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“We’re ready.”M?is talking to some women, but I can’t see them.

The door slams shut, and the truck roars to life. A loud boom rends the air, followed by another. The force of it rattles the chest. A few minutes later, police sirens blast to life and fly past the truck.

I don’t know what exploded, but I have a feeling it has something to do with my mom.

Sighing, I looked at Attikus. “You’ve had a traumatic childhood.” He pulled me closer. “So that’s how you know Miranda.”

“I was surprised when she showed up to take pictures of us for MirandaNews,” I said. “She doesn’t remember me. The past is in the past. She seems to have grown up since elementary school.”

I still couldn’t believe my elementary school bully was his ex.

He nodded. “What exploded?”

“My mom’s car with two bodies in it. She made it look like we were dead.” She knew someone who worked at the morgue and paid for the bodies.

“Why?” His voice carried a protective edge that made me shiver.

“I guess when my mom escaped, she blew up a large section of the warehouse where they were producing drugs. It was a tremendous loss for them. They pursued her afterward.”

“What’s your father’s name?” Attikus asked.

“My mom told me his name is Charles Laurent, a Haitian citizen. I don’t know much about him.”

There wasn’t a lot of information about him on the internet, so I stopped my research. I didn’t want to waste my time on a man who had hurt my mom.

Nodding slowly, he kissed the side of my head.

I inhaled his comforting scent and confessed, “It was hard feeling worthy while growing up.”

“The world isn’t worthy of you,” he said. “The way you see things and interpret them in your art tells me you have wisdom few people can understand.” He shifted and looked me in the eye. “You’re teaching me how to live and see life. Never think that you’re unworthy. If anyone says that to you, I’ll kill them.”

I stared at him, appreciating his protectiveness. But I wouldn’t want him to kill anyone for me. I didn’t want another person I cared about in prison.

“Kids are petty. I knew I shouldn’t let their words bother me, but what they said made me question my existence, you know?” I leaned into him, letting his musky scent cloak me. His skin warmed against mine, and I felt like I could tell him anything. I could share all my fears with him because everything would be okay. “That’s why I’m drawn to the water lily and the lotus flower.”

“How so?” He rubbed circles on my hand, soothing me.

“Because they grow from the mud—something people find disgusting.” I sighed. “From the filth, something beautiful emerges.”

“See how much depth is in that statement?” He tapped my chin gently. “You’re worthy of everything you dream of, Vanessa. How you’re made has nothing to do with your self-worth.”

His conviction in me tightened my chest.

“Do you know the difference between a water lily and a lotus?” I asked.

“They look the same to me.”

“At a glance, they are. But the lotus grows taller than the lily pad, whereas the water lily sits on the lily pad.”

He thought about it. “You’re right. I’ve never paid close attention to it.” He interlaced his fingers with mine. “You’re the lotus—reaching above expectations.”

“The Lost Lily Padpainting was me conveying how lost I was. I was that lily pad surrounded by the dark and without a flower.”

“It’s a powerful painting. I sensed the despair but also the hope in it.”

“You did?”

“Ifeltit. The flower was budding,” he said, giving me his interpretation. “Working its way through the muck. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean nothing’s happening.”