Even in the dark, he remembered the bright colours and textures of her living room. The navy sectional with the splashes of cobalt cushions and purple coffee table, the golden curtains and vases of beach glass filled with bright summer blooms and bold red gerberas.

He waited as she flicked on the living room lights, fussed with the sunflowers, trimming the thick stalks and setting them in a vibrant blue vase before hunting down a couple of glasses and a wine opener to join the bottle he'd brought with him, now sitting on the island.

It took a long time, and Victory stared at the lustrous ruby in the bottle for what felt like hours before she cleared her throat.

If she was going to do this, she needed to keep her hands busy, Victory thought, and went to work opening the wine.

"I think it's time I told you about Derek Cole." Her voice broke when she said his name and she slapped a hand to her chest where a nerve pinched and ached. God it hurt even just to mention him aloud.

"I assume he's the asshole you were arguing with outside of Soleil?" Gage tried to keep the growl out of his voice, but the flashback brought a bitter slice of frustration and protectiveness he didn't know how to explain or recognize. She nodded.

"The history of how we met, I guess doesn't matter. I was young, going through a tough time with losing Niobe to LA and my parents deciding to up and leave Toronto for Aruba."

The boutique B&B, Gage thought, digging back in his memory for the details.

"Derek was...handsome, and could talk his way into anyone's heart. About three months after we started seeing each other he convinced me to move in with him. Since my parents were selling the house at the time, I thought this was a great idea. We checked out a few places, but Derek had his heart set on a lakeside loft. Because he was going through some business transactions, we put the lease in my name. Only. For the next six months, he wooed me with promises of success, and a future, all I had to do was take out a loan and we'd be set. An investment, he'd called it, in him and in our relationship."

Gage shook his head. He could already see where this was going. "Christ."

"Yeah." Victory nodded, tears welled and one spilled over. "I believed I loved him, so that played the largest part in this tragedy. But, looking back, now I know I didn't." A sobering realization she'd discovered shortly after her world fell apart, and one that had brought both comfort and pain. "What I didn't know was Derek had a history of preying on women, vulnerable and young or old and desperate. A fact I learned when the asshole cleared out my accounts before he skipped town."

"Did you call the police?"

"Of course. But the problem was I gave him access. Credit cards. Chequing and savings. I let him in on everything, believing I could trust him. So, according to the police and the banks, what he did wasn't a crime, just a case of poor judgement." She ended her statement with air quotes and a dry laugh. "Poor fucking judgement."

"What happened next?"

"Next?" She slapped her hands to her thighs, ruffling her bangs with a heavy breath. "Shortly, thereafter, I lost my job—a contract gig, and the company didn't have the resources to hire me on fulltime. Three weeks after he left, I had nothing. No home, no savings, no family or friends in the city who could give me a leg up, and the few I thought I could turn to only gave me the cold shoulder." Absently, she picked at the frayed cuff of her sweatshirt; tears thick in her voice and she resented the sound of them.

"After that things got worse. Much worse. I faced about five long and hard years of scraping together whatever I could get my hands on...fighting to get ahead. Eventually, I moved on with my life. Set aside my anger and frustration. Let it all go. At long last, I'm happy again, the world is turning in the right direction, but..."

"But now he's back." Gage finished, setting down the bottle next to his barely touched glass. "And that changes everything."

Sniffing, Victory bobbed her head, suddenly ashamed to look at him. "It's foolish, I know."

"Stop." There was an abrupt sharpness to his voice that shocked her, as much as the raw hurt and sorrow in his eyes. Standing, he pulled her into his arms, and, for a moment, just held her. "Stop," he said again, softer, pressing his cheek to her brow, then his lips.

There, in his arms, she wept. All the tears that she didn't know were buried deep under years of avoidance, suddenly surged, so that all she could do was hold on and let them flow. When she was done, he mopped up her face, brought her a bottle of cool water from her fridge, pressing it into her hands. She took one long, deep gulp, followed with a second.

"I feel so silly," she whispered, pressing the pads of her fingers beneath her eyes puffy with bags of grief.

"Why?"

"For letting all of this—him—affect me this way. After everything I've gone through, I should be stronger."

Because he need it, Gage took her hand, held it. "Beneath that soft skin is a core of steel," he said, his voice a little coarse, a little strained as he skimmed a knuckle over the curve of her cheek. "You have no idea how strong you are. But I do. I see it."

Her eyes were still glassy and red, the worst of the pain was gone, but fatigue shadowed them now. Thick, heavy and bone weary.

"You should get some sleep. I'll call you in the morning. Maybe take you out for breakfast."

He stepped away and suddenly Victory felt cold. Alone.

"Don't go." Reaching out, she caught his hand before he'd retreated more than a step, faltering mid-breath, she bit down hard on her lip. "I don't want you to go. Would you...stay? With me?"

For reasons unknown, her simple request touched him deep. Deeper than he ever thought to feel. Too moved to speak, he could only nod. In the shadows of her room, he stripped off his shirt, his jeans and slid next to Victory beneath the sheets where she lay still dressed.

"Get some rest." He brushed his lips against her temple, scooping her against him. "I'm here."

And he was, she thought. Knowing he would be made her feel safe. Closing her eyes, there, in his arms, she fell headlong into dreamless sleep.

#

Victory woke up before the rise of the sun, with a clear mind and light heart. As Gage slept soundly beside her, she slid from the bed, padded out quietly to her living room, and through the doors to her terrace. In the quiet calm, she breathed in the silvery pre-dawn air.

This was arguably her favorite time of day. Just before the light beat back the dark. Before anyone or anything stirred and the world—if only for a moment—was all hers. A moment that offered the sort of peace, stillness and serenity she'd come to crave.

She'd told Gage about Derek, and his reaction hadn't been to chastise or to run. He'd stayed without laying blame or casting judgement, both of which she had braced for and likely deserved. Yet he'd been unexpectedly understanding.

But there's more, she reminded herself, so much more, and if she was going to be fair to him, then she had to tell him everything. No matter how embarrassing or painful.

She watched the slow and steady rise of the sun over the horizon, as the sky shifted and changed in a flowing ballet of colours and textures with light trickling over clouds.

And prepared herself to face what was yet to come.

#

Hand in hand with Gage, Victory stood outside the doors of the Crossroads.

From the outside, it was just a beautiful heritage house with a wide face of red brick, bay windows bathed in faded white paint, peeling and cracked, adding both character and charm. Sheaf's of ivy climbed up one side, wrapped around the trellis and slopped overhang of the terrace, framing a black lacquered door with brass knocker.

Even now, Victory remembered the first time she'd stood there, full of desperate panic and fierce gnawing hunger, the chill of winter's breath on her cheeks and the tender flakes of snow kissing her skin...begging, pleading, hoping that tonight she would have a bed to sleep in, a warm meal in her belly and roof over her head.

In the main window, overlooking the quiet street lined with aged maples, hung sunny yellow drapes with a vase of garden flowers, boasting an array of lilacs, freesia, lilies and gerberas of bright gold and red. Gage recognized those flowers, also scattered about the front garden—neatly planted and lovingly tended—as the same ones gracing the blue glass vase atop the bedside stand in Victory's bedroom.

"What is this place?"

"An emergency housing shelter for single women, and mothers with young children; this was my home when I lost everything. When I had nowhere to go but to the streets." Victory explained, lifting her eyes to his face, searching for any hint of disgust or doubt, but saw only grief and heart-wrenching tenderness.

"Come." Shouldering the bag she'd packed that morning with leftover goodies from Soleil and her pantry, she led him up the grey slanted steps of the wooden porch and, after producing a silver key, through the front door and into the cozy foyer. A handsome set of stairs planted itself within a few short steps of the threshold, wide and dark wood with carved newel and posts. The walls a rich buttery green, accented by elegant wainscoting and trim, and adorned with an array of photos.

Voices filtered from the living room, a phone rang and within seconds an older woman, gracefully rounding the bend of late sixty, draped in a spotted apron and lilac summer dress splattered with wild flowers, shuffled around the corner, barefoot and smiling.

"Victory." She beamed, grey eyes soft as velvet and silver as her hair, cut short to curl about her ears accented with drops of amethyst. "You've brought a guest, what a lovely surprise."

"Hello, Momma." Victory kissed her smiling apple red cheeks with noisy, loving affection. "Gage, I'd like to introduce you to Mrs. Mary Williams, the heart and soul of Crossroads Women's Shelter."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Williams." Gage stuck out a hand, but she waved it aside.

"Oh, come here." On tippy-toe, Momma threw her arms around his broad shoulders, kissed him loudly on each cheek and once full on the mouth. "And call me Momma, if you don't mind." She gave his smiling and blushing cheeks an affectionate pat and a pinch with wrinkled hands that smelled of garden and earth.

"I'm sorry I was late for breakfast this morning," Victory apologized, "but I brought the fixings for lunch. A hearty beef and barely stew, fresh baked bread and other treats." She gave the large, heavy bag she held a pat.

"Oh, you angel. Why don't you get set up in the kitchen? I am sure Christine would love to give you a hand. As for this strapping young man," Momma looped powder soft hands around Gage's arm, her grey eyes full of sass and sparkle. "I've got a light bulb that needs changing, and perhaps I could give you a tour of my humble home?"

"It would be my pleasure." Gage replied with a gallant bow of his head.

"Oh," Momma wiggled white brows, puckered plump lips, and said in an exaggerated southern drawl. "Why Rhett, I do declare..."

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