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and we turn like guilty co-conspirators when the door opens. Someone passes through with a cheesy balloon with 1980s lettering that screams Get Well and a bouquet of carnations. The balloon bobs and wags, revealing a sliver of his face.
    Ty, a.k.a. Thorn.
    My guts seize, and Kiki gives the man who's effectively pimped me out a dazzling smile.
    “Ty!” she says happily and throws herself in his arms.
    His dark eyes meet mine over her shoulder, and he flashes a tight smile my way. I press my damp palms into the bed sheets.
    “Thanks for covering for Faren last night, Kiki,” Thorn says in an ominous message directed straight at me.
    His eyes slide over my form, safely ensconced underneath the hospital covers. “Let me talk to our girl here.”
    Kiki nods and turns to me.
    I ask, “You did a...” I don't even know what to call it. I settle on the most innocuous word I can muster. “ Dances for me?” I squeak, hating owing anybody, even Kiki.
    “She sure did,” Thorn's eyes meet mine. “What are friends for?” The question is posed innocently, but I know what he's really asking.
    Kiki gives me a light kiss on the cheek and ignores my eyes begging her to stay. She buzzes out with a I'll be back soon flutter of her fingers, leaving me with Thorn.
    All pretense of a smile leaves Thorn's expression as his eyes go flat black in an millisecond. “Let's talk, Faren.”
    I say nothing, and he begins. When Thorn finishes, I stare at my clenched hands, wanting out so bad I can barely stand it.
    Thorn wants me as a regular. He wants me to cover my fresh bruises with makeup, like Kiki suggested. He asked if I can still dance, to which I only nod.
    Hell yes, I'll dance. I have a sudden desire for my mom that's so strong it's like pain that I can't fix, a part of me broken beyond repair. We'd been so close and now I had no one to take her place as confidante. There's no glue for my broken problems.
    Thorn's last words flit through my mind. “There's more money if you keep giving me dances. Private ones.”
    My eyes travel to his. I'm so engaged with him I don't hear the whisper of the door when it opens and my angel walks in.
    Seeing my face changes his expression of contrition to one of darkness. Those large chocolate eyes move impassively to Thorn and noticeably harden.
    Thorn jumps to his feet, gathers up the balloon and flowers, and turns to the man who held my hand. Thorn explains nervously, “Wrong room, pal.”
    My brows come together in a puzzled frown as they stare each other down.
    I swear they know each other. I'm glad that Thorn leaves. I wonder what chased him out.
    Who.
    He's even more beautiful than I remember him. My eyes take him in with hunger, every moment of my life is hyper-bright, acutely surreal and microscopic. His hair glints, like the deepest copper penny, from the pale light bleeding through the window. His skin is like creamy mocha, and his eyes are so dark they look black.
    Except when they look at me, they're molten amber.
    “Hi.” He steps forward and stretches out his hand.
    I move to put my palm in his, and I notice manicured nails that don't match the callouses on his palm. A signet ring flashes a college I can only dream of attending as his large hand covers mine.
    Cuff links peek from his expensive suit sleeve.
    Then I see the shoes. A different leather than before but just as supple. Just as distinctive.
    My eyes drive up his body and meet his gaze, and a dimple flashes into existence as a smile full of white teeth dazzle me. Those eyes capture me in an embrace of satin chocolate.
    “Jared McKenna,” he says, and I know I'm in for it.
    I might be dying. I might have a dirty job that pays for the sins of my past. But right then, I know heaven, if just for a little bit, right here on earth.

~ 7 ~
     
    Pretending is the hardest.
    That I don't think about what Doctor Matthews told me. That Jared McKenna, billionaire entrepreneur, didn't run me down with his Harley because I barreled into his