"I know," I sniffled.

"What can I do to make it better?" He kissed the top of my head.

"I don't know that there is anything you can do. You can't wipe my memories away. You can't make me think of something else when I see the marks. It was so much better for a while. So much easier than it used to be. Then Georgia got hurt, and now it's like I'm right back where I started."

"We, baby. We," Jake said. "You don't have to go through this alone. We're a family, and we will fix this as a family."

"But you can't fix it."

"No, but I can help you," Jake said.

"How?" I whispered.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes." I didn't even hesitate. Jake is the only person in the world I did trust. He was Georgia's father. He helped me to feel again when I thought I was going to live my life without ever knowing what it was like to be close to anyone. There was no reason NOT to trust him.

"I’ve been thinking about something. Something that could help. Stay here for a minute," Jake ordered, lightly pushing me off of him. He stood and pulled his cell from his pocket pressing one of the speed dial buttons.

After a few seconds of ringing, I heard someone pick up.

"Bethany," Jake said stoically. Why was he calling Bethany? Usually I was the middleman between Bethany and Jake. They rarely spoke, and it's not like I blame them. Bethany spawned Owen and tried to protect him when she knew what he'd done, but I'd already looked past it. Anytime I feel the anger or resentment toward her that I once felt, I just remember how it felt to set her house on fire, and I'm quickly brought back to feeling that all is right between us.

The new Bethany barely resembled the old one, and her love for Georgia, the granddaughter she never had, had been a big part of setting things right in my eyes. Bethany had spent the last year proving to our family that she was worthy enough to be a part of it.

"Yup. Yeah. Everything is fine. Georgia is great. Yeah," he said rather rudely. "Can you come and sit with Georgia for a bit? She's asleep, but I need to take the boat out for a spin to make sure it's seaworthy for the morning, and I need Bee to come and be my second eyes and ears." There was a short pause, then Jake ended the call without saying good-bye.

"You know, for someone who can be so charming, you really can be a total twat, sometimes," I said.

"Did you just call me charming?" Jake laughed. Off course, that would be the thing that got his attention, not being called a twat. Even in the dim light of the back porch, Jake’s smile was brilliant. Being able to see him smile on a daily basis and or laugh on occasion was worth every single second of time we'd spent apart.

I ignored his question. "If you needed help with the boat, why didn't we just do it earlier?" I asked. We'd had a great day as a family. Jake worked on the boat a bit. Georgia ran through the sprinklers in the back yard, and I sat in my favorite chair on the patio, reading a book, glancing over the pages every so often to make sure my family was still there, and that it was all still real.

And it was.

It was getting late, and it was already dark. It would be hard to check the boat for anything under these conditions.

"Shhhhh, baby. You'll see. You said I couldn't make it better for you. I think there is a way I can," Jake said, pressing a finger over my partially opened mouth. I glared at him and bit the tip of his finger. He pulled back his hand, and his jaw dropped open.

"Oh, Bee," he said, his voice full of warning, or was it promise? "You're gonna pay for that one." Briefly sucking on the tip of the finger I'd just bit.

Bethany arrived within a few minutes of Jake’s call. The second he opened the door, she scooted past him into the house.

"Come on in," Jake said sarcastically, closing the door behind her. Bethany had already settled herself on the couch and was riffling through the contents of her tote bag.

"You two get where you need to be. I'm fine here," she said, pulling out two knitting needles and some pink yarn. Whatever project was attached to the needles looked pretty ragged.

"Knitting?" I asked her, gesturing to her hands, and she began to absentmindedly knit. Bethany, the once sharp as a tack, uber powerful lawyer whose claws were almost as sharp as her tongue was sitting on my couch, in my living room, knitting. It was bafflingly out of character for her.

Bethany crossed the needles over one another, her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated. Her foot tapped along with her knitting pace.