“I’m sorry, Ty.” She says, looking down at the dog.

“For?”

Her shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “Being difficult.”

I take off my leather jacket and hang it on a metal skull hook by the door. “You’re not. I’m trying to help you, that’s all,” I hold my hand out to her. “Take your jacket off, I’ll hang it up with mine.”

“Are you stray catting me?” she asks, pulling off her jacket. “Is that why you asked me to come inside?” She chooses to shove her jacket behind her on the chair rather than give it to me, and I know that’s because she feels safer having it with her, in case she has to run. I’d guess she probably lifted one of my kitchen knives, too, and has it hidden on her someplace.

Shaking my head, I go to the small kitchenette and put some water in a teapot to boil. About a week ago, she told me her stray cat obligation theory, worried I’m only hanging out with her because I feel sorry for her because no one else wants to. In true me fashion, I shot back that maybe she’s only hanging out with me because I saved her life and now she has the white-knight syndrome.

Insecurity eats at both of us.

“Don’t fish,” I say.

“Fish?” Her nose crinkles with confusion, something she does that pisses me off with its cuteness. There are so many little things about her that just get to me lately, that make me smile when I don’t want to, that make me fight to focus on what she’s talking about rather than getting lost in the shape of her lips. Even the way she talks nonstop sometimes, like a song in my head that, even though I’ve heard it a hundred times, still puts me in a good mood.

“Fishing for verification.” I pull two mugs from the cabinet and put tea bags in them. “Do you like milk and sugar in your tea?” I turn to face her, and she’s staring at me like she has no idea who I am.

“Holly?” Shit, I hope she’s not going to have a meltdown and pass out in the middle of my tiny living room. There’s really no way she can fall without banging her head on something on the way down.

“You’re making tea?” Her voice is laced with surprise.

“Is that okay?” Maybe tea is a trigger, something she was poisoned with in the past. One night, during our texts, she told me all about how that asshole who had her would put something in her water to make her fall asleep. It put me in such a rage I couldn’t sleep for two days. My inner demons were begging to get high or drunk, anything to numb the feelings battling inside me.

Instead, I drove to the city, to a dirty warehouse I’ve spent a lot of my time in since my second accident. Underground street fighting, my favorite stress and violence outlet. My brothers used to fight, too, to make extra money to help support Mom and the bike shop after Pop died. They quit fighting a few years back, but I’ve secretly kept going about once a month. I don’t do it for the money, though. I do it mostly for the self-punishment. I let my opponent beat the fuck out of me until the very end, and then I take him down. Ninety percent of the time, I win. Every opponent becomes the face of karma to me first, giving me what I deserve for destroying my family, and then my opponent morphs into the asshole that kidnapped and hurt Holly, and I get to beat the hell out of him all over again. This last time I didn’t have to worry about explaining cuts and bruises all over my face when I saw Holly the next day because I chose to not even let the guy get a punch in. I just pummeled him right from the start and walked out with two grand in dirty cash that reeked of weed.

I guess the thing about Holly that makes me the craziest is how being around her is like being on an emotional train, and every stop brings something new and unexpected. Happiness, fear, anger, care, desire. Unfortunately, the train doesn’t let me get off. I’ve got a one-way ticket to places I never wanted to visit again.

Or even thought I could visit.

“Tea is good. I like milk, sugar, and honey. And you should have honey, too,” she says. “I just didn’t know you made tea. It’s so…nice.” She says it with a hint of disbelief. “And verification of what?”

I’ve been so lost in my thoughts I have to back the conversation up in my mind to remember what we were talking about.

“Verification that I like being with you.”