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“They won’t,” Wicker said from his spot by the wall. “They can’t.”

Learning about the baby’s paternity didn’t change my mind about going home. If anything, like Pace said, being a Kayes will add more complications.

I didn’t throw them out. My mother did that for me. And now I cradle the swell of my stomach and close my eyes, as if I can speak to him.

Hello, baby Kayes.

Will he be blonde, like his father? Even through all the torment and uncertainty, the fear and the sorrow, I feel a soft smile spring to my lips at having this new little nugget of knowledge of who my son will be.

He’ll be so beautiful.

Just then, I feel him move, my mouth parting with a gasp.

“I remember that look.” Mama’s voice startles me, and when I open my eyes, she’s watching me, a soft smile on her own lips. “When I was pregnant with you, I used to lay with you for hours, just feeling you flip around in there. It’s hard, isn’t it? Clinging to the parts that bring you joy, all the while knowing there’s so much pain that lingers just outside of the cocoon.”

Slowly, my grin fades. “Yeah, it is.”

Hers doesn’t. “Don’t let it. You’ll need that joy, Ver Bear. Don’t let one second of it go by, and never,everfeel guilty for it.”

Long after she’s fallen back asleep—or, at least, pretends to—I stroke the curve of my stomach and do just that. I feel him as he moves and finally remember what Pace called it that day down in the dungeon.

The quickening.

The next morning, West End begins filing into my room.

The Dukes and Lavinia come first, each bearing a little gift. A stuffed bear from Lav. A donut from Remy. From Nick, a knife.

“Put that away,” Mama snaps, although when she takes it, I notice she crams it into her purse.

Next comes Ballsack, who doesn’t bother with gifts. He just sits with me as we watch some mindless daytime talk show on the TV.

Eventually, I gather the courage to ask, “Have they found anything yet?”

I think he must sense that it’s killing me to be in this hospital bed when my friend needs me because he gives me a smile that’s probably meant to be comforting. Instead, it looks like a grimace. “Something will turn up soon.”

I’m not sure either of us believes it.

Other DKS roll in after him, and I begin wondering if my mama or the Dukes have some kind of chain organized.

That is until the most surprising visitor yet appears. Rory Livingston comes shuffling into the room with a vase of roses. Mama finally went downstairs to get herself something for lunch, so for an awkward moment, it’s just the two of us staring owlishly at one another.

He puts the vase on the stand below the TV, clearing his throat. “I was sorry to hear about what happened. Not just with,” he gestures vaguely to my stomach, “but I mean, Stella, too. She’s a really nice girl.”

Rory might be the first person to refer to her in the present tense.

I have no idea what to say to him.

This guy jacked off into my lap a few months ago.

“Thanks,” I say, eyeing him warily.

He rocks back on his heels, looking twice as awkward as me. “Can I get you anything? Or do anything?” When I shake my head he adds, “The guys and I… we’ve been handing out flyers on the Avenue.”

“For your sister?”

He nods. “Yeah, I can make some for Stella.”

My eyes begin welling. “Would you?” I ask, knowing I don’t have the right. PNZ is supposed to be at my beck and call, but I’ve never really harnessed or claimed them.