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Enzo helps me clean up my apartment, since it looks like a hurricane hit after the police search. Thankfully, it’s just two rooms, so despite the mess, it doesn’t take that long. Mostly, I’m grateful for the company. It would be so depressing to clean all this up myself.

“Thank you for doing this,” I tell Enzo for what feels like the hundredth time as we put back clothes from my dresser drawers that now seem to be flung all over the room.

“Is no problem,” he says.

As I drop a shirt in the laundry hamper, I noticed that it isn’t as full as it seemed yesterday. I sift through the clothing—something is missing.

They took the clothing I was wearing last night.

I chew on my thumbnail, trying to remember the shirt and jeans I stripped off last night before I fell into bed. There wasn’t any blood on it—I’m sure of it.

Pretty sure, at least. But what if there were little microscopic particles that will be found on testing? That seems possible. Although if Enzo’s theory is correct, there never was any blood while I was in that apartment. But I’m not absolutely sure .

Enzo is busy stuffing clothes into a drawer. I am grateful he’s here, but part of me wants him to leave so I can panic more thoroughly.

I clear my throat. “If you need to leave, it’s okay,” I tell him.

“No, this is fun.” He holds up a pair of lacy pink panties that are on the floor. “This is nice. New?”

I reach over and yank them out of his hands. He’s a good distraction, at least. “I don’t remember.”

“I can see why the Broccoli liked you so much with such nice panties.”

I shoot him a look. “Enzo…”

“Sorry.” He ducks his head down. “I just… I do not get that one.”

We have been cleaning for over an hour without discussing Brock. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he has mentioned it. “What’s to get?”

“He does not seem like someone you would like.”

“Yes, well…” I plop down on my bed, a bunched-up sweatshirt on my lap. “He’s a good guy. I mean, he was nice. He was a successful lawyer. There’s nothing not to like.”

Enzo settles down beside me on the bed. “If he is a good guy, where is he now?”

It’s not an unfair point, but Enzo doesn’t know the entire situation. “I kept some things from him about my past. He was hurt. He said he felt like he didn’t know who I am. It’s understandable he felt that way.”

“Who you are is not something you did when you were a teenager.” His black eyes look intently into mine. “It is clear who you are. If he could not tell from spending time with you, then he is right—he does not deserve to be with you.”

It wasn’t like Enzo and I had the perfect relationship, but I never doubted that he understood me. Sometimes he seemed to understand me better than I understood myself. And I knew that if I were ever in trouble, he would do anything to help me.

“Sometimes I think…” I chew on my lower lip. “We never entirely connected. And it’s probably my fault because I kept things from him. Anyway, it’s over.”

“Are you sure?”

I remember the look Brock gave me when he walked out of that interrogation room. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“So,” he says, “if I kissed you, he would not punch me in nose?”

“No, but I might.”

A smile twitches on his lips. “I will take my chances.”

He leans in to kiss me, and I feel like I’ve been waiting for this for nearly two years. I finally understand why I was hesitant to move in with Brock and tell him my secrets. It’s because I never felt this way about him. Not even close.

And Enzo is right. I don’t punch him in the nose.