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remind her of Charlie, she told herself. He was the one who’d bought them for her—and she already thought of him far too often. She’d never get over him if she didn’t do what she could to move on.
    She saw a light go on next door and realized it was probably coming from Rod’s room. The window that glowed in the darkness was on the second floor, and it had a small deck with stairs that led to the backyard and overlooked the river. She grabbed her purse, but just as she reached for the door latch, he confirmed that it was his room by coming out onto that deck and looking down at her car.
    She wished she’d hurried inside while she’d had the chance to do it without being observed. How could she be so desperate as to proposition her new neighbor?
    He must’ve thought she was pathetic...
    Blinking back the tears that’d threatened a moment before—the situation would only get worse if he believed she was crying over his rejection—she forced herself to climb out of the car. She wanted to offer him an apology for being so forward, and to promise she’d never approach him like that again. But he was too far away to hear her, and she wasn’t about to walk any closer.
    Better to prove it, anyway.
    So she acted as though she didn’t notice him standing there and said nothing.
    Once she was safely inside, she breathed a sigh of relief, locked the door and went to lie on Cassia’s bed, where she could hug one of her daughter’s stuffed animals while she waited for morning. Although she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep for some time—she’d had trouble getting a solid eight hours ever since that night—she didn’t bother turning on any lights. She just stared at the moonbeams filtering through the window.

3
    T he next morning Mack walked into the kitchen. “What happened last night?” he asked.
    Rod glanced up from his cereal bowl. He wasn’t feeling any better for having slept. As a matter of fact, he was worse. He wasn’t bleeding anymore and some of the scrapes he’d sustained when he fell from his bike were starting to scab over, but every muscle was sore. He could hardly move without wincing. He was beginning to wonder if he should’ve listened to Chief Bennett and gone to the hospital—not for his leg but for his hand. It was almost twice its normal size and hurt whenever he tried to use it.
    â€œLast night was freaking crazy,” he said. And Mack didn’t know it, but the fight wasn’t the only crazy part. Rod felt terrible about what’d taken place between him and India. He should’ve gone to her place. So what if she wanted to pretend he was her dead husband? It wasn’t her intention to be hurtful or selfish; she was just looking for an escape from the pain. He’d had low moments like that in his life, hadn’t he? When he’d needed to be with someone?
    Besides, there were worse tasks than giving a woman a little pleasure and comfort...
    â€œGrady woke me up, said you’d been in a fight with the prick who was giving Natasha so much trouble.” Mack walked over to the cupboard to grab himself a bowl. “When I opened my eyes this morning, I thought maybe it was a bad dream. But now that I see you...”
    Rod used his left hand to bring the spoon to his mouth. “I wish it were a dream.”
    â€œTell me the other guy looks worse.”
    â€œHe should. He’s the one who’s in the hospital.”
    â€œGood for you,” Mack said. “I don’t feel the least bit sorry for him. Sounds like he’s where he deserves to be.”
    Rod rested his elbows on the table. “Whether he deserved it or not, I wasn’t trying to hurt him that bad. He can’t fight worth shit, but he doesn’t seem to understand his own limitations. Every time I’d step back, thinking he’d had enough, he’d take another swing at