Auburn Mason Reed,” I say out loud.

What are the chances?

I smile and run my thumb over the letters in her middle name. “We have the same middle name.”

I look back up at Adam, and he’s lowering his bed again with a faint smile on his face. “That could be fate, you know.”

I shake my head, dismissing his comment. “I’m pretty sure she’s your fate. Not mine.”

His voice is strained, and it takes a tremendous amount of effort for him to roll onto his side. He closes his eyes and says, “Hopefully she has more than one fate, Owen.

There are people you meet that you get to know, and then there are people you meet that you already know.

You drink to escape the emotional pain you’re in, and then the next day you do it all over again to get rid of the physical pain. So you drink more and your drink more often and pretty soon you’re drunk all the time and it becomes just as bad, if not worse, than the reality you were attempting to escape from in the first place. Only now, you need an escape from the escape, so you find something even stronger than the alcohol. And maybe that’s what turns alcoholics into addicts.

You can love a lot of things about a person but still not love the whole person.

We all have a limit. What we’re willing to put up with before we break. When I married your father, I knew exactly what my limit was. But slowly . . . with every incident . . . my limit was pushed a little more. And a little more. The first time your father hit me, he was immediately sorry. He swore it would never happen again. The second time he hit me, he was even more sorry. The third time it happened, it was more than a hit. It was a beating. And every single time, I took him back. But the fourth time, it was only a slap. And when that happened, I felt relieved. I remember thinking, ‘At least he didn’t beat me this time. This wasn’t so bad.’ 

It’s midnight!” he says frantically, slapping at the door. “Call her. Call your roommate!”

“Oh, shit,” I mutter. I retrieve my phone and begin to dial Emory’s number.

“I was about to dial 911,” Emory says as she answers.
“Sorry, we almost forgot.”
“Do you need to use the code word?” she asks.
“No, I’m fine. I already locked him out, so I don’t think he’s going to murder me tonight.”

Emory sighs. “That sucks,” she says. “Not that he didn’t murder you,” she adds quickly. “I just really wanted to hear you say the code word.”

I laugh. “I’m sorry my safety disappoints you.”

She sighs again. “Please? Just say it for me one time.”
“Fine,” I say with a groan. “Meat dress. Are you happy?”

There’s a quiet pause before she says, “I don’t know. Now I’m not sure if you said the code word just to make me happy or if you’re really in danger.