I was aimless, in the wrong job, living in the wrong house, surrounded by people who would rather see me fall. I was so bitter and angry from being forced into a version of myself I didn’t recognize, but I became friends with myself. And when Mickey came back, he set me free.

“But that’s not all I’m thankful for,” I add. “Thank you, Mickey, for coming back to me.”

“Always.” Soft lips press against my forehead before tucking my hair behind my ear. “Don’t thank me, Bella. It’s the only option I’d ever choose.”

“You saved me.” Honestly, I wasn’t sure how I would have gotten out of there alive without him. Part of me was too scared to, and the other part was desperate to breathe, yet unwilling to gasp for air.

He smiles at me, and I smile right back. “I don’t see it that way.”

“You’re my knight in shining armor, Roman Riviera.”

He nods his head against mine. “I am. But you never needed saving. You just needed someone to remind you that you’re not alone. And in case I haven’t told you, I’m proud of you, baby girl.”

My cheeks heat bright red at his beaming smile. “I’m proud of you too, Roman.”

Since I was six, he has spent every waking moment looking out for me, finding ways to keep me safe. I couldn’t protect him when we were children, but I can now.

Without saying the words, I stare at him, hoping he sees my promise to him.

You’ll never go back in a box, Mickey.

The rhythmic hum of the wheels rolling over pavement stops, jarring me awake. My fingers dig into the new bedspread, still crisp and fresh.

Mickey set me loose at the department store to buy whatever I wanted for the caravan. The cupboards are now filled with food, cutlery, and clothes. Fairy lights are strung across the walls over drawings done by both of us. I’m still trying to figure out how much things will move around as we drive before I decide to get anything else.

He even relented and let me buy some bras.

As much as the saying, “home is where the heart is,” is true, you still have to make the house—or caravan—feel like a home.

For the first time in my life, I feel content.

The door squeals as he steps inside. He woke up earlier to start driving and let me stay behind to sleep. Well, it’s not like I even heard him get up. We started moving, and I connected the dots myself.

A couple of doors and drawers open and close while I feign sleep. The bed dips under his weight as he crawls closer, tucking me into his arms. “Morning, beautiful.”

“Morning,” I whisper, smiling against his skin.

I could get used to waking up with him around. Though I’d prefer if he’s the first thing I see when I wake up. Or, better yet, more nights with broken sleep because Mickey couldn’t wait to sink inside me.

“Did you think you could pretend to be asleep?” he muses.

Lifting a shoulder, I peer up at him through my lashes. “I would never.”

I yelp when he pinches my butt, bursting into a fit of giggles as his fingers dig into my sides. A bang hits the side of the caravan, making me jolt upright. Suddenly, I can hear sounds. People. Laughter and chatter filter through our home, stiffening my joints.

Mickey pulls me back to him, looking the most at ease I’ve ever seen him. His gray eyes gleam bright silver, and the curl of his lips holds nothing but joy.

I move to pull back the curtain, but he snatches my hand away, rolling on top of me to hold me hostage. “No.”

“Mickey!” I laugh, moving side to side. What is he up to this time?

Heat scorches my body when his hard length rolls against the space between my legs. The single move has both of us groaning as he winds his fingers into my hair in a claiming grip. “If you keep moving, we’re never getting out of here, and you’ll never find out where we are. Nod if you understand.”

I narrow my eyes. “I could also just say yes.”

“Brat,” he mutters, kissing me for one heated second and consciously putting space between our hips. “I pulled out clothes for you. They’re on the bench.”

My brows hike up my forehead. “You’re dressing me again?”

His mischievous grin morphs into a devilish smirk. “You look good in my clothes.” He winks. “But you look better without them.”

I’m pretty sure I saw the front of my brain with my eyeroll. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He scoffs. “Shut up. You’re, like, twelve.”

I bite the inside of my lip. “Twelve and three-quarters, actually.”

Mickey snorts before helping me to my feet. I use my inhaler, and then we continue with the mindless, nonsensical back-and-forth while he dresses me, helping me step into jeans, pulling on my Mickey Mouse shirt for me, and lacing my sneakers. In the reflection of the mirror, I catch the deeply pinched brows and his murderous eyes as he braids my hair. A bomb could go off outside, and I don’t think he’d notice.

He fusses with the ribbons and symmetry for a couple more seconds before nodding to himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s giving himself a mental pat on the back.

Suited up and ready for my next surprise, Mickey graces me with my unobstructed sight this time, fueling the excited thrum coursing through my veins.

The humidity sticks to my skin as we step into a big parking lot that tickles a distant memory. Families file out of their cars, giggling and donning backpacks, threading between cars, heading in the same direction.

Rounding the caravan, I freeze in my step.

Disneyland.

Mickey is taking me to Disneyland just like Mamá did on my birthday. There’s nothing I can do to stop the heat pricking my eyes and trailing down my cheek. I only have a few memories from when I was younger, like watching Mamá cry when she hugged Mickey and Minnie Mouse.

I pull him into a bone-crushing hug before he can move. Everything he’s done, he’s done for me. How was I ever so blind to see that?

Peppering kisses all over his face, I chant, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

He laughs, beaming down at me. “You can make it up to me later.”

Gladly.

A group of teenagers runs past us, darting for the entrance. My muscles itch to do the same, and I decide not to fight it. How much of my childhood was lost hiding away in the bedroom, crying over parents I’ll never have, or taking care of the other kids in the house while I was the one needing care? My inner child deserves to live.

I start dragging Mickey along as he chuckles at all my huffing. He isn’t moving fast enough. “Come on!”

He smiles at me. “It isn’t even open yet.”

I snarl. “We need to get to the front of the line.”

With a relenting sigh and a knowing smirk, we jog the rest of the way until we get to the queue. Once we’re inside, he tags along behind me without question, going from ride to ride and feeding me copious amounts of ridiculously over-priced food.

“Those gloves would be perfect for you if you ever fight again.” I giggle, loving the grumpy look on his face because of how ridiculous he looks with sleeve tattoos, wearing an orange-and-black tie-dyed Mickey Mouse t-shirt—we’re matching—black jeans, combat boots, murderous gunmetal eyes, a Daisy Duck backpack, mouse ears, and the big four-fingered Mickey gloves.

He’s my own personal homicidal Mickey Mouse. He’s all mine.

“The material is itchy,” he grumbles.

My sloppy, curled fist hits his chest half-heartedly. “Extra padding for when you punch people.”

“It’s uncomfortable.”

Grabbing a creepy Mickey Mouse mask from off the shelf, I put it against his head and tip my head to the side. “Mmm, no. I prefer your other mask.” I return it to the shelf just as the alarm on his phone goes off.

He doesn’t move a muscle as I strip him of the gloves, light-up lanyard, and the feather scarf I wrapped around his neck. I barely notice his burning stare, too excited for the grand finale. Shifting my weight, I wince from the pain radiating down my legs and up my back. I could really use a massage.