"Jace." He looks to Rebecca whose eyes are cast down and then back to me.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I ask, moving closer to him. I'm seeing red.

"Jace, stop." Rebecca stands in front of me and places her hand on my chest.

Fury, anger, pure unadulterated rage is speeding through my veins. Not because Rebecca is with another man, I don't give a shit about that. My best friend, the man I consider a brother, the man who knows about Rebecca's attempt to get Hope back, the man who has watched me fucking cry over the possible loss to Alex and June . . . that man stands before me in Rebecca's living room, clearly not his first visit. The. Bastard.

"Ethan!" I yell this time. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He sets the tray on the card table set up in the dining area and tosses the oven mitts down as well. "Look, I was going to tell you, man."

"Tell me what?" I charge toward him but once again, Rebecca steps between us, and puts her hands on my chest. "What were you going to fucking tell me?"

I've got to give credit to him, he doesn't back down in the presence of my rage, instead he steps forward, ready to talk. He's calm. Calm. The fuck. I'm the complete opposite. I'm the epitome of rage, wanting to ram my fist through someone's head. Preferably his.

"We've been seeing each other, man," he says calmly. Christ, he's wearing a fucking apron, a polo on underneath, and his hair is parted to the side like some kind of whipped jackass. Who the hell is this man and what has he done with my best friend?

"You've been seeing each other. How long?" I grind out.

"A month," Rebecca answers back.

"A month?" My hands fly to my hair, and I start pulling on the strands. "You've been seeing her for a month and didn't say anything to me? Especially once she came back to my place and asked for Hope?" I pace the living room, trying to comprehend this entire situation.

As a best friend, how could he do that? How could he sit on my couch with me and listen to my tortured words, commiserate with me over my situation, and even offer guidance, knowing fully well that he's banging my baby mama. Yeah, it breaks the bro code. What garbage did he feed me in his feeble attempt to support me?

Jace, you made a huge sacrifice, one of the biggest sacrifices a person can make. You have to give yourself time to heal. The fucker.

I don't get it. I don't fucking get it!

"This is bullshit," I shout, grabbing one of the dining room chairs and tossing it against the wall, not even caring about the damage.

"Man, let's sit down and talk about this."

My fury turns on Ethan. Keeping my distance, I point at him and say, "Fuck you and fuck talking. You're dead to me." Turning to Rebecca, I say, "Drop the request to get Hope back because if you don't, I swear on my fucking life that I will make the rest of your living days a nightmare. You can quote me on that."

Without another word, I storm out of her dilapidated apartment, past the worn and torn doors, and down the metal steps leading to the parking lot. There is no fucking way my daughter is living in this shithole. Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone. Need. Her.

"Jace?"

"Hollyn," I breathe out. "Pack a bag and head to the airport. There will be a ticket waiting for you."

"What? Jace, I can't-"

"Please. I need you, Hollyn. I can't explain it over the phone. I fucking need you."

"Okay," she answers without hesitation. "I'll pack right now."

DAISY.

"Brakes! Daisy, brakes!" Carter shouts into my ear as I fiddle with the hand brake, my fingers pulling back quickly. As we come to an immediate stop, I realize I forgot to hit the rear brakes as well when the motorcycle starts to lift and Carter flies into my back.

"Oh goodness." I fly into the front of the bike, my helmet-covered head hitting the controls and speedometer. Carter's muscular frame pushes me even more forward.

From around my back, Carter leans forward, puts the bike in park, and quickly turns it off. With his superior strength, he balances the bike for both of us. I feel . . . exhilarated. I just drove a motorcycle. Eep! With Carter right behind me.

"Off." One word, that's all he says, and I start to get nervous. I'll be honest, I'm not the best driver, and trying to get me to understand how to drive a motorcycle, yikes, I might have given Carter a few minor heart attacks. I'm betting this last little stint will be the end of my motorcycle driving days, especially since I almost ran us into a fence.

A little disappointed, I get off the bike, take off my helmet, and fidget in place while I wait for Carter, who seems to be catching his breath. He flips his visor up and that's when I see his eyes for the first time since he started teaching me. They are wide, yet when they rake over my body, it's not anger I see, it's . . . concern? He pops the kickstand, gets off the bike, and walks over to me.

In the sexiest way possible-I swear I'm not just saying that-he removes his helmet and drops it to the ground. He does the same with my helmet and then cups my cheeks, searching my eyes.

"Are you okay?" How is he not angry? He's worried . . . about me.

"Yeah, but I think you should be asking your bike that, not me. She took more of a beating than I did."

He glances back at his bike and then returns his gaze on mine. "She's replaceable, you're not. Are you sure you're okay? You really flew into the handlebar."

"I'm okay."

As if he doesn't believe me, he continues to assess me. His thumbs run over my cheeks, his eyes rake up and down my body. When he seems satisfied, he lets out a long breath. "Shit, Snowflake. You're terrible at riding a bike."

"Hey! It was my first time," I say. "I bet you weren't Mr. Jimmy Motorcycle when you first started."

"Mr. Jimmy Motorcycle?" His eyes twinkle with humor.

"Yeah, you know, Mr. Jimmy Motorcycle."

"I really don't." He laughs now. "Enlighten me."

"Mr. Jimmy Motorcycle is like pro status, it's an expression."

"Huh, never heard it before." His hands fall to my hips and pull me in closer to his body, sending a bolt of heat straight down my spine, not that I need it. Ever since he kissed me, my body has been on fire.

Gah, he kissed me! My first ever kiss, with a man like Carter. With the man I've been crushing on for weeks now, he kissed me, without any warning. It was so magical, like something you would see in a movie, at least that's what it felt like. I doubt it felt like that for him, of course. I'm sure Carter has kissed many, many girls before me. And none of them would have been so . . . inexperienced.

And when he pulled his lips away from mine, he fell right into step with showing me how to drive, his hands roaming my body, helping me learn something new. To be honest, my learning something new could have just been the kiss, but I still allowed him to teach me how to ride, even though I enjoyed him running his hands all over my body more than actually driving.

But I would never admit that for two reasons: I'm unbearably shy, and I don't want him to feel like he wasted his time.

Not that I consider what he taught me a waste of time, nope, not one bit.

"Daisy?" He steps closer, his forehead lowering to mine.

"Hmm," I practically purr. Being so close to him does that to me.

"I don't ever want you driving my motorcycle again."

"What?" I pull away from him. "Why not? I wasn't that bad."

He doesn't let me get far because he uses my arm like a yoyo string and reels me back into his body, my palms flattening against his hardened chest. Gosh, he's so nice to touch. As if he's a warm biscuit fresh out of the oven, you just need to play with it in your hands, or is that just me?

"Snowflake, you were terrible."

"Hey now. Terrible is a strong word. I wasn't that hard on Nancy Drew."

"I thought we talked about not calling her Nancy Drew," he counters, light still in his eyes.

"What am I supposed to call her? Harley? That seems so lame. Nancy Drew, now that's exciting."

"How is naming my motorcycle after a fictional character who would identify as an amateur sleuth exciting?"

"Because Nancy Drew is exciting and a bit of a mystery, both qualities your bike possesses. I mean, if you were going to be so picky about a name for her, you would have named her already."

"Who says I haven't?" He avoids eye contact with me. Oh my goodness, he's named her!

"You named her? And you didn't introduce me properly before I straddled her? How rude are you? Gosh, what she must think of me?"

"She was saying you were rude the other day." His smile stretches across his face in a James Franco way. Sigh.

"She wasn't saying I was rude." I take offense. "Now if you ever want me to get on that thing again, you better introduce me properly. You know, it's not every day I sit on someone. So, a proper introduction will make it less awkward for when I sit on her next."

"You're ridiculous."

"Maybe, but don't you want to know the people you sit on?"

"I don't sit on people."

"But if you were to."

"I don't sit on people," he repeats.

"Ugh, just tell me her name."

"So demanding." He pushes some of my hair behind my ear, his hand lingering, sending chills down my arms. "Snowflake, I want you to meet Veronica."

"Veronica?" I giggle.

He shrugs. "I had a thing for Veronica Mars."

Veronica who? A stitch of jealousy takes place in my stomach. He named his motorcycle after a girl he liked? Did she ever drive his bike? Did he ever try to teach her? The euphoria I was feeling just turned bitter. I thought I was special. I guess just not as special as this Veronica Mars girl.

What a stupid name.

Ugh, that's a lie. Mars is a pretty cool last name, but I want to hate her . . .

I swallow hard and say, "Veronica Mars, huh? Did you guys date long?"

"What?" Carter asks, a furrow in his brow. I'm about to ask again, maybe he didn't hear me, when his face goes from confusion to humor. Right on cue, his head falls back and he laughs, full-body, from deep within his gut, laughs.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down, his neck exposed to me for my viewing pleasure. I hate to admit it, but with each bark of laughter that escapes him, I grow more and more self-conscious over this Veronica Mars girl. I wonder what she looks like. Is she pretty? Of course she is. She had to be someone special for Carter to name his bike after her.

Growing a little tired of his laughter, I say, "I don't see how this is so funny."

His hysterics die down. He takes me in. "What? Are you jealous?"

"Jealous? Who me?" I point at myself and then wave him off. "Of course not. I'm not jealous at all."

Oh my gosh, I am so jealous. Darn you, Veronica Mars, for making me feel like this, darn you.

"Oh, Snowflake." He cups my cheek again and pulls me close, pressing a very light kiss on my lips, once again sending chills up and down my body, which is a stark contrast to what's happening inside me. With our lips just a whisper away, he says, "Veronica Mars was a TV show a few years back."

"A TV show?"

"Yeah." He chuckles. "Did you really think I would name my bike after an ex-girlfriend? Do I look like that kind of guy?"

Feeling awfully stupid, but relieved, I answer him. "Well, you are moody. Maybe it was a rebellion thing."

"You are so sheltered." Laughing some more, he pulls me into a hug, and I take that moment to rest my head on his chest, memorizing the way his chiseled chest feels against my cheek. Loving the way his chiseled chest feels against my cheek. "Come on, I want to show you something."

Linking our hands together, he walks me over to the fence that I almost ran us into, grips my hips, and lifts me to sit on top. Not wasting any time, he joins me, making sure to sit as close to me as possible.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asks, looking out into a field of nothing. Thanks to the cool winter months, the ground is brown, no spring life in sight quite yet.

"Beautiful?" I ask, confused. Maybe he's seeing something I'm not.

"The field. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Okay, so we are looking at the same thing. Seeing the beauty in everything has always been a trait of mine but this, this is a field of upturned dirt.

"Uh, sure?" I ask as a question.

He snuggles even closer and wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. Is this how he is with every girl? Being this close to him, having him touch me so easily as if he's done it for years, is incredible. I'm trying desperately to not read anything into his tactility. Perhaps he's just one who likes to touch. He speaks closely into my ear, and his breath tickles. "Sometimes, Daisy, you can't see the beauty in something right away. Sometimes you have to sit back and hope it grows into what you know it can be. Life is a fucking funny thing. There is so much we want from it. We both desire freedom, but in two different ways. And even though I'd like to say there is a beautiful future ahead of me, it's hard to see the potential in my situation. But with you . . ." he kisses the side of my head, his lips grazing my skin as he continues, "you have a field like this in front of you, with just as much potential. It may seem like a dirt pile at first, but when you let it grow, when you actively nurture it, it can grow into something of such beauty." From the side, his arm lifts up, his phone in his hand, a picture displayed on the screen. When it comes into view, I see why he brought me over here. We are in the same spot the photo was taken, but instead of a brown field in the picture, it's a field of sunflowers, spanning out for yards. Bold varieties of yellow against the bright blue Colorado sky enchant me. It's one of the most gorgeous pictures I've ever seen. "You're just like this field, Daisy," he continues to whisper in my ear, "waiting to sprout and bloom." Kissing the side of my head, he says, "Don't let anyone stop you from achieving what you want. Got it?"

My eyes fixated on his, I nod. "Got it."

"Good." He sighs and looks back out at the empty field. "You're special, Daisy. You have so much potential. I hope you know that."

If only he believed in his potential as well.

HOLLYN.

Announcements about arriving and departing flights ring through the airport as I make my way down to passenger pick-up. The world stands still around me, family and friends celebrating and reuniting, kids running around, their parents trying to wrangle them in, but nothing fazes me. I look for Jace, his pained, yet angered voice still haunting me, but I don't see him until I'm at the very bottom of baggage claim and moving toward the doors that lead to the street.

There he is, leaning against the wall next to an elevator, his sweatshirt hood pulled low on his head, one of his feet propped up, the other balancing his large frame. Deflated, his shoulders are slouched, his gaze cast down, and in one hand, he scrolls through his phone until he looks up, instantly making eye contact with me, as if he knew I was in the same room as him.

He shifts off the wall, pockets his phone, and swaggers over to me, little blond sprigs of hair poking out from his forehead, his blue eyes focused directly on me.

I only have a small duffel carry-on bag that I have slung over my shoulder but when Jace reaches me, he frees me of my bag and links our hands together. Without a word, he guides me out to the temporary parking lot. Soon he unlocks a black Range Rover, places my luggage in the trunk, and guides me to the passenger side where he helps me in the seat but then turns me so I'm facing him. He lets out a strangled sigh and buries his head into the crook between my shoulder and neck. It's as if he can finally rest, find peace. What on earth has happened since I last saw him?