A new episode of Broadrick's favorite office comedy began, and he paused the television before uncurling himself from our bundle of blankets.

"You want anything else to drink?" he asked as he refilled his cup with OJ from the fridge.

Saturday dumped six inches of snow on Pelican Bay in less than four hours. It wasn't enough to close the city, but it made for a good excuse to stay home and relax under the blankets. Broadrick stocked up on the essentials and certain items he called "cold relief" like the orange juice.

"I'm good. Thanks."

I still hadn't admitted I had a cold, but I could admit he was a decent guy. Most of the time.

And I was feeling a little better.

He reclaimed his seat and stretched his legs out over the coffee table before stealing half the blankets I'd already stolen from him when he left.

I hit play on the remote when it seemed he'd adjusted, and a car commercial for our local dealership came on. They used the same actress to play both lead parts in the commercial, ripping off a theme from a major credit card company's national campaign.

"Did you know that's the dealership owner's daughter?" I asked, pointing at the blonde. NB found a cat-free spot on the back of the couch. He adjusted his position and his back toenails scratched my neck in the process.

Broadrick tipped one eyebrow higher than the other. "Really? Not surprising."

"Yup. She's cute, right?" I moved NB's leg so his nails weren't digging into my skin.

Broadrick chuckled just once. "Not really. Blondes terrify me," he said, tugging a piece of blonde hair from my messy bun.

"As they should." NB licked the back of my neck with his big slobbery tongue, and I pushed him toward Broadrick.

"You need a better car for the winter," Broadrick said.

I scoffed. There were lists of things I needed, but a new car was not one of them. And it's not like he could talk. "You drive a motorcycle."

It was the stupidest choice for Maine, even if he looked hot on it.

Broadrick scooped NB from the back of the couch and laid him on his lap before giving him an ear scratch. That's probably why the damn dog liked him more. "I'm thinking of getting a truck."

Hmm Broadrick in a truck. He'd probably buy a big one with tall tires that I had to jump to get into the passenger seat. It'd be black like all the security guys because I swear they wanted to blend in so no one knew who was following you around town.

Probably leather interior. Definitely heated seats.

"I see it," I said and sneezed. It was a much smaller sneeze than any other, giving me hope the cold was almost over.

Broadrick stared at me in silence.

"What?"

Did I have a booger? He looked at me like he expected me to turn into a gremlin. "There's always two sneezes."

"There is not." That was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever said, which wasn't saying much since as a SEAL he was pretty serious and not fond of saying crazy things.

Then I felt it.

Shit.

I wiggled my nose.

Broadrick lifted his stupid eyebrow.

I opened my mouth. The internet taught me you can't sneeze with your mouth open.

Broadrick nodded.

I glared.

And then I sneezed.

Because he didn't want to die that day, Broadrick said nothing. He did, however, tuck the blankets around my hips more, making it hard to move. "You sound like you're getting better."

"I think so, too." See, if both of us thought I was healthy again, I could definitely get back to work tomorrow.

But first I'd finish the television marathon while the city dug itself out from the snow.

**

Hours later, the sun had set and Broadrick turned on the living room lights. I woke up on the couch with my head resting on the armrest and a pile of drool on the pillow my mother bought me for Valentine's Day when I first moved into my apartment.

My back ached from the twisted way I'd fallen asleep, but my nose wasn't runny like it had been when I'd woken up the last few days.

"You awake?" Broadrick asked from beside me.

As soon as I sat up, he had a glass of orange juice inches from my face. I took it since I didn't have another option. "How long did I sleep?" If I had to guess, I'd say a lifetime.

"A few hours. Finish the entire glass of OJ. It's not safe to leave glasses sitting out unattended. Spencer came out of hiding to drink from the glass. I had to perform ninja tricks to keep him from it."

His serious expression that turned his lips into thin lines as he spoke made me smile. "I'm sorry I missed that."

I attempted to stand, but he'd tucked the covers around me so hard I had to yank on them, and that moved my back weirdly, so I gave up and sat down to drink the orange juice.

"That cat tried to eat a shoe," Broadrick said when I had it half finished.

I choked on my drink and splashed OJ over the rim. "Why did you let him do that?"

Yes, I thought something was weird about the cat. Like he had a demon living inside him, but I wouldn't admit that to Broadrick. I wanted him to think the cat was only horrible for him. So, I'm petty. Shoot me. He'd already turned my dog against me.

"I didn't let him," Broadrick said, sounding indignant at the thought. "He ruined the laces on my favorite work boots."

I'd hidden all my shoes on the top shelf in my closet when I noticed Spencer's affinity for shoes. "Hmm. That's weird. I thought it was a dog thing."

"It's a demon thing." My bedroom door opened with a squeak.

Something heavy hit the wood. "He's just a kitten, B."

Think of how horrible he'd be as a full-grown adult cat.

A repeating thud sound preceded Spencer's entrance to the living room. NB hid under the covers between the two of us and growled. Spencer turned the corner of the couch with a yank on the shoelace he had between his teeth, tugging along a white Nike sneaker.

Broadrick should have put his shoes on the top shelf. "What the hell?"

"Aww, how cute," I said, but my insides recoiled.

Frankie needed to get his ass home and reclaim his cat. Broadrick threw back the blankets and stood, leaning over to grab the shoe from Spencer's mouth. I expected the cat to let go and run away, but the little black and white creature stood his ground and growled with the lace sticking out of his mouth.

"Do you see this?" Broadrick asked.

Oh, I definitely saw it. "I think he likes you."

Broadrick tugged on the shoe, and Spencer dropped the lace and raced for the bedroom where he'd obviously been digging through my closet for chew toys. "The feeling is not mutual."

He tossed the shoe on the coffee table and sat down again.

"Why is your shoe in my closet, anyway?" I asked. He was continuously leaving stuff around my place, and I didn't know how I felt about it.

"You really don't know?" he asked it with a heavy sigh.

But I knew. Deep down inside, I knew.

"I just..." I paused, taking a breath to figure out how to spill out years' worth of feelings in a single sentence. "I can't move forward until I understand the past, and I definitely don't understand the past."

Broadrick and I were dating. It was long distance, but I thought things were going great. Then one random afternoon in the fall, he sends me a Dear Jane email breaking up with me. Then months later he randomly shows up in Pelican Bay, and I'm supposed to take him back with no questions.

Then right when I think I'm ready to give it another shot, I find him smuggling government-issued weapons with a bunch of lowlife criminals. Who kidnapped me! That was a lot for someone to get over. You had to be really forgiving.

And I was not really forgiving.

Silence stretched between us, and right when I'd been about to give up, Broadrick let out a tremendous breath of air. "I don't know where to start or how much you want to know."

"Everything." Didn't he remember who I was? "I want you to tell me every piece in minute detail."

He laughed, but it wasn't sincere. "Trust me, that you do not want. No one does. I don't even want these memories."

My heart constricted because my first thought was he'd cheated, and if he confessed now, I wasn't sure I'd live through it. Then I remembered what Broadrick did for a living. More than likely, his memories weren't cheating but something way worse. Death.

"I can handle it, B." I hoped I didn't lie to him as I placed my hand on his knee.

"August of last year, we received word we were going on a rescue mission. Deep undercover with no communication with families. We had to leave everything behind and enter the country as our civilian identities. And no, I won't tell you where. That's still classified," he said when I opened my mouth.

NB rustled the blankets as he dug his way out, and his head peeked through an opening. "They gave us the suicide protocol."

"What's that?"