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once tried to pretend she was my birth mother, but proved she was my
real
mother by being a million times better in every way. But mostly I hated that she’d left my dad. He got on fine without her, but a piece of him was missing. He’d never be the same.
    He’d never
want
to be the same.
    Maybe it was shallow since Alec and I had had such limited time together, but I understood that now.
    My dad’s cell phone rang, and I picked it up. The caller ID said UNAVAILABLE.
    â€œWant me to answer?” I asked.
    â€œNo, I got it.” He motioned for the phone, and I tossed it to him.
    â€œThis is Ben,” he said, voice nasally. “Yep. She’s here. She’s . . .” I stuck my head around the corner. Was he talking to Amy? Mike? Unbelievable. Was my text not good enough?
    Just let us
, Amy had said. I pulled out a soup pot, not bothering to keep quiet as I banged it against the stove. A friend in therapy after an abduction, a kid who witnessed her father abusing her mother, a dad out sick on my couch, and who were they all worried about? Me.
    â€œShe’s doing well,” I heard my dad say.
    â€œWho is that?” I tried not to sound snappy but wasn’t very effective.
    Terry
, he mouthed.
    Oh. Terry Benitez. His friend on the Tampa Police Force. I’d been being paranoid. Stupid. Not everything was about me.
    When my dad was settled, I retreated to my bedroom and kicked off my shoes. Still dressed, I lay down and stared up at the ceiling.
    Mike’s voice echoed in my head.
He’s taking a beating. Max Stein’s attorneys are tearing him up.
    Maybe I’d been going about this wrong. Alec had been in touch with Amy, so it wasn’t like I was betraying her if I just checked in and offered my support.
    I just wanted to tell him not to give up. He was doing the right thing.
    Before I could think it through, I snatched my phone out of my bag and flipped to his number, still programmed as my first speed dial. It went straight to voice mail. It wasn’t even his voice, just a recorded message. I turned off my phone, and with shaking hands flung it across the bed.
    Weak.
    Talking about my mom, hearing that Alec was hurting, even hearing that he’d tried to help Amy, it had all screwed with my head. I’d made a decision, now I had to live with it.
    *   *   *
    I slept in one-hour bursts, woken by the usual nightmares and my dad’s coughing in the other room, and when the sun finally rose I was already dressed and ready for the day. Work went by uneventfully, apart from Amy asking me forty-seven times who I was bringing to the CASA fund-raiser, and five o’clock found me in her chair, getting my hair flatironed into a soft wave that kept swinging in front of my eyes every time I turned my head. It was annoying, but Amy called it mysterious, which of course was a perfect look for an event that supported foster care.
    I’d started dreading the evening. It might have been all right with Amy, but without her dressing up, going out, smiling, and
pretending
 . . . it all seemed like an excruciating amount of work. If I hadn’t told Jacob I’d be there, I would have ditched.
    Amy finally ducked out to go to the girls’ play. I promised I’d follow her out, and was just about to get my stuff when I heard male voices in the break room.
    I stuck my head inside the small kitchenette, lined on one wall with lockers, and grinned at the two men sitting at the metal table.
    â€œYour hair’s really long,” said Marcos, crossing his arms over his white V-neck T-shirt disapprovingly. He’d let his dark hair grow out a little himself in the last couple of months. No more military buzz. No more polo shirts either. I couldn’t help but think the second man at the table had something to do with that.
    â€œShe looks hot.” Derrick, Rave’s owner, was wearing a yellow tank top with black leather