"You're serious?" I asked. Broadrick came to stand beside me because, of course, he needed to be here to see my shame. Why not?

Mrs. Mets tapped her foot on the porch. "Absolutely."

I wanted to argue. What if my money was in my apartment? She'd have to let me in to get it. Did she think I had rent money in my pocket?

I did, but that wasn't the important part.

Broadrick reached for his wallet, and I lost my resolve to argue with her. I'd win the fight with Mrs. Mets but lose one with the SEAL.

"No, you don't," I said and slapped Broadrick's hand away from his back pocket.

I reached into my tank top and grabbed the folded over envelope from Mrs. Coogs. The skin under the now missing envelope instantly chilled. Damn it. Paying my rent would take most of my pay from finding Brent.

I counted out the bills in crisp hundreds with my poop hand and slammed them into Mrs. Mets' waiting palm before she stepped to the side and let me enter my apartment.

"Next time, pay promptly by the tenth or else," she called after us.

"Next time, pay promptly by the tenth or else," I mimicked her sarcastically under my breath.

She followed right behind us, closing the door and waiting like a determined old miser for us to enter the basement. "And don't be getting dirt on my hall rug."

I stomped a little harder as Broadrick pulled open the basement door and held it for me.

"It's the fifteenth. Were you late on rent?" he asked halfway down the stairs.

I kept right on marching past the washer and dryer, trying my hardest to leave mud everywhere. "Don't talk to me."

We weren't here to talk about rent. I didn't know why he was there at all. I needed a shower, but Broadrick had no reason to be in my place.

"You can't be fifteen days late with rent. Do you need help with cash?"

Why did everyone question me?

I spun on him before unlocking the door. "No. I moved in mid-month, so my rent isn't due until the tenth. So, I'm only five days late."

Broadrick tipped his head. "That's still late."

I threw my hands up and pushed open the apartment door. "I paid her. Didn't I?"

Broadrick nodded, but he did it slowly enough that I didn't trust it. I didn't trust a lot about Broadrick lately.

Not Brent did a flying dog leap off the sofa and ran for me. He stopped to give my heels a sniff.

"I don't want your criminal money. It's dirty." I didn't want any money from him, but I enjoyed getting the dig in there to remind him I knew his secrets.

If the US government came to arrest him for selling guns to criminals, would they take me to jail too? Aiding and abetting?

I reached down for Not Brent, expecting him to jump in my arms, but he backed away after a few sniffs at my shoe. Sure, I didn't smell great, but now even the dog didn't want to be around me?

He meandered over to Broadrick and let him pet him on top of his head. Traitor of the worst kind.

How did everything go great and horrible at the same time?

"I just need to shower, okay?" A shower would fix everything.

"Sure, babe." Broadrick picked up Not Brent and the two of them sat together on the couch.

I turned back ready to resume our argument about him leaving, but the words died as I stood there watching as Not Brent snuggle into Broadrick's neck. Broadrick scratched him behind his ears and let Not Brent rub his face against his.

My ex-boyfriend might have been a thieving ne'er-do-well, but apparently my dog liked him.

No, not my dog. Someone's dog.

I'd find Not Brent's owner and then make Broadrick their problem as well-a two-for-one deal.

My heart lurched at the idea, and I had to force myself to continue walking to the bathroom. I could demand Broadrick leave, but I was too tired to fight with him and, honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted him to leave.

Not really.

Why had I fallen right back into the same patterns of... liking him? He dumped me, lied to me, and turned on the government. Why couldn't I stop liking him? It shouldn't be so hard to stop loving a criminal.

Something was wrong with me. A leaf fell from my hair as I opened the bathroom door. I was a mess.

Literally and figuratively.

I didn't even wait for the shower water to warm up before jumping in, even the icy chill felt nice until it heated.

"Fucking hell, Vonnie. You still love him," I whispered to myself with my head on the shower wall.

I'd barely made it through my first shampoo job-I planned on three of them because you could never be too clean when poop was involved-before the realization hit me.

I freaking loved Broadrick MacGregor.

The shampoo coated my hair as I stepped under the shower spray.

Under no conditions could I ever let Broadrick figure out I still loved him. He'd never let me live it down. He'd never leave.

Just because I still had feelings for him didn't mean I had to act on them. He was still a liar who broke my heart. He couldn't show up six months later and pretend like we didn't have serious issues. It took more than a thirty-dollar coffee cup to win me back after what he'd done.

Thoughts of Broadrick filled my head as I showered slowly and then took my time selecting an outfit and getting dressed. It felt like the entire world crashed around me and then somehow arranged itself right back the way it had been earlier during my shower.

"Well, I have to head into work," I called out a second before walking into the living room.

I didn't want him to think I'd dressed for him in my jeans and buffalo plaid thermal. My outfit choice wasn't for him at all. I wanted to look good for bakery patrons.

In the end, it didn't matter anyway because he wasn't in my living room. Only a ten-pound Jack Russell mutt of a dog slept on the couch.

Shit.

Did he take me literally all those times when I told him to get out? How come he finally listened now? The one time I didn't threaten him with bodily harm if he didn't leave. Men were so weird.

Right when I decided maybe he wasn't the worst person in the world, he gave up? Why did fate play such horrible games?

And why did my heart crumble again? Only Broadrick had that ability over me.

"Come on, buddy. Time to pee." I slapped my leg, waking Not Brent up and then clicked his leash to his collar before having to pick him up off the sofa.

He might not have wanted to potty, but if he didn't go before I left for work, he might have an accident. I could not handle the monetary or emotional drama that would cause with Mrs. Mets.

I practically pulled Not Brent outside and led him around the backyard. My hair froze into little hair icicles within the first minute. That couldn't be good for my split ends.

While I waited for Not Brent to sniff all the bushes and pick which one he wanted to pee on, I surfed the internet on my phone.

Not Brent peed on his third bush and I pulled up my earlier post, asking if anyone had more information on him. My face fell as I scrolled through the comments. They were a steady stream of negatives. No one knew where he came from or remembered seeing a Brent look-alike roaming the streets.

"What are we going to do with you, buddy?"