"A rainbow only appears after a storm."

At least that was what one of the inspirational posters hanging up in the backroom promised in bright, bold letters. It was difficult to look away from since it was directly in front of me while I prepped. I couldn't escape its sugary message. I read and reread the poster so many times it was practically burnt into my memory. Everything from the cheesy rainbow landing into a pot of gold, to the rain clouds with frowny-faces on them, it was all I could see. Originally, I bought the poster because it was only fifty-five cents, and it reminded me of a scene from "The Fault in Our Stars," so it helped me with the grieving process of that depressing movie. But now, I felt like it was mocking me.

After the hellish storm I went through this weekend, I was prepared to find some sort of rainbow out of all of it. Of course, the love and support Gage and I received when we returned home was soothing, but it wasn't enough. It couldn't erase everything that we went through and lost. I searched for some kind of "rainbow" since the day we returned home, preferably another contest, even if I wasn't exactly emotionally ready. Still, I tried. The only problem was all the major competitions were next year, which was when Gage's debt was due. Any upcoming contests only had small cash prizes that wouldn't make a dent in the debt. So basically, we were back to square one.

I almost debated on just joining the contests anyway, but what was the point? Lamar couldn't keep running the bakery while I ran away to try to win useless money. Plus, Gage couldn't go. He already used up his "time off" days, which despite what we originally thought, he greatly suffered for when we returned. Because of this, he's been in matches back-to-back to make up for the lost time and money. Including tonight, which was why Lamar and I had to close the store by ourselves.

Every night Gage came home with a fresh set of wounds and every night I would quietly bandage him back up as I drowned in guilt. It was my fault that he had to keep doing this. He could have won the prize money and been out of his debt, but because of my parents, who I am more than positive had a hand in our defeat, he's stuck.

Sometimes late at night, I wonder what would have happened if things went differently. Where would we be now if I had just listened to my mother? To Finch? What if I had made those cherry turnovers? Would I be back running my bakery like right now? Or would they stick to their word and try to drag me home? But most importantly, I wonder if Gage gave the winning money to Sparrow, would he truly be free? Would they actually let him go?

"Katy?" a voice nearby called out.

Gage doesn't think so. Regardless of all the hell he's been going through the past few days, he is still certain that I made the right choice. That everything will be okay and we can find another way to end all of this. I wanted to believe him so badly, and sometimes I did, but for the most part, I worried. I worried to the point where I could hardly eat and when I went to work, I busied myself more than normal to keep myself distracted. I blared uplifting music and kept my head high, although I could feel myself slowly sinking further and further.

"Kattttty," they repeated.

I have always wanted nothing more than to help others. I wanted to make some sort of positive impact in their life. Strangers, friends, co-workers, lovers, and sometimes even family. But now . . . I couldn't. I couldn't do anything to help the person I loved the most. All I could do was sit and watch with my hands tied behind my back as Gage slowly fades away. I can't prevent any of it from happening.

My father was right. I was useless.

"KATY!"

I jumped at the sound of the booming voice making me nearly drop my rolling pin. Although I already knew the owner of the voice, my gaze shifted from the poster to a very concerned looking Lamar across the table.

"Yes?"

"I've been calling your name for almost five minutes now."

My eyes widened. "Really?"

"Maybe not five minutes. But it feels like it," he tied up the icing bag in front of him before setting it back in its container. "You've been zoning out a lot lately. Is . . . something wrong?"

"Hmm? No! No, everything is fine. Nothing to worry about," I went back to rolling out the dough in front of me.

"Doesn't seem like everything is fine."

"How so?"

"Probably because you just turned our cinnamon rolls into crepes," he nodded to the place in front of me. "Unless you're adding those to the menu."

Sure enough, when I halted my rolling to actually notice the dough I realized it was so thin I couldn't make cinnamon rolls with. Or anything really. I guess I had been so lost in my thoughts I wasn't paying attention to how long I had been rolling it out.

"Oh, fudge muffins," I frowned and sat the pin aside to start folding the dough back into a ball. "Not again."

With the radio turned off, the silence felt thicker than the dough in my hands. It lasted for a few more seconds until Lamar said, "You know I'm not going to judge you, but that is the third batch you've had to fix."

"I know," I waved him off as I slapped the dough back on the table.

"And it never takes you this long to prep."

"I know, I know," I sprinkled flour onto the table before picking up my pin.

"So . . . either you have something against cinnamon rolls, or there is something going on that you're not telling me."

I paused rolling the dough out at those words. Of course he knew. Lamar always knows when something was wrong, even when I didn't want him too. It's like the exact opposite of nearly every man which, in a way, was kind of freaky. With a sigh, I looked up to see him eyeing me, his face impassive. I could keep my façade up, but just like trying to find a rainbow, it was pointless.

When I didn't answer quickly enough Lamar let out a soft sigh and asked, "Is it because of the competition? Because like I said earlier, there will always be more you can try."

But by then it won't matter.

Instead of telling him that dreary thought I shook my head and replied, "It's not about that. At least . . . not entirely."

"Then what's going on?" Lamar crossed his arms in front of his chest before he leaned again the counter behind him. "You haven't really been acting yourself lately. I mean, you have. But in an over-baked way that leads me to believe that something's up. Kind of like when Jasmine cleans up the entire house before asking me for gas money," I chuckled at that, but it quickly died away. I wish my situation was as juvenile as hers. "You may not have ulterior motives for your behavior, but it's definitely out of character. And very concerning."

He was right, as always. I have been trying so hard to pretend like everything was normal when it was blatantly obvious that it wasn't. Especially with me. I thought I could fool everyone, but I should have known Lamar would pick up the odd behavior right away.

I looked down at the pin in my hands thinking back to the last time I used it when I thought Gage was an intruder. I was so upset with him at the time because he was avoiding me for a month. It wasn't until recently that I found out why he was avoiding me: to protect me. And now . . . I couldn't do the same for him.

At that thought, my heart felt like someone had reached in and squeezed it painfully. I hated all of this. But it's not like I could keep hiding from the issue much longer.

With that in mind I heaved a sigh and asked, "Do you . . . have you ever been in a situation where . . . someone you cared about was in trouble? And . . . you couldn't help them?"

After another moment of silence, I looked up to see Lamar's dark eyes on mine, no longer in concern, but in what appeared to be sympathy. At first, I thought he was looking at me this way because he couldn't relate and only felt pity for me, until he replied, "Yes, I have. I'm in one now."

I wasn't entirely surprised by this. Mainly because I figured he was talking about Rhonda and the fact that she was overseas. But when he asked, "Have I ever told you about my brother?" I grew confused in multiple ways.

"You have a brother?"

"I have three."

I tried not to openly gawk at him. It's not like Lamar was required to share with me his family business. But after being friends for so long, I'm not sure how I missed out on this hefty information.

"I had no idea. Wow. Why don't they come for our Thanksgiving?"

"Mainly because they are too busy or live far away. Well, not all of them live far away. Which brings me back to what I was saying earlier. I have one brother who I was always close with. He doesn't live too far away, so for a while we would spend a lot of time together. Both of our families. But then," a pained look shadowed his face, "he just . . . stopped."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. What happened?" I asked, then quickly added, "If you don't mind me asking."

"No, I don't mind. It's actually good to talk to someone about this," he adjusted himself against the counter. "Although, it's kind of a long story. And not a very happy one."

"I don't mind," I said as I lifted myself up to sit on top of a clean counter as if to prove my point.

He sent me a small smile before he began.

"For a while I thought my brother stopped coming around because we had a little quarrel one night. You see, my brother was a fighter. Like a professional. And around the time we had this argument, he had just gotten married. But he was so focused on all the fighting and the winning he hardly looked at his wife. That didn't sit well with me and I told him he should just let her go so she could find happiness, but . . . you can imagine how that went," he ran his hand over his shaved head.

"Anyway, I didn't hear from him for a while after that. His wife kept saying he was okay so I didn't worry about it, but then it got really strange the next year. His wife told me he would come home all bruised up which wouldn't be surprising if he hadn't given up his fighting career a while back. I thought that maybe he just did some of it on the side now and didn't want to tell her, so still I didn't worry.

"When he visited a few times he seemed okay, maybe a little stand-offish, but every time I asked if he was alright he swore up and down that life was great. And for a while I went along with it. Until . . . he had a daughter," his lips went into a straight line. I could tell this wasn't an easy topic for him.

"My brother is a good man. Out of the four of us he was always the kindest and ambitious one. A little hot-headed, but he was going places, and we knew it. I also knew that no matter what kind of career he had or what he would do to achieve his goals, he would never miss the birth of his daughter," his eyes darkened at that, which confirmed my heartbreaking suspicions. "It was a terrible . . . long night. I'm only glad Rhonda was there at the time to help his wife through it all because if not, she would have been alone. And when he finally came stumbling into the hospital with his face all bruised up . . ." he shook his head slowly. "As battered and bruised as my brother was, that wasn't nearly as much pain as what his wife went through that night. I don't remember what I said, all I remember is slamming him against the wall yelling at him from the top of my lungs. But I quickly discovered it didn't matter. When I saw his eyes and how . . . lifeless they were, I knew something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

"I decided to do something about it and hired a private investigator to look into his life. I wanted the real story, not just what he manufactured. I knew I shouldn't invade his personal life, but this was definitely an exception. They followed him for a while, and when they returned . . . everything changed," he had that faraway look in his eyes again, and the silence returned until he took in a deep breath. "My brother apparently got tangled up into something bad. Some . . . organization I guess. I was right to think that he was continuing his fighting career on the side. But this . . . this wasn't like his normal fights."

Thousands of flags started waving around in my head, but I remained quiet to hear what else he had to say.

"He would sneak off at night to different gyms in Florida, sometimes he's gone for weeks, and participates in all sorts of matches. People know him by his ring name now, Grayson Grim, and he is always with this woman called Raven. At first I thought it was some sort of affair, but when seeing his body language around her in the videos the P.I. sent me, I knew that wasn't the case.

"The more information the P.I. gave me, the more I knew this was a serious situation. Since then I've been trying to help him in any sort of way, but there is only so much I can do. So, yes, I understand exactly what you mean. I've tried everything for my brother, and I won't give up. I may not be able to help is as much as I want to now, but I'll keep fighting. For as long as it takes."

When he was finished I had to grip onto the counter as a wave of a million different emotions came crashing over me. Anxiety, sadness, anger, even hope. Because if what he said was true and it matched up to what I'm thinking . . . then maybe . . . possibly we have more in common than he thinks. A lot more. And if that's the case . . .

"This . . . organization," I started, cautiously, "did the private investigator ever get a name for it?"

He nodded. "He did."

When he didn't give any more information I added in, "Is it possibly . . . The Flock?"

I hoped I was wrong. But when his eyes widened, I knew my answer before he even said, "How did you know?"

Oh. My. God.

I didn't know if I wanted to scream or cry or just fall to the floor. I had my suspicions about his story. But to actually hear him admit it was another thing. This entire time I thought Gage and I were the only one suffering, but I was wrong. And to think this has been going on with Lamar for years. Lamar, my closest friend and man that I have always looked up to. My father figure. This entire time he has been battling with The Flock as well and I had no idea. I have only just recently discovered about Gage's debt but Lamar has been involved with this for a long time. Which means . . . that might be our situation, too. The only problem was, we don't have the luxury of time to battle with.

I suddenly felt extremely nauseous.

"Katy?" Lamar's stern voice broke me out of my thoughts. "How do you know about them?"

I looked up in my semi-panic state to see his dark eyes locked onto mine in full concern mode. I once again felt like my hands were tied, because I shouldn't tell him how I knew about the organization, yet at the same time I felt like it was important he knew. Gage trusted me to keep this secret, but if I told Lamar a lie, he would know. My head was spinning around and around trying to figure out what I should do until I decided to try and meet somewhere in the middle. When I finally gained my composure, I dropped the massive bomb.

"I . . . know somebody who works for The Flock, too. Like Grayson."

Nothing could have prepared me for the amount of surprise that filled Lamar's expression.

"What?" he breathed. "Since when?"

"Since . . . a while."

"Really? You're being serious right now?"

"Yes."

"You know somebody like my brother?"

"I do." I wanted to tell him that he knew them as well.

There was a long pause before, "Excuse my language, but holy shit," he wiped his face with his hand. "I thought I was the only one going through this."

"You're definitely not."

"I knew Grayson wasn't their only victim. But I didn't think you would be tangled up in this, too. Damn," his eyes went down to his hands for a moment before he looked back up to me. "Can I ask who your friend is?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm sorry. I promised him I wouldn't tell."

"I understand. And typically I wouldn't push you any further, but in this case . . . it might be important that I know."

Now a wave of confusion slammed into me. "What? Why?"

"Remember when I told you I've tried everything to help my brother?" When I nodded he continued. "I wasn't kidding. After the private investigator dug up enough information, I turned to a much bigger helper. More specifically, one of Rhonda's friends who specializes in taking out organized crime like The Flock."

"Who?"

"Her name is Armita Kumar. A very close family friend and FBI Agent."

I about fell over.

"A-An FBI agent?"

"Yes."

"Like . . . Booth and Bones?"

"Who?"

I almost forgot he doesn't watch television like I do. "Umm . . . nevermind," I waved him off. "Let's go back to your friend."

"Well, like I said she's a lot closer to my wife. We mainly talk about this case with The Flock. She has been trying to crack the code on the organization for a while now but with no luck. She is missing important information. Information you can only get from an insider . . ." he looked at me pointedly until I let the meaning of his words sink in. When it did, my eyes widened.

"Wait. No. No, no, no, no, I can't do that. I can't ask him to do any of this."

"But you could save him. And not just whoever your friend is, but my brother as well. Probably countless more. If he just talked to Armita he might give her the information she needs."

"Yes, or he could be royally ticked off because I promised him I would never say anything about his involvement in The Flock and he would just leave and nobody gets any answers which means nobody gets saved and it's not like this is the first time he hasn't tried to leave to save me because of all of this mess and although this all sounds really great we don't even know if he will provide the right information and it's just all too much for—"

"Gage."

At the sound of his name, I stopped mid-ramble to look up to Lamar. "What?"

"It's Gage, isn't it? That's who your friend is," when I didn't say anything because I was too shocked he took the silence as confirmation. "I should have known. He comes into work bruised up like Grayson all the time."

I tried and failed to think up some sort of lie to cover my tracks back up, but I knew it was pointless. Lamar knew, because Lamar always figures things out even when you don't want him to. Maybe he should have been in the FBI instead of making cakes. Still, I tried, "It's not Gage."

He gave me a look that made it clear he doubted this. "Katy, it's okay. You can trust me."

"Yes, but it's not him. It's a different friend."

"A friend as protective as Gage?"

"Yes."

"A friend who would try to leave you in order to save you, like Gage?"

" . . . Yes."

"A friend that probably has tattoos and likes baking and is in love with you?"

At that, I grew silent.