and my lawyer insisted that she would stay there, it meant that I could actually talk to Andrew again without fear of repercussion.

It wasn't like I thought we could go back to where we were. A lot had happened in the past six months, and - like it or not - I helped a psychopath worm her way into his bed.

Maybe literally.

I couldn't forgive myself for doing that, even if I had been forced, so I couldn't blame Andrew for being angry with me.

I just wanted the chance to talk to him.

I wanted to explain everything that had happened, to tell him that I did care about him - that I never wanted to hurt him - but that family came first. The conversation was one I didn't particularly want to have, if I was honest, but I felt like I couldn't breathe until I had the chance to apologize to him.

"Try again?" Val suggested, nodding at my phone.

Sighing, I picked it up and tapped the home button. Zero new notifications, zero text messages, zero anything. Exactly as I left it the last time I checked it.

Which was two minutes ago.

"I don't know," I hesitated. "I want to talk to him, but...maybe he needs space, you know? What if he really cared about her?"

"He didn't," Val said quickly. "Trust me."

I frowned at her, "You can't know that."

"I can," she shrugged. "He texted you every single day, Cait. Every day. That doesn't scream 'I love my girlfriend' to me."

"Then why did he date her?" I asked.

She sighed, "You'll have to ask him that."

He didn't answer.

After two weeks, I still hadn't heard from him. Val joined me in my quest to reach out to him, although she swore to stay out of it, and we started scouring the internet for information about his whereabouts.

Unfortunately, however, we came up empty.

I tried searching Twitter for mentions of his name, but that turned out to be a massive waste of time. Have you ever searched for a celebrity's name? There was someone tweeting about him almost every single minute. Literally. I scrolled through pages and pages of tweets, even trying to narrow it down to "saw Lincoln Shepherd" or "met Lincoln Shepherd," but the only thing I could find were fans gushing about the last time they saw or met him at Comic-Con.

Val checked the tabloids and TMZ, but there weren't any paparazzi photos of him popping up online either. If he was in New York, Jazmin had certainly done an amazing job at masking his presence, but I was starting to think he had left the city.

Disheartened, I slowed my messages down to one voicemail per day. My heart would slam against my ribcage as I listened to the phone ring, holding my breath during every interlude of silence in case it might be ended by his voice instead of another ring, only to have my heart sink to the floor at the sound of the automated message service.

Over and over, I left different variations of the same message.

"Hi Andrew, it's me. I mean, it's Cait. Again, um..." I rambled. "I'm sorry. I really want to see you, or just to talk to you. I'm, uh...I'm so sorry. Please, just...please call me. Text me. Please." Sighing, I shook my head. "I'll talk to you later. I hope."

Picking up my phone, I went to my recent calls and stared at the screen. His name was at the top of list, next to the number 19. Nineteen calls unanswered. Countless texts and messages sent.

I wanted to quit, but I couldn't. He deserved more than that, and - while I firmly believed that he deserved more than me - I refused to give up on him.

My thumb tapped his name, initiating the call, and I hesitated a moment before lifting the phone to my ear. One more call. One more day. Even if I had to make that number hit one hundred, I needed to keep trying.

When I finally lifted the phone, my heart shattered at the sound. Tears lodged themselves in my throat as I stared blankly at the room, completely oblivious to everything around me, as the phone slipped from my fingertips and crashed onto the floor.

"We're sorry," I heard blaring through the phone. "You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again."

Sorry for the delay! After flying out of Seattle at 8PM on Monday night, we landed on Tuesday morning at 6AM - then I had to work 8 hours (originally thinking I was going to do a half day) - so I was way too drained to write. 

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