Melissa and I parted ways in the hallway outside Joey's hospital room. She gave me another comforting hug and told me everything would turn out the way it was supposed to. But that's what I was afraid of: not knowing how it was supposed to turn out.

I gave a soft knock at the door and hesitated to open it when he said to come in. Here I'd been so adamant about seeing him, worried sick that I'd never get to hear his sweet, soothing voice again, and now that I was within twenty feet of him, it felt like I'd dipped my shoes in cement. What was I supposed to say to him? Could I even touch him without hurting him? Would he even want to talk to me?

"Only one way to find out," I muttered to myself, taking a deep breath and pushing the door open.

Immediately, it felt like someone had taken a two-by-four to my chest and forced all the air out of my lungs. There laid the man I'd nearly had a heart attack over. Bruises and scratches were scattered across every visible part of his body. There were numerous monitors and other devices hooked up to him, recording his heartrate and so on. A large bandage was fixed to the left side of his torso where he'd been shot. He looked like he'd fought a grizzly bear.

"Hey," he smiled weakly when our eyes met.

I could feel tears brimming at the sight of him. I'd already gone through an emotional breakdown on the way to the hospital, but seeing him all beat up like this was practically ripping my heart out.

"Hi," I managed, the hoarseness returning to my throat. "How are you feeling?"

I forced myself to walk across the room and sit down in the chair beside the bed.

"Like I got shot," he shrugged and chuckled softly. "I'm alright, though."

I nodded slowly, still taking in his miserable appearance. "You're something. That's for sure."

His small smile widened. "Yeah? You should see the other guy."

Yeah, he's dead, I thought. I didn't say anything.

Joey's hair was disheveled and had bits of dried blood in it. The nurses had obviously tried to clean him up as best they could, but there were still smears of red across his skin. Regardless of how terrible he looked and felt, that stunning sparkle was already fighting its way back to his sapphire eyes.

"Jess?" His rough, exhausted voice cut through the air like a knife. "I want to know how you're feeling."

How was I feeling? How was I feeling? My whole body felt like someone had dropped a ton of bricks on top of it. My heart felt like it was going to leap right out of my chest any second. My head felt like it was going to explode like a fucking volcano. My lungs felt like they'd collapsed. My stomach felt like it was never going to settle down. My throat felt like I would never be able to swallow the lump that seemed to be caught in it. And why? All because I'd been so utterly terrified that I'd finally given my heart to a good man and I was going to lose him before I ever got the chance to show him how much I loved him.

"I'm okay."

Joey rolled his eyes. "Come on, Jess. You know I can see right through that."

He lifted his arm and winced at the effort it took, but reached out and grabbed ahold of my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze and smiling as best he could under the painful circumstances. I couldn't imagine how much pain he was in. I could feel how weak he was by how limply his hand grasped mine.

I sighed, shaking my head. "Joey..."

"Talk to me, Jess," he begged with those dazzling eyes. "Please."

I couldn't hold it back anymore. The tears started spilling again, like a waterfall down my cheeks.

"Baby, shh... I'm alright. I'm alright, Jess," he struggled to get the words out, like it hurt his chest to breathe.

"No! You're not!" I buried my face into the thin hospital mattress and cried into the white blankets hanging off the side of the bed. "You got shot, Joey! I thought I was going to lose you!"

I felt the bed shift and Joey mustered up the strength to sit up with a grimace. He placed a hand over his bandaged wound in attempt to dull the pain he'd ignited by moving.

Joey reached out and pulled me closer until I had no choice but to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. Feeling his body against mine sent a whole new wave of emotions through my veins.

"Jessica, it's not your fault I got shot, and you're not going to lose me." He stared deeply into my eyes. "I promise. I'm not going anywhere. I... I love you, Jess. There. I said it. I do. I love you. And I'm so fucking sorry I couldn't protect you better than I did. I-"

I hadn't dreamt it. He had told me he loved me.

Joey Cavannaugh loved me!

I pressed a feverish kiss to his pouty lips. I kissed him like I'd never kissed him before. I kissed him like it was the last time I'd ever get to kiss him.

I kissed him like I was madly in love with him. Because I was.

"I love you, too, Joey," I mumbled against his lips. "So much."

Just then, someone cleared their throat from the doorway and we separated to see a tall, stout man in a suit with a clipboard in hand.

"I hate to break up the lovefest, but I need to ask Miss Turner a few questions," the man said.

"Jess, this is John Rawlings, the detective assigned to your aunt's homicide," Joey introduced.

"Looks like you've been through hell and back," John said to Joey as he studied all the monitors beside the bed and the massive bandage on Joey's side. "Hang in there, Joe. We need ya out there."

Joey nodded, giving him a halfhearted smile and a thumbs up.

I was reluctant to leave Joey. I'd just finally gotten him back and now the police wanted to question me. They had some damn awful timing!

"Do I have to go? Can't you just talk to me in here?" I asked, hopeful.

Detective Rawlings dismissed my question. "I need to speak with you alone, Miss Turner."

"Fine, damnit," I groaned and turned my attention back to Joey. "I won't be gone long, okay? I'll come back and see you in a bit."

He smiled lazily, squeezing my hand again. His disastrous hair fell across his forehead when he rested his head against the pillow.

"I'll be right here."

A coldness enveloped my body when I had to let go of his hand. I kept my eyes on him until I reached the hallway and John shut the door behind us.

"Let's go down to the cafeteria and have a little chat, shall we?" he suggested.

I followed the detective to the elevator. The ride down was awkward and silent. I felt like we were two magnets opposing each other. I could practically feel the seriousness radiating off of him. I could already tell this was not going to be an enjoyable visit.

We found a table in the back corner of the cafeteria. We were far out of earshot of anyone else. John collected two coffees for us and set his clipboard down with a smack.

"You look like you'd rather be anywhere else," I stated the obvious, adding a small laugh to try to lighten the mood.

Detective Rawlings pulled up a chair and started writing something down. "It's not fun and games being a detective, Miss Turner. It's a serious job."

"With a serious attitude, too, apparently," I sniped and crossed my arms, leaning back in my chair. "If you expect me to cooperate here, I expect you to treat me a little nicer. I think I've earned that, after all the bullshit I've been through these past two weeks, Detective."

John slapped his clipboard down again and gave me a sour look, one brow raised. He seemed to be grinding his teeth in annoyance.

"You're not calling the shots here, Jessica." He glared at me and started writing again.

"Then by all means, John, fire away," I smarted off.

He grumbled something under his breath and folded over one of his papers. "Detective Rawlings, Miss Turner. Now, we've got several subjects to discuss. We'll start with your aunt's murder. I need you to tell me everything you know. I know you two were not on good terms."

I crinkled up my forehead in confusion. "Am... am I a suspect, Detective?"

John stared blankly at me like he'd been asked that question a thousand times. He probably had. He didn't answer my question. He just waited.

"We weren't on any terms," I said. "We hadn't spoken in years."

John jotted down my response. "And you were aware she operated a very successful wedding planning business, right?"

I shrugged. "I knew what she did for a living, but I'd never been to her office or anything. I didn't know really anything about it."

"You're telling me you didn't know she was rich?" He looked at me skeptically.

I understood he had a job to do, but his insinuations were pissing me off.

"It's news to me."

"Miss Turner, our records show that you were not at work on the day your aunt was murdered. Can you tell me where you were?" John asked like he was accusing me.

"Detective, I don't even know what the date of her murder was! I work a full time job and go to school. I barely have time to do my laundry, much less plot my estranged aunt's murder!"

My outburst had earned the startled attention of the few other people in the cafeteria. They were staring at me like I was going to blow the place up any second. John waved them off and lectured me on keeping my voice down or he would have to take me back to the precinct.

"Thursday, the 26th," he informed me.

"Thursday's my day off."

John noted that and flipped through some more papers.

"Can you tell me where you were that day?" he asked.

I started to rattle off the list of everything I typically do on my day off: laundry, homework, vacuuming, the occasional grocery shopping... Then I realized what the problem was. Since I was always so introverted, I didn't have anyone to back up my story. The only person who saw me on a daily basis was Lydia, and she couldn't corroborate my story because she was dead. My grandmother called every day at four o'clock, but she would only be able to account for that specific timeslot.

"It sounds to me like you don't have a solid alibi, Miss Turner," Detective Rawlings said with a sickening smirk. "Your apartment complex only had one functioning camera on the date of your aunt's murder, and it wasn't in your building. You can't seem to give me any names of anyone to back you up either."

"Why would I kill my aunt, Detective?" I asked through gritted teeth. "Please enlighten me."

He looked at me like I was wasting his time. "It seems that you were the beneficiary on her life insurance plan, as well as her will. That's approximately $3.2 million that you would've gotten, and you've got plenty incentives to want it."

"Like what?"

"Pay off student loans... move out of that shithole apartment... maybe buy a new, shiny convertible," he suggested. "You tell me, Miss Turner."

"I didn't even know I was the heir to anything until Joey told me!" I said in a harsh whisper.

"Are you suggesting that Officer Cavannaugh was involved? Because that would make sense, since he just happened to be the first responding officer. And I saw that PDA upstairs. One could easily assume you two were planning to split the money after he helped you get away with the murder."

"Alright." I got up and shoved the chair back against the table, leaning over in his face. "I've heard enough of this bullshit, Detective. You come talk to me when you have some real questions and real evidence. Got it? Cause I'm not playing your game. I've got enough crap on my plate already!"

I turned to walk away, intending to go back to Joey's room and vent to him about what a shithead Detective Rawlings was.

"How 'bout I just arrest you right here, then?" he called from behind me.

I spun around, enraged. "On what possible grounds?"

"Hindering an investigation," he said matter-of-factly. "You're not cooperating and you're making my job harder."

"As far as I'm concerned, you can shove your handcuffs up your ass," I said in a low, daring voice. "And you know what? I've got some damn good questions for you, too, come to think of it. Maybe you could explain to me why Joey came to you with imperative evidence from a 'Richard Lux' and you blew it off. To me, it sounds like you're the reason Joey and I have been running from armed thugs for two weeks. If you'd just taken him seriously and looked into that note, you might've been able to prevent all this. But no, you're too busy trying to come up with reasons to charge innocent people for crimes they didn't commit. Great work, Detective. Real impressive."

With that, I left John, mouth agape, standing in the cafeteria with his clipboard. I took one last look at him as the elevator doors were closing. He looked equally shocked and pissed.

On the ride back up to Joey's floor, I brainstormed the situation. Was it possible that Detective Rawlings was in on it, too, the way Brad had been? If Mike could persuade Brad, it wouldn't surprise me if he could talk John onto the payroll, too. Had John made a deal with Mike to get Joey and me convicted, if all else failed? Maybe I was overthinking it, but after everything that had already happened, nothing would surprise me at this point.

I'd gone downstairs, fully prepared to detail the whole shebang to John. I'd assumed he wanted to know about what all Mike and his minions had done and tried to do to us. I'd thought he'd want to talk about the security footage from Marty's Car Mart, or Ron's murder, or Brad's betrayal. I'd thought he'd want my testimony to help put away the bad guys – or what was left of them, that is. I'd thought this was going to be the beginning of cleaning up the mess and finally getting to breathe.

I'd thought wrong.

I walked into the quiet hospital room to find Joey sipping on a cup of orange juice. As soon as our eyes met, he knew something was wrong.

"I need Brad's number," I said. "Now."