Dad's out of town so today it's my job to pick Seth up from his new therapist's office after my dance rehearsal. When I pull into the parking lot of the small brick building, I see Seth sitting on the curb. When he looks up I realize his eyes are puffy and red from crying.

Thoughts of the past seize me and fill me with panic. Why is he crying? What happened? Did that bitch hurt him? Or was it the other way around; did he hurt his therapist in a fit of rage?

"Seth, what's wrong?" I ask breathlessly.

"What do you mean?" he asks. He slides into the passenger's seat like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"You..." I take a deep breath. "You were crying."

Seth absently touches his cheek, as if realizing this for the first time. He laughs.

"What's funny?" I demand.

Seth stops and shakes his head. "Rory, don't you know what happens in therapy?"

"No! Why-"

"Because we talk about it," he says flatly.

"Oh."

I am an idiot, a Grade A Idiot. Seth isn't crying because something is wrong. He's crying because he's healing. The moment humbles me.

"I'm sorry," I say.

Seth shrugs. He's still grinning. "It's okay, Rory."

"So you like Dr. Thomas?"

"I like her. She's cool."

Dr. Thomas is not someone I would describe as "cool." She's about sixty, short and dumpy with long gray hair and cat fur on her clothes. Seth flatly told me "she smells like cat piss" after his first session. But if she's gotten Seth to open up about his pain, she is indeed very cool in my book.

"So what do you guys do?" I ask.

"She just asks me things, and we talk."

"What things?"

"We talk about what happened to me," he mumbles.

"Is that hard?"

"It was at first, but it's easier now. She said she knows a lot of guys who had this happen to them, and it's okay. Like, I'm not a freak."

"Of course you're not!"

"Well, I felt like one. That's why I tried to die, and I didn't know that, but she helped me figure it out," he says.

I'm in shock that he's being so honest with me and so introspective about himself. He's only been seeing Dr. Thomas for six weeks.

"I'm really proud of you," I say sincerely.

"It's hard to talk about sometimes..." he says softly, staring out the window. "Because it makes me remember, and sometimes I remember things I forgot."

Austin has told me about this. It's called memory repression. It occurs when something so bad happens to you, your mind can't handle it and buries it deep in your subconscious. It's a survival technique to keep you from breaking. I'm not surprised it's happened to Seth after what he suffered.

Sometimes I wish I could do the same thing with the memory of the police chase or watching Austin get shot, but my brain remembers those things in crystal clear HD, the movies replaying over and over even when I sleep. I don't mention it. Austin, Seth and Pixie are the ones who need help right now. They have been through circles of hell I cannot even imagine, and my pain seems laughable beside theirs, a mere sugar ant standing next to Godzilla.

"I love this song!" Seth exclaims, reaching forward to turn up the volume on the radio.

It's Nirvana. I'm happy Seth's taste in music is no longer limited to whoever has the most rage.

A text on my phone interrupts the song and once we stop at a light (I'm all about safety first after that police chase), I glance at my phone and see a text from Austin:

"Found perfect place. Can u meet me?"

Below the text is an address.

"You wanna check out an apartment real quick?" I ask Seth.

"Okay," Seth says. "If you buy me dinner. Chipotle."

"Let's make a financial compromise. I'll do Taco Bell," I counter.

"McDonalds. Taco Bell gives me the shits," he says.

I laugh. "Deal."

I put the address into my GPS and follow it to the apartment complex, then make my way to the particular building where Austin is waiting. He grins as I park the car in front of him. I hurry to undo my seatbelt so I can jump out and throw my arms around his neck.

The one constant in our lives is that Austin and I never have enough time alone together. Ever. It's always something: school for him, dance for me, work for both of us, taking care of Pixie or Seth, Blanca or Dad home, and on and on and on. We haven't had sex since that time in the motel, months ago. Sometimes we find ourselves with a few minutes alone and we make out like crazy, getting each other all worked up before we're forced apart, again. I am, in a word, desperate to have our own place... our own bedroom... with a door that locks.

"I got the key from the lady in the office, so we can go up when you're ready," Austin says.

"It's nice," I say, but I'm not that impressed.

So far it's a run of the mill apartment complex off a busy road with a shopping mall across the street. Convenient, I suppose. But there is little in the pale yellow siding and cookie-cutter units to convince me of whatever Austin sees in the place.

"It's different on the inside," Austin says.

It better be a lot different, I think.

I follow him up to the third floor. Okay, third floor is a plus. We agreed we don't want any neighbors overhead. Maybe it'll be nice inside. I'm feeling more optimistic as Austin unlocks the door.

We step into the apartment, and the first thing I notice is that it's fully furnished.

"Have they not even moved out?" I ask.

"Nobody lives here," Austin says, looking at me meaningfully as if I'm missing something.

I'm pleased to see that the apartment is adorable. It has hardwood floors, fresh paint on the walls, and the furniture (whoever it belongs to) is brand new, plushy and soft gray in color. The posters on the walls are black and white photos of tall trees and other natural wonders. There's even a Nutcracker ballet poster framed in the living room, featuring the costumed dancers of... The Dallas Ballet Theater, my company. I step over to it, frowning.

"Wait, this is the poster I gave you from the Nutcracker show," I say, seeing my own scribbled message.

I whirl around. Austin is grinning.

"Welcome home, baby," he says.

"Wh-what?" I gasp.

"It's ours. Your dad helped me move everything in today while you were rehearsing. Nancy and Riley even flew in to help out. Oh, and Seth helped too," he says. Seth looks up from his phone, smirking.

"But my dad's out of town! He left yesterday!" I exclaim.

"Actually he went with me to buy all this stuff yesterday, and he slept over at Blanca's last night. He caught a flight an hour ago."

"Austin!" I shout with joy, jumping into his arms. I wrap my legs and arms around him and we kiss for a long, long time.

"Um, I'm still here," Seth says awkwardly as the long kiss intensifies.

Austin puts me down and I happily run around the apartment, looking at everything. There are two bedrooms. Ours has our own bathroom, a spacious walk in closet and a king sized bed with an artsy, swirly metal frame. The other room has Pixie's name on the door.

I look back at Austin with raised eyebrows. It's still another month before his birthday and the court date when we'll find out if he can adopt Pixie.

Austin shrugs. "Faith."

I grin, remembering our conversation so many weeks ago.

"Baby, it's perfect. I love you so much!" I say.

"I know the outside isn't pretty, but I tried to make the inside good enough for you. I mean, I know it's not like you're used to. It's cheap rent though. We got money in the bank if you want nicer furniture and stuff, but-"

"Stop. It's perfect," I say. "Perfect."

"And ours," he says.

"When can we move in?" I ask breathlessly.

Austin's smile falters. "Um... I technically have to live with Blanca to fulfill the court requirements."

"Oh yeah. Forgot," I say sadly.

"But..."

Austin steps closer to me and puts his hands on my hips, sticking his thumbs through the belt loops on my jean shorts and pulling me closer.

"I'm sure we could stay one night."

"Oh really?" I ask, playfully biting his chin.

"Like, maybe a night when your dad's outta town..."

"A night like tonight."

"Mmhm," he says, leaning in to kiss me.

"Hey Rory, am I gonna have to get an Uber or what?" Seth calls from the kitchen.

I pull away from Austin. "Oh yeah. I gotta buy Seth dinner and take him home. I'll be back after."

"I'll be here," he says.

I'm back "home" a half hour later. Austin meets me in the kitchen and we waste no time saying hello. Our mouths meet feverishly and we're both pulling at each other's clothes. When we pause to take a breath, I lift my shirt over my head while Austin does the same. Then, between passionate kisses, we undo the buttons on each other's jeans. I don't care about foreplay tonight. I want him now.

"Where do you want it?" I ask breathlessly.

"In every room in this apartment, on every piece of furniture, ten times a day," Austin says.

"Sounds good to me," I whisper.

He lifts me up so I can wrap my legs around him. He hasn't even touched me but I'm soaked, so ready for him. My back is pressed against the refrigerator, which is deliciously cold on my bare skin.

I gasp with pleasure when I feel him inside of me. He's not the self-conscious virgin I made love to months ago. Now he takes control and it turns me on completely, every thrust shaking the fridge behind my back and making me cry out. The fridge is one of those with the side by side doors, and suddenly the freezer side flies open. We both laugh as Austin slams it shut, but he has to hold his hand there when it happens two more times, which means he's holding me up with one hand. It's lucky that we both come shortly after, at the same time, our bodies shaking so bad we have to collapse on the floor.

"Fuck!" Austin whispers breathlessly, his hands pressed to his forehead.

"We just did," I gasp weakly, and we both start laughing again.

The only sound is our heavy breathing as we recover for several minutes. Then,

"Okay, kitchen's done. Next stop living room," Austin says, standing up and holding out his hand to help me off the floor.

"Next stop? Am I on some kind of Fuck Train?" I joke.

"Yeah. That's what running a train really means. They got that phrase from me," Austin says.

"Sure. How are you ready to go again anyway? I need a minute!"

"Rory, this train don't stop for breaks. Get your sexy ass up!"

"Bossy!"

"Or we can watch TV and go to bed like we're eighty," Austin says flatly.

"Fuck Train sounds good," I say, standing up with a grin.

We make love until we are utterly exhausted and finally fall asleep on our own king sized bed in a tangle of arms and legs. I'm fully satisfied wrapped up in the soft new sheets with Austin's skin pressed against mine and his comforting, delicious smell wrapping me in a safe cocoon.

"I love you, baby," I whisper softly.

"Mm..." he murmurs, and I feel the vibration of his voice where my head rests against his throat. "I love you too."

"Sleep well."

"You too."

It's early morning when something wakes me up. The mattress is moving. Austin is thrashing in his sleep, mumbling, shouting, sobbing. Even though it's almost an exact replay of what happened the first time we had sex, I don't think at all. I just want him out of the nightmare. I roll over and shake him violently, but he doesn't wake up.

"AUSTIN!" I shout. "Baby, come on! Come back to me!"

I grab his face. Still nothing. I smack his cheek and his hand shoots up to grab my wrist. It happens so fast, almost like it doesn't happen at all.

"GET OFF ME! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" he shouts in a voice that doesn't even sound like his. His eyes are crazy, the tears in them shaking like they're boiling.

With unimaginable force he shoves me off the bed. My head makes contact with the iron headboard. Everything goes dark.