I always found art to be a form of therapy for me. I clung to it as a lifeline. Music and books. Two forms of art that saved my life on more occasions than I dared to think about.

In the lyrics of a song I could pretend. I could be a different person. In the pages of a storybook I could travel. My emotions grew through the words of famous people who sang of their troubles and wrote about their grief.

I could relate to this.

I survived through this.

I was sure I would have died many years ago without it, maybe not physically, but in a deeper way. Yes, my heart would have kept beating, but sometimes dying is the least of a person’s worries. Sometimes . . . sometimes living can be a much crueler fate.

I knew that sounded ridiculous, but for the people who have never been in control of the physical pain their body has to endure . . . I was certain they would understand my words. My meaning.

It’s a complicated state of mind to put into words. How do you make people understand something you don’t entirely understand yourself? All I knew was this . . .

I was born into a cruel world, to a family who didn’t want me, into a life I didn’t fit into. I grew up in a home where the screams and cries of a young child were ignored. I grew up with my shoulders slumped and my mind set on flight mode.

Empty. Ugly. Scarred. Cold. Lonely. Hungry. Terrified.

Seven words that defined my childhood. Described me. Described the people of my childhood. I suffered extreme cruelty. I was lost. Lost in this crazy world, full of lies, full of liars. Trust was something I couldn’t afford to hand out easily, for betrayal was the reward for my misguided trust.

I had one friend–one consistent rock–for the first eighteen years of my life.

Camryn Frey.

She died for me.

Took a bullet intended to end my life.

I watched her blood spill, felt her skin grow cold as death filled the room which she took her last breath in. She died and my unborn child died. Sometimes, in the dark of the night when I lay awake in my bed reflecting on all my past mistakes, I wondered—no, I hoped—they were together.

If I was a piece of drift wood, I would surely be far out in the ocean, drifting aimlessly, hopelessly.

But I had an anchor.

My anchor came in the form of a six foot-two inches, temperamental, beautiful man who, in many ways, was as broken as me. He pulled me to the surface, saved me from drowning in the depths of despair and desolation. He waded into my ocean of solitude and rescued me. The events that followed our meeting were some of the worst I’d ever witnessed–some of the worst I’d ever suffered. But it was too late for me by then because I’d fallen.

I had fallen in love with my anchor.

And with love came more sorrow, heartache and pain than I could have ever anticipated. Loving him almost killed me. And knowing that it still could, only added to the paralyzing concoction of pain and pleasure that coursed through my veins. He was more of a warrior—more of a hero—than any of the men in the books I’d read. He was real. He had flaws, many of them, he said the wrong thing. He did terrible things. But his heart, oh god, he had the heart of a lion. He loved fiercely. He protected me to the death. I had never felt love like that.

He would kill for me.

He would always keep me safe.

What an extraordinarily perverse feeling. To find comfort in the knowledge that another human being would shed the blood of another to keep me safe. To keep me alive.

Two years ago I would have shuddered at this notion.

Two years ago I hadn’t known Kyle Carter . . .

“You ready to go, baby?” Kyle called out from the doorway of the hotel suite, stirring me from my reverie. We’d been cooped up in the honeymoon suite of the Henderson hotel for the past hour, waiting for a break in the storm. It wasn’t coming. Instead of going away, more and more reporters had arrived to stake us out. To get their pound of flesh.

I nodded my head in reluctance. I wasn’t ready. If I had my way I’d never leave this room again. I was freaking terrified. It was starting up again. Perry Franklin had made sure of that when he went on television and slammed me to millions of people. My father had enforced every fear I could dream up with his phone call. I was choking on my anxiety and the familiar taste of fear was sour, sharp and cutting. “How many do you think are out there?” I asked nervously as I glanced towards the window.

It was freezing cold outside, as per normal for the month of January in Boulder, Colorado, and to be perfectly honest I couldn’t understand why these people were prepared to stand out there and wait for us. Yeah, the murder trial was an attraction–a lure–but for god’s sake, we weren’t celebrities. There were no actors, musicians or athletes inside this room. We were normal people. We didn’t deserve this. None of it.

“There’ll be a lot more if you two don’t get a move on,” Derek Porter, our longtime friend and roommate, muttered as he hoisted Hope into his arms and moved over to the curtains. “Dibs on the kid. She’s like a cheat sheet,” he chuckled, his smile not quite touching his worried green eyes. “They can’t touch her,” he added softly, his eyes on me as he spoke. I knew he was trying to comfort me and in any other circumstance I would answer him, but my lips were wobbling so much I wasn’t sure what would come out if I spoke.

“Kelsie,” Kyle snarled into his phone, startling me. I watched in dismay as Kyle paced the suite like a mad-man, one hand holding his phone to his ear, the other tugging at his tie. “I want him tracked. I don’t give two shits what the correct procedure is,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that we were listening to his rant.

“No, you hear me,” he roared, raising his hand to yank on his hair. Things were bad when Kyle yanked on his hair. I had a fear he would have premature baldness from the amount of punishment he put his hair through on a daily basis. “Keep that fucker where you can see him. I want a daily report on his movements.” Kyle’s brow shot up in obvious surprise and he dropped his hand to his side, momentarily silent. I was desperate to know how his faithful attorney had managed to silence him. He was a hard man to stump. I needed some tips from her. “Rachel?” Kyle whispered. “Pushed back? To when?” His eyes flicked to me and he visibly flinched. “This is a goddamn nightmare . . .”

“Okay, buddy,” Derek interjected, taking the phone from Kyle’s hand. “He’ll call you later, sweetheart,” he said into the phone before ending the call and sliding the phone into Kyle’s shirt pocket. “Priorities, dude,” Derek mumbled. “You’ve got bigger ones here.”

Derek inclined his head in my direction, eyeing Kyle meaningfully. Both men stood staring at one another and I almost felt like I was eavesdropping on a moment. Something passed between them–their close bond ensuring no words were required–some unspoken agreement and I watched as they simultaneously nodded before turning their backs on me and facing the window.

“Let’s go home,” Kyle said finally, breaking the unnerving silence.

“Kyle,” I mumbled, feeling incredibly nervous. “Is there any way . . . could we stay here . . .”

“We are not hiding,” he said calmly. Stalking towards me, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “You are not hiding, princess.”

“It’s not about hiding,” I countered quietly. “It’s about not giving them any more ammunition to fire at us.”

“Fuck that,” he snarled, his tone agitated, his whole frame trembling with what I was sure was anger. “Tell me something, Lee,” he said. “Tell me what the hell we have to be ashamed of? What any of us have done to deserve this punishment?” He shook his head to make a further point. “All we are guilty of is having come from shitty families. We’re not killers. We’re not rapists and we are not fucking child-beaters. So, yeah, princess, fuck that.”

I had to smile at his straight-laced, black and white way of thinking. That was Kyle all over. He didn’t give a damn about what people thought of him. It never cost him a seconds worth of sleep and I was incredibly envious of that. To be that self-assured. To be that comfortable in your own skin . . .

“You’re right.” I closed my eyes and sagged against him, reveling in the way his body calmed mine. I felt like a leech, sucking his strength into me. I didn’t feel too badly about it though. Kyle had more strength than all of us. He wasn’t afraid of anyone. He really was like superman—a potty mouthed version. God, I loved that man. “Keep us safe,” I begged, my voice barely more than a breathy whisper.

I felt his lips touch my forehead, his fingers trail over my cheekbone. “Always,” he murmured for my ears only.

Getting from the hotel to the car was an unpleasant experience. The cat was out of the bag and we were surrounded within the hour. Kyle’s cell phone was going off every fifteen seconds, Lee was shaking—literally shaking like an ivy leaf—and Hope . . . well, that girl was a trooper. She silently cuddled into my chest, peeking over my arm with curious, perceptive eyes.

If we had been in different circumstances, I would have joked about the possessive way Kyle had his arms wrapped around Lee, but tonight’s events sobered me. Speaking of sober, I wished to hell I wasn’t. Right now, all I wanted to do was get wasted, pass out, and pretend the last three hours had been another nightmare. But no, of course shit like this always had to happen to us. We couldn’t have a normal damn life. I felt like I was tempting fate even thinking about it. Whoever the hell was in control of the karma-train seriously needed to back the fuck away from us. We needed a break.

“Get ready, guys,” Kyle warned as he stepped forward and opened the doors. “They’re starving and we’re a goddamn buffet.”

The moment we stepped outside the safety of the hotel all hell broke loose. I was immediately blinded by flashing lights and deafened by the roars and screams of opportunistic assholes. More reporters than I’d seen in months circled us like vultures with their bright flashing cameras and stupid as hell microphones. “Keep calm,” I warned Kyle as I covered Hope’s face with my arm, shielding her from the camera lights flashing in her face.

“Get my daughter in the car, Derek,” he snarled, as he wrapped one arm around Lee’s back and used the other to hold her face against his chest, whispering words of encouragement and love to his girl. All I could feel inside was pure unadulterated rage.

This was so unfair. It was worse than unfair. It was cruel and vicious. If I could catch a flight to Louisiana right now I would. Perry Franklin needed to pay for this. This shit was senseless. A malevolent attack on an innocent girl. How one human being could turn out so good-natured and pure, even though every attempt of twisting her perception and warping her mind had been made, was beyond me.

“Shh baby. I got you,” I heard Kyle say as he pushed through the throngs of people determined to get in our faces.

“I know,” I heard Lee say, her voice muffled because she had her face tucked into his arm. We were only a stone throw away from Kyle’s Mercedes, but the forty or so reporters surrounding us made it seem like a mile.

“Get the fuck out of my face, asshole,” Kyle snarled as he shouldered past a bloated looking idiot with an impressive looking camera. The main focus of every person out here was my two best-friends, which gave me ample opportunity to get their daughter safely tucked away in the car. Pretty pointless taking pictures of Hope. She was practically invincible when it came to the media. Kyle made sure of that. Every attempt of photographing her would be a futile one. They couldn’t print her photo. She was a minor and her daddy had more than enough money to lock any paper who dared to expose her into a legal battle for the next sixty or so years.

Strapping Hope into her car seat, I quickly closed the door and rushed around to the driver’s side. “Can we get a comment, Mr. Carter?” I heard some asswipe demand and I scanned the crowd.

When I locked eyes with Kyle, I shook my head in warning. “Keep calm,” I mouthed.

He nodded stiffly before returning his focus to Lee. They knew Kyle had a problem with his temper. They wanted him to snap and the only reason he hadn’t already was the frail, curly-haired woman/child clinging onto him for dear life. That was the only way I could describe Lee in this moment. I’d never seen her look so young, so vulnerable. She had a death grip on his shirt, clinging to Kyle like she was holding onto a ledge, gazing up at his face like she was looking at a warrior about to fight to the death. Shit, come to think of it, that’s exactly what Kyle looked like. A warrior who was prepared to kill, bleed and die to protect her. Jesus, their love . . . it was something to be seen. It flooded the air, surrounded the pair in this invisible bubble.

Swinging the driver’s door open, I climbed in and cranked the engine. With the mood I was in, I only hoped one of these asshole’s got in my way. “How’s my best girl?” I asked lightly as I glanced in the rear-view mirror at Hope’s little face. Her response was a wide gummy smile. “You doing alright back there?” I turned up the heating to warm her up. “Uncle Derek’s gonna get you out of here and maybe we’ll watch a movie when we get home.” I rambled on in an attempt to comfort the innocent child sitting behind me. “You liked Frozen, right? Maybe we’ll have a pajama day tomorrow, and I’ll let you have some chocolate. Just don’t tell your mom. Remember what she did to me last time . . .”

The car door swung open and Lee was bundled into the backseat, quickly followed by Kyle. “Everyone alright?” I asked as I pulled away from the hotel. It was snowing like a mother fucker down on us and I had to slow the car down to a crawl. “Everyone still have ten fingers and toes?”

“Eight fingers, two thumbs, douchebag,” Kyle grumbled. “Take your time,” he added. “The roads are like ice.”

“When’s this going to end, guys?” Lee asked, her southern drawl thick with emotion. “They’re never going to leave us alone.”

“When all of this is over, I’m gonna take you away from here,” I heard Kyle tell Lee. “Somewhere no one knows us.”

“Where will we go?” Lee asked.

“France, England, Australia. Hell, anywhere you want, princess,” he coaxed. “For as long as you want.”

“What about Ireland?” I asked quietly. “It’s close. It’s safe. It’s peaceful . . .”

“Ireland,” Kyle mused. “I’m game. What about you, princess?”

“I’ve never been abroad,” she whispered. “Ireland sounds like a good start.”

“When all of this is over, we’ll visit Ireland,” Kyle said steadily. “Think about that, princess. Look forward to it. We still have a future.” I felt a hand on my shoulder and then Kyle’s voice in my ear, “You too, Der,” he grumbled.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror I watched as Kyle pulled Lee onto his lap, rocking her gently in his arms, placing kisses on her hair, face and pretty much any part of her body he could reach. One of his hands was stretched across the seat, his fingers clamped securely in the chubby little hand of his daughter. I shook my head in anger.

This was our reality now.