(The Burke Brothers #1)Emma Hart - Dirty Secret

“Ouch! Shit!” I jump back from the car and flap my hand around. My finger stings like hell—and when I look at it, I see why. Breaking a nail lifting a suitcase. That figures. Just another reason why coming back to Shelton Bay is a mistake. If I’d stayed in Charlotte, at least all ten of my nails would still be intact. I suck on my finger to soothe the sting and glance through the back window of the car. Mila’s still asleep, thankfully. If she was awake and caught me cussing there’s no doubt she’d be shouting, “Mama! Bad!” and following it up with a few excited rounds of the bad word. I breathe a sigh of relief and move back to the trunk. I give the offending suitcase one last tug and it flies out of the car. The gravel crunches as it hits the floor, and I jump to the side. Fucking shit. Mondays suck. Never, ever move on a Monday. Especially not back to the place you ran from in the first place. I pull the envelope the lawyer gave me out of the glove box and dig for the key. I find it hiding between the creased papers, and with another glance at Mila in the backseat, I walk to the front door. I hesitate, taking a deep breath in. I haven’t been to this house for two and a half years, much less been inside it. I have no idea what state it’s in since Dad died eight months ago. I just know that I’ve put this off as long as humanly possible. My hands are shaking as I shove the key in the door and turn it, and I swallow hard. The door creaks as I push against it, the sound almost ominous. My gut tells me to run because, holy shit, there could be all kinds of zombies and crap in here waiting for me! Thankfully, my brain is more rational and tells me to step inside, and that I clearly need to lay off The Walking Dead. It’s exactly the same as I remember. The same childhood pictures are hanging on the walls. Of my mom crouched behind me, hugging me. Of Dad and my brother, Steven, holding up a huge salmon from the time they went fishing in Oregon. Of me and Dad on my fifth birthday, me in a flouncy princess dress. Of me, Ste, and our parents at one of his baseball games, in the last photo we’d ever take together. The same patterned rug I remember is running along the front hall, the corners slightly turned up from age, and, God, it’s freakin’ awful. Only elderly women should have flowered rugs in their house. It still smells the same—like lavender and warm towels fresh from the dryer. I close my eyes and breathe in. Hell. I wasn’t here enough. I should have been here more. No matter that Dad went to the hospice in Charlotte to be closer to me instead of going to Raleigh. No matter that he came to me.

I was too selfish to go to him when he needed me. I drop my head back and blink harshly. No tears. He made that clear. He told me days before he died that when I came back to Shelton Bay, I couldn’t cry. I wasn’t allowed to, because the happy memories were the best ones. He told me that I’m not allowed to think of him lying in the hospice bed, too weak to even lift a glass of water to his lips, his eyes sunken and his cheeks hollowed. I have to think of him healthy, smiling, cradling his newborn granddaughter in his arms. I have to think of him making homemade pizza and trying to be both mom and dad for pretty much my whole life. It would be easier to think that way if it didn’t feel quite so empty without him in this house. “Mama! Mamaaaaaa! Where you?” “Crap,” I mutter, turning back outside. And here I was, hoping I could get our bags inside before she woke up. I guess that’s what I get for effing around in the hallway. I pull open the car door and smile. “Hey, baby girl! Did you have a good nap?” “Out! Out!” Mila raises her chubby arms. “Okay, okay, hang on.” I unbuckle her seat belt and lift her out. She kicks her legs, and I put her down on the drive. She points to the house, so I nod with a smile. “Go near those stairs and you’re on the naughty step!” I warn as she runs toward the open door. I slam the trunk down and grab the two largest suitcases. I yank them behind me, and by the time I get to the door, my fingers burn. Damn, they’re heavy. “I said stay away from those stairs, Mila Lou!” I call, closing the door behind me. She ignores me, and I quickly let go of the bag to sweep her up and away from the staircase. “Here.” I pull her dolly from the bag and give it to her. She follows me when I open the door to the living room. I close my eyes as I’m assaulted by childhood memories for the second time. Of my mom, of my dad, of hiding behind the sofa and jumping out at Steven and making him yell. Of tearing open presents on Christmas morning and finding hidden eggs on Easter Sunday. I take a deep breath and move to the windows. I open one to help eliminate the faint musty smell that’s hanging around. This room is almost stale from not being lived in, a stark contrast to the last time I was here. Our next stop will be the store, to get cleaning stuff. Automatically, my eyes flit to the little girl babbling to her dolly. Being scared to leave this house is dumb. So. Friggin’. Dumb. Like a kid that’s too afraid to get out of bed because of the monsters they imagine are underneath. But I have to leave sooner or later. She’ll be seen, sooner or later. I may as well go with sooner and silence the rumor mill I know has been churning. But . . . I don’t move. I stay standing where I am, staring at her. I’m in awe of her innocence. I wish I could see the world as simply as she does. She’s completely unaware of my inner turmoil, of how torn I am. So many lives could be turned upside down in the blink of an eye, merely because of her existence. I turn on the television to silence my thoughts and flick straight to a music channel. It’s a reflex now. My fingers move automatically to the buttons that will take us there. The cable is still working despite it being eight months since Dad died. I know because I’ve paid for it ever since, waiting for the time when I’d grow big enough balls to come home. Home. Now, it is. Mine, again. When Dad died and the will was being read, Steven called from Afghanistan and gave his share of the house to me. He has his apartment, and he had decided, by himself, that me and Mila will get more

use from this house. That we’d get more use out of living rent-free than he would—and he’s right. After all, I only have a couple hundred bucks left from my waitressing job in Charlotte. After that, I have to live off my inheritance. The one thing I definitely don’t want to do. So the house is bigger than we need, but it has a huge yard for Mila to play in. That’s sure as hell something my tiny, two-bed, city apartment doesn’t have. “Dadda!” Mila claps her hands. I turn around sharply. She pulls herself up on the TV stand and stares at the screen like a lovesick teenager. But my heart is thumping double time, my palms almost sweating. It takes a few beats of the music to realize it’s just Dirty B.’s latest song on MTV and not the man himself walking through the door. I force a laugh at myself. Shit, I’ve been back in Shelton Bay for ten minutes, and I’m already thinking Conner Burke will burst my door down for the daughter he doesn’t even know exists. I run my fingers through my hair. Crap. My stomach twists with the same guilt I’ve carried around for nearly two and a half years—the guilt of keeping her away. Mila shrieks when Conner’s face fills the screen. He’s smiling, his voice crooning through the speakers and sending wave after wave of tremors through my body. The way it always has. He’s living the dream, his dream. I could never take that from him. I know what I did was for the best. Running away the day I saw that little blue line was both the best and worst decision I’ve ever made. Besides, I’ve never kept him from her. That’s not a justification for my actions, no matter how many times I tell myself it is. And I’ve told that myself a million times, maybe more. Like the fact I’m lying to only one of them makes it better. I watch Mila bopping up and down to the song. I watch my secret, my darling little skeleton in the closet, and know it’s about to be over. I know that within forty-eight hours, all of Shelton Bay will know I’m back. Forty-eight hours, if I’m lucky. They’ll know and they’ll spy and they’ll talk. Because that’s small-town life. Everyone knows everyone’s business. No stone is left unturned, no secret left unshared. Soon enough, they’ll all know. And Conner will, too. The second Dirty B. arrive back in town for their mid-tour break, he’ll know. I pull the keys from my pocket, turn off the television, and swoop Mila up with one arm. “C’mon, baby girl. Let’s go shopping.”

The store stares at me like it’s challenging me to get out of the car. I stare back at it, wondering if I really am brave enough to face reality this time. I wasn’t for my father’s funeral. I wasn’t brave enough to show everyone I was there, so I slipped in a minute late and hid at the back of the church. I watched them bury him from afar like the wimp I am. Now I can’t run any longer. I swipe my sweaty palms across my thighs and take a deep breath. My fingers run through my hair as I get out, like the impromptu restyle will hide my face from everyone. Mila reaches for me as I set her on my hip and push the car door shut. I lock it and rush toward the front of the store for a cart. Let’s get this over with. I slip Mila into the seat, my hands shaking as I walk into the store. Not without reason. All it takes is for one person to notice you, and you’re done for.

And I’ve been noticed. Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe it’s assumption. Or maybe it’s true, because I can feel questioning gazes burning into me. I can feel the stares making sure I’m really here. That I’m really Sofie Callahan, back from wherever the hell it was I went. I hide down one of the aisles, smiling reassuringly at Mila. She babbles to herself quietly, blissfully ignorant of the whispers I know are circulating. It might be midday on a Thursday, but it’s still packed. For the first time in my life, I wish for a Walmart instead of our local market. And I hate Walmart. I fill the shopping cart with the essentials. Bread, milk, cheese, Mila’s favorite star-shaped chips. She reaches for the packet immediately and I swat her hand away gently. “Nuh-uh, missy. When we get back.” “Mama! Want sars!” She reaches behind her. “Mila, no.” I right her and grab her diapers off the shelf. Her little legs kick the cart in protest, but I ignore her. This is a regular battle—one I always win. “Well, if it ain’t the long-lost Sofie Callahan,” a voice drawls behind me. A voice I despise. I turn, keeping Mila hidden behind my back, and stare into the face of Nina Hawkins. From the bleached blonde hair and heavy makeup to the way-too-low-cut shirt, she looks exactly as I remember her. “Nina. How are you?” She smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. “I’m doin’ good. Where’d you go to?” “I’m really well, thanks for asking.” I force my own smile. My mom taught me that a Southern girl is always polite. Especially when she wants to scratch the other woman’s eyeballs out. Nina’s smile strains, and her eyes flick to my side. “I didn’t know you were a mom now.” I reach behind for Mila’s hand. “A lot of things change in two years. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s time for her lunch. Bye, Nina.” I’ve barely taken a few steps before I hear her voice again. “I guess Conner doesn’t know. At least he never mentioned it to me after you left.” My heart clenches with her insinuation, and I turn quickly. Only my face doesn’t betray what I feel inside. “Conner? Why would he know anything about her?” Nina blinks harshly but doesn’t say another thing. I have no idea if she bought that, but the sound of a “You’ll never guess who I just saw . . .” follows me as I walk to the cashier. I almost drop my debit card because my palms are sweating again, but I jab my pin number in correctly. I just want to get out of here and back to the safety of my father’s house. My house, I guess. I’m practically running across the parking lot when another familiar voice calls my name. This one is softer, one I’ve missed. “Sofie? You’re back?” I pause, swallowing, and nod. “Yep. I’m back.” “And . . .” Leila Burke steps in front of me and looks at Mila. “A baby?” I look into the eyes of one of my closest friends. At least, she used to be. Once upon a time, when everything was simple and the biggest thing we had to worry about was whether or not we could sneak in past curfew without getting caught. “Yep.” “She’s yours?” “No. I stole her,” I mutter, and load the shopping into the trunk. Leila doesn’t say anything when I lift Mila and strap her into her seat. “Sofie . . .” “Don’t.” I look up and into her blue eyes, so similar to Conner’s. “Please don’t ask me questions

I’m not ready to answer.” She tucks her ombré hair behind her ear. “You told Nina she wasn’t.” “I didn’t tell Nina a damn thing.” I open my car door and get in, starting it before she can speak again. There’s no way I can hold a conversation with her and not want to break down. I knew I wouldn’t get away with this trip to Shelton Bay unscathed—but I thought I might be able to make it longer than a few hours without seeing the girl I spent my life attached to, my best friend. Without seeing his family. Mila’s family. I drive out of the parking lot and toward the house. I can’t think of it as mine yet. I don’t know what I’m doing with it yet. If I could move it to Charlotte, it would be perfect. . . . But I can’t. The house is here, and . . . I shake my head. I’m not doing this today. There’s plenty of time to make that decision. Right now, I have to focus on getting through today. On getting through this fucked-up situation I caused. I kill the engine in the driveway and get out as Leila’s car stops directly behind mine. I rub my temples. Dammit, I should have known she wouldn’t let this go. She’s as stubborn as they come. “Oh, hell no, Sofie Callahan. You ain’t walkin’ away without telling me some truths, girl.” Mila clings to me tightly as I pull her out. “Can you not, around Mila? She’s not used to yelling.” “Sorry.” Leila winces and pops the trunk of my car. “What’re you doin’?” I ask as she starts pulling my shopping bags out of the trunk. “I’m not leaving until you’ve started talking. Are you gonna open this door or what? These bags are freakin’ heavy.” I sigh and slam the trunk down. I unlock the front door, and Leila strolls in, depositing the bags in the kitchen. “Sars, Mama! Sars!” Mila cries, reaching for the bags on the floor. “Okay, okay, hang on.” I put her down and grab a packet of the chips. She snatches the bag from me and digs her little hand in. “What do you say?” She shoves a chip in her mouth and looks at me with wide, innocent eyes. I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. Damn, that look is too cute. “Mila.” She grins. “Tankoo.” “Good girl.” I kiss the top of her head and join Leila in the kitchen to put the groceries away. Leila’s eyes follow me as I move around the kitchen. I wrinkle my nose as I empty out the fridge of the old, rotten food left over from before Dad died. The smell makes me want to vomit, and I breathe through my mouth. “Ew.” I grab a garbage bag and fill it with the contents of the fridge, dumping it in the trash can in the backyard. “Shoulda come back sooner.” Leila hands me cleaning spray and a paper towel, wordlessly, her eyes still searing into me. “Thanks,” I mutter, knowing her questioning is inevitable. I get sucked into cleaning the inside of the fridge. My stomach is rolling, huge somersaults that ignite a guilt-ridden nausea. “So,” Leila says quietly. “Were you ever going to come back?” I shrug a shoulder. “Eventually. I knew Dad was going to die and that I’d have to sort it out if Ste wasn’t here.” “Doesn’t he come back in a couple months?” “Yep.”

“So why bother coming back? Your dad died months ago. Why not just stay wherever the hell you fucking disappeared to two and a half years ago?” I glare at Leila. “Can you keep your voice down? It might not bother you, but shouting in front of Mila sure as hell bothers me.” Leila stares at me. “I’m sorry. I’m just so friggin’ angry with you, Sof. Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” My eyes travel to Mila as I close the fridge door slowly and lean against it. The cloth falls from my fingers to the floor, and I hear Leila’s sigh. “She’s the reason you left. . . . Isn’t she?” “I told you I’m not answering questions I’m not ready to.” I wince as Mila crushes a handful of chips into the carpet and pray Dad’s vacuum still works. I pull the fridge open again and start filling it with new, fresh food. “I don’t owe you anything, Lei. I don’t have to answer you.” “I’ll take that as a yes.” “Take it however you want.” “I’m her aunt, aren’t I? She’s Conner’s daughter.” She continues like I never said anything. “Why didn’t you tell us?” I put the milk in the fridge door and shut it. “Hey, you,” I say, ignoring Leila. Mila looks up at me. “Ready for your nap?” “No nap! No nap!” I roll my eyes and walk outside, grab the travel crib from the car, and bring it inside. Mila is still repeating her pre-nap mantra as I take it upstairs and set it up. I tuck her favorite blanket in it before heading back downstairs to her. I retrieve her dolly from the front room and pick my baby up, batting crumbs off her little hands. “Nap time.” “No nap! No nap! No nap!” I take her upstairs and deposit her in the crib with a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep tight, baby girl. I love you.” I close the door behind me and leave her there, still chanting “No nap! No nap!” She’ll give up in a few minutes and lie down. Knowing that fact is one of those crazy things I can appreciate in this insane upheaval of both of our lives. Leila watches me as I enter the kitchen and pour a glass of orange juice. “You can’t hide this, y’know?” she pushes. “You can’t hide her. Nina will have it halfway around town already.” “You think I don’t know that?” I snap, turning to look at her. “You think I don’t know that by tomorrow Mila will be common knowledge in this goddamn town?” “Oh, I know you know it, Sofie. I’m just wondering how long you thought you’d keep her a secret.” “As long as I possibly could. It’s what was best for everyone. And no, before you ask, I’m not ashamed of her. But I have my reasons, and I don’t have to justify them to you.” Leila raises her eyebrows. “No, but you have to justify them to my brother.” “Get out,” I say firmly, meeting her eyes. “Whether or not I do is not your business, Leila. Neither is Mila. Until you understand that and can respect my decisions, no matter how wrong you might think they are, I don’t want you here.” She pushes off the kitchen counter and shakes her head, her eyes shadowing with sadness. “What the hell happened to you, Sof?” “I became a mom, that’s what. And she comes first. Even before you.”

I rest my head against the back of the seat and blow out a long breath. “How the fuck are we going to get home without being stripped naked by local fangirls?” Tate shoves his phone in my face. “It’s a motherfucking mob!” I focus on the image on the screen. “Who sent you that?” “Leila. Said she’s never seen them so bad.” “Must be after you, bro,” I mutter, pushing his phone away. “Shit, Con. I can take pussy, but not that much pussy. Well, not in one go, at least.” He smirks at me. “We’ll just go through the woods,” Kye shouts from the other end of the bus. “Get them to park behind Sofie’s old place, and we’ll cut through.” I swallow the bitterness at the mention of Sofie’s name. Obviously, though, I don’t hide it too well, because Tate nudges me in the ribs. “Still brokenhearted, baby brother?” I clench my jaw. “She disappeared without a fuckin’ word. It’s been two and half years. She ain’t my favorite person, but I’m not heartbroke.” He laughs. “I’m messin’ with ya, man. Shit, doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re still hung up on her.” I don’t deny it. I can’t help that I’ve still got feelings for a girl who ran out on me without a word —not even to Leila, and they were supposed to be best friends. I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing . . . or why she left. And it ain’t for a lack of fucking trying. I spent six months chasing dead ends, running around in never-ending circles, with bitchy rumors being whispered in my ear. “You guys say ‘fuck’ too much,” Jenna, our PA, says, perching on the table. “It’s not attractive, you know that?” Tate smirks and spins in his seat. “Tell that to the girls begging me to fuck them.” “You’re so full of yourself.” She rolls her eyes. “Look, Leila’s picture wasn’t an exaggeration. There’s a freakin’ news crew and reporters there waiting for you to arrive. I hope y’all brought your muscle, because you sent your security home.” “Shouldn’t need security in a town with the population of a trailer park,” I retort. “We’re cutting through the woods. Get the driver to pull up behind the trees at 2402 Arcadia Lane.” All of my brothers look at me, but I ignore them. Yes, I still know her address. “Got it.” She nods, her red ponytail bobbing behind her. She turns away and disappears. “Didn’t expect you to do it,” Kye answers. “What if she’s back?”

I snort. “She won’t be. Whatever made her leave ain’t enough to bring her back, or she never would have gone in the first place.” I reach to my side for my headphones and put them on. The action ends the conversation, thank fucking God. Talking about the girl that broke my heart isn’t exactly on my favorite-activities list. We—Dirty B., the Burke brothers, whatever you want to call us—could live anywhere in the country. We could relocate to New York or Los Angeles without blinking. But we don’t. We keep coming back to this damn tiny town where everyone knows the inside of everyone else’s asshole. Why? I wish I damn well knew. If it was my choice, we would have stayed in LA when we went the first time. Now we’re looking at a couple of weeks in the world’s smallest town, surrounded by piss-ass tourists and screaming fangirls. The deep beat of Nirvana pounds into my ears, and I look out of the window. Two days of driving on this bus and I’m more than ready to get off and into a real bed, even if it is in Shelton Bay. As long as Mom has dinner ready, I’ll be good. Her cooking is the only good thing about “home.” Trees, houses, roads, they all blur into one as we approach the bay. The sign is there, bold as brass, clear as motherfucking day. Welcome to Shelton Bay. Welcome to Memory Hell. I yank the headphones off and silence my iPod. I throw both into my duffel and drop it on the seat next to me. “Okay, boys.” Jenna reappears. “What’s happenin’ is you’re gonna get off the bus in five minutes. You need to detour far enough that you’ll hit your parents’ stretch of beach, then go through the back door. We’ll park the bus out front, and I’ll deal with the screaming, undoubtedly crying, mob.” “Damn, Jenna. You’re a fuckin’ genius, beautiful.” Tate grins. “And you’re a man-whore,” she replies with a sweet smile. “Five minutes, Tate Burke, then I want your playboy ass off the darn bus.” He shoots her a wink, to my, Aidan’s, and Kye’s amusement. Jenna’s resistance to his advances is a long-standing form of entertainment. Truth is, Jenna’s happily in a relationship with one of our security guys. And we all know Tate wouldn’t touch her with an iron pole. He values his cock far too much to risk it against two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle. After a few minutes Jenna claps her hands. “All right, boys. Off. I’m in Raleigh for the summer with Jason, so I’m not far if you need me. Tate, Aidan, wrap it before you tap it, you man-whores. Kye, try to rein in your attitude, sunshine. And you—Conner. I want a smile on your face when you get back on this bus. You got it, gentlemen?” I fake her a smile and kiss her cheek. “Give it four days. Tate will have you on the phone.” “I know. He’s a big baby.” My brothers follow me off the bus. The leaves crunch beneath all our feet, and despite how much I say I hate this town, I love this. I spent so damn long in these woods as a kid, climbing trees, running through the stream. Then as we got older, it became a hideout for me and Sofie, our private place in a public town. The one place we could come when we were sick of prying eyes. I shake those thoughts off. Fuck it. Every time. Every time I get back here she’s filling my mind like an obsession. I glance toward her house. Her dad’s house—or old house, whatever it is these days. I don’t even know if it’s been put up for sale or what. A shadow moves across the kitchen window as I stare, so I assume it got sold. It’s been six months since we were home last, long enough to sell a house in this town.

I trudge forward with the knowledge she’s really never coming back. That she’s staying wherever the hell she is, and I’ll probably never find her again no matter how hard I try. She’s gone. I should have accepted that two and a half years ago, but every time I come home I half-hope she’ll be here, like a sad fucking kid hoping his lost dog will be home when he gets back from school. Home comes into view with the gentle sound of waves crashing. Salty air overcomes woodland as we move closer to the sprawling property, expanded after we “made it.” I pick up the pace. Getting to the place I love in this fucking town I hate is my priority. Being around my crazy-as-fuck family. Leila is waiting on the back porch, and the second she sees us, she jumps and claps her hands over her mouth so she doesn’t shout out. I guess she got the memo about the back-way homecoming, too. She hugs us, one by one, her hold on me lingering longer than on the others. The babies of the family, we’ve always been the closest, and leaving her every time we need to record or tour hurts a little. Then our parents are there, a whirlwind of hugs and kissed cheeks and smiles. Two months since we saw them when we flew them to Vegas. Too long. Mom produces her famous meat pie, and a smile stretches across my face. Oh yeah. That’s a fuckin’ homecoming all right. We sit at the dinner table and go over the tour details. Yes, we’re tired. No, we’re not overworking. Yes, we got our eyes tested last week like we promised her we would, and nearly caused a fucking riot in the optician’s. But no, we’re not overindulging in women or alcohol, Tate lies on that last one. I chew my way through dinner, quieter than the others. My mind is stuck on Sofie’s house. Did they really sell it? Is someone else really living in the house where I fell in love with her? “Lei?” I nudge my sister. “Can I ask you something?” I whisper. She nods, still chewing. “Did Sofie and Ste sell the house?” She shakes her head, then swallows. “No. Why?” “I saw someone there when we walked past. Ste isn’t back yet, is he?” She opens her mouth, then shuts it again. Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Leila. What are you hiding?” She shakes her head for a second time, her eyes widening. Shit. She’s a terrible liar. “Tell me. Now!” Everyone looks at us, but my eyes stay on my sister. My chest tightening. My stomach clenching. Because I know what she’s going to fucking say before she does. “She’s back,” she murmurs. “Yesterday.” “Fuck!” I push my chair back and stand. The hell? After all this time, she’s back now? What kind of fucked-up bullshit is this? “I didn’t know she was coming back,” Leila says quietly. “And it’s not my place to tell you. Besides, she kicked me out.” My fists clench at my sides. Shit. I’m angry. I’m pissed. I’m so fucking lost I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. “Conner,” Aidan warns, standing. My lips thin into a line. “Don’t,” I say, backing toward the door. “Just fuckin’ don’t.” I push it open and jump off the porch, heading back for the woods. It hurts, the desire to see her. It burns through my veins, consuming me, until I have tunnel vision. I see only the end destination as I

run through the trees, and that destination is her. Her house. Her. The truth I know she won’t give me. The truth she fucking owes me. I stop at the edge of her yard. There’s no defining line, so it spills over into the woods, which always made it easy for her when she’d sneak out to meet me. I lean against the nearest tree and inhale deeply. Shit. No. This isn’t about how I loved her. It’s about why she left me. It’s about why I’m standing here, half an hour after getting home, floundering like a little bitch outside her house. With another harsh inhale I push off the tree and storm up to her back door. I rap my knuckles against the glass before I can change my mind. And again when an answer doesn’t come. I’m lifting my fist for the third fucking time when it opens. And she’s there. Blonde, wavy hair, wide blue eyes, quivering pink lips, shaking hands. My eyes drink her in. I run my gaze over every inch of her like a man starved, desperate for the only thing that will ease the pain. Shit, she’s fucking gorgeous. Even more than I remember. She’s not the girl I fell in love with, all awkward and soft. She’s a woman now, smoothly curved in all the right places, rougher, sexier. I bring my eyes to hers and see the shock there. She’s still my fucking Sofie. “You’re back.” She parts her lips but nothing comes out. “Why?” “I have to sort things here.” She drops her hand from the door and wraps her arms around her waist. “Then what, you’re going again? Disappearing like you weren’t ever here?” “I haven’t decided what I’m doing,” she whispers. “I just got here yesterday.” I run my eyes over her face. Those lips. Fuck. Over two years, and I want to kiss them as much as I did then. “Took you fuckin’ long enough.” “How do you know I’m here? You just got back yourself.” “Keepin’ tabs, Sof?” I lean against the doorframe and raise my eyebrows. “Leila told me you were here.” “I thought as much. And no, I’m not keeping tabs on you, Conner. Why would I?” I lean forward, and unable to resist, I push some hair back from her face. “I don’t know, princess. You tell me.” She smacks my hand away. “Don’t call me that.” “Why not? That’s what you are, isn’t it? Untouchable. Fuckin’ unreachable.” A fire roars in her eyes, a mixture of anger and despair. “Get the hell away from me.” “Pushing me away again?” “Go, Conner!” she yells, her eyes fixed on me. “I don’t want you here.” Her eyes tell me different. Her eyes tell me she wants to grab me and hold me, fold herself into my arms the way she used to. Her eyes tell me she wants to lie next to me and trace the lines of the tattoo on my upper arm until my skin is raw from her touch. Her mouth is a fucking liar. “Tough shit. I’m here all summer.” I can’t help the smirk, the knowing.

She glares at me despite the longing in her gaze, and then, a baby cries. A scream of “Mama,” and my heart stops. Shock courses through my body, and I shove my foot in the door before she can slam it. “Sofie?” “Go away!” she cries, throwing all her weight into the door. I move my foot and it slams, deafeningly, the sound echoing through me. She’s got a kid. A fucking kid. I stare at the door, hearing her quiet sobs as she tries to soothe a baby I never knew about. I want to knock on that door. I want to smack so hard on the glass that it smashes, because she’s got a goddamn motherfucking kid. My Sofie. Has a kid. I keep staring, my heart thumping, my stomach in knots at seeing her again. I turn away, despite the urge still begging my fist to tear through that glass. Is that why she left? A baby? Mine? Someone else’s? Did she leave because the kid isn’t mine? Fuck.

“Crap. Crap crap crap crap!” I lean against Mila’s closed bedroom door and slide down it until my butt hits the floor and I’m hugging my knees. My hands are trembling harder than they ever have before. Seeing him there, in front of me, has shaken me right to my core. He looked exactly like a memory come to life, only better. Hotter. Sexier. Infinitely more . . . Conner. His hair is still messy, his eyes still startlingly blue. They still betray every emotion he hides in his words, and I saw them all. Shock, bitterness, disbelief, anger, hurt. Each one flickered in and out of his gaze until he heard Mila and shock took over. But it was his jaw I noticed most. The one difference in his face, the strong curve I’ve kissed every inch of. It was once smooth, perfectly clean-shaven, but now it’s rough, ghosted with the shadow of a few forgotten shaves. He’s still tall and built, though. His shoulders are wider and his biceps are more defined. His half sleeve peeked out from beneath his shirtsleeve, and my eyes found it instantly, the intricate design I once traced over and over as I lay in his arms. I wanted to reach out to him, run the pad of my thumb against the roughness of his jaw, to touch him. The urge burned me, and every second I fought that urge it hurt even more. It hurt until it became the dull, throbbing ache I feel with every beat of my heart right now. Because standing in front of him, the guy I loved so intensely, knowing the secrets I hold and the pain I’ve caused, and not being able to ease that pain or spill those secrets, hit me so fucking hard. I didn’t see it coming, because I didn’t expect it—the pain. I honestly didn’t think it would hurt so much for him to see me again. It shouldn’t have. I’m the one that’s had something to hold on to while he’s spent two and half years wondering where the hell I’ve been. I didn’t believe it before, that he’d wondered. I thought he might have cared for a while, then moved on with his new rock-star life, living the stereotypical dream with girls and booze and whatever else it is they do. His being here tonight proved wrong everything I’ve lived thinking since I left. I should have known better. I should have known that wouldn’t be Conner. Him coming here tonight, not even an hour since he arrived home, tells me everything. It tells me he still hurts and he hasn’t forgiven me. That he’s not over it, that he’s bitter and angry, and he’s completely freakin’ entitled to that. It also tells me he didn’t believe that I’m back, and that seeing me was the only way he could really convince himself. He has every right to feel that way. I’m the one that has to shoulder the blame. I’m the one with the groveling and shit to do. Not him. I’m the one who has to pull on the big-girl panties and face up to

the decisions I made, whether I’m ready to or not. Because me and Conner? We don’t matter. We’re not important. Only Mila is. And this is sooner than I ever imagined I’d tell him, but I can’t live here and have him only minutes away without him knowing about his daughter. Not like earlier when I slammed the door in his face because I panicked. Crap only knows what he’s thinking now. Hell, I don’t even know what I’m thinking right now, and I’m not the one knee-deep in questions.

“Whatcha doin’?” “Wondering why you’re here, to be honest.” I jam my foot behind the door. A smirk tugs at Leila’s bright red lips. “My best friend turned up after two and a half years. I’m here to see if you’re ready to talk.” “Not about what you want, and not to you.” “Ouch. Go easy on me, why don’t you.” I sigh and rest my head against the door. “I don’t mean it that way, Lei. There are other people who deserve answers more than you.” “I know.” She shrugs. “It pisses me off, but I know.” “So why are you here?” “Because I wanted to know if you wanted to go somewhere. Like, I don’t know. Where do you take kids?” I raise my eyebrows. “Uh, the park?” “That’s it!” She grins. “You wanna take Mila to the park?” “I don’t . . . I don’t know.” I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. “I was considering maybe buying some stuff for the yard for her.” “So you’re staying?” “Maybe.” “Riiiiight.” The way she draws the word out instantly calls me on my bullshit. “Well, do you want to or not?” Mila giggles from the front room and I sigh. “There are too many . . . people.” Leila meets my eyes. “So, what? You’re gonna keep her hidden away in this house because you don’t want to deal with the assholes in this town?” “Your language is awful,” I mutter. “But yeah, that was kinda my plan.” “Hell no.” She darts past me. “Hey, beautiful! Wanna go play on the slide?” I hiss out a string of mumbled curses. Slide is to Mila what eight hours uninterrupted sleep is to me: a dream come true. “Slide? Park? Mama, yeah!” The cheerful sound of her clapping reaches my ears. Another sigh. And maybe a curse. I walk into the front room. “Okay, okay. We’ll go to the park with Leila. Where’s Dolly?” “Dance, dance.” Mila points to the TV, where Dirty B. are playing—yet again—and wiggles her butt. I hide my smile when Leila meets my eye. “She has good taste.” I force the words out. Leila grunts in response, and I snatch the controller up and turn off the television. “No! No! No! Dutty! No!” Mila screeches, waving her arms frantically. “Noooo!” I cover my eyes with my hand briefly. “Baby girl, you can dance later, okay?”

“No! Dutty now! Noooow!” Leila coughs. My head snaps around to her, and the second our eyes meet, I know she’s just gotten the confirmation she was looking for. I take a deep breath and shake my head, telling her no, we’re still not talking, and grab Mila’s dolly. “Come on. Into the stroller.” She goes, screaming about “Dutty now! Dutty now, Mama!” I strap her in and do a quick check of her bag to make sure I have everything I need. Leila follows us out of the door and I lock it behind us. The sun is getting hot above us, a beacon of brightness in a clear blue sky. For the first time in a long time, the view is unencumbered by skyscrapers and high-rises. It’s pure and free and completely beautiful. I breathe in the sea air wafting toward us as we walk. Mila babbles to herself in the stroller, her words made up of completely random noises. I glance at the top of her dark head and smile. “So. Where’d you go?” Leila asks after a few minutes. “Charlotte,” I reply, flicking the foam on the stroller handle with my thumb. “Really? You left the damn state?” I shrug a shoulder. “I needed to go. It was the first place I thought of.” “You mean the first place that was close enough to your dad but far enough away from here.” Dammit. “Pretty much.” Leila sighs. “I wish you’d tell me everything.” “I wish I could,” I say softly, honestly. “But I can’t. Other people need to know first.” “You mean my brother needs to know.” “Take it how you want. I’m not saying anything to anyone.” “He came to your place last night, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell him then?” I shoot her a sideways look. “What if there’s nothing to tell, hmm? What if she isn’t Conner’s?” Leila snorts. “Right. Because she doesn’t look exactly like him or anything, and you absolutely don’t clam up whenever I mention his name.” She opens the park gate, and I walk through, parking the stroller by a bench and letting Mila out. She giggles with the freedom of exploring a new place. I sit on the bench, hooking one of my legs over the other. “It’s not as simple as you think, Lei. I wish it was. I wish I could sit here and tell you everything that’s happened since I found out I was having her, but I can’t. You need to get it out of your head that you’re entitled to know it first, because you ain’t. He needs to know.” “He being Conner.” “Dammit, Lei, can you stop, please?” I sigh, my eyes flitting toward her. “You ain’t foolin’ me with this little-sister act. I know you really want to know for yourself.” “Shit. Okay. I do.” She holds her hands up. “I’ll lay off you . . . for a while. Let’s change the subject before you snap my head off.” “To what?” I ask, watching Mila as she tries to climb up the slide and fails. “Remember that crush I had on Calum Peterson? Yeah. Waste of four months.” She sighs and leans back. “No way. You went there?” “I went there and wish I didn’t. But the bros don’t know, so keep it to yourself.” I smile and tilt my face toward her. “While the cats’re away, the mouse will play, right?” “Never mind playing. The mouse’ll throw a fucking party.” Leila winks. “If only she was playing with something worth her time.”

A laugh bubbles up in my throat. I cover my mouth with my hand as it threatens to spill over, but I can’t fight the grin stretching across my face. Leila Burke lives by the rule “call it like you see it.”’ It’s a blessing and a curse. “Well, if I wasn’t attracted to him before, I’m definitely not now.” I giggle. She sighs heavily. “The real problem? He’s ripped as fuck now, and I feel sorry for all the girls expecting him to be huge. It’s not as impressive as his abs, that’s for sure.” “Well, that’s what you get for being shallow.” I watch as Mila slides down the slide on her tummy. “Mila, baby? Try climbing the stairs, okay?” She looks at me, wide-eyed at having been caught, and nods enthusiastically. “And maybe leave Dolly with Mama?” “’Kay.” She toddles over, passes me Dolly, then runs back to the slide. At least it’s quiet here. My guess is everyone’s at the beach, soaking up the rays on the sand, leaving the park deserted apart from us. “Have you met anyone since you went to Charlotte?” Leila asks. “No,” I say softly. She laughs, but it’s followed up by a sigh. “Man, I wish I could just shove you and Conner in a room. Let y’all get it all out, then move on. He’s been a miserable bastard since you left.” I pick at the hair on Mila’s dolly. “I never wanted to, y’know? I never wanted to leave him. I never wanted to hurt him the way I did, but I had to. It was either hurt him emotionally or ruin his dream. I couldn’t do the latter, Lei. I couldn’t ruin everything he wanted.” Silence passes between us, the tension growing, both of our gazes fixed on the two-foot toddler navigating the slide. “You sayin’ what I think you are?” “I’m saying what I want to.” I turn my head to her and tuck my hair behind my ear. “It doesn’t matter if Mila is his or not. Either way I would have hurt him, someway, somehow. I had to choose what I did. I had to run and let him follow his dreams.” My eyes travel to Mila. “I couldn’t be the person that ruined everything for him.” “You think you’re foolin’ me, Sofie Callahan, but you ain’t. Y’all can avoid it as much as you like, but twenty-four hours since he got back and you’re breaking. I know who Mila belongs to,” she whispers the final sentence. “And I’m telling you, Sof, the second he sees her, he will, too.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, each exhale shuddery. “Then I guess my time is pretty much up.” “Yeah,” Leila says slowly. “He’s got your number.” “What?” “Six o’clock. Tattooed rocker, goes by the name of Conner Burke, staring at you.” Thump. My heart pounds almost painfully, and it takes everything I have to turn around. Because as much as I could stare at him all day, I don’t want to. I don’t want to look at him and remember lying on the beach. I don’t want my mind to be flooded by memories of late nights in the woods. I don’t want to remember my dad smiling knowingly the next morning but never wringing my ass out. I don’t want to remember Conner’s touch or his kiss or his smile or fucking anything about him. Yet I turn, because his gaze is anything but avoidable. It’s compelling, pleading, conflicted, like he wants to drink me up but push me away at the same time. I swallow, running my eyes up his body. I can’t help but notice the way his jeans hug his hips or the way his T-shirt clings to his chest and arms or the way a few teenage girls are standing feet behind

him giggling into their hands. His gaze travels from me to the only child in the park—mine. Ours. I watch as he stares at her hair, then her eyes and her excited smile. How he winces when she giggles, clapping her hands together. His eyes find me, questions swirling, accusation whirling, but it’s the pain that swallows those things. His bright eyes are almost dark with his anger, and I know it. And I don’t do a damn thing to soothe it. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I barely even blink as his eyes bore into mine intensely. Because I deserve it. And so does he. He deserves to be angry with me. He has every right in the damn world to hate me with everything he has. He should hate me. I’ll let him feel it all. I want him to feel that hate. I want him to wish he’d never met me or that I’d never come back. Because that’s real and that’s honest and that’s nothing less than I deserve. I deserve to watch the man I love hate me. End of story. He rips his eyes from mine, finally. He turns and walks away, and my heart clenches a little with every step he takes. Each one induces guilt, regret, a bone-deep ache. Not only for him, but for Mila, too. For the life I’ve denied them both. For the life I believed was best. I turn back to the playground and clench my fists as I wrap my arms around myself. For the life I believed was best. I did what I thought was right, and that’s what matters. I have no doubt it seems wrong to many people. But I looked at a situation, I made a judgment, and I followed it through. I have to hold on to that thought, because it’s all I’ve got.

Tick, tock. Unruly brown hair, like mine. Tick, tock. Blue eyes, like Sofie’s. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick . . . fucking . . . tock. I grab the neck of the beer bottle and drink from it, finishing it. Even the sound of the waves crashing against the beach can’t settle me tonight. They can’t calm the hell that is my mind since I saw Sofie’s kid at the park. They just crash in time with each tick of that stupid fucking clock in the dining room. Over and over, the image fills my mind. I’m sure it’s burning itself into my memory. A little girl, barely two foot, doing her best to climb up the slide. Every time, she gets halfway, then slides down on her tummy. I don’t know how long I stood there and watched before Sofie noticed me. I couldn’t tell you how many times my eyes flicked from the back of her blonde head to the tiny dark one. But every time hurt like a fucking bitch. No—the not knowing hurt. Not knowing why the hell Sofie abandoned me the way she did without so much as a goddamn text. I twirl the beer bottle between my fingers. Two nights before she disappeared, she finally told me she loved me. She said it out of the blue while we were lying on the beach, watching the sun disappear below the horizon. I remember it so fucking clearly. The softness of her voice as she said, “I love you, Con.” The tightness in how she gripped me, the harshness of how she kissed me. Did she know then? When she was lying next to me, telling me the words I wanted to hear, did she know she was going to leave? I walk into my kitchen, exchange the empty bottle for a full one, and pop the cap. “You know you can breathe between beers, don’t you?” Tate pushes me. I meet Tate’s eyes. “Fuck off.” I walk back out onto the deck and drop back into the seat. Resting my feet on the fencing that surrounds the deck, I tip the beer bottle up. “Missin’ Sofie?” “I said fuck off, Tate.”

“She’s hot now, apparently.” She was always fucking gorgeous. “Yeah, where’d you hear that? From your latest whore?” “From Nina.” He grins. “From your latest whore, then.” “She’s good, Con. Shoulda done her when y’all had the chance.” He swipes the bottle from me and swigs. “You know Sofie’s got a kid now?” My lips thin and I nod, grabbing the bottle. “Saw her earlier.” “The kid or Sofie?” “Both.” “Yeah. Whose is it?” “Do I look like I fucking know anything about Sofie’s private life?” I turn to him and glare. Tate holds up his hands and leans against the wall. “Wondered if she’d told Leila, that’s all. Lei tells you everything.” “Nothin’,” I confirm. “Not even Leila. Refuses, apparently.” I swig from the bottle, my head getting fuzzy. “I wish I knew.” “Why don’t you ask her, you fucking idiot? Would it kill you?” I snort. “She’s not mine, Tate. She’s probably some dick’s Sof met in wherever the hell she went, and I still won’t know why she disappeared on my ass.” He smacks the back of my head. I frown at him. “Jesus, Con. You’re a pussy! Go to her house and just fuckin’ ask her.” “What, you think I need to turn up like this and demand she tell me abso-fucking-lutely everythin’, huh? Like she owes me?” “She does!” Tate roars. “She owes you a goddamn explanation for why she disappeared on you, then turned back up with a kid like it’s a fuckin’ vacation! You deserve to know. Stop being such a little bitch, get over there, and ask her!” I drink the beer, his words surrounding me. They make total sense. I have every right to know, even if it’s a truth I don’t want to hear. But instead of agreeing with my big brother, the words that leave my mouth are, “Fuck off, Tate.” Words that have been all too common in the last five minutes. He snorts and leaves me to it on the deck, ever the caring older brother. Remind me not to deal with his health care when he’s shitting in adult diapers. I drag my eyes from the door and toward the beach. Since I left, touring across America, I thought the first thing I’d do when I got home was sit on the beach and take in the fierce rush of the white foam against the beach, the echoing crash of the waves against the sand. I thought I would breathe it in, the scent of home. Of the rich, enticing aroma of Mom’s cooking mixing with the saltiness of the sea. I thought I would relish it, that I’d close my eyes and relax as the stress of the tour washed out of me. I thought I’d stand in the farm-style kitchen, laughing with my family. That I’d sit out here on the deck with my sister and get all the gossip. That Mom would need another spice rack put up in the kitchen or a bookshelf in Dad’s office. I thought wrong. I get up to grab another beer and twirl the bottle, resting my feet on the porch fence again. I drink it quickly, too quickly. Dark descends, bringing with it a slight chill, but no silence. No silence in my head from the raging thoughts of Sofie and that kid.

That kid that could be mine. I get up and let the empty bottle drop to the floor. The woods are eerily quiet, as if they can sense my anger. As if they know the bitterness that lingers in my veins, as if they know the burn of not knowing anything. Like the woods, I’m left in the dark. Completely. Branches and twigs crunch under my feet as I increase my pace to a gentle jog. And again, to a slow run. Then to a sprint. The need to know increases with every footstep, as evenly paced as the ticking of the clock. It doesn’t matter that I’ve probably drunk too much beer to be here or that we’ve only been back for a matter of days. I can’t be in this shithole full of memories without knowing. I can’t move on until I know. I can’t forgive her for a single fucking thing until I know—and even then, maybe I won’t be able to. Maybe she’s unforgivable. Instead of knocking on the back door like I did yesterday, I come around the side of the house to the front door. The front room light glows softly through the curtains, but the rest of the house is dark. My chest heaves with the exertion of my run here and I grab the doorframe to balance myself. I’m definitely too fucking drunk for this conversation, but what the hell. I bang on the door, once, twice, again and again and again. “Sofie! Open the fuckin’ door!” “Shut up!” she hisses, yanking it open. “The hell’re you doing here?” I smirk, leaning against the wall. “Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that, princess?” “Are you drunk?” Her voice rises a little at the end, and her eyes widen. Those eyes. Fuck, those baby blues that have always undone me. “Drunk? No. If I was drunk I’d be sitting at home like a miserable bastard and not here facing the cause of my misery.” “You’re being an asshole. I don’t have to listen to this.” She pushes on the door, but I wedge my foot in front of it. I let go of the wall and grab the edge of the door. “Actually, you do.” She can’t overpower me, and she knows it, because she lets up and the door swings open. “Why are you here, Conner?” “You have a kid.” She smacks her lips together. “Yep.” “When? When did you have her?” Sofie takes a deep breath in and presses her hands to her stomach. They’re shaking, even as she links her fingers to hide it. I can see that fucking tremble. She whispers something but I’m too preoccupied by her hands to hear it. “What?” “August two years ago,” she repeats, still a whisper. August. Two years ago. My stomach clenches as I meet her eyes. “When? When in fuckin’ August, Sofie?” “August fifteenth.” Her voice hitches halfway through the “fifteenth.” Almost seven months to the day she walked out on me and the rest of Shelton Bay. Adrenaline hums through my body, and I stare at her. At the tears building in her eyes, the quiver of her lips, the bob of her throat as she swallows harshly. It’s no different from the burn in my chest, the twisting of my stomach.

“Is she mine?” She shudders and a tear drips from her eye. “Sofie. Is. She. Mine?!” I yell, resting my hands on either side of me in the doorway. She hesitates, and just when I think I’ll have to pin her to the wall and physically make her answer me, she nods. It’s barely a movement, but enough to answer my question. But no. It’s not fucking enough. “Yes or no, Sofie. It’s not fuckin’ hard.” “Yes,” she rasps. “Mila’s yours.” I draw in a deep breath and shake my head. Pushing off the wall and stepping back, I start, “You —” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I can’t even fuckin’ look at you right now.” Her cry follows me onto the street as I run away, and for the first time in my life I don’t give a shit. I don’t give a damn if she’s hurting. She took a part of me away. My daughter, a person I helped create, the very person who’s literally half of my heart. She took smiles and memories and laughter. She took a life. She took someone who is mine. Something she had no right to do, she did. Without a word or even any hint. She stole that from me. “Fuck!” I yell into the night, leaning against my back porch. I barely remember the return trip through the woods. “What?” Tate steps out of the back door, followed by Aidan, Kye, and Leila. “Conner? What’s wrong?” My baby sister steps forward. “She took her. She was pregnant and she took my fuckin’ daughter away from me!” I kick the porch. I need an outlet for this. Shit. I can feel the rage burning through my veins, desperate to get out. I’ve never felt an anger or a pain or a fucking betrayal that stings as acutely as this one does. The girl I loved so much I’d have given her anything has broken my heart so fucking spectacularly. “Shit.” “Mine! And she fucking took her!” My voice cracks and I grab the posts on the porch, my muscles clenching almost painfully. The anger streams down my cheeks in hot tears, because I’m not too proud for this. I’m not too proud to let my family see this pain. Two and a half years. I can’t even fathom what I’ve missed because of her. Leila wraps her arms around me from behind and lays her cheek against my back. I turn and crush her in my arms. She rubs her hands up my back and lets me cry into her. I was right. Sofie is unforgivable.

My vision is blurred. My head pounds with emotion and a hangover, and I rub my temples in a vain attempt to ease it. Aidan walks in the room with a glass of cold water and Tylenol, and I take them, throwing the tablets to the back of my throat before drinking the whole glass. “Thanks,” I croak. “No problem. Mom wants to know how you are, but I won’t insult you by asking.” He smirks. I laugh bitterly and lean back against the bed. “The fuck do I do, Aidan? Two and a half years and she shows up in town, with my kid. Did she think I wouldn’t find out?” “She was hoping you wouldn’t,” Leila says softly from the doorway.

“Did you know?” Aidan snaps. “I swear to God, Lei . . .” “No!” she cries desperately. “I didn’t know! I thought, but she wouldn’t tell me for sure.” “Shit.” I run my fingers through my hair. “We ain’t kids anymore. Why didn’t she just come clean?” “It’s been, like, three days,” she reasons. “I’m sure she would have eventually.” “Eventually, when? In five years? Ten? When the kid—” “Mila.” Lei interrupts me quietly. “Her name is Mila.” “Mila.” The name, her name, rolls off my tongue easily. Sweetly. “Would it have come out at eighteen when Mila was finally able to find me, huh?” “It’s no good sittin’ here spouting your what-ifs, bro,” Aidan interjects. “Get off your ass and talk to her.” “In front of Mila? No. That’s not a conversation we can have in front of her.” “I’ll look after her.” I look at my sister. “Really, Lei? You’re going to look after a two-year-old?” “Conner Burke, I’m twenty-one, not eleven.” She raises her eyebrows. “I am perfectly capable of watching a toddler for an hour so y’all can bitch it out together.” Aidan snorts. “Yeah, try two hours, Lei. These two bitching at each other always ended someplace else.” I fight the smile tugging at my lips. Shit, but he’s right. We’d argue, then make up right after. I could never be mad at her—she’d look at me with those eyes, brimming with tears, and I’d sigh and kiss them away. My heart clenches now at the way I’d kiss down her cheeks to her mouth, then tickle her, just so she’d smile. But she’d do more. She’d throw her head back and laugh, wind her fingers in my hair, and wrap her legs around my waist. And I’d stand there, holding her, kissing her until her lips were raw and her hips were grinding against mine and we needed to get somewhere more private. “Hello? Con?” I jolt at the sound of fingers snapping. I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes. Thinking about the past isn’t going to sort out the present. It all hurts. It’s all bullshit. “Gimme five minutes. Y’all get the hell out of my room. Now.” Aidan follows Leila out, and the second I hear them high-five through the closing door, I know I’ve been set up. Fucking assholes. I get dressed and head into the bathroom to scrub my face. My eyes might be ringed in red from crying last night, but worse are the purple-gray bags below them. I look like shit warmed over. I rub some wax through my hair lamely and brush my teeth before following my asshole siblings downstairs. Mom is waiting at the bottom, and she hugs me tightly. “I’m all right, Mom. I just need answers.” She nods and pats my shoulder. “Go. Now. Get ’em.” “That’s the plan,” I mutter under my breath. Leila is sitting in her car and I yank open the driver’s side door. “Get out. In the truck.” I can almost hear her roll her eyes. So much for being twenty-one and not eleven. Sure acts like it sometimes. She gets into the truck with a sigh, proving my point, and I rev the engine. I turn the truck around and pull away from the house . . . past a couple of reporters. Just fucking awesome. “Call Tate.” I throw my phone onto Leila’s lap. “Tell him to get someone to get rid of those nosy

dicks.” She nods and does it as I make the turn onto Sofie’s street. Laughing, she hangs up the phone a moment later. “Done.” “What did he say?” I cut my eyes to her. She grins widely and rocks in her seat. “He said Dad’s on his way out there with the rifle.” I laugh, the image of my fifty-eight-year-old father brandishing a gun at the paparazzi too hilarious. And also completely realistic. “Listen out for shots,” I mutter, pulling into Sofie’s drive. “I don’t wanna have to bail his ass out of jail today.” Leila giggles. “Send Tate. It’ll be his fault.” “True.” I kill the engine and stare at the house. I’m about to come face-to-face with Sofie Callahan for the third time in as many days. At least this time I’ll get answers—real answers. Maybe there’s something to that third-time’s-a-charm bullshit, after all.

Mila claps her hands and bounces as Dirty B.’s song comes to an end. I force a smile for her, pretending I’ve loved every second of hearing his voice and seeing his face. I haven’t. Because every word is accusatory, even though it’s not, and every time I see his eyes, I see a heart-wrenching pain. A pain caused wholly by me and my actions, even if he doesn’t know the reason behind why I left. I still feel guilty. Gut-twistingly, lung-constrictingly, heartbreakingly so. “Gen! Gen!” Mila squeaks. “No, baby. Mama’s got a headache. Colors?” I offer her some crayons. She pouts, and it almost gets me until the doorbell rings. My head jerks up and I blink. “Here,” I say, opening the crayon box and the scrapbook. “Draw me a pretty picture, okay?” She drops onto the ground with a melodramatic sigh and I stand, rolling my eyes. My little drama queen. “Tankoo,” she sings when I walk past. I smile. “You’re welcome!” I call back, opening the door. And I stare at muscles wrapped in a blue polo shirt, a Samoan tattoo curving around one of those muscled biceps. Broad shoulders and messy brown hair styled to look just-fucked. A jaw dusted with light stubble, lips set into a thin line, and dark blue eyes so angry they’re practically on fire. Conner Burke. “We need to talk,” he demands. There’s no room for arguments in his tone, but I’m going to give him one right now. “It’ll have to wait. Mila’s not asleep yet.” “It’s okay. Leila came along. Said she’ll watch her.” He motions to his truck, and seconds later his sister steps out. “I don’t . . . I mean . . . She doesn’t really know her,” I finish lamely. That’s a pathetic reason. “And whose fault is that, Sofie?” Conner’s eyes harden, ice edging his voice. I open my mouth and close it again. “I know,” I say on a swallow. “The least you can do is let our daughter get to know her aunt while we try and sort out the shitstorm you created.” “Watch your language!” I snap. “If you want me to watch my language, I suggest you get your ass into my car in the next five seconds.” He pulls his keys from pocket. “You’ve already taken enough of her from us, so cut the crap.”

“Conner!” Leila smacks his arm. “You can’t say that!” “No, he can. He’s right.” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. I meet Leila’s eyes, soft and warm, and bite my thumbnail. “There are juice boxes in the cupboard next to the fridge. If she wants one, lift her up and she’ll pick which color. And if she wants a snack, her star chips are in the cupboard next to that one.” Leila smiles and squeezes my arm. “We’ll be best friends by the time y’all’re done.” I watch my best friend walk into the front room and say hi excitedly to Mila. My baby claps her hands and squeals, the noise like a knife to my heart. What would she do if she knew her father was standing ten feet away from her? “Get in the car,” Conner orders, turning and walking toward it. I swallow and pull the door closed behind me. The gravel crunches beneath my feet with every slow step I take. “Sometime today, Sof.” I pull the door open with a deep breath and slide into the passenger seat. I’ve barely buckled my seat belt when he revs the engine and tears out of my driveway. This is the closest we’ve been in forever. I can practically touch his anger it’s so tangible, but I can also feel the warmth from his body. My eyes flick to him and back to my lap, away from the flexing of his biceps as he drives, to the fidgeting of my fingers. And honestly, I’m trying to forget the last time we were in this truck. I’m trying to forget how with both our parents home, a truck parked in the woods was our only option. I’m trying to forget the giggles as we negotiated the seat and the heat of his mouth and the softness of his fingers across my skin. I’m doing a really, really bad job of not thinking about it. The tension ricochets and the silence tightens, intensifying with every tap of his finger against the steering wheel. With every flick of my foot against the floor. With every breath, every heartbeat. I wish he’d say something. Anything. Just . . . something. We reach his house and he pulls up, exhaling heavily before pushing his door open. The two cars outside belong to Tate and Kye, and I eye them wearily as I get out. “We’re going to talk here?” Conner doesn’t answer. He simply shoots a hard look over his shoulder at me and turns on his heel. I watch him for a moment, hesitating. If there’s anything worse than an angry Conner, it’s an angry Conner, Tate, and Kye. Shit. It doesn’t even matter. I don’t owe the Burke brothers anything—just one of them. The others can kiss my sweet Southern ass. I follow Conner around the side of his house and into the yard. He keeps walking until he reaches the beach, and I reach down to pull my sandals off. I set them by the big tree in the yard, the one that holds the twenty-year-old tree house we spent so much time in before. The sand is hot and soft beneath my toes. I pause at the edge of the beach and stare at Conner. He’s standing with his back to me, his hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring out at the water. His shoulders rise and fall with every breath, and he hangs his head. Still nothing. No glances. No recognition. No words. And I want it all. I want the yells and the shouts and the screams. I want him to tell me he hates me and that he’ll never be able to look at me again. I want him to tear into me and rip my soul into pieces the way I did his.

I want him to break my fucking heart. “Talk!” I yell at his back. “You’ve dragged me down here, the least you can do is say whatever is on your damn mind!” His shoulders heave, but he doesn’t respond. I storm down to him and grab his arm. He tenses beneath my touch, his bicep hardening against my fingertips. I shove him. “Fuck, Conner! Lay it on me! I know that’s what you want to do. I sure as hell deserve it!” He’s barely turned to face me when his hands are cupping the sides of my face and his lips are on mine. The kiss is hard and angry, the rough way his mouth moves against mine almost a punishment. His fingers tangle in my hair, keeping me against him. I fist the sides of his shirt, taking this sudden assault, as tears burn in my eyes. Because this hurts. Because it’s a small slice of the past, a memory brought to life. Because through the pain, it feels like everything I’ve wanted since I walked away. “I really fucking hate you, you know that?” he says, his short, sharp breaths ghosting heat across my lips. “I fucking hate you for keeping her from me.” “You should. I want you to.” “Why, Sof? Why the hell would you keep her from me? She’s my daughter! Fuck!” He lets me go and fists his hair, his eyes shining with an angry pain. With accusation and blame. Blame I deserve. I squeeze my eyes shut. My chest is so tight I can barely breathe. “C’mon, then, Sofie! You told me to talk. You wanted me to talk—now it’s your turn. You’re the one with the answers to the questions I can’t figure out, so fuckin’ talk!” “I didn’t want her to ruin the band!” “What?” He freezes. “You guys were so close—so close to breaking out, and you did. You did, and I couldn’t tell you.” I wrap my arms around my stomach as it churns. “I couldn’t pull you from that, Con. It was all you’d ever wanted.” “And you didn’t think I’d want my daughter more?” he shouts. “You didn’t think she’d mean more to me than the band?” “That’s why I didn’t tell you! I knew you’d give it all up. I knew you’d walk away from everythin’ you’d ever dreamed, and I didn’t want you to do that. I couldn’t make you do that.” His eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes me step back. “What if you were my dream, Sof? What if I’d have done anythin’ you’d asked?” “But you wouldn’t have! You would have given it all up for her.” “Anything you asked, I would have done it, even if it meant spending time away from you and Mila. I would have done it to give you and her the best life I could have.” I shake my head. “You don’t believe me? You don’t think I was so fuckin’ in love with you that you had me wrapped around your baby finger?” Was. Was. Was . . . “It doesn’t matter!” I throw my arms out and fight back the tears that have sprung to the corners of my eyes. “I made a decision based on what I thought was best at the time. Was it the wrong one? Yes. Hell yeah it was! I should have told you. You should have known about her from the start.”

“Damn fuckin’ right I should have!” He steps toward me, his fists clenched at his sides. “She’s my daughter, too. I should have been there for her birth, and her first birthday, and I should have been there every goddamn day since she was born!” “You have been!” I scream at him, letting the tears fall. They stream down my cheeks, blurring my vision until he’s just a mass of tanned skin, blue shirt, and brown hair. “I kept her from you, but never you from her. She’s always known about you. Always, Con!” “What?” His voice cracks. “Every concert you’ve ever played—all ninety-six of them so far—she’s seen. I’ve found recordings and she’s watched them. She knows every single one of your songs. She won’t sleep unless I put our song on—the one you wrote and recorded for me? Yeah. It’s her lullaby. Every time your music videos come on she’s at the damn TV, dancing along with the biggest smile on her face!” I jab my finger at him. “Your picture is beside her bed! You are the first and last thing Mila sees every fuckin’ day! I made sure of it. I made sure she always knew who her daddy was. Always.” I swipe beneath my eyes and blink to clear my vision. He looks stunned—completely stunned. “Why? Why did you tell her about me when you refused to tell me about her?” “Because I was never planning to keep her from you forever. I was always going to tell you about her when the time was right. The problem is that it never was. It was never the right time to tell you anything, because you might never have cared.” He looks up to the sky. A long moment passes with only the distant sound of the waves crashing against the sand to fill the silence between us. Slowly, Conner looks down and meets my gaze. His eyes are wet, shining with his own unfallen tears, and it hurts me. Like a knife in my back or a punch to my gut, it winds me, slices me. It damn near kills me. “She’s a part of you. A part of us. How could I not care about her?” I bend my knees and lower myself to the sand. I hug my legs to my chest and rest my forehead on my knees. I’m selfish, so selfish, but I can’t look at him anymore. I can’t look in his eyes and see everything I don’t want to, no matter how much I deserve it. Because I say I want to, but I don’t. I don’t want to see him hate me. “You left, Sof,” he says, choking. “You just fuckin’ disappeared on me. I went batshit crazy wondering where you were. I looked for you for months.” I get up as quickly as I sat down and walk away from him. My heart is hammering in my chest, threatening to burst free. I grab my sandals and spin to face him, running my fingers through my hair harshly. “This isn’t about us—it’s about Mila!” I whisper in a thick voice, aware of the sound of his back door opening. “It’s about making sure she has what she needs. It’s about making sure you two can finally know each other, about finally making sure you have a bond. I fucked up, Con. Yeah, I fucked up big-time, but I was young and afraid, and I was stupid. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make it right. This isn’t about how you or I feel. It’s about our daughter. She’s all that matters here.” It hurts to say it, because we do matter. We just don’t matter as much as she does, and if being heartbroken for the rest of my life means she can be happy, I’ll gladly live with that pain. “She is my number one, always,” I whisper when he stops in front of me. “Everything else has to come second to her.” I choke on a sob and he reaches for me. I shake my head and step back. “No. I don’t want you to take this pain, because I need to feel it.”

“Fuck off.” He grabs me quickly and wraps his arms around my shoulders tightly. “You might want to feel your pain, but I sure as hell don’t.” He rests his chin on top of my head, and I shudder out a breath, my arms hanging limply at my sides even as his fingers against my bare arms set my skin alight. I don’t want to hold him, because this moment contradicts everything I just said. I don’t want to hold him, because I might not let go. I don’t want to hold him, because there’s nothing to hold on to. “Sof,” he says. “Can I meet her?”

Sofie takes a deep breath in and nods against my chest. “Yes,” she whispers. “I don’t get to deny you that any longer.” “We’re not done here,” I murmur into her hair, resisting the urge to turn my face to the side and kiss her temple. Shit, it ain’t right. I hate her so much right now. I do. But all I want to do is hold her until she stops crying, because she soothes my pain, too. She caused it, but she’s soothing it, even though she’s not hugging me back, even though she’s stiff in my arms. I exhale loudly. “Let’s talk when we’ve calmed down and can do more than cry and scream at each other.” She nods again, and I let her go. A chill runs across my bare arms as she pulls back and I look at her. Tears are streaking down her cheeks, her eyes puffy and her lips swollen. Her lips, swollen, from me. From my lips against hers in a crazy moment. Because despite it all, I needed to fucking feel her again, needed to taste her, to see if she really is the same person, because right now she feels like a stranger. I needed, just for a minute, to know she’s still my Sofie. I rub my hand down my face. I’ve gotta stop thinking that shit—she’s right in what she says. This isn’t about us, not really. This is about our daughter, our baby girl. “I’ll take you home,” I say, nudging her in the direction of the truck. She shuffles toward it with her shoulders hunched and her arms wrapped around herself. It hurts me to see her hurting this badly. It slices through me. But she fucking should feel it. She should feel the pain I’m feeling. I still can’t believe she kept my daughter from me. And I don’t buy her reason—not entirely. There’s more to it than just what she’s telling me. I get in the truck after her and pull away from my house. There isn’t a part of me that gives a shit that my brothers were watching from the porch or that they heard me tell her I’m still in love with her. They know that shit. They know I loved her when she was seven and fell off the rocks into the sea. They know I loved her when she was thirteen and used to spend hours swinging from the tire swing in our yard. And they know I loved her when I finally grew some balls and kissed her at her graduation in front of the whole damn town. My heart is thudding as I pull up outside her house. I flex my fingers around the steering wheel, my palms sweaty. I’ve never been so damn nervous in my life, and it’s a quick switch from the anger of

only ten minutes ago. But my daughter is in there. The daughter I never knew about . . . And I’m about to meet her for the first time. “Are you ready?” Sofie asks quietly, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. I lick my lips. “How the fuck is anyone supposed to be ready for this?” “Fair enough,” she answers, a hint of amusement breaking through in her words. She pushes the door open before I can reply and gets out of the car. Despite the shaking of my hands, I follow her. Shit, I feel like a kid going to kindergarten for the first time. No performance, no matter the size of the audience, has ever shaken me up like this. I’ve never been so afraid in my life. “Wait here, just for a second, okay?” she says softly, resting her hand on the door. I want to tell her no. I’ve waited long enough for this. But I nod. Sofie pushes the door open and walks in. “Lei?” she calls. My sister appears in the hallway. “What’s up?” “Did you two have fun?” “Yeah, Mama! Yeah!” a tiny voice replies. My heart pounds once. Loudly. Mila. “We had a great time, didn’t we, Mila?” Lei says with a grin. “We’re best buddies.” “A new friend?” Sofie gasps happily and holds her arms out at her sides. “Yay!” Tiny giggles filter through the hallway. Goose bumps spread across my skin. “Hey, baby girl?” Sofie says, squatting. “Where’s Dolly?” “No no.” “Go find her, okay?” “Yeah, Mama.” I watch as Sofie stands and runs her fingers through her hair. Her lips move but I can’t hear what she’s saying. I can guess, though, if the way my sister’s face snaps toward mine is any indication. Lei nods, hugging Sofie quickly, and walks toward me. “She’s amazing,” she whispers, resting her hand against my arm. “Don’t go too hard on Sofie.” My eyes cut to her. “She kept her from me. I love you, sis, but me and Sofie is something you need to keep your nose out of. I know that’s a hard concept for you, but give it a shot, okay?” “Bite me.” She narrows her eyes. I put my keys in her hand. “Drive my car home, will you? I’m not leaving this house until I’m dragged out by the fuckin’ cops.” Leila smiles and leaves wordlessly. I look up, straight into Sofie’s eyes. She nods, and I step into the house. “Mila!” she calls. “Did you find Dolly?” “Yeah, Mama!” My eyes widen as this tiny person toddles in, clutching a soft-bodied doll. Her hair is dark and unruly like mine, her eyes wide and almost indigo blue, exactly like mine, but her smile isn’t. The smile stretching her face is wholly her mommy’s, the exact smile Sofie’s smiled at me so many times. “Good job, smart cookie!” Sofie bends down and holds up a hand. Mila taps it in a high five, and I melt. I fucking melt. “I have someone I want you to meet. Are you gonna be nice?” “My nice,” she lisps. “Okay. Are you ready?” Mila nods. Sofie stands and steps to the side, her eyes finding me, but all I see is the little girl staring at me.

The little eyes widening, the wide smile growing, the tiny hands clapping. All I feel is the grin forming on my face and the adrenaline rushing through my veins. Shit. I helped make this beautiful kid. “Dadda?” Mila asks, looking between me and Sofie. My eyes sting with wetness. She knows me. She actually fucking knows me. “Hey, little girl,” I say, looking at her. “Can I get a cuddle?” Mila flaps her arms excitedly and toddles toward me. With her arms extended, she runs into mine, and I wrap them around her tiny body. I bury my face into her mass of curls, breathing in her sweet baby smell. “Dadda Dadda Dadda,” she babbles, kicking her legs and giggling her little head off. “That’s me,” I confirm, squeezing her tighter. I take a deep, shaky breath. I’ve achieved all my dreams. I’ve performed in front of thousands, recorded two hit albums, and climbed the Billboard charts, but nothing compares to this. Nothing will ever beat this moment, the feeling of holding my baby girl in my arms for the first time. It’s months too late. Hell, it’s more than a year too late, but it doesn’t matter right now. Maybe tomorrow it will, maybe even in three hours it will, but right now she’s mine and I’m holding her. Mila keeps giggling, kicking, and squealing, oblivious to how hard I’m shaking. I squeeze Mila and glance up at Sofie. Her light blue eyes are shining, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hand is covering her mouth, and the moment our gazes find each other, my heart beats with a painful reminder of what could have been. Of how this moment should have been. Because she’s right and she’s wrong. It’s about Mila. First and foremost it’s about Mila, but it’s about us, too. Because without us, there is no her. And that doesn’t just disappear. My chest tightens as I breathe in the candy-smell of Mila’s hair. As I breathe in a past I missed and a future I never will. As I breathe in heartbreak and hope. Mila suddenly gasps and wriggles of my arms. “Son? Dadda son?” My eyes flick between her and Sofie. Sofie laughs on a sob. “Song,” she whispers. “She wants you to sing her a song.” “Oh! A song! Let’s see . . .” I swoop Mila up in my arms. “Row, row, row, your boat . . .” “No!” She laughs anyway. “Dadda son.” “One of yours,” Sofie clarifies, hugging herself. “She doesn’t like nursery rhymes. She’s your kid, for sure.” Mila grins. “Okay, what one?” Am I seriously asking a two-year-old what to sing? “Oh, I know. This one.” I hum the melody and she squeals happily. I take that as a yes. I launch into the opening line, singing softly. I know it because I wrote it, and I know Sofie knows it, too, because she was there when I did. That night, she switched out half the words because she thought they sounded dumb. I never got a chance to tell her she was right. “And forever’s just another day, unless you’re there to see it with me . . .” I look over to the door as a flash of blonde runs through it. I stare at the empty space, still singing to Mila. “Tomorrow’s just an empty space, unless your smile’s there to fill it. And tonight’s just a dark

hole, unless your eyes are there to break it . . .” The song I perfected when she left, the one I poured all of me into. And that’s why it works, and why it hurts, and probably why Mila is humming along in time. If I know anything about Sofie, and I do, I know she would have taken the words and spun them into something else, because that’s what she always did. “Dadda son!” Mila cries when I finish, and I laugh. “Can I have a drink first?” She huffs. “Yeah.” I put her down and laugh again, heading into the kitchen. I grab a glass from the cupboard and run the tap. When I cut off the water I hear it. The unmistakable sound of Sofie crying. I lean against the counter and down the water. I don’t have to soothe her. I don’t owe her a thing. Even if it is tugging at my heart to hear her cry so hard when I obviously wasn’t supposed to. It’s not my wound to heal. It’s hers.

I’ve dreamed about it a thousand times. The moment when Conner would meet Mila. I’ve played out a hundred different scenarios, run over the idea more times than I can count, imagined the smiles. Like a fairy tale, I had so many variations on the theme. But I wasn’t prepared for this. I wasn’t prepared for seeing the two loves of my life together. I never could have been prepared for the guilt and the love and the pure beauty of her in his arms. Then he started singing, and the rawness of his voice washed over me, covering my skin in goose bumps, making my hair stand on end. It clamped down on me and I froze, held hostage by the inflections in his tone. It let me go just as quickly, and in seconds I found myself out here. My back against the door and my eyes screwed shut. Like having my eyes closed means I can’t still hear him faintly. Singing that song, the one I told him was utter shit because his words were all messed up. I smile and I cry at the same time, because I never wanted to hurt anyone. I thank my lucky stars that Mila’s too young to understand all of this heartache . . . and that I made the decision to come back now. I wipe at my eyes. I look through the kitchen window at the clock on the wall. No more hiding out here in the yard—it’s lunchtime. No doubt I’ll have a fight on my hands, but it’s still lunchtime. I push up off the floor and open the back door. Conner’s still singing, but it sounds like he finally managed to convince Mila to do nursery rhymes. Well, unless Dirty B. are releasing a new version of “Old MacDonald,” that is. Somehow I don’t think it’s their style. Tate would shit a watermelon. I lean against the doorframe and watch as Mila moos like a cow. A smile curves my lips. Through the pain, she’s the biggest calm, the one who can make it all go away. Babies are beautiful that way. “Mama!” she shrieks. “Hungy!” “Come on, then. Let’s get some food in your belly, little one.” “Do you want to go somewhere?” Conner turns and looks up at me from the floor. “We could take her out.” I look down at her and shake my head. “I’d rather the whole world didn’t know about her just yet.” “In this town? You think they already don’t?” “The only people who know are your family.” I smile sadly. “Leila’s as much of a gossip as the next person, but she’s also loyal. No one else knows. Not that she’s yours.” “Mama com!”

“I’m coming!” I hurry after her. “Sandwich?” Mila shakes her head. “Uh, yes. Sandwich, then stars.” She purses her lips in disapproval and eyes me as I make the sandwich. I cut it into four squares, put it on her plate, and put it on her high-chair tray. She giggles when I lift her into the high chair. “Sars?” she asks hopefully. “Sandwich,” I say sternly, pointing at it. She huffs again but picks up a square. I catch Conner’s eye in the doorway and he raises an eyebrow. “Welcome to Divaland,” I mutter, heading back into the kitchen. He laughs low, a sound that trickles down my spine in a series of shivers. “That bad?” “Oh, this is a good day. Wait until you see bath time.” I point to the kettle. “You want a coffee?” “I’ll make them.” He tries to step past me. “No, it’s okay. Just answer the question.” “Yes, and I’ll make them.” He grabs my arms and moves me out the way. I huff. “That’s where she gets it from.” He nods at me knowingly. I lean against the counter and smile to myself. “Then you should be afraid, because I never huff unless I’m around you.” He glances at me over his shoulder as he spoons coffee into the mugs. “That’s because I’m an infuriating bastard.” My eyebrow quirks. “You said it, not me.” Conner hands me the mug. “Wise of you not to verbally agree, don’t you think?” I nod and sip the coffee. “Smart-ass,” he mutters. “Is she going for a nap soon?” I know where this is going. “Yes, after lunch, and yes, we’ll talk then.” He sips his drink slowly, his eyes on mine. “Good.” Silence hovers between us for a long moment, and then . . . “Mama? Mama? SARS!”

I sit on the sofa to the daily “no nap” chorus

being shouted from upstairs and bring my legs up, wrapping my arms around my knees and hugging my thighs to my chest. My chin rests on the top of my knees, and I stare at a spot on the wall over the top of Conner’s head. “She do that often?” he asks, breaking through the silence. Without Mila here, it’s tense. Unfortunately his words don’t snap that tension, just the silence. “Every single day,” I reply. “Give her two minutes, and she’ll give up and go to sleep.” “Stubborn, huh?” “She learned from the best,” I mutter to myself. Conner catches it anyway, and his lips twitch. “You said it.” Before, I would have flicked my foot out and kicked him. Now I just sit, still staring at the wall. That doesn’t stop my foot from twitching, though, wanting to move, wanting to prove that there’s still a part of the perfect past in the imperfect present. “Why’d you do it, Sof?” he asks softly. “Why’d you take her?” I hug my knees tighter. “My whole life I watched you guys practice night after night. I listened to you singing even when you thought no one could hear you. You all did that because you had a dream,

Con. You wanted to be the best. I recorded an endless amount of YouTube videos for you guys until you finally got noticed. You guys rose to fame the way you and I fell in love. We were all too caught up in the whirlwind.” I sigh gently. “Then y’all made it. You were it, the ones everyone wanted. And then I found out about Mila.” “It wouldn’t have mattered.” “But it would have.” I finally drop my eyes to his. “You can’t just look after a baby when you want to. They’re life-changing, but you’d already had your life-changing. You and the guys had y’all’s dream within touching distance, and I couldn’t take that from you. I couldn’t have your dream denied that way.” He shifts in his seat and runs his fingers through his hair. “We could have made it work, Sof. Somehow. We would have done it.” “No, we wouldn’t have.” I smile sadly. “You would have given up the band to be with us. I’m not saying what I did was right, but it was the best choice at the time. I did what I thought was right for someone I loved.” “And now? You doin’ what’s right now?” “For Mila? Yes.” I pause, and his gaze is harsh. “Honestly? You think I believe that?” “You don’t have to believe it. You don’t have to believe a damn thing I say, Conner. You just have to accept it because it’s the truth.” “Yeah, now give me the fuckin’ rest.” “Rest of what?” I swing my legs down off the sofa and walk out of the room. He follows me. “That right there tells me you’re hidin’ shit, princess. Now, what is it?” I slam the coffee mug down on the counter. My chest heaves with my harsh breath, and I look away. “I gave you the answer you wanted. I told you why I took her. You never asked why I left. I don’t have to tell you anything else.” I don’t have to tell him how the thought that he might not come back near broke my heart. I don’t have to tell him how the thought of him having another life, one separate from me and the baby inside me, crushed me. I don’t have to tell him how I was too afraid to tell him everything and that’s why I ran. He puts his hands either side of me on the counter. I can feel him behind me. The warmth from his solid body seeps through the flimsy material of my shirt and into my skin. I fight a shiver but I fail, and my shoulders jerk with it. Conner’s fingers twitch. “You broke my heart, Sofie. Of course you owe me an explanation.” “Actually, I don’t,” I force out, spinning. And he’s close. Hell, he’s so close. So close I can feel his breath across my lips and almost feel him fight not to close the distance. “How d’you figure that?” I pull my eyes from his mouth and meet his searing gaze. “Because this ain’t about us, that’s how. So move your ass, Conner. This is about Mila.” He doesn’t move. Deathly still, he stands, testing my resolve with every beat of my heart. He dips his head so his mouth hovers above mine. I breathe in sharply, my eyes dropping, and just when I think he’s going to drop his lips to mine, he jerks his face to the side. “Really,” he whispers in my ear. “Ain’t about us, my ass, Sofie Callahan.” “It isn’t,” I bite out. “Then stop looking at me like you want me to kiss you, because you’re making it fuckin’ hard for me to be mad at you.”

I shove his chest. “Maybe you should stop looking at me altogether, then your problem would be solved.” He steps back and smiles. “I would if I didn’t enjoy the view so much.” “So much for being mad at me.” “I can be mad at you and turned on at the same time. It’s a skill.” “A skill I don’t welcome, thank you very much.” I give up on the coffee and sweep past him. “And we’re done talking now. Mila will be asleep for another couple hours yet. I won’t keep her from you, Con. Not now. You can see her whenever you want, but right now I need to be alone. I’ll call you when she wakes up.” Conner leans against the doorframe and regards me with amusement. His eyes hold so many feelings I can’t even decipher them all, and I doubt he can either. I sure as hell can’t decipher mine. “You always were cute.” “Call me cute when my foot is up your ass.” I glare at him. “You could be covered in pig shit and still be cute.” He laughs. “You always were a douchebag.” The grin from his laughter stays in place. “You’re cute, because I’m not going anywhere.” He strolls in and sits on the sofa next to me. Like, right next to me. I get up and sit on the other sofa. He watches me as I do, and I know he’s laughing inside. And I don’t care. Mila. Not us. I repeat this like a mantra, because it would be so easy to be us again. Two and a half years have passed, secrets have broken hearts, and emotions have been twisted into complete messes, but nothing has changed. Not really. And I don’t have a damn clue what to do about that.

“Back so soon?” Sofie snaps and opens the door. A smirk tugs at my lips. I can’t help it. I’m mad at her, sure, but if I can’t appreciate the way those baby blues spark at me when she’s mad, I’m a shit excuse for a man. “It would appear that way,” I answer. “Don’t you have better things to do?” “Like what?” I throw at her as I walk into the house. “Oh, I don’t know. Practice, maybe? Fight off rabid fangirls? Get in said fangirls’ pants?” “Jealously doesn’t suit you, princess.” I smirk again. “Where’s Mila?” “In the yard screaming ‘bunny.’ One came out of the woods an hour ago and she thought it was for her.” She shuts the door and follows me through. “And I’m not jealous. I have nothing to be jealous of.” “Definitely not rabid fangirls who want me in their pants, huh?” “Definitely not.” I find Mila in the middle of yard, shouting “Bunna! Bunna!” “Hey!” I call over her yelling. “Bunna!” she screams, pointing into the woods. “Can I have a cuddle?” “Bunna!” “Please?” “Bunnaaaa!” I look back at Sofie. She’s sitting in a deck chair, her feet on the table, her lips twisted in amusement. “Bunnaaaaaaaa!” “Help?” I say lamely. Shit. I have no idea how to calm a kid down. “Welcome to parenthood,” she says. “It’s a hoot.” So she’s playing that card. “Fine.” I walk to Mila and bend down. “Hey, baby. What’s up?” “Bunna!” If I thought what she was doing before was a scream, I was mistaken. I blink harshly at the rawness of her yell, and when I focus, tiny tears are streaming down her cheeks. “Sofie? Sof? Why is she crying?” No answer. I turn and she’s grinning. She lifts one shoulder and sips juice through a straw.

Fuck. I have no idea what to do with a crying toddler. “Okay. Mila? Calm down,” I say softly. When she starts to scream through her tears and drops onto her butt, my eyes widen. But no, she’s not done. She throws her head back so she’s lying flat, then rolls over and punches the ground. And kicks it. Oh hell. “Oookay,” Sofie exhales and gets up. She lifts Mila under the arms and carries her inside. I follow, feeling more than a little useless and watch Sof as she flawlessly deals with her. As she sits her on a beanbag in the dining room and squats in front of her. As she makes Mila look at her and tells her she’s sitting there until she can calm down. As she tells her they’ll talk about the bunny when she’s not crying anymore. Then she gets up, leaving her screaming, and motions for me to follow her back out to the yard. I do, dumbly. Because what the hell just happened? “Don’t be hard on yourself,” she says, looking at me. “That’s a Mila-style meltdown. They’re more frequent than I’d like to admit.” “You—you deal with those all the time?” I look back toward the house. “Like . . . alone?” Sofie raises an eyebrow. “Um, yes? How do you think I’ve brought her up? I don’t have a secret boyfriend to take the reins when it gets tough, you know.” “Better not,” I mutter under my breath. She raises her other eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. I don’t care if she heard me or not. Someone else bringing up my daughter isn’t something I’m gonna take. Mila takes the screaming up another notch yet and Sofie sighs. “She’s usually on the bottom stair, but I don’t have a baby gate yet, so I don’t want her anywhere near there. She doesn’t understand why she’s on the beanbag and not the stair.” “Is that why she sounds like she’s being mauled by dogs?” Sofie’s eyes flicker with laughter. “That would be why.” I look between her and the door. “Are you okay for a bit without me?” Her look says it all. I hold my hands up and leave quickly. I dart past Mila before she realizes I’m leaving and get into the car. A baby gate. How hard are they to buy? I drive out of Shelton Bay and into the next town over. Asking Sofie if she’d be okay was a dumb question—of course she’s okay. I’m the one that froze up like a little girl when Mila started crying. Sof barely even batted an eyelid. And despite doing this for her, that makes me fucking angry. That I can’t even calm my own daughter. It doesn’t matter it’s only been twenty-four hours since I met her for the first time, because it should have happened way before now. I should know how to calm her. No fucking arguments. I pull up in the parking lot outside the supermarket and drum my fingers against the steering wheel. As far as anyone knows, a friend of my sister’s has just had a baby and I offered to pick up a baby gate. I repeat this over and over in my mind as I enter the store and look for the baby section. At the back. Why is it always the back? I dart through the store as quickly as I can, fearing being hounded by teenage girls. And those fears aren’t unwarranted because I can already hear some gaspy-giggles.

I look around quickly and grab a store clerk. I tell him what I’m looking for and give him my excuse. He looks kind of shocked to be grabbed by Conner Burke, but he rolls with it when I discreetly nod to the girls at the end of the aisle. He shows me their best and most expensive model. Whatever—I grab it and carry it toward the cashiers. Shit. Mila’s bunny. “Do you have stuffed bunnies?” The clerk raises an eyebrow. “Yes. Follow me, sir.” I follow him toward the toy aisle and he points me toward the stuffed animals. Dogs, bears, tigers . . . There, rabbits. The clerk takes the gate from me, and I pick the softest white bunny on the shelf. “You can pay for these at customer service,” the clerk informs me, leading me in the direction of the desk. “Thank you.” He sets the gate on the counter and leaves me with a smile. I put the bunny on top and give the old woman in front of me my most charming smile. She runs my order through without a word, and it’s only when she puts the bunny into a bag that I notice her hesitating. “Is something wrong?” “Would you—would you mind signing an autograph for my granddaughter?” she asks shyly. “I don’t like to ask but she’d kill me if I didn’t.” I smile widely. “Of course, ma’am. Do you have a pen and something to write on?” She beams at me and hands me a pen and paper. “Her name is Ally.” I wink again and scrawl a quick note to her, scribbling my name at the bottom. “Thanks for your help today, ma’am. I appreciate it.” “No problem!” She waves as I take my purchases and head toward the door. I carry them out to my truck, where a suspicious-looking group of teen girls has magically appeared. Fantastic. This is why you never send security for a break. I grit my teeth and head for the truck, trying not to get annoyed about them touching it. “Excuse me, ladies.” Giggles. Giggles. I fucking hate giggles. I ignore their gasps because Oh my God, did I really just talk to him? Oh, I did! Oh my God! I pop the trunk, put the gate in there, and close it. “Do you have a baby?” one of them asks. “Nope. For a friend.” I lock the trunk and set the bag with Mila’s bunny on the passenger seat. “Will you sign some autographs for us?” My fingers twitch on my truck handle. All I want to do is get back to Sofie and Mila, get this gate up, and then breathe. But if it weren’t for these girls, I wouldn’t even have an autograph. Just a boring old signature no one but the bank teller cares about. “Sure.” I force a smile and walk over to them. I sign the back of a receipt, a phone case, a tablet case, and even the inside cover of a book.

Phones click repeatedly as they take pictures with me, one after the other, and when they’re all done, I open my truck gratefully. “Here,” I say, handing them some tickets from the glove box. “This is for a concert we’re doing on the beach in a couple weeks.” They gasp and squeal and oh, oh, one is hugging me. Okay. I pat her back awkwardly and jump into the truck before one of them tries to kiss me or something. I turn the radio up and Lady Antebellum blasts out. “I Run to You .” The song Sofie always said reminded her of me—because when it got hard with her dad’s chemo, I was the person that was there. The memory of the day she found out he was never going to get better hits me. Her eyes, swimming with tears, fill my mind. I remember the broken way she told me, the disbelief that after months of chemo and radiation, his cancer had still spread. I remember how I took her in my arms without a word, how I curled her into my chest and held her while she cried endlessly. How I was there, without a second thought. It’s just a fucking shame that I obviously wasn’t there enough. I pull up in the driveway outside her house and stare at it again. It’s becoming a problem, this staring at her house. I can’t really believe she’s back and that we have a baby together. Maybe in a few days it’ll hit me hard and I’ll feel it all. Until then . . . I grab the gate from the trunk and carry it in with Mila’s bunny tucked under my arm. She’s still screeching in an ear-bursting kind of way. I walk into the dining room and see Sofie walking around the room with her aimlessly, bouncing her and shhh-ing her while she cries. I put the gate down and set the bunny on the table. I step forward and lift Mila out of Sofie’s arms, cradling her against me. She rests her head against my shoulder and tucks her face into my neck, still sobbing, but now quieter. Sofie meets my eyes and smiles gratefully. “Hey, what’s all that noise for?” I ask Mila quietly. “Dadda. Bunna.” She sniffs. “Wanna know a secret?” I turn my face into hers. She nods. “I got a bunna.” She lifts her head. “Bunna?” “Don’t tell Mama, okay?” I wink at Sofie and grab the toy out of the bag. Mila grins when she sees it and snatches it out of my hand, hugging it to her chest. She babbles “bunna” over and over, squealing happily. “You wanna take a nap?” I ask. “You can take bunna.” Mila nods and snuggles back into me, so much that I don’t want to put her down. I want to keep holding her, hug her until she falls asleep. But I can’t, so I turn around and carry her upstairs. Sofie follows me up, and I swallow back a snarky comment as I remember I don’t know how she sleeps. “Blanket,” Sofie whispers. “Then the CD player.” I tuck Mila in, shut the curtains, and turn on the CD player. I press Play, and I stop, because she wasn’t lying. The gentle sound of acoustic notes fills the air, and I know the notes, because it’s Sofie’s song. The one I wrote for her, with her, and then sang to her. I got studio time to record it for her so she’d always have a copy. I honestly never could have imagined it’d be used for a lullaby. I swallow and shut the door, not trusting myself to look at either Mila or her. Right now I wish I’d never come back, that I’d stayed in LA or something. I wish I didn’t know any of this, not because I don’t want Mila, but because I don’t want to want Sofie.

That’s it. I don’t want to want her, but I fucking do, and there isn’t a single thing I can do to stop it. I lay the baby gate flat on the floor and unpack it. I rip the tape too roughly, throw the inner packaging to the side too hard, tear open the screw packet too fiercely. “You didn’t have to do that.” I barely glance at her. “I did.” My words are short and sharp and I know they’ve hit her hard, because she doesn’t respond. “Tools?” “In the shed,” she replies quietly. I head out to her dad’s shed and grab his toolbox. When I get back to the dining room she’s gone, and I’m glad. Having her there watching me every second is driving me crazy. I take the gate and the parts to the bottom of the stairs. After about twenty minutes, I step back to admire my handiwork. Not bad for a guy who usually only messes around with guitars and microphones. I shove all the packaging back into the box and carry it outside to the trash cans at the side of the house. I shut the lid and lean against the wall for a minute, just breathing. Breathing, because I can’t when she’s around. I feel guilty for being an asshole to her, yet I have no reason whatsoever to be nice to her for even a second. That’s the thing about being the guy who was always nice to the girl. Even when a good dose of dickhead is warranted, that guilt sneaks in, ready to tear you apart. Ironic, given how she tore me apart. I stalk back into the house and grab her phone. “What’re you doin’?” she asks. I dial my number, and when my phone rings in my pocket, I end the call. I throw the phone on the sofa next to her. “When she wakes up, call me. You’re bringing her to my house tonight.” “I am, huh?” She straightens. I nod, finding her eyes. I stare her down, pinning her in place with my gaze. “Yeah, princess, you are. So make sure she’s got everything she needs. It’s about time she met her family.”

“You forget how to answer your phone, you dick?” Tate yells when I walk through the door. “The fuck did I do now?” I look at my brothers and throw my arms out. “This!” He shoves his phone in my face. It’s a picture of me outside the store earlier, loading the baby gate into the car. “Now everyone’s gonna know you have a fuckin’ kid!” I glare at him. “She’s not my ‘fuckin’ kid,’ she’s my daughter, so start referring to her that way before I twist your balls off. And that?” I point to the phone. “Doesn’t mean a thing.” “How they hell did they get it?” Kye asks from the corner, chewing on a Twizzler. “Bunch of fangirls outside the store waiting for me,” I grunt. “I bet one of them took it.” “Did they ask you who it was for?” This from Aidan. “Yeah, and I’m not an idiot. I said it was for my friend.” Tate sits down now, obviously appeased. “Good. We don’t need it getting out mid-tour that you have a baby.” My eyebrows go up. “You expect me to keep her hidden for another three months?” “It won’t be hard.” Tate shrugs. “Sofie did it for long enough.”

“And I’m not Sofie! I won’t keep her a fuckin’ secret from the world, Tate!” “And when Marc finds out?” Aidan puts in. “Then what? He’ll chew your ass off.” “For something that happened before he even signed us? He can fuck off.” I drop onto the sofa. “Not even he gets a say in this. When I want the world to know about Mila, they will. The only reason they don’t is because Sofie asked me not to yet.” “Pussy-whipped again?” “Older brother or not, Tate, I will put a muzzle on you, you asshole.” I glare at him again. “No, because she wants Mila to get to know me and the rest of you dicks before the whole world is all up in our business. And that’s fair.” He narrows his eyes at me. “The tour will be over in three months. It won’t be hard to keep her quiet.” “Tate, seriously, shut up,” Kye snaps. “Conner’s right. None of us get to pick when or what he decides to say about his daughter. And I’ll tell Marc where to shove it myself if I have to. Now go pull out your old Playboys and jack off that frustration before our baby brother makes good on his threat.” I throw a pillow across the room at him. “Baby, my ass—I whupped yours last time you decided it was a good idea to wrestle.” “He’s got a point,” Aidan agrees. “Only because him and Tate were in the fuckin’ gym an hour before us every day.” “Hey,” Tate throws in. “Pussies don’t win shit.” “Gotta pull your finger out your ass and start working hard, big brother,” I tell Kye. He flips me the bird just as Mom walks in the room. “Good grief, you four. It’s like having a roomful of teenagers again. Will you ever grow up?” She looks at all of us with exasperated affection. “Don’t be silly, Mom,” Tate answers. “Three of us are teenagers. It takes a real man to make a baby girl, so obviously Conner grew up.” “Tate,” she scolds before I can tell him where to shove it. “That’s enough. One day that could be you, except you won’t know the mother of yours. Oh, yes,” she adds at his wide-eyed look. “I keep tabs on your butt, young man.” “I’m twenty-five, Mom.” “You’re not too old to go over my knee for a smack on the ass, boy.” Me, Kye, and Aidan all chuckle before Mom’s menacingly blue gaze sweeps across us. “And that goes for you three, too. I don’t care how big you think you are. You’re still my babies.” With that she looks at me and smiles sweetly. “And when will we get to meet my first grandbaby?” “Later,” I reply. “Sofie’s coming over with her.” Her face brightens. “Oh, good! Is she staying for dinner?” “If you’re cooking it, she’ll stay.” “Aren’t you supposed to ask her?” Aidan questions. “She doesn’t get to say no anymore.” Tate snickers. “Sounds sexy.” Mom smacks him in the back of the head and he lets out a loud curse. “Dammit, Mom!” “You three—yes, you three, sitting there like butter wouldn’t melt. You listen to me. We’re all mad at Sofie, but that doesn’t mean you won’t respect her. She’s the mother of your niece and my granddaughter. One bad word from any of you, and I really will flip you over my knee. Do you

understand?” “Yeah,” they all mutter. My lips quirk. “I didn’t hear that.” “Yes, Mom,” they repeat, emphasis on the “Mom.” She nods happily and goes into the kitchen to start cooking what’s likely a feast. My lips form a full smirk as I look at them and get up. “Y’all are pussy-whipped.” I laugh as they yell insults after me. I might be the youngest of the four of us, but I’m still the quickest.

Walk through the woods, he said. It won’t be hard, he said. I don’t want you two seen yet, he said. Next time he can get off his fucking rock-star butt and come and push this stroller through all this crap. I grunt and give the stroller a shove. Mila squeals in delight, hugging her bunny to her chest. It’s now, unsurprisingly, named Bunna. With one last push, I leave the woods and arrive in Conner’s yard. My stomach churns with nervousness, because I have no idea what kind of reception I’m going to get when I walk into the Burke household. Conner opens the back door and waves me over. He comes down the porch steps. “Get her out. I’ll lift the stroller.” “I’m never doing that again,” I warn him. “That was impossible.” He half-rolls his eyes. “I’ll push her back.” Damn straight you are. “Thanks,” I say once he’s picked up the stroller. I lift Mila up the steps and set her on the top. Conner grabs her bag and holds out his hand. Mila reaches out and wraps her chubby fingers around one of his, and I wrap my arms around myself. Shit. I want to be anywhere but here. I follow him to the door but pause in the doorway. Leila is already there, making Mila giggle, but only his mom, Diane, is in sight. “Sofie!” She takes off her oven mitts and turns to me. “How are you, darlin’?” Her arms come around me in a big hug, and I relax into it. Her touch has always been a comfort to me. When I needed a woman’s touch after Mom’s death, Diane was the woman waiting with open arms. “I’m okay,” I say softly. “How are you?” “I hear there’s a Sofie back in town!” Phil, Conner’s dad, comes strolling through the kitchen and grabs me in a tight hug. “That’s the newest rumor, huh?” I quip, hugging him back. “So they say.” He waggles his eyebrows and steps back. “Now where’s my grandbaby?” Conner picks Mila up and grins widely. A grin I always imagined gracing his face. Wide, happy . . . proud. He barely knows her, but he’s proud anyway. “Well, hello, gorgeous! You definitely got your mama’s looks, you lucky thing!” Phil says, taking her from him. “I’m your pops, and I’m the fun one,” he stage-whispers. Mila giggles into Bunna. “Poh. Poh.”

“Pops,” he repeats. “Poh. Poh.” “Looks like you’re stuck with Poh for now,” Diane says with a quiet chuckle. “Hello, sugar.” She bends down to Mila. “I’m your nana, and I really am the fun one!” “Nana! Nana!” “There we go.” Diane winks at me. “Give your nana a cuddle!” Mila reaches for her excitedly, her eyes bright with the abundance of attention she’s receiving. It’s toddler heaven for her right now, but for me it’s guilt-ridden hell. How could I have ever kept her from this? Stupidity and naïveté, that’s how. If I could, I’d kick myself. A feeling that soon disappears when Tate strolls into the room and smiles cockily at me. “Sofie.” “Tate.” I give him a cursory glance. “Here, honey,” Diane says, turning Mila toward him. “This is Mila. Mila, this is your uncle Tate.” Mila looks at him for a moment, then her lip quivers and she starts to cry. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry myself. “What did I do?” Tate asks, bewilderment written all over his face. It’s a look I’ve never seen on him but it’s freakin’ hilarious. “You were you,” Conner mutters. “Thankfully, it appears my daughter is exactly like her mama and has more than two brain cells, meaning your arrogant ass will have to work to get her to like you.” “Don’t hold out much hope, though,” Leila adds. “Yeah, I’m still at the tolerating stage.” I shrug a shoulder. Tate scoffs. “Whatever. If this jerk wasn’t around to seduce you with that voice of his, you’d be mine.” I rest my hand on Conner’s upper arm. “Then thank you for being around. I don’t want to think about what my life would be like if I’d fallen for him.” Amusement tugs at his mouth and he looks down at me. “You’re welcome.” My own lips curve before I realize I’m touching him and he’s mad at me and, oh hell. This arm is solid. Rock solid. I drop my hand just as Kye and Aidan walk in. Kye immediately crosses to Mila and pulls funny faces, making her laugh loudly. He winks at me across the room before Aidan shoves him out of the way. Conner steps away, presumably to take over throwing Mila in the air, and Kye slips in beside me. “Bit of a bombshell, Sof.” “That’s what he gets for dating a blonde,” I retort. Kye laughs and squeezes my shoulders. “Damn. I missed your sass.” “No, you missed my ass.” He leans back for a look and shrugs. “Got me.” I smack his chest. Aside from Conner, I always did get on with Kye best. Apparently that hasn’t changed. I don’t expect Aidan to come around tonight, and Tate, well, maybe never. “Come on. Sit down.” Kye pulls me out of the kitchen into the dining room and sits me in a seat next to a high chair. “How?” I point at it. “Mom got excited.” I smile.

Everyone else files in, chattering, and Conner puts Mila in the high chair before sitting on her other side. I squeeze Mila’s chubby lower leg, more for myself than anything else, and take a deep breath as everyone sits down. Diane sets several of her chicken pies in the middle of the table. No sooner have the pots touched the cloth than all four boys are grabbing one and slicing into it. Animals. Yet it’s oddly comforting. It’s proof that some things don’t have to change. Conner puts some of the pie he’s holding on to a plate for Mila, while Kye gives me the other half of his. I look down at my plate as he scoops some mashed potato and sweet corn on it. “Hell, Kye. How much do you think I can eat?” My eyes bug at the piles on my plate. Conner’s eyes flit to us angrily as Kye retorts, “If I didn’t give you much, you’d assume I think you’re fat. Which you’re not. At least I don’t think so.” “Um, thanks, I think?” I try not to laugh and grab my fork. “Kye?” Phil says across the table. “Shut up before you start a riot.” All eyes immediately go to Conner. He freezes and looks around the table. In fact, he looks anywhere but at me. “Chill out, Dad. Kye can say whatever the hell he wants. She’s not my girlfriend anymore,” he mumbles. Well, shit, this is awkward. I also can’t pretend those words don’t sting, because they do. Kye reaches beneath the table and gives my knee a gentle squeeze. I offer a lame half-smile and push some chicken around my plate. “So, Sofie.” Diane cuts through the silence with her happy tone. “Where you been, darlin’?” Cuts the silence, not the awkwardness. “Oh. Charlotte,” I answer, making sure Mila has a bite on her spoon now that it’s cooled. “I rented a small apartment on the outskirts of the city.” “That’s lovely! And still so close.” “I didn’t want to be too far from Dad because of his treatment.” “Absolutely.” She nods. “And here some gossips were saying you were in a Mexican prison for being a drug mule.” I raise an eyebrow. “Really? How did they even get there?” Tate grins across the table. “That was you?” Leila shrieks. “What the hell!” “Chill, Lei!” he says, laughing. “I thought I’d add something funny into it. All it takes is a text message from a blocked number to Nina and everyone knows.” I cover my hand with my mouth and laugh into it. “And she thought it was serious?” “Of course she did,” Aidan interrupts. “She thinks Tate is serious every time he calls her.” “Can we refrain from discussing Tate’s extracurricular activities around the table?” Phil asks, although it’s obvious he’s amused, too. “Yeah, Aidan, we’re trying to eat here!” Leila adds. “Okay, seriously, what other rumors went around?” I ask. “Hmm, let’s think,” Aidan answers. “You were kidnapped for an elusive uncle’s debt and sold to the mafia in Vegas.” “You ran away to be a porn star.” Tate. “You went to save the rhinos in Africa.” Kye. “You went to adopt a Thai baby and decided to stay there.” Leila.

I put my fork down and frown. “How do people even think up these? Tate? Any idea?” “Hey, mine was just for shi—hiz and giggles,” he corrects himself. “These guys were deadly fu— froggin’ serious.” “Blows my mind.” “Mine, too.” Conner finally rejoins the conversation. “Because they also guessed you ran away because you were pregnant. They just didn’t guess the baby was mine.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat and take a sip of my water. “Jerk,” Leila mutters. Conner opens his mouth, but his mom stands. “Who wants more pie?”

Conner’s sitting on the sand with Mila, and I’m on the porch steps, watching them play together in the waning light. It’s a magical sight, even if I am really annoyed by his unnecessary input at the end of dinner. Yeah, he’s pissed. I get it. But did he really need to make a fool of me in front of his family? “Asshole move,” Kye breathes, sitting next to me. “Kind of justified, kind of not,” I reply, picking at some lint on my jeans. “Kind of justified?” he repeats. “If he was saying it in private, then yeah, okay. But not in front of fuckin’ everyone. It’s not like you waltzed in here and announced to us you had his baby.” “I didn’t exactly tell him, either, though. He forced it out of me.” “Yeah, he’s racking up the asshole points this week.” He snorts. “You can thank Tate for that, by the way.” “I already figured that much out for myself, to be honest. He’s usually putting the ass in ‘asshole.’ ” “Sof, he is the ‘ass’ in ‘asshole.’ ” He has a point there. “He’s good with her, huh?” Kye nudges my arm. “Yeah. She adores him.” I keep picking at my jeans. “Makes it easy.” “What you gonna do, girl?” “She’s his. You guys have three weeks before you go back on tour. I’m not gonna stop him from doin’ anything he wants to with her.” He laughs. “Nice. I meant about you two. He looked like he was ready to turn my dick inside out at dinner.” I rest the side of my head against the post next to me and smile, looking out at the beach. “Nothin’, Kye. There is no me and Conner anymore. It doesn’t matter if we still have feelings for each other because there’s too much history there. We’ll never get past the fact I kept her from him. It’ll always be the thorn in our sides.” “Why’d you do it?” He shakes his head when I go to tell him what I already told Conner. “And I don’t mean that crock of shit. I mean the real damn reason.” “That is the real reason, and if there’s any more, it’s my business.” I chew the inside of my lip. “I explained what I had to, and that’s the end of it.” “Okay,” he replies, drawing the word out. “I’ll believe it. For now.” I shoot a glare at him and he throws me back a cocky smile. Typical Burke boy. “Shoot. What’s the time?” I ask, digging my phone from my pocket. “I need to get Mila to bed. Conner!” I yell down to the beach.

He doesn’t even look up. Shit. I dial his number, and when he answers, I say, “Mila needs to go to bed.” “She said no,” he responds. “And I’m saying yes,” I say tightly. “It’s time for her to go to bed.” “All right, all right. I’ll bring her back up.” “You do that.” I hang up and shove the phone in my pocket. “Wow, that was tense.” I look up at Tate in the doorway and give him my sweetest smile, a smile I reserve especially for his brand of douchebag. “Really? You don’t say.” I shove past him and grab Mila’s bag from the dining room. After making sure she has everything, I hook it over the stroller. Conner’s back on the deck with her and he straps her in. “Sand tomorrow, okay?” he bargains with her. “All day?” Mila pouts but nods. Great. That’s the summer accounted for. I say good-bye to everyone, and Mila gets smothered in kisses, much to her delight. She hugs Bunna tight to her chest, and Conner lifts the front of the stroller to get it down the steps. I wave over my shoulder at Kye and push her toward the woods to take the shortcut home. “Here.” Conner grabs the handles. “No. I’m fine.” I nudge him out the way. “Jesus, Sof. Let me push her back. You said yourself it was hard for you.” I take a deep breath and let go of the stroller, letting him take control. I won’t argue in front of Mila. I’ll save it for later instead. Because there’s bound to be a later, and if not, there’ll be a sooner. Either one works for me. I trudge along behind him, and I’m secretly thankful he pushed her. It was hard work before, and now it’s getting dark. . . . And, yeah. I hate the dark. After several minutes we end up at my yard and I dig for my key. I let us in through the back and Conner unstraps Mila. “Can I put her to bed?” he asks. “I’ll get her some pajamas.” I turn and go upstairs to her room, checking she has everything in here. Double-checking. Triple-checking. Wishing I could take the CD out of the player because now it seems so damn stupid. Hey, I kept your baby from you, but it’s totally okay because you still sing her to sleep every night. I bang my head against the wall before I grab the pajamas and go back downstairs. I hand Conner her jammies and a diaper and take her dirty clothes and put them in the hamper in the corner of the room. Damn, I really need to start organizing this house a little. A laundry hamper in the dining room. Makes total sense. Now I’m just rambling to myself inside my mind. Better to myself than out loud, right? No, out loud is a sign of craziness. Maybe I just need coffee. No, no. I need Conner out of my house so I can climb into bed and wallow in my guilt. Yes! That’s it! He carries Mila upstairs with Bunna and Dolly. I wait for the click of the gate before I turn to the wall and rest my forehead against it. Crap. Shit. Hell. Fuck.

Jack Daniel’s. . . . Jack Daniel’s and Conner out of my house. That’s absolutely what I need. “Any reason you’re face-planting the wall?” “Yup. I’m trying not to talk to you, so you should leave before I get mad.” “Mad at me?” Conner responds incredulously. I stand up straight and face him. “Yes. So go, because I don’t have the energy to be mad today.” “What the fuck did I do?” “Your asshole move at dinner!” The words snap out of me. “Bringing up the pregnancy rumor. What, you think I don’t beat myself up enough in private and I need to do it in public, too? That it?” “You’re mad at me for something you did? Fuck, Sof!” “No, I’m mad at you for bringing up somethin’ you didn’t damn well need to!” I yell. “Now, I’m not in a position to be talking about feelings but, damn, Conner! How do you think that made me feel? I’m a bitch, I know. I’m every-fucking-thing under the sun that’s bad, but at least save it for private!” “I was adding to the conversation!” “In the most asshole way ever!” I push past him. He grabs my arm and spins me around, his eyes blazing. “I’m entitled to be an asshole, don’t you think, princess?” “When we’re alone! You’re not entitled to be an ass when your family is around!” “I think I am! Especially when I want to hate you so badly!” “Then hate me!” “I can’t! You make it fucking impossible for me to hate you.” “I don’t do anything!” “You’re here! That’s it!” His nostrils flare and he dives his hand into my hair, cupping the side of my head. “You’re here, and it’s like nothing fucking changed. You look at me the same, you talk to me the same, and it pisses me off because I wish you weren’t still the girl I fell in love with.” “I’m not her,” I protest. My skin is tingling where he’s holding me, and there are goose bumps all over, and oh hell, my lungs are constricting. “I’m older and I’m wiser and I’m more resilient than she was. I’m ten times the girl you fell in love with.” “And there’s the biggest problem,” he breathes, his eyes pained and angry and heated all at the same time. “You’re her but you’re not, and it’s the same but it’s not, but I still can’t hate you.” His lips, against mine. They’re hot, soft, smooth. Gliding over my mouth, probing, pressing, pleading. Desperate, angry, sad, needing. They’re everything, every sensation, every feeling, just everything. Shivers cascade down my spine as he pulls me into him. I slide my fingers up his chest and around into the messy hair at the nape of his neck, winding its softness through my fingers, kissing him back, because I can’t not. I’m powerless in his arms. It’s slow and it’s easy, but then it’s hard and it’s rough, but it’s still everything, it’s still everywhere. Until he pulls away, and it’s nothing but a swollen memory lingering on my lips. “I do hate you,” he growls, releasing me fully. “I hate you because you’re still fucking mine, and I don’t want you to be.” And I’m cold, so cold, now that he’s not there. The warmth that is his solid body is gone and I shiver, wrapping my arms around my middle, desperate to alleviate it. Because running back to him isn’t an option. “Then don’t let me be,” I say, barely making a sound. “You’re not mine, Con, not anymore.” His chest heaves as he takes in an audible deep breath, and I know I’ve hurt him again. But it’s the

truth, he’s not mine because I won’t let him be. I won’t tie him to me that way. I won’t open myself to the hope of something, only to end up with nothing. Just when I think he’s going to step back, he grabs me and tugs me to him. His lips are on me once again, searing into me. His hands are gripping me tightly, his fingertips burning my skin. I hold the collar of his shirt, leaning up on tiptoes as he kisses me roughly. His hands are under my shirt, tugging up, and mine are doing the same to him, and we part. We come back together, bare skin against bare skin, and I wind my fingers into his hair. He pulls me back toward the door and grabs my thighs, lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he carries me upstairs, his lips traveling down my neck, his fingers digging in harder and harder, no time for tenderness. With a shove, my childhood bedroom door opens and we drop back onto the bed. His lips on my skin and his hands up my sides have me burning red hot. He bites my bottom lip, flicking his tongue over the sting, and slides his hands inside my pants. He pushes them down my legs with my underwear and shoves them to the floor behind us. “Condom,” he murmurs. “Pill,” I murmur back, pulling him toward me. I unbutton his jeans, shoving them down his thighs with my toes, and he lies on top of me. His body is hard and hot, heat spreading across my skin where his chest connects with mine. My hands trail across his back, feeling his muscles flexing beneath my fingertips when he chucks his boxers to the side. He picks my legs up and pushes them open, the end of his cock resting against my opening. He pushes into me, and it hurts, it stings, but that’s good and it’s bad. I hold him tighter, fighting the clenching of my muscles as he thrusts. Fast and furious, driven by our anger and frustration. From our kiss to our touch to his movements inside me, it’s unrelenting. It’s painful and soothing, chilling and thrilling. It’s a dream and memory mixed into the past catching up with the present. It hits me like an explosion, and I cry into his mouth as the pleasure pulsates through my body. He tugs my hair, and with a few final desperate thrusts, he comes hard, his lips pushing against mine almost painfully. But it’s a relief, because this is it, this is what we needed. It’s what we always need. He drops his forehead to my shoulder. His heavy breathing cascades over my skin, sending tingles flowing across it. “Shit.” I whisper the word, dropping my arms from him. “Fuck!” he retorts, pushing up and standing. He pulls out of me quickly and grabs his boxers. He tugs them on, followed by his pants, and finds my eyes. His sear into mine, conflicted. He steps back, turns without another word, and his footsteps seem to echo on the stairs as he runs down them. Thirty seconds later, the front door slams, and he’s gone. I push the heels of my hands into my eyes and roll onto my front. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” My body is still trembling from the hit of the orgasm. My skin is still slicked with sweat, and my lips can still feel his kiss. But it’s wrong, so freakin’ wrong. It’s been days since I came back, so few I can count them on one hand, and I already know this is impossible. I get up and walk to the shower with one thought running through my mind. It’s so about us that sometimes I wonder if it’s even about Mila at all.

I can still fucking taste her. Twelve hours later, like a sweet drug, the softness of her lips lingers on mine. So does that addictive taste that’s so very Sofie. I can still feel her fucking hands in my hair and her soft body against mine. I can still hear the way she whimpered when I nipped her bottom lip, except I don’t think she knew she did it. Worst of all, I can still hear her. You’re not mine, Con, not anymore. Like a never-ending echo, I can hear it, the contradiction of her words slicing through me brutally. Because I am. My heart knows I’m hers. I’ll only ever damn well be hers. But she refuses to let me be. That’s her answer. Don’t let it be that way. Like I can stop the fact she’s mine. I couldn’t change that, no matter how bad I want to. And that’s exactly how I ended up fucking her. It was harsh and hurried, and what she needed barely crossed my mind. It was just me and her, coming together in a ragged and uncontrollable burst of lust. She never fought me. She melted against me, as desperate as I was for it. But I needed to know. I needed to damn well feel that she’s still mine. When I left, I hit a bar two towns away with the intention of picking up a random girl, an insane bid to get Sof out of my mind and scrub her touch from my skin. And I couldn’t even pick up a girl. All I could see was blue eyes, all I could feel was silky blonde hair. All there was, was Sofie. I still can’t fucking change how mine she is. There’s no escaping how I feel. Or how she feels. It’s like a bad trap, with both of us dancing around our feelings in favor of something more important. With both of us ignoring them until we can’t, until it gets too hard and too heated. Then I go and do something dumb like fuck her. Now I have to get up and go over there, walk Mila through the woods, and pretend to her like I’m not completely hung up on her mama. I have to fake a smile and not let her see an inch of the guttwisting pain I’m currently in. And I get how Sofie must have felt, just a little. What she’s felt for two and a half years, what she’s lived with every day. “Fuck!” Tate yells, cutting through my thoughts. That’s never good. “What?” I shout back, running down the stairs. “Remember those reporters I sent Dad after?” Chills run down my spine. “They heard your conversation with Sofie.”

I sit next to him and grab the laptop. It’s there, in big, bold letters: DOES DIRTY B.’S LEAD SINGER HAVE A SECRET LOVECHILD?

“What bullshit! How the hell did they hear?” I slam the screen down, not bothering to read the article. “The woods,” Dad answers, coming in. “Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?” Leila asks, following Kye in. “Trespassing?” “We only own some of the woods,” Dad points out. “We have no way of knowing if they were actually on our property or not.” “And I hate to break up a party, but we have company.” Aidan points to the window. I get up and walk over to it, the net curtain obstructing anyone’s view inside. Unfortunately, I can see outside clearly, and there are already news trucks and vultures waiting for me. “Fuck!” I yell. “Leila, get Sofie and Mila here. Now. Just, for fuck’s sake, don’t let them be seen.” “Not a big task or anything,” she hisses. “How do I get them here? I can’t exactly drive up to the house!” “Walk back,” Tate answers. “Get your car later.” “Fine. What do I tell her?” “Nothing,” I reply. “You tell her nothing.” “Fantastic.” She snatches her keys from the dish in the hall and opens the door. “Dirty B., sending their little sister to do the real dirty work.” She slams the door behind her and I watch out the window. Leila climbs into her car and pulls up to the edge of the drive. Reporters and cameras swarm the end, and she blares her horn, then screams, “Get out of my way before I fuckin’ run all y’all over, you nosy bastards!” Tate chuckles. Fuck. I should have been smarter. Sofie didn’t want this yet—neither did I. I should have known the reporters would have tried to do something. As if there wasn’t enough pressure or tension between us, now there’s this. She isn’t used to this. I am. The invasion of her privacy could destroy her. The media is going to have a field day. “Jenna’s on her way,” Kye says. “With the security team and the police.” “Great. It’s a fucking circus!” I snap, running my hand through my hair. “Where’s Mom?” “Shopping,” Dad replies. “She’s going to have a heart attack when she gets back.” “Where is she?” Tate stands. “I’ll bring her back.” “No need,” I say wryly. “She’s showing them where Leila gets her attitude from.” Southern women: sweet as pie and strong as hell. “Assholes, takin’ up my damn driveway!” Mom fumes as she comes through the door. “What’s a woman gotta do to feed her family nowadays?” She finds Tate. “Tate! What did you do?” “For once, nothin’.” He practically growls at her. “They found out about Mila.” Mom looks stunned. “Oh, Lordy.” I run my hand through my hair again. “Did you bring the groceries in?” “No. I wanted to know why I have vultures in my drive.” “Good.” I open the front door. “What are you doin’, boy?” Dad hollers. “Bringing in Mom’s groceries.” “Without a shirt?”

I look down at my bare torso and shrug. “Give ’em somethin’ else to talk about.” My brothers all laugh and follow me out. The second I step outside the shouts start. Is it true? Conner, do you have a baby? Who’s the mom, Conner? Conner, can we ask you some questions? Conner, Conner, Conner! They push and push until they get closer, and the rumble of a black 4×4 breaks through, followed by two cop cars. The police get out and—along with our regular security detail—immediately push them back. Jenna steps out of car, unruffled, and strolls across to us. “It’s a good thing I was on my way to check on you boys anyway. Five days of nothin’. I was getting worried, and with good reason.” She looks at me pointedly. I grab some bags and carry them inside. “Explain. Now,” she demands the second I set them down. “You know about Sofie?” “Sure do, hon.” “She’s back in town. With my baby.” “Well, shit. I thought they were just makin’ crap up again.” “Not this time.” I lean against the table and exhale. “Sofie and I weren’t ready for them to find out yet. They snuck into the woods and overheard a pretty heated conversation between me and her. They have no actual proof since there’s no pictures of Mila, but that’s where we’re at.” My phone rings. “Marc,” she says. “Answer it.” “Hello?” “What the fuck is going on down there? Five days into your tour break and you’re fucking shit up! A baby? Conner? Start talking!” our manager yells at me through the phone. I tell him exactly what I just told Jenna, only with a few more details. He does what I expect him to and goes crazy. “Do you know what this could do for your image?” “I don’t give a shit, Marc. I’m not going to publicly deny my daughter because of something that happened with a girl I was in a relationship with. It’s not like she’s a random woman takin’ me for everything I got!” That placates him a little. He lets out a long breath that crackles down the line. “I have media outlets ringing me up every five minutes wanting a statement. What am I telling them?” I hear footsteps on the porch, and Leila pushes the door open. Sofie walks in, a sleeping Mila cradled in her arms, and I gaze at both of them as I say, “Nothing. You tell them absolutely nothing.” I hang up and drop the phone on the table. Gently, I lean forward and press a kiss to Mila’s forehead. “What’s going on?” Sofie whispers. “In here,” I reply just as quietly, guiding her into the front room. Mom takes one look at Mila sleeping and steps forward. “Pass her here, darlin’. I’ll take her upstairs. She can snuggle up in my bed.” “Oh, you don’t—” “I do,” she says wisely. Sofie passes her over and Mom shushes her, rocking her as she carries her grandbaby upstairs. I look out the window again. Unbelievably, in the last few minutes, the crowd has grown and the police have arrested one of the reporters. Sofie comes up beside me. “Conner, what—what is this?”

“They heard us,” I tell her. “When we were fighting on the beach. They were in the woods.” She looks at me, her eyes widening. I’ve never seen her look so afraid. “They know about Mila?” she whispers. “Nothing concrete, but they know enough to start this media circus out here.” She covers her mouth with her hand, looking completely vulnerable, and guilt hits me hard. Fuck. I should have known better. That’s the bottom line. “I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” “No.” She swallows. “It’s not your fault. What do we do now?” She blinks, her eyes flitting to the window and back to me, and when they meet mine, I can’t help it. I step forward and crush her in my arms. I need to take that fear away, but I need to lean on her, too. Because I don’t know what the hell we do now. Slowly, she wraps her arms around my waist. I cup the back of her head and breathe her in, the flowery scent of her shampoo filling my nose as I lay my cheek atop her head. She’s trembling, and I’d do anything to take it away. It’s not about the past in this moment. It’s about protecting Mila. “Con? What do we do?” she repeats. “I wish I knew, princess.” I hold her tighter as she shudders. She sniffs, and warm water drops in a trail down my stomach. I pull back and cup her face. “Hey, you’re not meant to cry on these abs. They’re made for licking, don’tcha know?” She stares at me blankly for a minute before she laughs softly. “You’re an idiot.” “It worked, didn’t it?” I prompt, and she nods. I rub my thumb across her cheeks and under her eyes, wiping the tears away. I hate seeing her cry, hate knowing it could have been avoided. “Hey. We’ll work it out.” “How do we do it? Go from yellin’ at each other to being kinda normal like this?” I shrug. “Because something like this is about Mila, but when we’re alone and it’s just us, it’s about us. When it’s about Mila we work on instinct, but when it’s about us we work on emotion.” “Good . . . Because we’re gonna need to work a lot on instinct,” she says softly. “Come and stay with us until we work out how to handle this.” I stop. “Stay with you?” She nods, looking at me from under her eyelashes. “Ste’s room is empty. You can stay there and spend time with Mila, and it’ll be safe. They have no idea who I am, right?” “There were no pictures with the article, so I guess not.” “Then my house is safe. It only has to be for a few days. I won’t even have to be there all the time.” “Are you sure?” “You got any better ideas?” “Uh, no.” “Then yes, I’m sure.” She lowers my hands from her face and steps back. “Go and pack some stuff and, uh, maybe put on a shirt, then when Mila wakes up we’ll go back.” I smirk. “Maybe put on a shirt?” She holds up her hands. “I don’t want to seem like I’m forcing you or anythin’, just that you should think about it.” “Depends. You gonna cry on my abs again?” “No, but I ain’t lickin’ ’em either.”

I laugh and mirror her, holding my own hands up. “Okay, okay. I’ll cover up the abs.” I grin at her. Sofie looks at me, her eyes dancing, happier than I’ve seen her since she got back. Conversations like that make me remember why I fell for her in the first place. We bounce off each other easily, never giving in. Even now, when her tears are still kind of wet on my stomach, it seems like no time has passed. “You sure about that licking thing? Because your eyes are kind of telling a different story.” “Well, that escalated quickly,” Leila says, shoving the door open. “Your daughter is awake and screaming for you,” she tells Sofie. “You want me to get her?” I offer. Sofie hesitates, but nods. “If you want.” The urge to touch her tingles my fingers, and I reach out to tuck some hair behind her ear. “You putting a shirt on yet?” Jenna yells as I walk past. “Shit, what is it with you people and shirts today?” I call back, taking the stairs two at a time. Mila’s crying is coming from my room, and she quiets the second I open the door. “Dadda!” she wails, reaching for me. I flop onto the bed next to her and curl her into me. I rock her back and forth until she calms and her sobs become tiny sniffs. “Better, baby girl?” She nods her little head. “Yeah.” “Good.” I roar and lift her as I roll onto my back. She squeals and giggles as I hold her in the air above me. “What do you think about Daddy coming to stay at your house for a few days? Yeah?” “Dadda home?” she asks, her eyes brightening. “Yeah, Dadda home!” I throw her and catch her. She giggles. “Yeah, Dadda home!” “Come on, then. Get down and let me pack.” I give her a light shake to put her down. “Come on, get down. No. Mila! Down!” I shake her again lightly, all to her amusement, and then drop her onto my chest. “You’re supposed to be getting down!” She kicks her legs and I grab them. Just a little too close to the balls there, kid. “Let’s try again, shall we?” I wrap my arms around her and roll to the side. Her laughter rings out again, and I roll to the other side. “Come on, let go, let go!” I do it until I’m laughing and my stomach kills from it. I roll again, actually letting her go this time, and put my finger over her mouth. “Shhh, before your mama hears and sasses me for not packing!” “She already knows.” Sofie laughs quietly from the door. I sit up without wiping the stupid grin off my face. “She distracted me.” “Yeah, she’s good at that.” Her smile falters a little, and she holds her hand out. “Come on, Mila. Let Daddy get his things.” Mila pouts. “Mamaaaaaa!” “Mila,” Sofie says sternly. “Come on, please.” “She can stay,” I offer. “As long as she promises to let me go!” I grab her and tickle her sides and she shrieks. “Conner,” Sofie scolds me. I let Mila go and stand up. “Okay, okay. Mila, go to Mama. I’ll be downstairs in a minute, okay?” Mila huffs and I put her on the floor. She toddles over to Sofie, who picks her up and whispers, “I think Pops stole some cookies for you.” Mila shudders in delight, squeaking, and I watch them until they disappear down the stairs. My stomach still aches from the laughter, and I realize how right Sofie is.

Mila truly is a great distraction. For a few minutes there, I could forget the shitstorm that’s brewing outside and just be a dad. Her dad. It doesn’t escape me that being her dad is the reason for the media shitstorm. I know, though, that I’d take this sticky situation over not being her dad any day. You don’t know how kids can impact you. I sure as hell didn’t know a few days ago that she’d make this much of an imprint on me. I didn’t know that I’d come to adore her so quickly. I didn’t know that I’d come to need her so fast. My phone buzzes and I grab it from the nightstand. Move your lazy butt! Sofie. I grin. Make me, I text back. You’re sleeping in my house for a few days, she responds. Don’t tempt me. Move. I throw my phone down on the bed, get up, and grab a bag from the closet. Her plan makes sense— hide in a place they don’t know about. And hope no one in town puts two and two together.

“What is that?” I ask as Ajax, one of Conner’s security guys, heaves a huge box through the house and into the yard. “Conner! What is it?” Another guy comes through with two huge bags of sand. My eyes widen, and I spin to him. “You bought her a sandbox?” He shrugs. “I promised her a day on the sand, didn’t I? Gotta make it happen somehow.” “You’re crazy, you know that? A sandbox?” “You wanna ask me a third time to make sure it’s really, really a sandbox?” “Shut up. I can’t believe you bought her a sandbox.” “Yeah, yeah, I got that. Now shut up and let me build it before she wakes up again.” He tugs on my hair and walks past me. His security guys come through, high-fiving him, and I look on. When the hell did he have time to order a freakin’ sandbox? I run out to the yard. “You’re buildin’ it?” He waves a hammer over his head. “I’m a regular handyman now.” “Conner, putting the baby gate up wasn’t rocket science. I’m sorry, but I did it in my apartment. And if you wave that hammer about anymore, you’re going to knock yourself out! Conner!” I shriek when he waves it too vigorously. He laughs, putting it down and slicing the box open with a penknife. “Calm down, princess. I promise not to hurt myself.” “Oh, that’s comforting. I see this arrangement is off to a fabulous start.” Seriously, a few days in this house with just me, Mila, and Conner? What the hell was I thinking? Oh, that’s right. I wasn’t. We aren’t a happy fucking family, and it’s only going to hurt Mila in the end. What’s she going to do when he goes home? Hell, what’s she gonna do when he goes back on tour for two months? No. I ain’t even gonna think about that right now. “You’re insane,” I repeat in a mutter, sitting on the bench swing and crossing my legs. “So Mila gets her attitude from you and her insanity from me. It’s a great combination.” “Who’re you tryin’ to kid, Mr. Rock Star? It’s a hellish combination!” He smirks at me. “Hell is fun.” “Oh yeah, I forgot those horns poking out the top of your head.” “Only one thing pokes out of me.” “Yeah, I think I’m acquainted with that, if the two-year-old upstairs is anything to go by.” “The poking is the fun part.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?” Why am I asking him that? Oh yeah, because I’d rather him be mad than us be all . . . comfortable. Comfortable reminds me of the past and makes me want him too much. “I am. I’m just a really, really good actor. My talent’s wasted behind a mic, I tell you. I should be in Hollywood.” I roll my eyes. “Maybe you should go to Hollywood and whip out them there lickable abs of yours.” He pauses, the hammer hovering above a nail, and raises a suggestive eyebrow. “You agreein’ that my abs are lickable, princess?” “It’s called sarcasm, Con.” I try not to roll my eyes again. Damn, he’s so eye-roll-inducing my brain hurts from it. “Okay, you stick to your sarcasm, and I’ll keep my abs.” “Were you planning on giving them away?” “These lickable babies? No way.” “Can you stop with the lickable?” I rub my temples with my fingers. “Cryable, yes. They’re very cryable abs. Lickable? No. Just no.” “But I—” “I swear if you say that word one more time, I’m gonna smack you upside the head!” His eyes spark and he grins. “Lickable,” he whispers. I lean forward, reaching my hand toward the back of his head. He drops the hammer and tackles me, grabbing my lower legs and pulling me so I fall on top of him. “Conner!” I laugh. “Get the hell off of me!” “Admit they are,” he breathes through his own laughter, “and I’ll let you go.” “Never! It’s a freakin’ terrible word!” He rolls me over onto my back and leans over me, pinning my hands to the ground. I laugh breathlessly, looking up at him, and shake my head. He meets my eyes and tries for stern, but it falls flat. His knee is settled between mine, and my hands are pinned above my head, and his face hovers inches above mine. When he exhales, his breath flutters my bangs with warmth. His own hair is flopping down around his face, blocking the sun out from both of us. He moves, slightly, and my breathing speeds up. I swallow, my chest rising and falling. My mouth is dry, waiting, for what I don’t know, but waiting for something, anything. His eyes search mine, exploring every millimeter of my gaze. “I should finish the sandbox,” he whispers huskily, the low sound going right through me. “Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea,” I reply, taking a deep breath as he releases me. “I’m going to go tidy up.” He turns away from me and nods. I close my eyes briefly as I head for the door. This is never going to work. Having him here, always here, it won’t work. He’s too tempting and alluring and too fucking Conner for it to stand a chance. By the time he leaves, I’ll either kill him or fuck him. Both are appealing, depending on my mood. Right now, with my heart racing, my palms sweating, and a dull ache starting between my legs, it’s definitely the latter. If we didn’t have so much past between us, I probably would be fucking him right now. Because the way I need to feel him against me is almost overwhelming.

I shake my head to banish those thoughts and bend down to pick up Mila’s scattered toys. This isn’t going to work unless we draw lines. He’s here for Mila, to protect her, to keep her hidden for as long as we can. He’s not here for me, in any way at all. I don’t need protecting. If one of those dimwits comes at me with a camera around their neck, I’ll damn well strangle them with it. Mila does, though. She’s young and she’s vulnerable. The media will eat, and are eating, this up. They’ll run it to death, plastering it across the Internet and magazine stands, probably even on TV. It’s a scandal, right? Heartthrob Conner Burke is a daddy—to a baby he had no idea about, no less. My decision to keep her will be splashed everywhere, for everyone to see. I’ll be hated for being the mother of his child and for keeping her from him. It scares the ever-loving shit out of me, because I know how ruthless the media can be. Last year, when someone pretending to be Tate got caught up in a drug scandal, it went on for weeks. There was no reprieve, no break for him. And almost worse than the media will be their fans. They’re rabid, almost lethal. They would tear me apart. They will tear me apart. No doubt about it. And I’ll take it. I won’t have a choice. They’ll probably trend it on Twitter, like #ConnersBabyMamaIsABitch or something, I don’t know. Ugh, baby mama. I hate that term. I sigh and pick up Mila’s dolly. I smooth her hair down and gaze out of the window. What would I do if they turned up here? How would I be able to protect Mila then? I’m not naive. Sooner or later one of the gossips will figure out that Sofie Callahan’s secret baby is Conner Burke’s. Even if they don’t know for sure, which they won’t, they’ll guess. A lucky guess is all it’d take. Then every aspect of Mila’s life will be shredded and examined, ready to be exposed to every person in America. She’ll grow up in the public eye, constantly scrutinized for how she looks and acts. She’ll always be his daughter, never just Mila. I throw the doll in the toy box and drop back onto the sofa. I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this for her. I never wanted us to hide once the truth was out. I never thought it would be such a big deal. I never thought it would matter to anyone beyond the Burke family. I never thought we’d be sitting here waiting for our identities to be discovered and our lives to be plastered across every media outlet in America. I certainly didn’t think I’d be holed up in my house with him. I certainly didn’t think my hormones would light up like Fourth of July fireworks at being so close to him all of the time. Apparently, I didn’t really think at all. “Done.” I look toward the door and see Conner wiping his face with his shirt. My eyes flick down, to the tattoo wrapping his bicep and the definition of his stomach. To that “V” muscle. Oh, sweet freakin’ hell. That “V” muscle. The one that disappears under his jeans teasingly. The one that can switch panties from dry to drenched in approximately zero-point-five seconds. I swallow and find his eyes. “Awesome.” “Mhmm,” he hums, throwing his shirt on the back of the second sofa. “I’m sure you were thinkin’ about the sandbox just then.” I open my mouth, then close it, because I wasn’t. I was thinking about how lickable that “V” is.

Shit, that word is contagious. “Ooookay.” I blow the word out with a long breath and stand. I hold my hands in front of me. “We need to draw some lines.” “Lines?” He raises his eyebrows. “Yes. Lines.” I push my bangs from my eyes and take a deep breath. “With us. If we don’t, it’s gonna get real messy, real quick.” “Right.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the back of the sofa. “Well, then?” “No talking about before I left,” I blurt. “I wasn’t plannin’ on it.” “Good. No teasing or playing like we used to.” “Right.” “No walking around without your shirt on.” He smirks at that one. “I’ll try.” “And absolutely no kissing me.” I point at him. “Because it’s counterproductive.” “Absolutely, I agree. It’s much harder to hate you when you’re melting in my arms and whimpering.” “I do not whimper!” I stomp my foot. His smirk turns sexy. “Believe me, Sof, you whimper when I kiss you. And it’s a huge fuckin’ turnon.” My jaw drops open. “Then you shouldn’t growl at me!” “I don’t fuckin’ growl!” “You do!” I stop. “Oh my God, this is dumb. Look, whimpering and growling or not, no kissin’. At all. Not even the cheek.” “Why don’t you throw a ‘no hugging’ in there?” I narrow my eyes. “I’ll go one more and say no touching.” “Yeah, wouldn’t want your ass touched by anyone other than Kye.” “What the hell? Kye has never touched my butt!” “Sure didn’t sound like that yesterday,” he grunts. “He liked lookin’ at it enough.” This time it’s me who folds my arms across my chest. “What does it matter to you? He can say what he likes, right? Surely that extends to looking, too. I mean, I’m not your girlfriend anymore, as you so tactfully reminded everyone yesterday!” Conner’s jaw tightens, and his eyes flare with annoyance. “You’re right, princess. So why don’t you go on a date with him?” “You know what, Conner?” I say as Mila yells for me. “I think I’ll do just that.”

I slam the front door behind me and get in Kye’s truck. “My, you’re a little ray of sunshine tonight, Sof.” “Fuck you,” I snap. “I had to put these damn heels on to pretend this was a date and not just us going for a burger so I can prove a dumbass point.” I reach down, tug the heels off, and pull my flats out of my purse. Kye laughs. “Let me get this right. He actually let you out of the door on a supposed date with his brother?” “I don’t know and I don’t care.” I click my tongue. “He’s an antagonistic prick. We’d be fine if he didn’t keep freakin’ kissing me!”

“Oh, being kissed by Conner Burke. Isn’t your life horrible? Don’t you know how many girls would love to be you?” “They can be me. I don’t give a shit. Hell, they probably have been me.” “You have such a stereotypical view of rock stars.” “Have you met your eldest brother?” I look across the truck pointedly at him. He doesn’t answer, and I follow up with an “Mhmm, thought so.” “We’re not all like Tate. Or my twin,” he adds as an afterthought, pulling up outside the cozy country-style bar. “Conner is actually the good boy of the band. Fewer girls than you think have kissed him, much less gotten inside his Levi’s.” I mutter a garbled response and pull open the door. The bar/restaurant is almost full, but we find a table for two in the corner. “Drink?” I shake my head. “Just lemonade. Mila,” I add as an unnecessary explanation. “Hey.” Kye snatches the menu so I have to look at him. “How much time have you had to yourself since she was born?” “None,” I answer reluctantly. “Right, and she’s safe with that jerk, so have a glass of something alcoholic and chill out for a bit. I promise not to ask you for a goodnight kiss.” I laugh. “Okay, okay. Jack and Coke?” “And food?” “Bacon cheeseburger, obviously.” Kye winks and turns to the bar. I sit back in my chair and keep looking at the menu, even though I remember it well enough. Ooh, chocolate fudge cake. “Excuse me? Is that Kye Burke you’re with?” I blink harshly and turn to the teenage girl standing next to the table with stars in her eyes. “Um, yes?” She inhales excitedly and flaps her hands. Seriously, what is that? “Do you think you could get his autograph for me? Wait, are you on a date?” “I’m not sure, and no, we’re not. We’re friends.” “Oh, good. ’Cause I really love him.” She grins widely, practically shaking. I stare at her. “I can ask him for an autograph when he gets back if you want, uh . . . ?” “Violet,” she breathes. “Oh, look, he’s coming back now.” I give Kye a look that tells him to hurry the hell up. I’m so not equipped to deal with fangirls. “What’s up, buttercup?” he asks, stopping next to the girl and setting our drinks on the table. Okay. Now she’s shaking. And is she—oh God, is she crying a little? What is this insanity? “This is Violet.” I smile tightly. “She was wondering if she could get your autograph.” “Well now!” He turns and gives her a dazzling smile. “You sure can. You got a pen and paper?” She gasps and freezes, so I dig a pen from my purse and hand him a napkin. “Here.” Kye winks at me, then bends over to rest the napkin on the table. “You want a picture, too?” She’s seriously crying now. Oh shit. What the freakin’ hell is happening here? “Do you want me to take it?” I prompt. She nods and hands me her phone. Kye rests his arm over her shoulders and I snap a pic. “Thanks,” she squeaks, before grabbing the napkin and running away.

Kye slides my drink across to me. “What was that?” I utter after a sip. “That was a day in the life of Dirty B.” He smirks. “They’re the worst, the ones that can’t even talk. Now she’ll go home, berate herself for not talking to me, then tweet the crap out of me all night in screaming caps.” “Oh, sounds . . . fun.” I lift my drink and sip some more. “Can I expect more?” “Probably. Good thing this isn’t a date, huh?” “Word. It’s enough to put a girl off a guy, even if he is ripped and tatted, you know?” “You think I’m ripped and tatted?” “This from the Burke brother with a known penchant for removing his shirt onstage.” Kye grins. “You watch our concerts?” “Watch them, record them, listen to them a thousand times to appease my daughter. What can I say? She’s a Dirty B. diva.” I roll my eyes. “Dirty B. Diva. We should call our groupies that.” “After my daughter? Ew.” “No, Mila would be the Dirty B. Diva. No one can fangirl us like she can.” “You’ve never seen her fangirl. It’s adorable and not, well, frankly, scary. She just booty pops to your songs.” He snorts. “Your two-year-old booty pops?” I hold my hands up as our food is placed in front of us. “Don’t tell me I ain’t bringin’ her up right.” “I wouldn’t dream of it. Any woman who brings her daughter up to booty pop to my music deserves a medal.” “Why thank you.” I shove a fry in my mouth. “I think so, too. It’s quite a feat.” “What is? Booty poppin’?” Tate interrupts, dragging a stool over. “Nah, Sofie’s got enough booty for all of us.” “What the hell are you doing here?” “Chaperoning,” Aidan says, sitting on the other side of the table. I look between them both. “Are you kiddin’ me?” “Nope. Ooh, fries.” Tate leans forward and grabs a handful off my plate. I slap his hand. “Don’t you have whores to use?” “Nah, Nina’s not in town this weekend.” “And she’s your only option?” I scoff. “The only one he hasn’t already pissed off,” Aidan explains. “But no, we’re not kidding. We’re here to chaperone.” “Yeah, because friends having a burger and a drink need chaperoning. Who knew that shit was necessary?” Kye snaps, taking a long drink of his beer. “This is a date, and under Burke brother rules, all dates must be chaperoned,” Tate replies, unaffected, grabbing fries off Kye’s plate this time. “Yeah? Maybe you should have chaperoned all those dates me and Conner had in the woods, then,” I mutter, tearing off a bite of my burger. I’m not even hungry anymore. I’m angry. Majorly fucking angry. I have no idea who Conner thinks he is sending his brothers to watch my not-a-date with Kye. Even if it was a date, he has no right to do that. He made that clear himself. I slump back in my chair and pick at my burger. Kye meets my eyes and shrugs apologetically. I get

it. It’s not his fault. Besides, he’s only here because I dumbly wanted to spite Conner. I took immaturity and responded with it, and now it’s biting me in the ass, because I can’t even have dinner with a friend. And apparently I can’t have dinner with three, if the group of girls hovering by the bar is anything to go by. “Ugh.” I push my glass toward Tate. “Another Jack and Coke. Make it a double.” “Do I look like your servant?” “No, but since you hijacked my fake date and there’s a bunch of girls by the bar waiting to jump into bed with any of you, I suggest you get that drink so I can survive the next however-damn-long this is going to go on.” I give the glass another nudge. “Off you go.”

Three hours, five Jack and Cokes, and a hundred fans later, I get into Kye’s truck and huff loudly. “Remind me never to go out with any of you asses in public ever again.” I buckle my seat belt and rub my temples. He laughs. “Drunk, Sofie?” “Nope. Happy, but not drunk. Happier if we hadn’t been hijacked by both your brothers and the Dirty B. Brigade.” “Dirty B. Brigade?” He snorts. “Oh, I forgot. They’re Dirty B. Divas.” I roll my eyes. “Forgive my oversight.” “I will, this time.” He winks. “What will Conner say when you turn up a little unsteady on your feet?” “He’ll probably ask me how long it took you to get inside my pants.” I sigh. “Then he’ll go all jealous and proceed to pin me up against a wall somewhere and kiss the shit out of me.” “You don’t sound so averse to the wall-pinning.” “Mmph,” I grunt as he pulls into my drive and I stare at the front door. “Know what I hate? I hate that we still feel the same as we did when I left Shelton Bay. That fucking nothing has changed. I wish he could hate me without loving me at the same time, because then maybe I wouldn’t love him as much back.” “Still happy?” Kye turns in his seat and raises his eyebrows at me. I backhand slap his chest. “I was. Once. Now all that gives me even a modicum of happiness is Mila. I love her, so much, Kye, but I wish I didn’t love her daddy. I wish with everything I have that I didn’t want him the way I do.” “You need to go to bed, Sof,” he cuts in. “Why? I’m only saying my thoughts out loud.” “I know. But I’m not the person you should be saying them to. Problem is, the person you should be saying them to, you probably shouldn’t say them to.” “You make no sense, Kye.” I unbuckle my seat belt, grab my purse, and shove open the door, jumping out of the truck. “Look, Sof.” He comes around the truck and stops in front of me. “Don’t feel guilty for feeling the way you do. We’re all entitled to feel the way about people that we really shouldn’t.” He smiles sadly. “Kye, I swear, if you tell me you love me, I will twist your dick off.” “Once.” He winks. “Once.” “You’re an ass.”

I wrap my arms around his waist. His go around my shoulders and he squeezes me lightly. “Now go inside and try to get to bed without rousing the beast.” “The man or his penis?” I ask dryly, stepping back. “They’re one and the same.” He winks again, this time with a chuckle, and backs toward the truck. “Pshhh.” I head toward the front door and insert my key. At least, I try to. Before I can, it’s pulled open by a very shirtless, very angry Conner Burke. “You’re not good with lines,” I snap, pushing past him. I kick my shoes off in the hall and dump my purse. He stares at me for a minute before going outside to talk to Kye. I stand in the doorway with my arms folded across my chest. Who the hell does he think he is? My dad? Conner and Kye and exchange some words before Conner nods and comes back to the house. “Inside,” he snaps. “We’re bossy tonight.” I turn on my heel and stalk into the house. I shrug my jacket off and hang it on the hooks, then turn in the direction of the kitchen. Water. I need water. “Good night?” He follows me. “Why don’t you ask your chaperones?” I slam the cupboard shut and pour myself a glass of that much-needed water. “I tried. They were both too afraid of losing their balls to tell me anything. Imagine that.” “Yeah, how convenient.” I drink the water in one go and set the glass down. I turn to him, my eyes finding his. “I don’t know what kind of bullshit trick you were pulling tonight or what game you’re playing, but cut it the fuck out. It’s pathetic.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Of course you don’t.” I walk up to him and stop an inch in front of him. “We don’t belong to each other, Conner. We’re here for Mila. How many more times does that have to be said, huh? If I want to go on a date with someone, you can’t stop me, and I can’t stop you doin’ the same thing. We’re parents together, but we’re not a couple. That’s the end of the damn story.” “You’re right. So maybe I should sit here every night watching Mila while you go on dates?” “Why not?” I raise my eyebrows. “I sure as hell spent every night for the last two and a half years doing nothing but crushing on the latest hot American Idol contestant while you were out doing whatever the hell you wanted to do.” “Because I didn’t know!” “You still would have gone on tour!” I shove at his chest. “You still would have gone away, and you still would have had the girls and everything you ever wanted!” I duck around him and run past him, my heart pounding. Jack—not such a brilliant idea after all. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” he asks, following me. “Your fears. Not her. You.” “Don’t you dare!” I lash out at him. “Don’t you dare stand there and pretend I put myself over her. Never, Conner! Never! Anything I felt always came second to you and her. Always!” “And now I’m giving you a chance to let it come first. So talk.” He rests his hands on the wall above my head. “No,” I whisper, turning my face away. “No, because it doesn’t matter.” “It does to me.” “Well, not to me!” I push his arm down and walk away. “Not anymore. I took her to give you everything you’d always dreamed of. I took her to give you everything you ever wanted. That’s all there is to it.”

“You’re wrong,” he calls as I walk upstairs. “You didn’t give me everything I ever wanted. The day you left town, you took it. I only ever wanted you, Sof.” I pause at the top, tears burning, and close my eyes. I don’t want to believe him. Yet I do want to believe I was everything he wanted, because he was that for me. He was my teenage dream, my escape, my go-to guy. He was everything to me. Was. Because nothing lasts forever, even when there’s a gorgeous little girl tying you together. Leaving him staring after me, I turn the corner and run into my bedroom. I throw my clothes in the corner and grab a T-shirt from my drawer. Tugging it over my head, I climb into bed, my eyes stinging, and curl into a ball.

I put Mila’s toast on her high-chair tray and sit next to her at the table with my own. I watch her as she grabs it vigorously and shoves a piece in her mouth, grinning as she does. Shit, she’s adorable. I chew my slice of toast, watching as she mashes a piece into both Bunna and Dolly’s mouths. When I heard her wake up this morning, I thought I’d get up and leave Sofie in bed. For all my chaperoning efforts, it seemed like my brothers didn’t keep an eye on alcohol consumption. It was dumb as fuck in the first place. I know Sofie and Kye don’t have anything going on. Hell, he’s told me more than once that he only sees her as his sister. I can’t imagine her feeling anything for him, either. Shit, if she really feels for me like she says, then she can’t feel anything for anyone else. Truth is, I can’t believe her when she says she loves me. If she left once, she can leave again. If she can lie to me once, she can lie again. There’s the bottom line—I love her but I don’t trust her. I don’t trust her not to run and take Mila with her. I don’t trust her to not take everything from me again. Because she was my everything. She was every beat of my heart and every breath I took. Maybe we’d never have lasted forever, but we were in the moment, and that’s what matters. Now we’re stuck in a fucked-up limbo. We want each other, and we love each other, but neither of us wants to. That ain’t a basis for any kind of relationship, not even friendship. I’m a fucking idiot for thinking we could stay in the same house and make it work. You can’t be friends with someone you’re completely in love with. It’s a catch-22, because leaving will expose everything to the media, yet staying will fuck us all up. Staying will hurt Mila, but so will leaving. There’s no way to win at this. Either way we’ll all lose. “Sand?” Mila asks, pushing her toast away. “Sand sand sand!” “Eat some more toast first.” I nudge it back to her. She pouts, but I shake my head. “Two pieces.” She huffs in that adorable way and grabs a square. The stairs creak and Sofie walks in, her hair shoved in a messy twist on the top of her head, and a pair of tiny sleep shorts barely skimming the tops of her thighs. “Mornin’, baby,” she mutters, kissing the top of Mila’s head. Mila squeals in delight, her mouth opening to reveal half-chewed toast. Nice. I watch Sofie as she trots into the kitchen mumbling to herself about “freakin’ Burkes and freakin’

Jack.” She yanks open a drawer, shakes two pills from a bottle, and pours a glass of water. She throws the pills back and drinks all the water before slamming the glass on the side table. “Morning.” She casts an annoyed glance my way and ignores me. She reaches into the cupboard to get down the loaf of bread, causing her shorts to rise up. My eyes drop. The curve of her ass is clear, no longer hidden by the bright pink material. And there’s lace, black lace, peeking out against her tanned skin. Fuck. I shift in my seat and adjust my pants. There’s a bang as Sofie pulls down the toaster lever. I snap my eyes up to her face. Man, she’s pissed. Real pissed. Her brow is furrowed and her lips are pulled into a tight line. It’s her eyes, though. Damn, those eyes. Narrowed but blazing, they glare at me. Cut right through me. “Narns?” Mila asks. “My narns.” I move to look at her so quick a sharp pain shoots down my neck. “Narns?” “Top of the fridge,” Sofie says sharply. “Banana.” “Toddler-speak is impossible,” I grumble, standing. How the hell does “narns” denote banana? Oh, that’s right, it doesn’t. Nana? Yep. Narns? What the hell? Sofie yanks the fridge door open, standing right in front of me. “Excuse me.” She glares at me and reaches to the back to grab the butter. Since she’s short and the fridge is huge, it makes her shorts ride up again. My dick throbs and my hand twitches with the urge to reach forward and run my fingers across her soft skin. I grab her waist and yank her back into me. My dick pushes into her lower back almost painfully. She gasps, and I lower my mouth to her ear. “Another line,” I whisper. “Put your ass away.” “You shouldn’t be lookin’,” she grinds out. I pull her back and slide my hand around her stomach, splaying my fingers. They brush the waistband of her shorts, and she clenches under my touch. “You shouldn’t be giving me anythin’ to look at, princess. If they don’t cover your ass when you reach up, you ain’t wearin’ ’em.” My voice is gruff and heavy. I wanna slam that goddamn fridge door, push her against it, and kiss her hard. I wanna slide my hands down the back of those dumbass shorts and cup her ass cheeks, pulling her into me. I wanna feel her melt into me, grasp at my hair, whimper into my mouth. “Make me stop,” she bites back in an attempt to deny the quick rising and falling of her chest. It fails, because her words are more breathy than annoyed, and the soft gasp on the end of the word “stop” heads straight down to my pants. Along with the rest of my blood supply. “I wouldn’t say that, or you’ll find them on your bedroom floor.” She drops the butter on the counter and tugs my arms away from her. “Fuck you,” she whispers harshly. “Fuck you so much.” I grab a banana for Mila and walk past Sofie, leaving her clasping her trembling hands to her stomach. I unpeel it and break it into two pieces, dropping them on the tray, then turn and head upstairs. “Get some damn pants on,” I snap, my dick painful now. She doesn’t respond, and I take the stairs two at a time. I grab a towel from the closet and lock myself in the bathroom. My eyes fall straight to the neat pile of clothes folded next to the sink.

The bright red lace panties on top. Shit. She obviously planned on showering before me. I strip and step into the cubicle. I turn the water on, letting the heat run over me, before turning my front into the water and the knob down to freezing. I step fully under the spray, letting the ice-cold water beat down on me until I can’t take it anymore. It hasn’t helped my raging hard-on at all, but I’m sure as hell not going to stand here in the shower and get myself off. Because I’m mad at her again, and I’m definitely not coming to anger. I scrub myself quickly with some soap, rinse, and get out. I grab the towel next to her clothes, averting my eyes from her underwear, and wrap it around my waist. She’s standing outside when I open the door, her eyes wide. “Next time, put your underwear under your fuckin’ clothes, not on top.” I walk around her and into Ste’s room. I dry off quickly and get dressed. At least my erection has finally fucking calmed down. It would be easier to just leave. But then I’d have to come back every morning and leave every night, and that would be too risky. All it would take is a reporter getting one glimpse of me and following me, then the media would set up camp here. Going downstairs, I get Mila out of her high chair and bring her into the front room with me. She jumps off the sofa almost immediately and toddles over to her toy box. I let her go and turn on the TV. It’s right there: IS THE LEAD SINGER OF DIRTY B. A DADDY?

Yes. Yes, he fucking is, and it’s none of your damn business, you nosy bitch. Somehow I don’t think Marc would be impressed if I sent that in to their “What Do You Think?” email address. The screen flicks to their reporter, and the backdrop is my house. I turn the volume up to listen. “ . . . since his coming out yesterday to carry some groceries in, there have been no sightings of Conner or, indeed, any of Dirty B.” Carrying groceries in is making news now? Don’t they have anything better to be doing? “And what’s the general consensus outside the house this morning, Anna? Is there any truth to the reports?” “Unfortunately we don’t know. Dirty B’s representatives aren’t returning calls or emails, so one would assume there is some truth. There are also ideas that the mother is someone he met just as the band rose to fame and is coming back for child support.” I snort. Right. Sofie hasn’t asked me for a cent, and if the look on her face when I bought the baby gate and sandbox is anything to go by, she doesn’t intend to, either. “Figures that they’d come to that conclusion sooner or later,” she says in a small voice from the doorway. “They’re reporters.” I turn the TV off and drop the remote on the cushion next to me. “They thrive on making crap up.” “Bad!” Mila shouts, pointing at me. “Bad!” I jolt and look between her and Sofie. Her lips twitch. “The c-word. It’s a naughty word in this house.” I raise my eyebrows. “That c-word is the naughty one?” “Yes, because the other one won’t be used.” She grabs a brush from the side table and runs it through her wet hair. “I need to go the store later. I’m taking Mila.” “Why?” “Because it’ll look suspicious if I don’t. I have no family here to look after her while I run

errands.” I rub my hand over my face. “I’ll get it delivered for you.” “No you won’t.” She looks at me hard. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

The house is eerily silent without Mila’s giggles or shouts. Even when Aidan sneaks in through the back with my guitar, it’s quiet. “Did anyone see you?” “I ran through the woods. Police have it blocked off.” I nod. “Good. Tate said they followed him to Walmart earlier.” Aidan snorts. “They followed Dad to the hardware store. They’re a fuckin’ joke. They think we’re gonna come to you every time we leave the house. You’re causin’ a riot, bro.” “Yeah, well, who wants a quiet tour break, eh?” I take the guitar case from him. “Thanks for this.” He smiles knowingly. “No problem. When you gonna come clean?” “When they find out where I am.” I unzip the case. Aidan leaves the way he came, meaning I’m alone in the silence once more. I lift my guitar out and rest it on my knee, strumming my fingers over the strings. They vibrate softly, one after another, filling the air with the sweet acoustic sound. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. My fingers move into place and strum, plucking the strings in no particular order. Every movement is free, unrestrained by lyrics or bandmates or a recording studio. Soon, though, soon the notes come together and make sense. They form a slow melody, one that doesn’t need the beat of a drum or the buzz of an electric guitar. It’s pure and easy, and I pause only long enough to grab my notepad and pencil from the case. I sketch music bars and jot down the notes I remember. I replay them, changing a couple out. My foot rests against the supporting bar of the chair, bringing the base of the guitar up higher, and I test out a few more. I keep going, doing this over and over, letting myself go with the music. Each stop is to write down the notes, then I’m right back into it. The freeness of being able to write music at my own pace floods through me. My lips twitch up, and when I get to the end of the bar, I drop the pencil and start over. My fingers buzz the strings, filling the air with vibration after vibration. The melody is sad yet sweet, a wish and a memory. Music always reflects what’s inside. This is how I feel, how I cope. It always has been, and yet again, I’m writing music for her. Because I don’t know another way. I tap my foot to the beat, and the chorus is faster, begging for words. I hum in key, my mind taking me to another place. What was a simple compilation of notes is now a song in desperate need of lyrics. “Is that new?” I turn, flattening my hand over the strings, and stare into bright blue eyes. “Yep.” “It’s good.” Sofie smiles, turning. She appears again a few seconds later, her arms laden with bags. I put the guitar on the table and get up. “Pass them here.” “Thanks.” She tucks some hair behind her ear and goes back outside. “Where’s Mila?” I ask, taking a second load of shopping from her. “Upstairs. She fell asleep in the car.” Sofie locks the door and walks past me into the kitchen.

I follow her in and help her unload the bags. Every now and then she points me to the right place for an item, but we don’t speak again. I fill up the kettle and flick it on, grabbing two mugs as she fills the fridge. “Thank you,” she says softly when I pass her a cup of coffee. “You’re welcome.” I take my own and study her. She looks tired, if the shadows under her eyes are anything to go by. Her cheeks get pink as she feels me watching her, and I know I should look away, but I can’t. It’s like a constant Ping-Pong game. One minute I’m mad, then the next I can’t stop staring at her. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, how she wants me to feel. Fuck, I don’t even know how I want to feel. It changes so fucking often. Sofie puts her mug on the side table and brings her eyes to mine. “I’m sorry. For last night.” “Don’t worry about it. You were drunk.” “I wasn’t drunk. I was tipsy.” “Well, whatever you were, you clearly couldn’t handle it.” “I handled it just fine until I ended up playing personal assistant to three-quarters of Dirty B.” She frowns. “Is it like that everywhere you go? The girls all the time?” “You got caught up in that? Shit. They get . . . excited.” “Yeah, no kidding. Do girls often hand Tate their underwear with their number scrawled inside?” My lips tug up into a huge grin. “More often than you’d think.” “Classy.” She rolls her eyes. “Got any of your own?” “None that didn’t find their way into either the trash or my brothers’ pockets before I got back to my room.” I never took numbers. I never wanted numbers. Not theirs. “Really? I don’t believe that.” I shrug. “You don’t have to, princess.” “Good thing, too,” she murmurs, sipping her coffee. “Anyway. I shouldn’t have said what I did last night. It was out of order, so was pretending to go on a date with Kye. I’m sorry.” “I’d be apologizing for the shorts, personally.” My minds flashes back to this morning. And my eyes drop to her hips, because I know what she’s wearing now. That damn red lace that was on top of her clothes. My dick knows, too. “You’re lucky I remembered to put them on,” she retorts, her eyebrows raising. “I’m sorry. What?” I drag my eyes up her body. Slowly. “I usually forget, that’s all.” A small smirk graces her lips and she turns on her toes, ready to leave. Fuck no. I grab her hand and pull her into me. She turns, looking up at me through her eyelashes, and I grit my teeth. “For someone who set lines only hours ago, you’re sure as hell blurrin’ the fuck out of them.” “I’ve got no idea what you mean.” “Then let me explain.” I crush my mouth to hers, sinking my hand into her soft hair. She whimpers at the harshness of my kiss but she grabs my collar, pushing herself against me. My hand finds its way to her ass and I cup it, pulling her hips into mine so every part of us is

touching. Her back hits the wall as I push her, and I slip my tongue into her mouth. Her tongue battles mine, stroking, fighting, tasting. She takes like coffee and popcorn and candy, caffeine and sweet and savory. She’s so fucking soft beneath me, and I feel her everywhere. I feel the rush of her through my veins. Like my own personal drug, she takes me over. I slide my other hand up her back and around the back of her neck, pulling her mouth ever closer to me. Like I need more, because if I’m holding her this fucking tightly, she can’t move. She can’t do anything but stand there, melting into my body, and let me kiss the ever-loving shit out of her. “Mila,” she gasps, turning her head to the side. Dammit. Sofie meets my eyes, her chest heaving. Her lips are swollen and red, and her eyes are shining. With lust and sadness. With desire and anger. “That’s more than a blur, for the record,” she breathes, stepping away. “That’s a damn wipeout.” “No.” I take her hand quickly before she turns fully. “That was a fade. You on your back with me inside you is a fuckin’ wipeout, princess.” “If you talked as well as you kiss we’d get on better.” She snatches her hand back and flounces out of the room. I smirk, watching her go, all too aware of the lingering taste of coffee and candy on my lips.

Lunch. Let’s go for lunch, he said. Let’s have Mom and Leila come over to watch Mila and go for lunch. Never mind that we can’t have a conversation without either yelling or kissing, but for two people supposedly hiding from the media, it’s really, really dumb. Conner doesn’t care. Apparently, we need to be alone and in a neutral place to have a successful conversation. We haven’t really spoken for twenty-four hours, but okay. Let’s go chat. Why the hell not? “Smile.” He glances across the car at me. I turn away from him. I don’t know what we have left to talk about. He already has the answers he needs, and I’ve said everything I need to. “You know, the idea of a talking lunch isn’t gonna work if you’re gonna be real mad at me the whole time.” “Mmph.” “Sof. Pull your panties out of your asshole.” I spin quickly and glare at him. “Do you realize how idiotic this is? Have you considered even for a second how quickly we could be found out?” “We’re forty-five minutes outside of Shelton Bay. No one knows your car. Hell, no one even knows who you are.” He pulls my car into the parking lot of a little diner off the beaten track. “One picture, Conner. One picture and some bigmouth like Nina will delight in telling the world and its mother—hell, and its grandmother—who I am.” I shove the door open and get out, slamming it behind me. “No one’s gonna see us here, so chill out.” He follows me and grabs the diner door before I can. “I can open a door for myself, you know.” “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.” “Oh, lucky me, a gentleman is taking me for lunch.” “A gentleman with a dirty mind.” His words flutter my hair. I exhale heavily and find a booth at the back, then crawl into the corner and grab the menu. Conner slides in opposite me and picks up the second one. “Nina won’t say anything. She’s too attached to Tate.” I glance over the top of the card. “No one gets attached to Tate. At least no one with any selfrespect.” His lips twitch. “Still, she won’t say anything. She probably won’t even work it out.” “Right. By the way, when I saw her last, she didn’t seem too concerned about Tate at all. Y’all

should probably watch that, in case he’s her route back to you.” Conner pulls my menu down and frowns. “Back to me? She was never near me in the first place.” “And you think she won’t tell everyone anything about us?” I raise my eyebrows triumphantly and lift my menu. “Point proven.” He’s silent as the waitress approaches and takes my order. He orders gruffly, his eyes fixed on the side of my head. I chew my thumbnail and stare at the counter. Well, at least that little nugget of annoyance has been chased out of my mind. I couldn’t see them together, in bed or out of it, but still. She pissed me off insinuating she’d been his shoulder to cry on when I left. The bitch wishes. Conner continues staring at me, his eyes not flicking away for even a millisecond. “What did she tell you?” “Nothing that would bother me.” “Liar.” “Says who?” “Says your bright red cheeks. You always were a shit liar.” I snap my eyes to him and grab my milk shake from the end of the table. “She tried to make me believe you two were . . . intimate . . . after I left.” Conner laughs, choking on his soda, and thumps his chest. “She told you what?” “Don’t make me say it again.” I screw my face up and swirl my straw around my glass. “I wouldn’t fuck Nina Hawkins with a ten-foot pole. No, ignore that. I wouldn’t touch her with a fifty-foot one, let alone fuck her with it.” “I don’t care.” I sip slowly. “You should get your cheeks looked at. It can’t be good for them to be that red all the time.” “Screw you.” “You wish.” “You’re such a child.” “You bring it out in me. What can I say? I can’t help it.” “This is ridiculous. Did you really bring me to lunch so we could bitch at each other the whole time? Because I’m sick to death of it already.” I meet his eyes. He stretches his arms over his head. “Nah, I was really going to try and charm you, but it doesn’t seem to be working out too well, does it?” “Okay, one,” I say, holding up a finger, “you actually have to possess some form of charm for that plan to work, and two”—I hold up another—“you’re a cocky jerk.” “Shit, the cock is my charm.” “Then you should consider not talking, because it ain’t workin’ for you.” He grins, and his shoulders shake with quiet laughter. It’s an infectious kinda grin, one that makes it impossible not to smile back. So I do, flipping him the bird at the same time. He ain’t getting it all outta me. His smile falters a little. “Dammit, Sof. I missed you like hell.” Mine completely drops, and I look down. “That’s it? I tell you I missed you and you look at the table?” “I missed you, too,” I reply softly. “Every day, Con. I missed you until I couldn’t anymore.” “Why couldn’t you even tell me that you were okay?” “Because if I spoke to you once, I would have come back. And I couldn’t do that.”

“Why?” He pauses as our food is brought to the table. “What was so bad you had to stay away? And don’t say the band—there’s something more. I know you, Sof. I know there’s somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me.” His accent thickens at the end, and when I look up, I can see the emotion in his dark blue eyes. Helplessness, confusion, hurt. I hate myself for it. “I was afraid.” I swirl my fries in some ketchup. “Just . . . afraid. So I ran. That’s all there is to it.” “Of what? You had to know I wouldn’t have left you. I would have been there as much as I could be. We would have made it work.” “And when you went away, and there was a whole other world I couldn’t be a part of?” I smile sadly. “It wouldn’t have worked.” “Hasn’t exactly worked your way, though, has it?” I ignore that and eat. He’s right, it hasn’t. Being away from him was supposed to make me love him less, so that when I finally saw him again it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter if he had a new girlfriend, if he was a man-whore, or if he wanted me still. I was supposed to tell him about Mila, explain why I went, and then move on. Supposed to, supposed to, supposed to. Supposed to never happens. Supposed to is an ideal, something you cling to late at night when you can’t sleep. Supposed to is a hopeful heart dreaming of something perfect. Because my ideal would have been perfect. That way it wouldn’t hurt to look at him. My heart wouldn’t still skip a beat whenever he laughs, and I wouldn’t still get butterflies whenever his lips tug up in that sexy way. And I absolutely, definitely would not be helpless every time he kisses me. Conner reaches across the table and brushes his fingertips across mine. I shake my head and rest my hand on my lap. I can’t have him touch me. I can’t touch him. I can’t have anything more than a coparent relationship with him, because he’ll go, and I’ll be opening myself to my fears again. It’s not irrational. Not when it’s safer for Mila this way. It’s better for her if we’re apart and hurting secretly, instead of together and hurting all three of us. My heart might want him with every beat it takes, and it might want the perfect family, all of us together, happy, laughing. It might want smiles and endless giggles and affectionate touches. It might want passionate, stolen kisses when the baby isn’t around, and it might want nights that never have to end, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve learned a lot about my heart since I left, and the main thing I’ve learned is that it’s a dreamer. And dreams don’t always come true. Something flashes through the window. I look up at Conner, my mouth going dry. He scrambles around and looks over the seat to where it came from, and another goes off. And another. “Fuck.” He stands and digs for his wallet. He throws some bills on the table and holds out his hand. “What?” “We’re going. Now.” He rounds the table and grabs my hand, tugging me along the seat. My fingers tighten around his when I see why—photographers. I freeze up, my mouth dropping open. “Now isn’t a time to catch flies, princess,” he hisses. “Come here.” He wraps an arm solidly around my shoulders, curves me into him, and pulls open the door. The second it’s open we’re assaulted by a barrage of questions.

“Conner, are the rumors true?” “Conner, do you have a baby?” “Is this your baby’s mom?” “Conner, is it true your baby’s mom is someone you slept with on tour?” He holds me tighter and shoves his way through them with his other shoulder. I bring one hand up to cover my face from the intrusive way they push at us and grab the back of his shirt with the other. “Are you his baby’s mom?” “Who is she, Conner?” “Won’t your baby’s mom care?” “In,” he orders me, shoving the car door open. I don’t need telling twice. I throw myself into the car and he slams the door. He runs around the front, shoving a photographer out of the way, and gets in the driver side. He revs the engine in seconds, but it doesn’t drown out their shouted questions. He pulls away from the diner. “We’ll have to go to my house. Your car will have to stay there. I’ll get you a rental.” “No point,” I mutter, sliding down in my seat. “They’ll probably know my name, address, and fucking bra size by morning.” He doesn’t respond because he knows it’s the truth. They’ll run the pictures and try to get as much information about the blonde girl with the scandal-surrounded singer. That’s all that will matter to them. Who am I? And am I his baby’s mom? I bring my legs up and sink my fingers into my hair, dropping my forehead to my knees. I knew this was a bad idea. I fucking told him so, and he didn’t listen to me. Every person with ovaries knows who Conner is. They were obviously going to tip off the media at some point. To think we could walk out unscathed was idiotic. I don’t talk to him as he drives. I don’t say a word, despite him attempting to prompt conversation several times. He eventually gives up, and we drive in silence until we’re five minutes out of town and his phone rings. He puts it on speaker and rests it on his lap. “What now?” “What the hell are you doin’, Conner? In public?” a woman’s voice shrieks down the phone. He grits his teeth. “Fuck off, Jenna. Don’t forget who employs you.” “Your brother employs me, you dumbass!” she replies, still shouting. “Couldn’t you have a picnic on the beach or something?” “Picnics aren’t my style.” “No, evidently media circuses are.” “What can I say? I enjoy a few tricks.” “I can’t believe you were so careless,” Jenna says. “You better be comin’ home, because I’m not the only one with a few things to say to you.” I hear you, girl. “I’m here now.” He blares the horn to get the media to move off the driveway and drives up it. His security guys push them back as they surge, and a couple trip in the scramble. Good. Assholes. Conner hangs up and opens his door. “Don’t look at them. Keep your head down and run into the house.” I look up and the front door opens. Conner grabs me to him as I exit the car, and I shove him off me, running into the house.

Now I can be mad. Now that we’re here, in semi-private, I can be mad as hell. “What were you thinkin’?” Tate yells at us. “So much for a secret!” “Don’t you even think about pinnin’ this on me!” I shout back. “It wasn’t my smart idea. Talk to Mr. Bright Idea behind me!” I shove past him into the kitchen, where a twenty-something girl I assume is Jenna is waiting. She stands and holds out her hand. “Sofie, I presume.” “That’s me. Oh, look, I’m famous already.” I shake her hand and shoot a look at Conner over my shoulder. “Look, you’ve got the wrong idea.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “We just went to talk in private. We can’t with Mila around.” “Bullshit. You could have gone down to the beach,” Tate says. “You didn’t have to go out in public.” “What’s that? Oh, it’s déjà vu!” I snap. Conner hits me with an angry look. “You didn’t exactly stand your ground.” “We didn’t speak yesterday. I didn’t particularly want to speak to you today, either!” “So why did you?” “Because I wasn’t going to argue in front of Mila!” “But you will now?” “Yes! Because now that she’s not here I can tell you how fuckin’ mad I am at you for this crappy stunt and how much of an ignorant, hotheaded asshole you are!” “Wow, Sof, why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” He holds his arms out. “You want that? Fine. I wish I never came back. I wish I’d stayed in Charlotte with Mila, because this isn’t what I wanted!” My voice is hoarse from yelling, but I can’t stop. “I came back because I thought it was for the best, but I was wrong. God, I was wrong. I never should have brought her back here.” He falters for just a moment. “So you wish you’d kept her from me for longer? Wow, take home the Mom of the Fuckin’ Year award.” I inhale sharply, his words cutting through me. My heart pounds, each beat a stab of pain. “Fuck you,” I say, stepping back toward the door. “Fuck you, Conner Burke.” I pull the door open and storm through it. “Shit. Sofie. Shit! Wait!” I jump down the porch, ignoring the steps, and run toward the woods. To the place that holds memories of midnight kisses and roaring afternoon arguments. Where we spent almost every second, hidden in the darkness of the trees. “Sof, I didn’t mean that!” “No!” I turn at the edge of the woods and lower my voice. “That’s it. I’m done. The only time I want to see you is if you’re having Mila over. Your mom can bring her back to your house tonight. I’ll get her in the morning.” “What?” “We can’t do it like this. We keep fightin’, and I can’t do that. Mila’s yours whenever you want her, but I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore.” I turn and run into the woods, regretting every word but meaning it with my whole heart. It’s not fair to either of us, and it’s not fair to Mila. I won’t deny him her, but I’ll sure as hell deny him me. And I’ll deny myself him, too.

I watch her go, completely helpless in the face of her leaving me once again. Why did I have to say that? Why the fuck did I have to be such a bastard? She didn’t deserve that. She took Mila from me, yes. But she’s the one that’s been there. She’s kissed sore knees and wiped dirty faces. She’s spent endless hours rocking my daughter to sleep, running on empty, wondering if she’ll catch a nap. She’s taught her to walk and talk and every other amazing thing she can do. She’s been there twenty-four-fucking-seven, day and night, morning and evening. No matter how angry I am at her for saying she wished she’d never come back, she doesn’t deserve what I said. Because she’s justified. She’s only trying to protect Mila. She’s doing what comes naturally to her. What should come naturally to me. Only I didn’t protect her. I did the exact opposite. I threatened her. “Fuck!” I rest my forearms against the nearest tree and lean in. I stare at the ground and knock the bark repeatedly with the end of my fists. My eyes burn with guilty tears. For both Sofie and Mila. Neither of them deserves this. Not for a single fuckin’ second. “Well, you were on fire there.” Jenna’s voice travels across the yard. “If you’re out here to give me a piece of your mind, don’t bother. I already got it in my own head.” “Nah, she already gave you what you deserve, you jerk.” “Gee, thanks for the support.” I push off the tree and head back into the house. “I don’t need you to remind me I fucked up. My daughter being here without her mother will be enough reminder of that.” “Ah, she’s coming over?” Her voice brightens. “I love babies.” “She’s not a baby. She’s almost two.” “Oh, but toddlers’re so cute with their little words!” I look over my shoulder. “Carry on like that, and I’ll think you’re the one havin’ a baby.” She bites her lip and smiles. “No shit.” “I found out the day we got here.” She shrugs. “That’s what I get for having sex on the job.” “Good thing your boyfriend works for us or I’d be asking you what the fuck you were playin’ at.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze lightly. “Congrats, J. You’ll be an awesome mom.” She slides an arm around my waist and rests her head on my shoulder. “You will be, too, you know. A dad, that is, not a mom. Once you have a real chance.” “I had a chance. I fucked it up.” I smile sadly. “Hell, I had more than a chance. I could have given Mila a real family, then I had to go and say something dumb and screw it all up.”

I let her go and walk inside. Jenna’s barely joined me when Mom walks in with Mila in her arms. My baby girl squeals as soon as she sees me and almost throws herself out of Mom’s arms to get to me. I take her and hold her to me, burying my face in her unruly dark hair and breathing her in. “Ah, Dadda,” she coos in my ear. I hold her tighter. How the hell could I have done something that would hurt her? Easy—I forgot who really matters. I focused on Sofie instead of my daughter, something I told myself I wouldn’t do. But it’s easy to forget when they’re both so important to me. “Did you have fun with Nana and Auntie Leila?” I ask Mila. “Yeah, Dadda. Fun!” She claps her hands. “Oh! Bunna!” She looks around frantically until Tate hands it to her. She blinks at him the way she did the first time she saw him, then her face breaks out in a big smile. “Tay!” she cries happily. “Bunna, thanks!” I laugh quietly. “Looks like you have a new friend.” I hold her out to him and he stares at me, horrified. “What the hell, bro?” “Tay Tay!” Mila grabs at him, giggling, and Tate takes her. He holds her awkwardly on his hip, glancing down at her. Seeing my overconfident, tattooed big brother holding this tiny little girl is hilarious. Heartwarming, but hilarious. I half-smile, but it drops when I get a sharp smack in the back of my head. “What the . . .” I turn in time to see Leila glare at me before going upstairs. “What bit her butt?” I ask Mom. She raises her eyebrows, purses her lips, and turns away. I guess Sofie told them what happened. I sigh and take Mila. I carry her through to the living room, set her on the floor, and sit on the sofa. Mom comes in with some crayons and paper and puts them in front of her. Mila looks up with a grin. “Thanks.” I gaze at her as she drops Bunna and clasps a green crayon. She scribbles on the page, not drawing anything at all, then changes to a purple crayon. I keep watching her, letting her do her thing. When she’s done with the first page she pushes it to the side and starts on the next. She’s so blissfully unaware of the pain her parents are in. I hope it stays that way. Leila pokes her head around the door and looks from Mila to me. “What?” “I’m goin’ out,” she says angrily. “Great. Why do I need to know?” “Because,” she hisses quietly so she doesn’t disturb Mila, “I’m going to clean up your mess. That’s why.” She spins and disappears before I can say another word. I drop my head back against the sofa and look at the ceiling. Hell, this is going from bad to worse. I should have listened to Sofie. I should have just let her ignore me. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. I run upstairs to my room and grab a pad of paper and a pencil. I tuck the pad under my arm and go back into the front room. Mila is so engrossed in what she’s doing she hasn’t even noticed, so I set the pad on my knee and blow on the tip of the pencil. “Songwritin’?” Kye asks quietly, sitting next to me. I nod and touch the pencil to the paper. And I let the words flow.

The next morning, I creep out of my room while Mila’s still sleeping. Bypassing the creaky step, I go downstairs and into the kitchen. My guitar is propped by the back door, and I pick it up and set it on the table. I unzip the case and grab both the pad in the case and the one I was writing in yesterday. The early morning breeze is cool against my bare back as I sit on the porch steps, my guitar resting on my knees. I flip through the pads until I’m at the right pages and try to line the notes up with the lines of lyrics. Every couple of lines, I play and hum to make sure I have it right. I’m sure I do, but I go over it again and again anyway. I repeat it until the melody is burned into my mind, and I’m sure I hate every word I wrote last night. “All right, son?” Dad pokes his head out the door when I stop playing. I look up. “Yeah. Just . . . messin’.” “Mila’s awake,” he says. “No rush, though. Your mom made her breakfast.” “You should have got me.” I close the pads and stand. “I would have done it.” “You were out there, calmin’ yourself down. I had no intention of interrupting you,” Mom interrupts with a stern look. “You sure as hell need it after yesterday.” I ignore the annoyance that shows in her voice and walk past her into the house. “What time is she picking Mila up?” “In an hour,” Mom replies. “Leila texted me.” “Okay.” I kiss Mila’s head and put some toast in the toaster. “She okay?” “Leila? She’s fine.” “You know I mean Sofie.” “How do you define ‘fine’?” she asks with an eyebrow raise. “Would you say you’re fine right now?” I’ll take that as a no. My toast pops, and I spread peanut butter across each slice. I bite into it, the crunch satisfying, and lean against the counter. The silence is tense and awkward. Until Tate comes in the front door looking like he slept outside all night. “Tate Burke!” Mom snaps. “Where have you been?” “Lay off it, Mom.” He goes straight upstairs. Hopefully to shower. Aidan snorts, walking into the kitchen. “Hey, bro, at least they’ll have another Burke brother to speculate about. He might even knock you off the front page when his latest sells her sordid story.” He slaps me on the shoulder. I smirk. Yeah. That threesome story was awkward, to say the least. Still, it wasn’t Tate’s fault one of the girls was a hooker who sold celebrity stories on the side. I don’t think Mom and Dad looked at him for three months. Hell, they didn’t talk to him for six. “Better not be,” Mom grumbles. “Diane, darlin’, why don’t you go get a shower?” Dad ushers her out of the kitchen. She grumbles again but does as he says. Dad waits until she’s out of earshot and sits at the table, slumping onto it. “Thank God,” he says, sighing. “I’ve had it all night, so you boys better start behavin’ yourselves. I understand it’s too late for Conner and Tate, but, Aidan, dear me, behave, son, for your dear old dad.” “Dear old dad, my left butt cheek.” Aidan grabs my other piece of toast and moves when I go to punch his arm. “Butt!” Mila shrieks happily. “What? No.” I bend in front of her high chair. “Bad. Bad word.”

“Butt.” She giggles behind her hands. I glare at Aidan. “Thanks.” “Sorry, bro.” He actually looks apologetic. I rub my forehead and sweep her out of her high chair. Time to get ready.

“What do you think? It’s trash, huh?” Mila grabs her toes and rocks. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I sigh and grab my pencil, switching a couple of words out. “Okay, master songwriter, how about . . .” I strum the final few notes before the chorus and read off the page. “Seasons pass and feelings change, but don’t you know we’re still the same, I still want you the way I did before, I still want you the way you wanted me. . . . Yeah?” Mila claps her hands. “Yeah, Dadda!” “You obviously got your mama’s talent for songwriting and not mine.” I check the next verse. “Okay, next lines.” I play again. “I deny it ’cause it hurts, I fight it ’cause it burns, but I want everythin’ you have to give. . . . How’s that?” I look up, and Sofie’s standing a couple feet behind Mila. Her hair is tied on top of her head, dark shadows under her eyes, her lips chapped. Mila claps her hands again in agreement, and I nod. “Good job, baby.” I tick next to the lines. “Look who’s here.” She turns her little head and falls backward. She laughs and pulls herself up, running to Sofie and hugging her legs. “Hey, baby girl!” Sofie bends down and picks her up. “Did you have fun with Daddy?” Mila nods. “Sin! Dadda sin!” She looks at me with a big smile. “Yeah, Daddy did some singing.” I set the guitar down and stand. “I’ll get her things,” I tell Sofie. She nods and carries Mila onto the porch. Leila shoves me in the back, and I stumble into the kitchen. I hiss a curse at her and go upstairs with her hot on my heels. She slams my bedroom door. “The hell were you thinking, talkin’ to her that way yesterday?” “I obviously wasn’t thinking.” I gather Mila’s things and tuck them inside her bag. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. She cried on my shoulder, Con.” She grabs my arm and makes me look at her. “All night. All fucking night.” I snatch my arm back, my heart clenching. “What do you want me to do, huh, Lei? I already know she won’t take an apology. She won’t talk to me. You want me to send her flowers and a fucking teddy bear holding a balloon that says ‘I’m sorry’?” “I don’t know, but you better think of something.” “I am. I’m doing what she wants me to do. I’m being a father and staying clear away from her.” I open my door. “I’m respectin’ her wishes on this.” “Unreal.” She shakes her head and backs into her room. “You are unreal.” She closes the door, shutting me out, and I stare at it for a minute. What the hell does that mean? I go downstairs and hand Sofie Mila’s repacked bag. “Thanks,” she says quietly, strapping Mila into the stroller. “I’ll bring her over tomorrow. If you want.” “Yeah. I can come and get her.” “No. I’ll bring her over.” She leans forward. “Ready to go, Mila?” Mila nods. I bend down and kiss her forehead, then her cheeks, then her nose, then her tiny mouth.

She laughs and hugs my neck tightly. “Bye, Dadda. Bye, bye, bye.” She waves a chubby fist at me. “Bye, baby.” I wait until they go, then drop onto the grass and put my head in my hands. Shit, I wish it wasn’t this way. It’s not supposed to be this way. She’s supposed to be here, right by my side, all the time. Both of them are. Fuck it all. I slam my hand into the wooden post next to me. I’ll never forgive Sofie, but I can’t condemn her forever. And dammit, they’re both mine, my girls, and they should be with me. Not at the other end of the woods, together, while I’m sitting here alone. There ain’t a damn thing I can do about it, either. My fingers nudge the guitar and I set it back on my lap, stare at the pad, and get lost once again.

“Mila? Mila, baby, please take your fingers out of your nose.” I sigh and reach forward to dislodge them. She screams and smacks the sofa. “No!” She immediately shoves them back up. “Mila Lou!” I pull them out. “Do it again and you’re on the naughty step!” She stares at me defiantly and shoves two fingers of her other hand back in her nose. “That’s it. On the step.” I remove her fingers for the hundredth time today and lift her by her armpits. I deposit her on the step and set the timer. I leave it on the counter and go back into the front room, dropping to the sofa with a heavy sigh and rubbing my temples. Three days of this back-and-forth thing with Conner is driving me mad. Not only do I miss him ridiculously, Mila does, too, and she’s making it known with bad behavior. Three hours of sleep last night has left my patience paper-thin, and I’m ready to leave her in her crib and let her scream it out. She’s screaming on the step, so it’s not like there’ll be a difference. She screams extra loud. I get up, pick her up, open the baby gate, and stomp upstairs. I put her in her crib with her blanket and leave the room. Five minutes, so I can breathe and won’t kill her. And God, do I need to breathe. I walk into the kitchen and make myself a coffee. The easy option, of course, would be to call Conner and have him come calm her down. But it’s been two weeks since I got back, and she was with him for eight days straight. Now she’s going to have to adjust to him not being around all the time, because soon enough, he won’t be here at all. I step outside and Leila appears from around the corner of the woods. “What are you doing here?” I ask her. “Giving you this.” I take the magazine in her outstretched hand and look at the front cover. There’s a picture of me and Conner outside the diner four days ago with his arm around my shoulders. I’m shielding my face, but not enough that it’s hidden. Anyone who knows me will recognize me instantly. I look at the headline: IS THIS CONNER’S BABY MAMA OR HIS NEW FLING?

“Ugh.” I throw the magazine against the fence, panicking inside. How long will it be before the media circus sets up a big top outside my house and imprisons us? “Has Conner seen it?” Leila shrugs. “I dunno. Unless he’s had Mila, he’s spent all his time in his room or the garage working on some new song.”

“Yeah. He was asking Mila for lyric opinions when she stayed over.” I swallow and let that thought go. “Figures. Not his strong suit. Anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I have to go to work now, but I’ll call you later, okay?” She looks up when Mila screams particularly loud. “Are you harboring a banshee in your attic?” “A two-foot, dark-haired one? Close. In her room.” “Yikes.” Her lips twitch into a pained smile. “Well, you have fun here. Talk later.” She turns back into the woods and waves over her shoulder. “Bye.” I wave back and lean against the side of the house. My pulse is racing, and even though I don’t want to, I pick up the magazine and flip to the article. Dirty B.’s heartthrob Conner Burke has been in the middle of a rumor tornado lately. Word is he has a baby—one he didn’t know about, no less. His management is keeping quiet on the topic, not returning any calls, especially since it was proposed that the mom of his child is someone he met while on the first tour with the band. Sources believe she’s leaking information slowly, in an effort to get him to pay child support. Now, though, less than a week after that story broke, he’s been photographed eating out with an unfamiliar blonde. The biggest question we’re asking here is if she’s the baby mama or a new squeeze. And, indeed, who is she? Does anyone know? If you do, we’d love to know. Either way, we all know that isn’t the picture we want. Conner, if you’re reading this, where is your baby? “What garbage.” I open the trash can and drop the glossy magazine in, letting the lid close with a clang. “Leaking information, my ass. I don’t want his damn money.” I head upstairs to Mila, my little secret, and hold her to me, waiting for her sobs to become gentle sniffs, and for “Dadda” to change to “Mama.”

Ten p.m. Eleven thirty p.m. One a.m. Two fifteen a.m. And now, three a.m. I walk into Mila’s room on autopilot, shaking a bottle of milk, and lift her out of her crib. Maybe she’ll take this now. Hopefully it’ll settle her. If she stops crying long enough to drink more than a mouthful. And damn, I hate using a bottle. I’d rather she used her sippy cup, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “Shhh.” I pat her butt and sit on my bed with her. She stretches out, screeching, and I curl her into me, bouncing my knees. She closes her mouth around the rubber nipple and sucks. It offers me a blissful two minutes of silence before she knocks it out of my hand onto the floor and resumes her crying. “Mila, shhh, baby.” I stand and hold her in front of me, swaying. She sobs “Dadda” over and over, but I shake my head. I hate seeing her like this, but I can’t give in to her. It’ll make it harder in the long run. I kick my door shut and leave her on the floor of my room while I open my laptop. I open Spotify and find my Dirty B. playlist. I double-click the first song and it starts playing. Mila quiets down a little at the sound of Conner’s voice coming through the speakers, but she’s still

inconsolable. She crawls to me, tears streaming down her cheeks, and pulls herself up my legs. I gather her into my lap and cuddle her in, swaying her side to side. I close my eyes, running my fingers through her hair the way my mom used to with me. Whether I’d lost my blankie or teddy, or there were monsters under my bed, she’d come in and hug me while Dad slayed the monsters. When Ste would laugh at me, Dad’d tell him to be quiet, because I was a princess, and princesses don’t fight monsters. If only those mom hugs could have lasted past age five, and those super-daddy monster slays could still happen. Now, in the dead of night, holding my own baby, I wish I could call for my daddy to kill the monsters under my bed. Mila sniffs, her eyes drifting closed. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. Then she wakes up. And screams. I mutter a very bad word. An hour and a half later, I think she’s finally asleep. She hasn’t cried or moved for five minutes. Maybe I can put her down and finally get some sleep myself. Hopefully. I stand slowly and tiptoe into her room, dipping to grab her bunny off my bed. I ease her into her crib, holding in my exhale when she goes down without stirring. I spin on my toes and start her CD player, letting Conner’s voice fill the room, and back out slowly. Slowly and silently. I pull the door shut behind me, but before it even clicks, she screams. I yank it toward me anyway and rest my forehead against the door. “Please, Mila,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. “Mama needs sleep.” “No, no! Dadda, Mama, Dadda!” she sobs. I thump the door with my forehead in annoyance because, goddammit, now I’m exhausted and crying. And I give up. I absolutely give up. I walk into my room, grab my phone from under my pillow, and dial Conner’s number. I press Redial until he picks up. “Hello?” he groans groggily. “Conner?” “Sofie? What’s wrong?” “She won’t sleep,” I say thickly. “She’s been up all night, crying for you. I can’t . . .” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. A tear falls anyway, and I hear movement at his end of the line. “Give me five minutes and I’ll be there. Okay?” I sniff again and nod. “Okay?” he pushes. “Okay!” I half-yell through my tears. I hang up and drop my phone on the floor. Hell, she hasn’t slept this bad in months. And that’s saying something, considering I didn’t get more than four hours of sleep a night until she was eighteen months old. I’m angry and relieved at the same time. I shouldn’t have called him, because I did this for so long, and I did it alone. I held it together every night. I didn’t break, I didn’t call for help, I didn’t do

anything but fight through it. I don’t want him to see me as weak for calling him. But we all have a breaking point. This, now, tonight is mine. The last two weeks have been so heavy and emotional, and I just don’t have the damn energy to fight anymore. Right this second, I don’t have the energy to fight Mila. I don’t have the energy to grieve for my father or process every crappy corner of this damn town. I don’t have the energy to rebuild a lifelong friendship, and I sure as hell don’t have time to fight Conner Burke. I push myself up off the bed with the last of my wavering strength and go into Mila’s room. She’s standing at the side of her crib, her face bright red, tears staining her cheeks. I pick her up and hold her to me. Guilt filters through me at letting her get so upset, but I just did what I thought I was right. It’s hard to use that as justification when it seems like everything I think is right is actually wrong. “Daddy’s coming,” I say soothingly into her ear. “He’ll be here soon.” Mila’s door opens and Conner steps through. He’s wearing a Dirty B. sweater and sweatpants, old sneakers are on his feet, and his hair is sticking up everywhere. If I wasn’t so damn tired I’d be laughing at him right now. He walks to us and takes Mila from me without a word. She grabs his neck and burrows into him so far she may as well be trying to get under his skin. I step back, but Conner reaches out and pulls me into his other side. His arm is strong and steady around my shoulders, his fingers stroking the bare skin of my shoulder. With every touch, a little of the tension knotting my muscles leaves me. He presses his lips to the top of my head. “Go to bed, princess,” he whispers. “Go and sleep.” My mouth opens to protest, but before I speak I realize the futility of it. He can look after her, I know he can, and I’m almost asleep on my feet. “Go.” He lets go of me and pushes me toward the door. I nod and pad my way into my room. Climbing onto the softness of my mattress and tugging the covers over me, I close my eyes.

I scramble on the floor next to me for my shorts, rubbing my eyes, and tug them up my legs. I glance in the mirror as I pass. Ass: covered. Awesome. I work my hair into a topknot as I walk downstairs. The quiet hum of Peppa Pig fills the house, and I pad quietly into the front room. My heart skips a beat, my stomach flips, and I stop breathing all at the same time. Conner and Mila are curled together in the corner of the sofa. She’s gripping his shirt, fast asleep, and he’s resting his head on the back of the sofa. His eyes are half shut, and I lean against the doorframe for a moment. Just to look at them. Just to look at this guy, one of America’s biggest heartthrobs, tattooed and built, snuggled up to this tiny little girl, who’s holding on to him like her life depends on it. I swallow and rest the side of my face against the wood of the frame, still gazing at them. A small smile curls my lips, because it’s a beautiful sight. A memory I know I’ll keep forever. Conner turns his face to look at me and gives me a small smile. “Hey,” he whispers. “Hey,” I reply. “You wanna put her down?” He looks down and nods. “I can’t feel my damn arm.” He laughs quietly, easing himself up with her still in his arms. She doesn’t stir, even as he goes upstairs and opens her door.

He lays her down in her crib, and she reaches an arm up, grabbing for his shirt. “Take it off,” I whisper quickly. “Let her hug it.” He quirks an eyebrow at me, but he gives his T-shirt to her, and she snuggles into it immediately. “So much for not being shirtless,” he mutters. “Eh, you have a sweatshirt,” I throw back, preceding him downstairs. He laughs behind me and the sound is like music. He has the best damn singing voice I’ve ever heard, but his laughter is better than that. It’s warm and rich and deep, the kind of sound that tingles through your veins and back again. It’s doing that now—the tingling. My whole body is humming from hearing him, being close to him, hell, from talking to him. “Coffee?” I ask, my mouth dry. He shakes his head and steps toward me. Then he kisses me, softly, just once. But it lingers. And time stops, the world hovering in stillness for a long moment. “I’m sorry.” The husky tone of his voice vibrates through me. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.” “It’s okay,” I reply softly. “I deserved it.” “No, no, Sof, you didn’t.” He cups my cheeks, his fingers rough and callused from playing the guitar, and tilts my face up to his. “You didn’t deserve that at all. I might not forgive you, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to disrespect you.” “Respect and forgiveness don’t always go hand in hand. I understand.” I cover his hand with mine. “I wouldn’t forgive me or respect me, you know?” “But I do.” He tightens his grip on me slightly. “I do respect you. Shit, how many times have you done a night like that since she was born? How many times have you held her while she cried or taught her a new word? How many times has she screamed your name because she needed you, huh?” I shrug a shoulder and avert my eyes. “Mila is amazing—strong-willed, yes, but amazing—and that’s because of you.” He tugs my face so I have to look at him again. “You. It doesn’t matter what you did, because what you’ve done since makes me respect you.” “Then at least hate me. C’mon, you gotta give me somethin’ I want.” “Never.” He lowers his face to mine and brushes his nose along mine. “I can’t hate you, Sof. I tried. I tried so fucking hard, but I love you too damn much.” “It would be easier if you didn’t.” “Oh, yeah.” He pulls back, running his fingers down my neck. “So much easier, but it doesn’t work that way. I can’t just stop lovin’ you because it would be better. Just like you can’t stop lovin’ me. It’s not a switch we can flick off.” I look at the floor. He’s right. No matter how much we wish there wasn’t anything between us, we can’t deny that there is. And it’s the kind of thing that will always be there, because if two and a half years apart doesn’t change our feelings, then being together now won’t either. I take his hands in mine. “I need to tell you something,” I whisper. Taking a deep breath, I pull him into the front room to the sofa. But my eyes are drawn away from his face and to the window, and then they narrow. I drop Conner’s hands and walk slowly to the window. “Sof?” “Shit,” I breathe, seeing the horde of people gathering outside the house. “Shit, Conner. Shit!” “What?” He joins me at the window with a hand on my back. “They know who I am.” I wrap my arms around my waist. “They know she’s here.”

It’s like déjà-fucking-vu. I grab my phone from my pocket and dial Tate’s number. Sofie wraps her arms around herself, and I reach for the curtains. I pull them shut just as my brother answers. “They’re on their way,” he says. “Leila just showed us.” “Good. How do we get Mila out safely?” There’s a shuffle, then Jenna comes on the line. “Hide her one last time. Come through the woods to the house. We’ll call Marc, put out an official statement, then go from there. Okay?” Sofie’s still staring at the curtains¸ unmoving. “Okay,” I answer, hanging up. I drop my phone and hug Sofie from behind. I press my face into her neck, kissing the place where her shoulder meets her collarbone, but she still doesn’t move. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “What for? Being you?” She pushes my arms off and turns toward me. “Don’t be. I knew what I was doing dating a future rock star in the first place. I knew what I was doing when I came back here. This isn’t your fault. This is theirs.” She circles my waist with her arms and rests her cheek against my bare chest. I heave a sigh and wrap my arms around her shoulders, letting my chin rest atop her head. “What do we do now?” she asks quietly. “We can’t hide anymore.” “We put out an official statement telling them what they need to know. Nothing more and nothing less.” “Then what?” she whispers again. It’s almost as if her voice has given up, like it’s too much for her to speak. “Then what do we do, Con?” I smile and hook a finger beneath her chin. I lift her face to mine. “Then we fuck with them.” She tilts her face to the side. “I’m not sure if I should be excited or worried.” My smile morphs to a grin. “Both.” Mila yells upstairs, this time a big “Hello? Hello?” and Sofie’s smile mirrors mine. “Come on.” I let her go reluctantly. Shit, she felt so good in my arms. I follow her upstairs and realize she never told me what she was going to say. “Hey, what were you going to tell me?” She shakes her head. “It can wait. It’s not important.” We walk into Mila’s room, and I pick her up. Sofie gets her some clothes and, at my insistence, lets me take her downstairs to change her. Mila talks to Bunna the whole time, cooperating in such a way that I’m sure someone switched her for another baby in the last few hours.

Sofie comes downstairs and gets Mila’s bag ready. She loops it over the back of the stroller after a few minutes and straps her in. “Are you ready?” She looks at me, standing straight, determination written all over her face. The way her lips are pouted in defiance makes me want to step forward and kiss her again, let my tongue roam through her mouth and melt away any uncertainty she might feel. “My shirt?” I raise my eyebrows. “You never wear one. Why bother now?” She pushes Mila through the kitchen and into the yard. I laugh and jog after her, then take the stroller. I’m surprised at how willingly she lets me. Maybe she’s too busy being mad at the media and whoever sold out her identity to be bothered with me. A part of me wants to take advantage of this. An eight-inch part of me. I lift Mila’s stroller up the porch steps at my house and Sofie unstraps her. I park it outside and grab the bag. Mila knocks at the door with her tiny, chubby fists and squeals. “Nana! Poh! Tay!” she chimes, banging incessantly. “Nana! Poh! Tay!” Sofie looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Looks like Tate has a mini-groupie.” I laugh and open the door to save our daughter the pain of shouting any longer without a response. “Something like that.” Mila looks around the kitchen and then trots into the front room. “Tay!” she exclaims. I drop her bag on the kitchen floor and follow her in. She’s storming to Tate, pouting and frowning, and he holds his arms out. “I’m sorry, Mila. I didn’t hear you over Auntie Leila!” “I’m gonna kill her!” Lei turns and shoots daggers at me and Sofie. “Whoa, what did I do?” Sofie exclaims. “Not you! Her!” My sister practically growls and shoves the magazine at us. I take it and look at the article. It’s the one about us, the one confirming Sofie as my “baby mama.” I scan it and look for the part where it says who they interviewed. “Son of a bitch!” Sofie shrieks. “I told you!” “Mama bad! Bad!” Mila cries. Sofie slaps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. Mama forgot.” Dad comes in then and steals Mila from Tate. “Sand?” he says, and Mila suddenly forgets about Sofie’s slipup. Sofie watches as Dad grabs the bucket and shovel from the kitchen cabinet and disappears outside. No sooner has the back door shut than she blows up at Tate. “I swear, Tate Burke, if you ever sleep with that girl again, I’m going to personally carve your balls off with a plastic picnic knife!” Sofie shoves his shoulder. “Hell, you speak to her, and I’ll do it. She can fuck with me, but she doesn’t get to play games with my daughter.” If I thought she was angry the other day, I was mistaken. She’s levitating. If she were a cartoon she’d be steaming from the ears. I swallow the laughter from that thought down and gently hold her upper arms, pulling her back. I have no doubt she’d remove my brother’s balls with her bare hands right now. “Hey, I already told her where to fuckin’ go,” he fumes, standing up. “You think I’m gonna take her fuckin’ with my family? I was on the phone to her when I saw her name on that article.” “I’m flattered,” she snaps. “How does she know Mila is Conner’s?” “She doesn’t,” Leila interrupts, “before you remove his balls. She has no proof. That’s the media assuming that she is because you’re his ex and you have a kid.” Sofie takes a deep breath and relaxes.

“Wow.” Aidan and Kye laugh simultaneously. “Don’t mess with Sofie,” Kye continues. “Well, I guess Sofie’s here,” Jenna jokes, strolling into the room with a phone attached to her ear. Sofie turns and smiles sheepishly. “Hey.” I laugh and she jabs her elbow back in my stomach. I wince and pin her arms behind her back. Unfortunately for me, she’s shorter than me, and she grabs my cock. She squeezes, not so hard it’s painful, but enough that the threat is there. “Somethin’ funny, Conner?” “No,” I choke. “Nothin’, princess. Nothin’.” She releases me and I let her go. She turns with a triumphant smile, and Jenna waves the phone in my face. “It’s Marc.” I take it and walk to the window, where, if it’s possible, there are more people. They must be split between my house and Sofie’s, trying to get a glimpse of us. “Hey,” I say into the speaker. “Jenna said you wanted to make a statement. Tell me what you want to say and I’ll contact all the media outlets now. Hopefully then they’ll give you a break.” I snort. “You know as well as I do that they won’t.” I rub my hand over my forehead and let it hang limply by my side. Sofie steps up next to me and slips her hand into mine. She entwines our fingers and rests her head against my arm. That one action, so small, gives me the strength to do this. To officially put her and Mila in the spotlight for the rest of our lives, or for however long I’m famous, at least. “Tell them that Sofie is the girl I’m pictured with, and that she is the mother of my daughter, Mila . . .” I trail off. I don’t know her last name. “Burke,” Sofie fills in softly. I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Mila Burke. I’m not giving interviews or photo shoots, and we ask for privacy while Mila and I spend time together before Dirty B. return for the last leg of our tour.” “Fine. Great,” Marc garbles, obviously writing it down. “And Sofie? They’ll want to know about what relationship you two have.” “Just like my relationship with Mila has nothing to do with ’em, neither does mine and Sofie’s. They’ll get what I want to tell them when I wanna tell them.” “Sounds like you don’t know yourself, kid.” He chuckles. “That’s exactly it,” I admit with a laugh. “And do me a favor? Get us some extra damn security down here. It’s fuckin’ nuts around here.” “Give me an hour.” He hangs up. I blow out a long breath. “Done?” Sofie asks. “Done.” “How come we didn’t know her last name was Burke?” Aidan asks from the other side of the room, ever the tactful brother. Sofie lets go of my hand and turns, tucking some hair behind her ear. A small smile plays with her lips. “You never asked me.” “Walked right into that.” Kye laughs. “Ask me a stupid question, and I’ll give you a stupid answer.” She smiles sweetly. “It’s not my

fault if you guys don’t think shit through before you say it.” “I like her,” Jenna announces. “She’s got spunk.” “She had spunk.” Tate snickers. Leila smacks his head before Sofie can reach him. This time, I keep my laughter to myself this time. Seriously. She likes me. Finally. I ain’t angering the beast today. “Well, now that’s sorted,” Jenna says. “I left a naked security guard in bed this morning, and I’m all worked up.” “Thanks for that info,” Kye mutters. “Wait, why’s he in bed and not here?” Aidan asks. “Good point,” I chime in. “Because it’s his day off. And I love you boys, but I’m not giving up twenty-four hours of sexy man time for y’all. So suck it and look after yourselves. You insist on gym time in your schedules so you can be tough guys, or is that actually so you can look pretty?” “Pretty,” Tate answers. Me, Aidan, and Kye mumble agreements and nod. “Pussies. The lot of ya.” She winks and heads out the front door. Silence descends on the room for a few seconds. We all just kind of sit and stand here, none of us knowing what to say. What are we supposed to say? Lives just got turned upside down, and now me and Sofie will be stalked even more than Mila. If the media love a scandal, they crave a romance. Add the two together, and you have their kryptonite. And now, looking at Sofie, watching her stare out of the window to where Mila’s playing with Dad on the beach, I wonder if there’s going to be a romance to go along with that scandal at all.

Sofie’s head pops up in the tree house. She gives me a weak smile and climbs up, then sits next to me. She stares out of the window to where Mila is playing on the beach. Our daughter is running circles around my family on the sand. Kye already had to go change clothes because he underestimated the splash power of a toddler in the shallows. At least that put a smile on Sofie’s face. She’s been stone-faced since this morning, her stare scarily intense. I don’t blame her. I can practically taste the fear radiating off her. I can see the uncertainty whenever she moves, because her hands tremble, like she’s freezing and can’t warm up. I rest my arm over her shoulders and snatch up her hand. Her fingers slip between mine and I squeeze. My thumb strokes the inside of her wrist, and she shivers. “Why did you give her my name?” I need to know. It’s bugged the hell out of me all day. Sofie turns her face toward me, finally dragging her eyes from Mila. “I wasn’t going to,” she admits quietly. “Then she was born, and come on, Con, she looks exactly like you. I knew then that she was a Burke before she was a Callahan.” “I’m not on her birth certificate, am I?” My heart clenches with another thing missed. “No.” Her voice is barely there. “You can be, though. I looked on the county website. We can make an appointment and add you. You just have to be there to sign it.” “Will you do that?” She stops looking at my legs and meets my eyes. “If you need to ask, you don’t know me.” “Sometimes I wonder if I do,” I say honestly. “Sometimes you’re the girl I remember, then other

times . . . other times, you’re someone else entirely. I don’t know if I do know you anymore, Sof.” “You and me both.” She takes her eyes away from mine. “I’ve spent so long, so freakin’ long, being a mom that I don’t even know if Sofie is in there anymore. That sounds dumb, I know, but it’s true. I don’t know how to be someone away from her anymore, and it’s disconcerting.” She swallows. “So much of me has gone into Mila that it doesn’t seem like there’s anything left of me sometimes. I love her, but I’m ashamed of how many times I wished there was someone to take her when I needed to breathe. She was too young when Dad was well, and when she was bigger, he was too sick. I never had a night alone until I came here and you had her a few days ago.” “Never?” I ask. “What about Ste?” “He’s away more often than he’s here. She doesn’t know him. It’s always just been me and Mila. When the whole time, if I’d just pulled my head from my ass, she could have had this huge family. There would have been help when I needed it, but more importantly, she would have had you.” She looks at me, fighting tears. “I was so stupid.” I curl her into my chest. I have nothing to say back. I can’t tell her she wasn’t stupid, because she was. I can’t tell her she didn’t make mistakes, because she did. She made some big-ass mistakes. There’s no changing it. We both know it. The guilt is written all over her face, for fuck’s sake. It’s there whenever she looks at me. It threads through her words when she speaks to me. I won’t take it from her. I won’t even fucking try to, because she should feel that. If there’s anything she deserves, it’s the guilt. I doubt I could take it if I wanted to. She has such a strong grip on it, she might hold on to it forever. “What are you doin’ when we go back on tour? In two weeks?” “I’m staying,” she murmurs into my chest. “I’ll call the Realtor in the morning and let them know I’m not selling the house.” I close my eyes. My fingers spread across her tiny waist, keeping her firm in my arms while I process this. She’s staying. In Shelton Bay. I touch my lips to the top of her head and she shudders against me. Her fingers grab my shirt and then let go. They slip under the material and ghost across the bottom of my back, and I finally know our problem. And it’s a fucking big one. There’s too much between us to move forward. But there’s too much to let go, too. Way too fucking much. “You wanna go play with her?” I whisper, feeling her turn her face toward Mila again. She nods. “I think she likes the beach.” “I have it on good authority she can come to this beach whenever she wants and there will always be someone to play with.” A smile cracks that beautiful face as Sofie looks back at me. “Good to know. I have a feeling she’ll be here a lot.” A lot isn’t enough. Always. I want her here all the fucking time. One step at a time, Conner.

“Are you ready?” “No.” Conner looks at me. “Do what we did last time. Keep your head down, run to the truck, then put on your sunglasses.” “Ugh.” I screw my face up. “This isn’t Hollywood!” “Then cover your eyes like a kid playing hide-and-seek.” “That’s stupid. I’ll just pull my big-girl panties up and run like hell. Can I flip them off?” “Uh, no.” He sets his hand on my back and reaches for the door. “You’re going to touch me? Won’t they get ideas?” He sighs. “You’re insufferable.” “Well, won’t they?” “Better they come after us than Mila.” “Okay, okay, come on, then.” He opens the door and guides me through. As soon as they realize it’s us, the flashes start, and so do the questions. This time, though, they’re directed at both of us. Conner’s fingers twitch at my waist, but he lets me go so I can get in the truck. His door slams as he sits and starts the engine. “Thank you, Aidan, for convincing me to get tinted windows,” he grunts. “Nosy bastards.” As we drive, they surge forward, cameras to eyes, shouting. Security pushes them back and forces them to let us out of the driveway. I try to keep my face neutral. They’re insane, and I know we’ll face the same thing when we get to my house. “There’s security at my place, right?” I look across the truck at Conner. He nods. “Just as much. We’ll just do what we said. Keep Mila at our house tonight, then try and sneak her back through the woods tomorrow.” Yeah. That insane idea. “Great,” I mumble into my hand. Another night alone in the house doesn’t appeal to me. It’s too big, too creaky, too full of memories. I don’t want to be there alone, not for a second. But I don’t have a choice, it seems. “Hey, you don’t have to leave her, y’know?” “Yeah? And where am I going to sleep?” I raise my eyebrows. “Well . . .” I look at him flatly. “In your bed, really?”

“I was goin’ to say Leila’s room.” “Sure. I believe you.” I turn away, ignoring the spark of desire that ignites in my lower stomach. “Geez, a guy thinks with his dick for five seconds and it’s wrong.” “Inappropriate! Not wrong.” “So you’re sayin’ I can think of you naked?” “Like you need my permission!” I snap. “The shorts don’t help,” he admits. “I try not to, but it’s hard.” “Oh, I bet it is.” I fold my arms across my chest as we pull up to my house. Typical male. Typical fucking guy. Blame it on my shorts. Never mind that he shouldn’t have been looking. Never mind that it’s not his ass anymore. I shove the truck door open and the flashes restart. My middle finger is twitching so bad, but I ignore it and storm to the door. I dig my key from my pocket and jam it in the lock, turning it so hard that it’d snap if it were any thinner. Conner follows me, his hands in his pockets, his head hanging. I frown at him, then stalk into the house, leaving him to shut the door. “Well, that worked.” He straightens. “What worked?” “Makin’ you mad. I was wondering how I could get you to storm off in front of me.” I stop and turn to him, openmouthed. “You seriously just pissed me off to fuck with them?” He grins. “You’re an asshole, you really are.” “Did I ever tell you how incredibly hot you are when you’re angry?” “You just upgraded to fucking asshole.” I glare at him and head upstairs. I walk into my room and throw my keys on the dresser. Just when we’re making progress in getting along, he goes and does something completely dumb like that. Has he not heard of that little thing called asking? If he’d asked me to pretend to be mad, I’d be laughing right now, not fuming. I take a deep breath and look around. What am I even doing in my bedroom? I don’t need a thing in here. I spin on the balls of my feet and smack straight into Conner. I look up at him, ready to tell him to get the hell out of my way, but I can’t. I can’t breathe. His eyes are blazing with heat, and it takes him about a second to grab me and flatten me against his body. He crushes his lips to mine, hot and firm and demanding. I push at his chest lamely, because when he kisses me this way, I can’t fight him. I’ve never been able to. I’ve never wanted to. My fingers curl into his shirt and grip the soft material tightly. He flicks his tongue against my lips, then forces his way into my mouth. A quiet noise leaves my mouth, and holy shit, I really do whimper when he kisses me. “Sofie.” He growls my name against me and pushes me back. I fall onto the bed, my chest heaving, and he leans over me. His hands are on either side of my head, and he’s standing between my legs, trapping me completely. He’s not even touching me, but I can’t move. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. I’d be stuck here, paralyzed by the heat of his gaze and the short, sharp breaths he’s taking as he

stares at my tongue, tracing my lips, wetting them. Every muscle in my body coils tighter as a second passes and he does nothing. I’m still holding his shirt, but he’s too strong for me to bring closer. Too steady on his arms for me to make them bend. His jaw tics, and I’m done waiting. “Conner? Kiss me or fuck off.” He snaps his eyes to mine with a ferocity that sends a tremor down my spine. It lasts only a second before he lowers his body on top of mine and takes my mouth in a searing kiss. His fingers dive into my hair and mine circle his neck. Every sweep of his lips is demanding, every flick of his tongue possessive. As he gets hard, I get soft. I’m putty in his hands, and he knows it. His teeth graze my bottom lip and I swallow a small moan, bringing my legs around his waist. He tilts his hips into me, and his hard cock rubs against the seam of my shorts. This time the small moan escapes, and my fingers dig into the back of his neck. I’m throbbing, wet, my clit aching for him. It’s been so long since we were together and I felt this way. Last time didn’t count. Before wasn’t sex—that was a pure, hard fuck. But this feels different. I want this feeling to go away, because it’s so intense it almost hurts. It doesn’t matter that I’m mad at him or that I shouldn’t want this. I want this and I want him. Conner slides his hand up my back and his thumb brushes the underside of my breast. My hips push up and into him, bringing him closer to me. He pulls his hand from my hair and fingers the hem of my shirt, then he pushes it up. A wave of insecurity flows over me. “Stop,” I breathe, and turn my face. “Please stop.” The two feelings war inside me, clashing in my lower stomach. It’s clenched with nerves and with want. I want him, but I don’t want him to see what’s under my shirt. “What’s wrong?” He tries to turn my face to his, but I close my eyes and shake my head. I let go of him and slide up the bed on my back. I spin when he stands and get up on the other side. I run my fingers through my hair and let out a long, agonized breath. I’m still trembling from his touch, still aching for his touch, but I can’t. No one has seen my body since him, and it sure as hell hasn’t been seen since Mila was born. “Sof?” “I don’t want you to see my jiggly bits,” I mutter, walking around the bed and past him. “Your what?” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, and he follows me into Mila’s room. “I don’t want you to see my jiggly bits!” He stops and blinks at me, shock all over his face. Then slowly, he drops his eyes down to my body, dragging them across my figure in a way that makes all my hairs stand on end. “You don’t have any jiggly bits.” “Yes, I do. I have jiggly bits and stretch marks.” I grab some of Mila’s clothes out of Dad’s drawers. “It didn’t bother you when I was carrying you up the damn stairs not so long ago.” “It was dark,” I offer lamely. That, and I was too consumed by him to think about the flub for even a second. “My body’s not perfect, and it’s sure as hell not what you’re used to.” “You think I care about perfect?” He sounds half angry and half confused. “I do,” I say softly. I swallow and grab Mila’s bag. Conner steps up behind me, grasping my hips, and pulls me back. I

can feel his dick, hard, digging into my back, and his breath cascades over my neck. He runs his hands up my sides, following the curve of my waist, and back down. He slides them around to my stomach. I inhale but he doesn’t falter. His hands ease up my stomach, hovering just below my breasts, then fall back down. “You’re right,” he whispers huskily in my ear. “I do care about perfect—but not your idea of perfect. I care about my perfect, and you’re it. You always have been.” His words wash over me smoothly, touching every part of my supposedly perfect body and wrapping it with warmth. I close my eyes and hold on to them, just for a second, letting them warm me inside, too. Then I let them go. “I guess your perfect is kind of fucked up, then,” I mumble, stepping away from him. I go downstairs to the sound of his quiet laughter. I’m allowed to feel this way, I tell myself. Mila isn’t that old, not really, and you don’t get much time to work out when you’re a single parent. Half an hour three times a week to YouTube videos isn’t exactly going to result in a Victoria’s Secret body, even after almost two years. Okay, so I could probably lay off the cake a little. . . . Who am I kidding? I’ll never lay off cake. I gave up my life for Mila, willingly. I’m not giving up the cake, too. That’s just dumb. I throw some diapers in the bag, zip it again, and thrust it into Conner’s arms. When he raises his eyebrow, I shrug a shoulder and say, “A real man would never make a woman carry a bag.” “You’re milkin’ this.” “Perhaps.” He closes his hand over mine on the front door handle. “What would you do if I milked it?” “Depends how.” I turn my face to his until our lips barely brush. “I was thinking you and me,” he says low, the sound vibrating through me. “Me and you, what?” He steps forward until his front is flush against my back and kisses my jaw. “My lips on yours. You gripping my shirt. Whimpering. My hands sliding down your back.” I breathe a little faster at his words. The kiss upstairs is all too raw. My lips are still tingling with the feel of his, and my heart is still skipping beats in anticipation of more. “Don’t be a douche.” I wriggle in his arms, but he holds tight. “That would imply we’re a couple. We’re not.” His fingers twitch over mine. “Is that really what you want, princess?” I swallow. “Yes.” I just also happen to want you to kiss the living shit out of me on a regular basis and possibly get inside my pants, too. Conner steps back, not touching me at all. “Let’s go.” I resist the urge to look over my shoulder at him as I walk outside, ignoring the flashes and the shouts. He locks the door, then throws me my keys over the hood. He grabs his from his pocket, clicking the fob to unlock the truck. I tuck my keys into my pocket and climb in. Jesus, they’re gonna have enough pictures for a freakin’ album if they keep this up. I want to roll down the window at yell at them. What, they want hugging pics? Holding hands? Kissing? Tough shit, cookies. You ain’t getting ’em. Conner revs the engine and does a quick U-turn in the driveway. I grab the side of the door. Crap! My drive is big but not that fucking big.

Clearly I pissed him off. Well, that’s what happens when we let stuff happen that shouldn’t. Both of us know it. It’s not just me. We both know that us kissing whenever we get a moment alone isn’t going to solve anything. Kissing won’t change the fact I went away. Him setting my whole body on fire with just a few touches won’t take away what I took from him. I took more than a little girl. I took memories. I took first words and first steps and first smiles. I took away sleepless nights and dirty diapers and sick hugs. I took away everything every parent loves and hates. I took excitement and worry and anticipation and shock. I took pregnancy and I took birth and I took time. I took what wasn’t mine to take. He won’t ever forgive me. And he doesn’t trust me. I know it. I can see it in his eyes. That’s the problem with knowing someone as well as we know each other. He can’t hide anything. Not the quirk of an eyebrow or the twitch of a lip or the flash of an eye. He can’t hide his emotions, not from me. To him, every flat tone he speaks in is just that, flat. To me, it’s a choir of inflections, all singing a different emotional note. To him, every stare is basic. To me, every look is filled with myriad feelings spinning until they’re at tornado pace and I can’t tell one apart from the other. To him it’s simple. To me it’s complicated. To him it’s nothing. To me it’s everything. Because I know. I know he won’t ever forgive me or trust me, so he won’t ever love me the way he did before. It’s that simple. Love—true, pure love that shakes you to your bones and coils your stomach in fluttery twists, isn’t based on a lack of trust. It’s based on everything. Just everything. And everything is something we can’t ever have again. So true love, pure love, the kind we had before, will never be ours. Our love will always be tainted. And I did that. I took a paintbrush to the purity, and I smeared black all over it. I took the blank canvas and shredded it, toddler-style. No matter how hard you rub at thick, ugly smears, they’ll never go away. There will always be a kind of hideous mark left behind. We might not notice it now. It might take five years, maybe ten, maybe twenty, but eventually we will. Then what? Everything gets thrown away? I’d rather have nothing to throw. I’d rather live without him than know that one day the past will catch up with us and we’ll lose it all.

People say a little of something is better than a lot of nothing. They’re wrong. They’re so fucking wrong it’s unbelievable. A little of Sofie isn’t better than none of her. It’s the worst kind of torture, because a little always leaves you wanting more. A little of her, her lips across mine, her fingers digging into my skin, her legs around my waist, is worse than if she’d shoved me off her and told me she didn’t want me. If I hadn’t had her beneath me earlier, curled around me, making those tiny, happy noises into my mouth, I wouldn’t be burning with the urge to touch her and finish what we started. My fingers wouldn’t be twitching with the intense urge to rip her shirt over her head and see that so-called imperfect stomach. I wouldn’t be dying to run my lips over her breasts and down her body to her hips. I wouldn’t be so fucking desperate to pull those shorts down her legs along with her underwear and tease her until she’s wet and ready for me. I wouldn’t be so fucking turned on at the thought of being inside her and having her cry my goddamn name as she comes around me. I can still hear it, a ghost of the past, an echo of before. My name on her lips, frantic and pleading. I can still feel her gripping my back like a phantom touch as she hovers on the edge of oblivion. I can sure as fucking hell remember as her whole body trembled and clenched and she gave in to something only I could give her. Damn right only I could make her feel that way. I never planned for it to be any other way. She was never supposed to be able to let anyone else touch her the way I did. She was always supposed to be for me, just for me, completely mine. Our first time was just that. Our fucking first time. Both of us. It was awkward and we laughed and we cried and we teased each other for days after. But none of it mattered because it was something we shared, just for us. It was our moment, the very moment I knew I’d never want anyone else but her. I’d waited for her for a reason. I’d played with other girls before, and they’d played back. I wasn’t completely innocent, but neither was she. Both of us knew what we were doing until it came to the end, until it came to our bodies becoming one. Goddammit they did, eventually. In an explosion of heat and pleasure that shook me to my core. I’ve had girls since, but none of them were her. With Sofie it was always about her, making sure she had what she needed, ensuring she cried my name before my lips even whispered hers. With the others, it was about me finding the release, because I never gave a shit about them. You can’t give a shit about someone when your heart is living in another chest.

And ain’t that the damn truth. When she left she took more than my daughter. She took my heart and a good fucking chunk of my soul. She tore me to pieces, shredding me until all I had was the music. I could do nothing but throw myself into the music, and I feel that way now. I feel like I need to grab my guitar and disappear onto the beach until the only connection I have to her is the song I’m writing. They’re all for her. Always. I wonder if she even knows that every note I’ve written, every song I’ve sung, they’ve always been hers. Every heartbroken word, every drawl that sets hearts pounding around the country, every hidden plea, were hers. Are hers. Nothing will change that. You can’t write music unless you have something to sing for. I always hoped she’d hear the music and think of me. It was what kept me going, at first. Fame was on the horizon. One song and we’d make it. A couple thousand more sales and we’d make the Billboard charts. I wanted her to look at that success and realize what she’d lost. I wanted her to look at that success and realize what could have been. Being young isn’t even an excuse for feeling that way. I still feel like it. I still want her to look at the Billboards and the Teen Choice Awards and all the other fucking things we have and know what she gave up. I want her to realize what she should have had, because I’m still the guy that fell in love with her back then. Mostly, though, mostly I want her to look at me and see what she gave up. I slam the truck door shut and walk into my house, leaving her trailing behind me. Doesn’t want to be with me, my fucking left ball. How does she kiss me that desperate way and not want me? And the worst thing is, I still shouldn’t want her. Not even for a fucking second. I walk into the front room and Kye looks up at me. “You’re trending on Twitter.” “What?” “You’re trending on Twitter. Your divas”—he shoots an amused look toward Sofie—“are just about giving birth themselves with the confirmation of Mila.” “Worldwide?” I ask, stepping forward to grab the tablet off him. “Yeah, ya cocky bastard. Worldwide.” I nod slowly. “I’ll take it.” I hand the tablet back to him and turn back to Sofie. Her eyebrows are raised so high they’re practically in her hairline, and her lips are parted in disbelief. “What?” I ask. “Our daughter’s identity is out for the whole world to discover and you think trending on Twitter is cool?” She shrugs off the light sweater she put on before she left her house. “Screw you, dickhead.” She turns and storms out of the back door. It slams behind her. I drop back on the sofa, Mila’s bag bouncing against the cushion next to me, and groan. Kye looks across at me, a pained look in his eyes. “Ouch.” “Fucking ouch,” I correct him, covering my eyes with my hands. So close. We were so fucking close to being us again, and I fucked it up. Every way. Always me. Ironic how she made one big fuckup and I condemned her for it, now I’m the one that can’t stop making them. And each time I’m more of an asshole. It’s like I’m trying to outdo myself or something. “I never thought I’d say it, but you two argue more than before.” “Yeah, shame it doesn’t end the way it used to. I’d be one satisfied asshole if it did.” I run my fingers through my hair. “What the fuck have I gotta do?” “To stop her being mad at you? Ever realized this whole situation is kinda backward?”

“No shit.” I look at my brother. “She’s the one who kept Mila a secret, but I’m the one working out how I can make my mistakes up to her.” “That’s because she righted hers.” Leila strolls into the room and puts her hands on her hips. “She did what she could to fix it. You just sit there waiting for some divine intervention or somethin’ to fix yours.” “Isn’t that how it happens? An epiphany from a break in the clouds as I stand on the beach?” Kye coughs to hide his laughter. “And this is why she’s mad at you.” Leila raises her eyebrows. “Honestly, for a guy that pens some of the best love songs on the radio, you’re like a bull in a china shop tryna navigate real-life romance.” “All right then, you tell me what I gotta do if you’re so damn smart.” “Something big. Something that will make her kiss you instead of the other way around. Something that will make her realize you’re really thinking about her.” I frown, staring at her. Like fucking what? “I’m sure you think that’s helpin’, but it ain’t.” My sister sighs heavily. “Something just for her, Conner. Do something for her. Give her something.” “Orgasms count as something,” Kye adds. “No, they don’t. Shut up,” Lei snaps. “You two are like a couple teen boys workin’ out how to get laid. You really are. I’m not standing here trying to sort out your shit if you’re gonna be a douche about it, Con.” She turns on her heel and stalks out of the room. I stare after her. What the hell did I do now? I lean my head on the back of the sofa and stare at the ceiling. Something big, just for her. Something she wouldn’t do for herself, maybe? Something she can’t do? Something she wants to but doesn’t have time to? Fucking hell. Leila’s right. For a guy who writes love songs, I can’t do romance for shit. Unless . . . “Kye! Where’s the laptop?” “Here.” He grabs it from the table and hands it to me. “What are you doin’?” I start it up and bring up the browser. You can find anythin’ on the Internet, right? “She hasn’t decorated since she moved back,” I say slowly. “So?” “So she told me she’s stayin’. Mila’s in her dad’s old room and she’s in hers.” “And Sofie doesn’t have the time or money to redecorate.” “Exactly.”

Through dinner, we sit on opposite sides of Mila. We don’t speak a word. We barely even glance at each other. We’re strangers who know each other in the most intimate way. My foot taps with annoyance under the table. Dammit, we shouldn’t have decided to hide out here. We should have stayed at her house. At least then I’d be able to apologize for being a self-centered prick without an audience. As it is, I can’t, so I don’t. We keep our awkward silence going as she and Leila help Mom clear the table. We keep it going as I put Mila in the bath and Sof washes her hair. We still don’t speak when we put her to sleep in the travel crib in my bedroom.

And we don’t say a word as I go down to the beach with my notepad tucked beneath my arm and a pen behind my ear. I drop onto the still-hot sand. The grains scatter as I slam the pad down in front of me and flip to the lyrics I’ve been working on. The words are burned into my brain. I’ve tried for days now to make them work, to get them to fit the melody, but a few are off. The timing is wrong and the tone isn’t fitting, but I can’t figure it out. No matter how long I stare at the words and scratch them out to replace them, it doesn’t work. There’s still one word too many here, one beat too few there. Still one person missing. This, right now, is when I miss her most. When I’m sitting on the beach, staring at a notepad, my mind completely blocked. When the sea breeze is gently surrounding me and the water is lapping at the sad. When I’m wishing I knew what to say. I’ve always been too close to the music. It’s always been my downfall, but it’s also been the best thing about me. If I’m close to the music I can feel it, really feel it, right down to my bones. If I can feel it I can sing it, and if I can sing it I can make millions of teenage girls believe it’s about them. And that’s what sells music. It’s also time-consuming. I’ve spent too many late nights hunched in front of a piece of paper trying to work the words out, and that’s why I agreed to lay off writing the songs for the band. Why now, on an album, only three or four are mine. That’s why there’s sheet upon sheet of scribbled words that make no sense in a box under my bed. Sofie always fixed it. She was never attached to the words the way I am, so she could look at them objectively. And, fuck, I wish she could look at this now. I wish I could shove the paper in her face and tell her to sort out my shit. I wish she’d snatch it and laugh before stealing my pen to fix it. I wish it was the way it used to be so fucking bad, because back then it was easy. We were easy. I tap the end of the pen against the paper, staring out at the water. To say Shelton Bay is home is right and wrong. Right because it is, and wrong because it couldn’t feel any further from the truth right now. It doesn’t feel like home. It feels like I’m in hell, a place I’m trapped in, left to burn because of the past. I dig my phone from my pocket and open the message from Kye. It’s a link, nothing but a link, and I click it. It takes me direct to a furniture store where they sell both adult and kids’ stuff. There’s Peppa Pig for Mila, and there’s everything Sofie would love. I stare at the site, my thumb hovering over the screen. I browse the Peppa things. I can buy for Mila without buying for Sofie because she’s my daughter. I owe her a world of things I don’t owe Sofie. Owing means nothing. You can give nothing while owing everything, and you can give everything while owing nothing. I’m in the middle. I owe a lot and nothing at all, all at the same time. Fuck. I know I shouldn’t want to make Sofie smile. I know I should want to see her hurt. But love is stronger than hate, and if I have to choose, I’ll pick making her smile over making her cry. Every time. Truth is, none of my brothers understand. Leila doesn’t really either. I know they don’t understand how I feel, because most of the time even I don’t understand. Most of the time, Sofie is a blur of memories and emotion, even when I’m staring into her eyes. That’s the worst part—looking into her eyes. Her eyes are a path to her heart, and she’s unable to

hide the slightest flicker of emotion. When she’s angry there’s sadness and when she’s sad there’s anger. There’s no one straight look from her. It’s always a clusterfuck of everything I wish I didn’t have to see. Maybe that’s why I’m so desperate to stop her from being mad. Maybe it’s not for her at all. Maybe it’s because I’m too fucking selfish to see her hurt. But it isn’t about me. It’s about Sofie and Mila. Because of Mila, a part of Sofie will always belong to me. It doesn’t matter whether that part lives inside our daughter or not. A part of her will always be mine, and it’ll always be living inside me, because no matter what she says, she’s mine. She can fight it. She can deny it. She can scream at me. She can walk away from me. It won’t change that Sofie Callahan is irrevocably fucking mine.

“Eight hours without talkin’. Did I say I’m impressed?” “You should be more impressed that it’s been eight hours after an argument and he hasn’t cornered me and kissed me yet,” I mutter in response. Leila raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want to know.” She jumps on her bed and bounces a couple of times before settling. “I feel like I’m thirteen again and we’re having a slumber party.” “Yeah, except I’m not painting those smelly toes of yours, and we’re definitely not having a pillow fight.” She pouts. “Oh, come on. The pillow fights were the best!” “We always lost!” I flop back on the bed with a sigh. “The boys always hijacked them. Four hormonal, always-at-the-gym boys against two tiny teenage girls? We were doomed!” “Yeah, but they were fun.” She grins. “Do you remember that time we hijacked their band practice?” “And broke Kye’s guitar?” A laugh bubbles up inside me. “Oh my God. Has he even forgiven us for that?” Leila shakes her head. “He took money out of my allowance for six months to fund his new one. I swear he tries to take the change out of my pig even now.” I present to the world the only twenty-one-year-old I know who keeps change in a piggy bank. “So don’t keep it there. Put, like, a booby trap on it or somethin’.” “A booby trap? Aren’t you supposed to be all grown up and something now, Mom?” I shrug. “Only when Mila’s around. I can totally be a mini-asshole when she’s not. Even more so when it concerns one of your brothers.” “I thought Kye was your favorite. After Conner, obviously.” I bend my neck up and snap the hair tie on my wrist. “Kye is my favorite. Right now, over Conner.” I twist my hair on top of my head. “Of course, right now, I even like Tate more than Conner, and that’s saying something.” “Holy shit.” Her eyes widen. “No way.” “Yes way.” “Mind you, I’d be mega-pissed if I were you. That trending thing was so immature I wanted to, well, really hurt him.” Leila leans against her headboard. “I know, I know, they make me violent. Thank fuck they’re in LA recording more often than they’re home nowadays.” I feel my face drop a little. “Shit. I didn’t mean. . . . Well, shit.” “No, I get it, Lei.” I roll onto my side and prop my head up on my elbow. “That’s where they

work, y’know? That’s part of the reason I left. How could I subject Mila to a dad she’d only know for a handful of weeks out of a year? She wouldn’t know him when he came back. At least now she’s old enough to get it, sort of, no matter how hard it’ll be when they go again.” “They’ll come back after the tour for a couple weeks,” she says soothingly. “They’ll be back for Christmas, too. But we’ll still be here, you know? Me and Nana and Poh. You won’t be alone anymore.” I smile sadly. “I know, but you guys aren’t him.” To either of us. “Okay.” She holds her hands out. “There aren’t many people I’d get a sex change for, so don’t be takin’ this one lightly. . . .” I burst out laughing. “You’re such an idiot.” She giggles. “Someone has to be, y’know? The atmosphere in this house is so heavy I think I’ve put on five pounds in the last week.” “Oh, yes, I can see it. All that extra pudge around your tummy.” I roll my eyes. “Although if you wanted an extra five, my stomach and thighs would gladly share.” “Whatever. You look amazing for having a baby.” “You have to say that. You’re my best friend.” Her eyes shoot to mine. Her lips twitch, slowly, then she lets them tug up on one side. “Yeah, well, be careful how you use that line. Being your best friend also entitles me to tell you when you look like a fat bitch.” “I’ll suck my tummy in,” I say, laughing. “Seriously, though. It’ll be hard for Mila when Conner goes. She’ll lose a part of her, y’know? She adores him so much. She did before she even met him.” Leila’s smile drops. “But she can watch him on TV, right, like she did before? And he can call and Skype and stuff. It’s not like she won’t ever see him again. He’ll probably fly y’all out there.” “So I can experience the epic fangirling that happens whenever he walks down the street?” I snort. “No thanks. He can make the round-trip.” Leila’s silent for a moment, a long moment that’s almost suffocating. Then she says, “That’s part of why you left, isn’t it?” “I dunno what you mean.” I pick at her bedspread. “You thought he wouldn’t want you anymore when he had a whole bunch of groupies throwing themselves at his feet and flashing their tits.” “Shut up.” I sit up and hug one leg to me. “Maybe. A little.” “A lot!” “Shut up!” I repeat. “I just . . . It doesn’t matter, okay? What I did then and why I did it doesn’t matter now.” “It does, because two and a half years later, he’s still totally fucking in love with you.” “He says he is. But I don’t know. He pulls some real asshole moves sometimes, and he’s kind of a prick to me for the rest of it. How do you love someone you treat badly?” Leila looks at me, her eyes conveying how very hypocritical that statement is. “I dunno, Sof. How do you?” she finally says, cutting through our silence. “You love them with every last selfish bit of you. You love them because you want to and not because they deserve it.” I hug my leg tight. “That’s how. I don’t want to love him, but I do, and that’s why I can’t fucking stop it.” “Why don’t you two, I dunno, just jump into bed together or something? Because, yowwww!” She shakes her head. “Someone approaches you two when you’re together and they zing back off that wall of sexual tension.”

Because we already got into bed once. I raise an eyebrow. “There is no sexual tension.” Liar, liar. “There’s a lot of anger, but no sexual tension.” If you don’t count that god-awful need to have his skin naked against mine and his hands teasing my breasts and his cock inside me. Yep. No sexual tension whatsoever. “Whatever. Just sort your shit out. Either talk or don’t. And it ain’t even just for Mila. For you, too, Sof. Because both of you deserve more than this back-and-forth shit.” “We can’t talk, Lei. We’ve tried. It just doesn’t work, but neither does not talking. I wish I wasn’t so drawn to him. I wish I didn’t give a shit what he does when we aren’t together but I do. And I wish it didn’t matter about the horde of girls waiting for him in LA.” “Talkin’ about Tate? He’d be flattered.” Conner pushes Leila’s door open. My cheeks burn. Shit. How much of that did he hear? “In his dreams,” Leila retorts. “What do you want, jackass?” “Love you, too, sis,” he replies. His eyes find mine. “I wanted to tell you that you can take my bed tonight. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” I swallow. Sleep in his bed? “I’m okay in here with Leila. I’ll hear Mila if she wakes.” “I don’t care about getting up with her if she does. I care about you getting a good night’s sleep, and this one snores like a fuckin’ pig with the flu.” He cocks his thumb back toward Leila. She flips him the bird. “Really, I’m okay,” I tell him. “I’ll just punch her in the face if she wakes me up.” She kicks me. I slap her foot. “No, you’re takin’ my bed and I’m takin’ the sofa.” “Stop being a gentleman. It doesn’t suit you.” “Stop being so fuckin’ difficult, Sof!” He glares at me. “I’m offering you my bed, now fucking take it!” “You know, you could try asking. I might not be so ‘difficult’ then.” I clench my jaw. He does the same, except his tics sexily. “Sofie, would you like my bed tonight? I’m happy to take the sofa.” “Holy shit, he has manners,” I tell Leila. “Only when prompted,” she replies. “You two are impossible together.” Conner snaps the words out. I roll my eyes. “Fine. I can see you’re not taking no for an answer. I’ll take your bed.” “Thank you.” He turns and shuts the door behind him at my words. “What the hell was that?” Leila asks. I turn my face to hers slowly. “I don’t know. You tell me. He’s your brother.” “If I knew I wouldn’t have asked you. Do you think he heard us?” “I dunno. Maybe? I really don’t know.” I scratch the side of my head. “I’m going to go to bed before he comes up and yells at me.” I climb off her bed and wave lamely over my shoulder. She laughs at me as I leave and shut her bedroom door behind me. I take my phone from my bra and unlock it, using my screen to guide me through his pitch-black bedroom. I find his bed and slip beneath the covers. I know which side he sleeps on because the pillow is dented, and I know instantly he was lying here before he came to get me. I curl my fingers around the top of the duvet and tug it up my body. It settles beneath my chin and I

bend my knees up until I’m in the fetal position. I feel tiny in this huge bed, and it’s cold. Freezing cold. It doesn’t matter if the sheet beneath me is warm from his body. It doesn’t matter if I can work out exactly how he was lying by moving my legs a little. His bed hasn’t changed. It’s the same as before. I haven’t slept here without him. Ever. He’s always been the body next to me for me to curl into. Right now, though, all I have is the duvet. Being in his bed feels wrong. It almost feels like an infringement of his privacy. How can I sleep here without him? He’s imprinted into the sheets. His scent still lingers on the pillow my head rests on. I close my eyes. Sleep. I have to try. But my brain is buzzing with him, with me, with memories. I remember how he’d climb into bed next to me and pull me against him. I remember how his legs would bend just perfectly to fit behind mine. How his arms would curl around me. How he’d never care about me waking up. How one time he ran his hands all over me, kissing me, tugging my shorts down, and eventually sliding inside me. How his lips never left mine as he made love to me in the sweetest, deepest way. How his mouth swallowed my cries as I came all around him, clenching, tightening. How he kissed me hard after, curling me into his chest. How he held on to me like there was nothing else he had to anchor him to this world but me. It still feels that way. Every time he’s kissed me since I got back has been a desperate, painful, sweet, aching, forceful explosion of need. Every kiss has been his emotion in a nutshell, and I’ve held on to every one. I still am. I can feel them, swirling in my hand as I clench my fingers around his duvet. I can’t let go. No matter how many times I tell him I want to, I can’t. I throw the covers back and swing my legs out of the bed. I pause when the floorboards creak beneath my toes, but Mila doesn’t stir. Yet again I use my phone light to guide me from his room on tiptoes. I ease the door open and glance back at Mila. It hasn’t bothered her, so I close it slowly. Aside from the tiny click when it shuts, it doesn’t make a sound. I tiptoe downstairs. I know it’s close to midnight, and the darkness of the house would indicate everyone in the house is probably close to sleep. Tate and Aidan are probably out looking for temporary beds for the night. The gentle sound of guitar strings being plucked fills the air downstairs. Like it has a magnetic pull, I’m drawn to it, and my feet guide me to the garage. I rest my fingertips against the door and breathe quietly, just listening. The slow, low strum of the notes vibrates across my skin. Then he sings. And his voice, like a deep lullaby, like the salve to a sting or the kiss to a wound, carries through the door. Every one of my hairs stands on end. I find myself leaning fully against the door, and I’m losing myself in his voice. His lyrics are the balm to my soul, and I close my eyes so I can feel it properly. It’s not about hearing him sing. It’s about feeling him. I know the song. It’s our song. It was an acoustic melody on the beach before it was an LArecorded hit. It was his heart and my soul before it was America’s latest teenage jam.

It was something. It is something. And I listen. As he tells me his heart beats for me the way I breathe for him, I listen. As he sings to me how his skin vibrates at my touch, I listen to him describe how mine buzzes for him. And I’m nineteen. All over again, I’m a teenage girl, falling hopelessly in love with a guy with a guitar. I’m just a girl, falling innocently in love with someone who’s just a boy. I close my eyes and fall away with the melody. He’d hum it so often. Finally I let myself remember. I let myself recollect how he’d hum random parts whenever our hug would last a minute too long. I let myself feel how he’d sing my name without saying it, and how every syllable of his unspoken words would cascade through me like a never-ending love song. But the melody changes and I don’t know it anymore. It’s new, and the words are raw, untouched by me, and my heart aches. Seasons pass and feelings change, but don’t you know we’re still the same, I still want you the way I did before, I still want you the way you wanted me, I deny it ’cause it hurts, I fight it ’cause it burns, But I want everythin’ you have to give . . . Give to me . . . ’Cause forever ain’t the same, without your touch . . . It’s a surplus gain, an endless pain . . . I push the door open. “It’s a forbidden gain,” I say softly. “ ‘Surplus’ is too fancy. ‘Forbidden’ works better.” Conner stops playing and looks back at me. I walk into the garage, letting the door close behind me, and take his notebook in my hands. “ ‘Forever’s just a dream, something to imagine . . . Don’t deny me ’cause it hurts, don’t fight it ’cause it burns, you know you want me . . .’ ” I swallow, saying the words the way he’d sing them. “ ‘I’ll give you everythin’, all I got to give, if you give to me . . .’ ” I pause, running my eyes over the words. Apart from the correction I already made, there’s nothing wrong with these words. He’s always thought it was easy for me to tear his words apart, but he couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s hard. Like tearing a part of his soul just to mend it again. “Well?” I shrug heavily. “That’s it. Just that one word.” Aidan’s drum kit is in the corner, and I walk to it. I sit on the stool and twirl the drumsticks between my fingers. Slowly, I knock them against the drums. Conner’s eyes are on me. I look up, a smirk playing with my lips. “I’m good, no?” I spin the right drumstick and drop it. “Shit. Aidan never got past teaching me to drum roll.” I shrug and perform said drum roll. The low drum vibrates through the garage and I celebrate with a ba-dum-tish. Yeah, I still got it, baby. I still got it. Conner fights his smile as he looks at me. “All right, princess. What beats are you putting with the lyrics?” I hold the drumsticks up. “I can only do a ba-dum-tish. I’ve heard better beats driving over potholes.”

He laughs. “Okay, okay. A forbidden gain, right?” “Right.” I set the sticks down. Conner looks at me, his lips twitching, then gives his attention back to his notepad. His lips move silently, forming the words on the paper. His head nods along with the beat, and I slowly walk to the door. He looks peaceful despite the torment in his eyes. As he mutters the lyrics silently, I watch a little of his stress leave him. “Conner?” “What?” I run my tongue across my lips. “Come to bed.” “It’ll be there in the morning.” He turns back to the paper, dismissing me. I storm across the garage to him and snatch the notepad. I throw it against the wall behind me and it hits it with a loud thud before falling to the ground. Pages are bent and maybe a little ripped, but I don’t care. “What the fuck, Sof?” I reach forward and grab the pen. “I’m not letting you sleep on the sofa.” He tugs back, not letting it go. “I said I’m fine. I’m working, anyway.” “Goddammit, Conner! I’m tellin’ you to come to bed, so do it!” I yank hard. He stumbles and stands, still gripping the pen like it’s holding him steady. Then he’s there, in front of me, right in front of me, a breath away, a touch too close. He inhales slowly and looks down at me. I should move, let go of the pen, but I can’t, so I don’t. I stand, my eyes finding his, my heart pounding inside my chest. I swallow. Neither of us moves. We just stare. Tension zings. Silence screams. Fingers twitch. Jaws clench. Lips part. His eyes bore into mine so harshly and so intimately I can feel his gaze everywhere. It doesn’t matter if he’s not looking anywhere but my eyes. It doesn’t matter that the rest of me is untouched by those indigo eyes. I feel this gaze crawling over my skin. I feel it tickling my hairs until they stand on end and teasing my flesh until it pebbles into a million tiny goose bumps. I feel it tightening my chest and warming me through my veins. But my heart feels it most. It feels the sear of it until it stops beating completely, then thumps almost. Blood rushes through my body until the pulse is screaming in my ears and I’m hot everywhere. If it wasn’t held in by my ribs, it would break free. “Fine.” Conner says the word softly, slicing through the silence. He steps back, lets go of the pen, and turns. Just like that, everything stops. The pounding and the warmth, it ends. In a second, I go from feeling more vibrant and alive than I ever have to a state of mere existence. I watch him go through the door. The stairs creak as he goes up them, each broken sound a torture device created especially for me. I throw the pen, too. I hear it as the plastic cracks, and I feel oddly happy. Good. Something else hurts like I do. I close the door behind me more quietly than I’d like and walk upstairs. I squeeze into his bedroom through a tiny space in the doorway and push it shut slowly behind me. Mila’s sleeping peacefully, and a tiny snore leaves her when I step on a creaky floorboard. I try not to look as Conner pulls his shirt over his head, but I do. I glance at his tattoo, curving over

the back of his shoulder and across his shoulder blade. I trace the line of his spine, a perfect line down the center of his back, surrounded by well-toned muscle. I never knew a back could be so hot. I force my gaze away and climb into his bed. This time I lie on the edge, holding the top of the covers beneath my chin. I squeeze my eyes shut and pull my legs up. The mattress dips as he climbs in beside me. “I won’t jump you in the middle of the night,” he tells me in a whispered grunt. “I know,” I whisper back, my voice barely breaking through the darkness. “I sleep like this.” He snorts, then a quiet slap rings out as he covers his mouth. “Yeah, sure, princess. The queen of starfishing sleeps in the fetal position. Try again.” “Things change.” “Yeah, but I bet your sleepin’ habits ain’t one of them.” “Maybe they are.” “Shut up before I spoon you.” A shiver snakes its way down my spine. Because that’s such a threat. Being spooned by Conner Burke is obviously my worst nightmare. I shuffle back into the middle of my side of the bed and tuck the quilt tightly around me. He sighs but doesn’t say anything about it. “Night, Sofie.” “Night, Conner.”

Sofie’s blonde hair is spread across my pillow, and her breath is fanning across my shoulder. She’s tight in my arms, her fingers splayed against my chest, the blue of her nails a perfect match to her eyes. She’s also drooling a little on my arm, but she still looks fucking adorable. It takes someone pretty damn special to look adorable while they sleep-drool on you. I push some hair back from her face and settle my arm over her. For the first time since she got back, she looks like the girl I fell in love with. Her makeup is smudged under her eyes. Her hair looks like she’s styled it with a rosebush, but she’s still Sofie. She’s still painfully beautiful. I know I should let her go. It should be easy to slip my arm from beneath her neck, unhook it from her stomach, and roll over. As it is, it’s hard because this is what my heart wants. It wants me to keep her here against me because it’s where she belongs. Sofie Callahan belongs tucked in my arms, where I can keep her safe and love her until the laughter of our forever shows in lines around her eyes. She stirs slightly, rubbing her nose, then puts her hand back where it was. Slowly, her fingers twitch, and she slides it up my chest to my neck. Her fingers trace along the side of my neck and onto my jaw. I don’t move. I know she’s awake, and moving now isn’t going to get me out of it. It’ll only be me pretending that at some point in the night we both rolled over and ended up tangled in each other. And I’m sick to fucking death of pretending. Sofie trails her thumb down my jaw and stops when it’s square on my chin. She opens her eyes. They’re sleepy but blue, so blue I could drown in them if I’d let myself. And I want to. Fuck, I want to. “Um,” she whispers, swallowing. “Morning,” I whisper back, aware of Mila still sleeping in the crib next to us. “Morning?” Her response is a question rather than a greeting, and my lips twitch. “Yeah, morning.” “Okay.” She looks down at the quilt, seeing but not seeing the way our legs are looped together. “And this, um? Did you do . . . this?” “Hug you in your sleep?” I raise my eyebrows. “No, princess, I was just as surprised as you when I woke up.” “When did you wake up?” She tries to stretch to look for a clock.

I stop her. There isn’t one. “Like ten minutes ago.” “And you just lay here? Hugging me?” “Holding you,” I correct her. “Holding you and watching you.” “I’m sure watching me sleep was incredibly entertaining.” “It was one of the better things I’ve seen.” A soft flush rises in her cheeks. “Shut up.” She makes to move away but I hold her tightly, dragging her on top of me. “What are you doin’?” she whispers incredulously. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks still flushed, and her lips are parted in shock. I want to take them. I want to cover her mouth with mine and taste her. I want her to linger on my lips all day. I slide my hand up her back to the nape of her neck and pull her down to me. Her lips touch mine softly. I hold her there, perfectly still. I revel in the feel of her body flat on top of mine and . . . her hands inching closer to my head. Sofie pushes down, kissing me harder, diving her fingers into my hair. She grips tightly, and the way she parts her legs so she straddles me makes me want to flip her on her back. Instead, I drop my hands to the hem of her shirt and creep my fingertips beneath it. Her skin is soft and hot beneath my fingertips as I work my hands up her back. She pushes herself into me, and I bend my knees. Our hips meet. My rapidly hardening cock pushes against her pussy and she inhales sharply through her nose. But she still pushes down, the thin material of both my boxers and her shorts no match for the pressure of our connection. I tense my upper body and push up, bringing both of us to sitting. She nestles against me with her knees on either side of my hips. I can feel her now, every part of her, wanting me. The same way I fucking want her. Desperately. I cup her ass with my hands and pull her even harder. She whimpers quietly in a tiny moan that spreads through my body, igniting my desire like a fucking wildfire. “Bunna. Bunna. Bunna.” Sofie gasps. “Oh shit.” “Mama! Bad!” There’s a scramble, and I turn my head to the side. Mila stares at us. “Mama, Dadda, cuddle!” Sure. My dick is rock hard against Sofie’s pussy, but yeah. It’s a cuddle. “Yeah, baby,” Sofie breathes, not moving. “Mama and Daddy are having a cuddle.” “My cuddle! My tooooo!” Mila extends her arms and flaps them. Oh fuck. “Not good,” I hiss to Sofie as she moves. She fights a smile by pursing her lips. It doesn’t quite hide the laughter that is glinting in her eyes. I tug the quilt up around my waist until my hip area is sufficiently padded, though it’s barely necessary, as my cock has deflated quicker than a popped balloon. Sofie hands me Mila, who sits herself on my lap, her legs outstretched. “Mama. Cuddle!” Mila wraps an arm around my neck and reaches for Sofie. She looks at me hesitantly, and I shrug. She’s the one who let Mila out. Not me. She can facilitate this awkward and slightly painful morning hug. Sofie sits next to me and hooks an arm around Mila’s waist. “Good cuddle?”

Mila squeezes our necks. “Mama, Dadda hug My.” I meet Sofie’s eyes and raise my eyebrows. “She wants us to cuddle like we were before.” Yeah, no. I don’t fucking think so. “Okay, okay.” I wrap one arm around Mila’s tiny waist and the other around Sofie’s. I tug Sof forward, and she stumbles, shrieking quietly. I laugh and slide my hand down to her ass once more. I force her toward me until Mila’s practically squashed between us and hug her tightly. A sense of rightness overcomes me. This. This is how it’s supposed to be. Both of them, both of my girls, wrapped in my arms first thing in the morning. Except they should be there last thing at night and every damn minute in between, too. I want to hold them, breathe them in, be everything they need me to be. I want to be the guy that turns up with flowers for the woman and a toy for the baby just because. I want to be the guy that changes lightbulbs and puts up shelves. I want to hammer nails into the walls for pictures and build bookcases. I want to read Mila bedtime stories and carry shitty diapers to the trash can at arm’s length. I want to hand Sofie a coffee and tell her to lift her legs while I’m pushing the vacuum beneath her feet. I want my girls to stay this way. Mine. Always mine. And it’s not about being just a dad anymore. It’s about being the kind of dad Mila deserves, someone who’s there all the time, ready for anything, ready to tackle whatever nightmares plague her or whatever bug is crawling up her leg. It’s about being the kind of guy who’s always there, no matter what. And that goes for Sofie, too. That means putting aside the anger at her deception and reaching for what’s so fucking obviously still there. “Mama? Kiss.” Mila smacks her lips against Sofie’s then turns to me. “Dadda kiss, too.” I pout and she touches her tiny mouth to me with a giggle. “Mama Dadda kiss!” She pushes our faces together. Sofie’s eyes widen. “Ah, Mila, I don’t—” I silence her by giving her the kiss Mila wants. Cupping the back of her neck, I hold her to me for a few seconds, then release her with a loud smack. Mila giggles again, her legs kicking happily. Sofie stares at me in shock, her eyes yelling at me. “Mila? Is my Mila awake?” Dad calls from the hallway. “Poh!” Mila shouts, letting us go and clambering down the bed. The door opens and Sofie turns her head. Dad looks at us shiftily, like he’s not sure if he should be or not, and I wave the quilt. “Mila wanted a cuddle,” I explain. Half-explain, anyway. “Oh. Sure.” He bends down and scoops her up. “You want breakfast?” Mila nods. “Cookies?” “Sure, but don’t tell Mama or Nana, okay?” He winks at Sofie. She points a finger angrily. “Don’t you dare give her cookies for breakfast!” Dad grins like a mischievous schoolboy and runs away with Mila. The door slams in his wake and

Sofie’s mouth drops open. She turns back to me. “He wouldn’t . . .” I remember the times he snuck us boys cookies before Mom got to the kitchen to make us breakfast, and nod. “Oh, he has and he would and he will.” “Dammit!” She clambers off me. My arms dart out and I catch her around the waist. I slam her back against the bed. “Conner!” I lean over her and grin, a grin I’m sure much resembles my father’s. “Let her have the cookies. It won’t hurt her, Sof, and he’ll just do it next time she stays without you.” “It’s cookies! Cookies aren’t breakfast!” “Neither are kisses,” I murmur, leaning down, unable to resist that angry pout of hers. “But I’m pretty fuckin’ sure I could live off yours.” She mumbles my name into my mouth, more in indignation than pleasure, I’m sure, but I don’t release her until my lips have swept across hers at least ten times. I commit every curve, every pout, and every taste of her mouth to memory. Just in case, in some crazy fucking situation, I should forget what it feels like. “I thought we weren’t talking,” Sofie huffs, sliding out from under me when I finally let her go. I lie back on the bed and put my hands behind my head. “Kissin’ ain’t talkin’.” “Oh, shut up.” She huffs again and grabs some denim shorts from her bag by the door. I watch her as she hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her bed shorts and then pauses. She glances over her shoulder at me. I stare at her, unashamed. I’ve seen it all before, and I sure as hell want to see it all again. “Do you mind?” I drag my gaze from her ass to her eyes. “Not at all. Go ahead, princess.” She narrows her eyes. “Shut your eyes, jackass.” “Not happenin’, although there’s a bathroom across the hall if you wanna risk my brothers seeing you in those tiny shorts, which, by the way, don’t cover your butt as well as you think they do.” She instantly looks down, then her eyes shoot in the direction of the door. She knows as well as I do that everyone in the house—except Leila—will be up. “For Pete’s sake . . .” she mutters, grabbing her shirt and a pair of panties. She goes to the other side of Mila’s crib and sits on the floor. I can see her fuzzily through the mesh sides as she pulls her shirt over her head and shrugs a clean one on. “You know,” she grunts, obviously taking her shorts off, “the polite thing would be for you to leave the room.” “Really? I think the polite thing would be for you to stand up.” She freezes, her hands by her knees. “I’m not sure how many more times I can call you an asshole before it’s overkill.” I laugh, but it dies in my throat when her hands hover around her feet, and white is replaced by black. Even through the mesh I can see lace. I swallow hard, my cock standing to attention. “Don’t mind me,” she says cheerily, using Mila’s crib to help her stand. She’s half-bent, her ass facing me. Black lace panties hug the curve of it, and she bounces. She tugs her clean shorts up and over her behind. I’m half relieved and half pissed off. And entirely fucking turned on.

Sofie turns to button them, then flounces toward the door. Her legs stretch out from beneath the frayed denim, long and toned and tanned, and I’m stuck on them. Completely fucking stuck on them. They’re what she’s been wrapping around me? Fuck. “I smell bacon and pancakes,” she announces before walking through the door like she doesn’t have a care in the world. She doesn’t. She doesn’t have a cock. For the love of fucking God, this erection is a killer. I grunt my annoyance to the silence of my bedroom and snatch a towel from my radiator. I yank my door open and walk into the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, I lose the boxers and step into the shower. I let the water pound down on me and close my eyes. Sofie fills my mind like her image is burned into the back of my eyelids. I can see the curve of her ass, the way her dark lace briefs stand out against her pale flesh. I can see the way she bends, except this time it’s different. In my mind her legs are slightly apart and I can see her pussy through the lace. My fingers close around my dick. It’s not a fucking memory, it really happened. She really did open her legs deliberately. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to punish me, but for what, I don’t know. I’m picturing her soft, pink flesh, undoubtedly wet after the way she kissed me and rubbed against me. Inside the lace, it’s swollen and ready and soft. And in my mind I pull her back and onto me, my hands reaching forward to cup her breasts as I move inside her. My whole body clenches. I pump my fist harder and my balls tighten as my release nears. Fuck. The thought of being inside her is too fucking much, and I let go. I come hard. My body trembles in the aftermath, my hand still stroking my cock as tiny tremors of pleasure rocket through me. I slam my fist into the tile. Fucking hell. Pleasure changes to annoyance. I wasn’t supposed to do that. Getting pleasure from her is just as tempting as having her against me. But it’s not what I fucking wanted. I wash quickly, the swirl of the water on the tile floor washing away any evidence of my morning jack-off. At least I’m not stuck with that motherfucker of a hard-on anymore. I slam the water off and tie a towel around my waist tightly. I brush my teeth quickly and storm back into my room. Sofie’s there, rifling through the bag for something. She pauses and looks up when I walk in. Almost immediately she diverts her eyes, but I saw the flush in her cheeks. I know her skin is burning, and I’m glad. She pulls some tiny clothes from the bag and stands. She straightens, trying but failing to meet my eyes. They’re focused on my stomach, and some fucking primal male bullshit makes me tense. Her gaze trails down to the towel and she inhales sharply, before letting that same breath out, one shuddery exhale after another. “Sofie? Weren’t you doing somethin’?” She snaps her eyes to mine and hugs Mila’s clothes to her chest. “Yep. Yep. I was.” She shoves past me and runs down the stairs. I watch her go, and a smirk curves my lips. A cough sounds from the end of the hall and I look up to see Leila glaring at me.

“You two need to fuck or just never speak again,” she snaps, storming past me and following in Sofie’s footsteps. You can’t argue with that logic.

“Sand.” “Music.” “No. Sand.” “Music now, sand later?” “Sand now!” Mila jumps, her feet smacking against the porch with the force of a baby elephant. I look up from the guitar. “How’s Daddy gonna buy you pretty things if you won’t let him work?” She pouts, her bottom lip wobbling. She’s doing it deliberately to manipulate me, but fuck me, it’s working. “Have you asked Mama?” She nods. “Pops?” Another nod. “How about Tate? I’m sure he’d be real happy to play sand with you.” Her little face lights up and she gasps, waving her hands. “Tay!” She runs into the house screaming his name over and over. I grin when he follows her outside and down the steps. He turns to me and points. “You fucking owe me for this,” he mouths before Mila draws his attention again, babbling about “cussuls.” “You want me to go?” Leila asks. “You couldn’t tell a pack of diapers from a lipstick.” Sofie snorts. “I can go to the store for freakin’ diapers.” I set the guitar down and glance around the back door. Damn, she’s cute. “Uh, you’ve seen the company out front, right?” Leila reminds her. “You think you’re getting off the damn property, let alone to the store, unmolested?” “Yeah, princess,” I chime in. “You think?” Sofie snaps her head around to me. “I can go to the store, Conner. They ain’t gonna stop me looking after my daughter.” “Or me.” I stand and pull my keys from the pocket of my shorts. “Come on, then.” “But—what?” I look back at her, stopping. “Mila has Uncle Tay playing cussuls,” I say with a smirk. “You think you can get to the store without the media, well, you’re wrong. You think they were bad yesterday?” “They were freakin’ awful.” “Yeah, well. That ain’t nothin’ on what they’ll be like today, hopin’ for a pic of Mila. I can deal with them. It’s a part of my life. It’s an intrusion in yours,” I explain. “Now I’m goin’ to get Mila diapers, but I ain’t got a damn clue what I’m looking for. So you can come with and make sure I get it right, or you can sit here glaring at the door waiting for me to get it wrong.” She looks at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. She walks toward me and meets me at the door, then stops and stares up at me. “Fine. But you touch me once and I’m . . .” “You’re what?” I loop my arm around her waist and pull her into my side. “I’m . . . going to think of somethin’ that’ll really hurt you,” she finishes lamely, pulling the door

open. “Hell, don’t they have nothing better to do?” She wrenches herself from my hold and storms out of the house. “Y’all need a damn life!” she shouts to the crowd of photographers and reporters. I stop, shocked, then burst out laughing. Only Sofie. “Come on. In the truck.” I open the door, grab her waist, and hoist her into it. She shrieks right next to my ear and I hiss a curse. “Sorry.” She slaps her hands over my mouth. “You surprised me.” “I was supposed to.” I slam the door and rub my ear. Holy shit. Girl’s got a screech like a pterodactyl on estrogen. I get in the driver side and tear down the driveway. I nod to our security team, standing vigil and keeping the media back. Flashes go crazy as photographers desperately try to get our picture. “Sunglasses. In the glove box.” Sofie rifles through it and hands me them. “Sorry, Mr. Hollywood.” I laugh. “You want me to crash?” I glance at her and she shakes her head. “Well then.” She doesn’t say anything else as I turn onto the main road through Shelton Bay. A few cars mysteriously appear behind us, conveniently coming from the same direction as my house. I feel my grin stretching across my face before Sofie notices anything. “What?” she says, turning in the seat. “Oh, you’re fucking kiddin’ me.” She practically growled that. She’s one angry Southern girl. If I cared about the assholes in the cars behind us, I’d be telling them to run if they want to keep their balls. As it is, I don’t care, and I can think of a much better use for her anger. “Conner. Why are you grinning?” She smacks my thigh. “Conner!” I grab her hand and bring it to my lips. “Ready to fuck with the media, princess?”

At least he’s asking this time. “I don’t know if I’m going to like this, but okay,” I reply, letting my hand fall to the seat still encased in his. “You’ll love it.” He pulls into the parking lot of the store. “Hey, did I tell you we’re doing a concert on the beach on Saturday?” “Uh. No.” “Well, we are. You’re comin’ with Leila.” “What if I’m busy?” “You are busy, with my sister, watching Dirty B. Got it?” “Why’d you bring it up now?” I ask, watching as he gets out of the truck and walks around to my side. I glance out of the back window quickly and see a horde of photographers climbing out of cars and media-stamped trucks. He opens my door. “So you’d be more bothered about that than about this.” Conner reaches over me, unbuckles my belt, and spins me in the seat. He stands with his back to me and pulls me forward by my feet. I squeal and wrap my arms around his neck at the same time his hands curl around my thighs and he hoists me onto his back. “Conner. Don’t be dumb. Oh shit.” He kicks the truck door shut with me on his back. He hoists me up and I grip his shirt, another highpitched, panicked noise leaving my mouth. Oh hell. What is he playing at? “Ready?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer as he runs toward the doors. I hook my ankles in front of him, fighting my laughter. Dammit, I don’t want him to know I’m amused as hell by this childish move. “Put me down,” I demand when we get inside. “Nope.” He stalks to the back of the store and tickles the inside of my thighs. “Con—what—stop it!” I gasp and a laugh bursts from me. “Stop it!” He laughs and stops in front of the aisle of diapers. “Which ones?” “The . . . red ones . . .” I gasp, his fingers still tickling me. “Stop it now!” He just laughs harder. “Size?” he manages. “Four!” Oh my God. I bury my face into his shoulder, my chest burning with shortness of breath because of my laughter. Conner jogs to the cashiers, doing nothing to help me contain my amusement. He stops suddenly and grabs a pack of candy off the end of an aisle. He looks back and winks at

me as I peek over his shoulder. Goddammit, with the Burkes around, my daughter will be one spoiled kid. Nina’s sitting behind the register and Conner drops the candy and diapers on the counter in front of her. She smiles at me, falseness in every twitch of her bright pink lips. “I thought Conner didn’t know about your baby.” “He didn’t when you asked.” I return the smile sweetly as Conner takes his card from the machine. “But thanks for selling us out. I look good on a magazine cover, don’t you think?” “Sofie,” Conner warns. His stern tone is totally belied by restrained laughter. “What? I’m just making conversation with Nina here.” “Okay. We’re going.” He grabs the bag from the counter and whips us around. I grip his shirt with renewed vigor, shock ricocheting through me. He runs out of the store and across the parking lot to the truck, dodging past and through all the cameras. I can’t help every laugh that leaves me. Every chuckle, every giggle, every damn shriek of surprise, I love every second. Conner digs in his pocket for the key fob and unlocks the truck. He opens the door and turns to back me in. My butt hits the side of the seat. “Up!” I demand, reaching back. He jumps and knocks my head on the top of the door. “Ass!” I hiss, climbing back on the seat, rubbing the top of my head. And laughing. Still laughing. Always laughing. A low chuckle leaves him as he leans over me and throws the bag on the backseat. He stops in front of me, and his lips quirk to the side in boyish mischief. He leans in and his lips are on mine, his fingers curled around the back of my neck, my hand flat against his cheek. “I couldn’t help it,” he murmurs, pulling back. He pushes my legs around and shuts the door. Yeah, I get it. I get that, because damn, if he hadn’t kissed me, I was going to kiss him. Laughing like that, being completely ridiculous together, just for a few minutes, was a hard-hitting reminder of us. Of how we used to be. All the time. And the hardest hit of all was that beneath the lies and secrets and harsh words carelessly thrown, there’s still us there. And in the blink of an eye, it’s not about the past anymore. It’s not that that’s holding us back. It’s the now. “They got that on camera, you realize?” I ask as he gets in next to me. He merely shoots me a snarky smile. “You look good on the front page, remember?” Once again, I slap his leg, and once again, he catches my hand and slides his fingers through mine.

I’m not going to argue the haircut. I need one, badly, but I’m sure as hell going to argue the nails. I don’t need a manicure or a pedicure. There’s nothing wrong with putting a bit of OPI on your toes while watching Ocean’s Eleven on a Friday night. But paying someone else to paint my nails? Come on. “This is utterly ridiculous.” I stand up from the chair with my newly cut, blow-dried, salon-soft hair and run my fingers through it.

“Mhmm.” Leila looks at me. “Looks like you’re hating it.” I sigh and drop my hand. “Can we go now?” “No. Conner told me I have to keep you here until . . .” She glances at the clock. “Three o’clock. So another two hours.” I grunt and sit in the pedicure chair next to her. After another awkward night sharing a bed and waking up in his arms, I decided this morning that I’m sleeping in my own bed tonight. Alone. “And why am I being kicked out of my own house?” Lei shrugs. “I don’t know, Sof. He just said to keep you away until three, and since he’s paying, I’m all for it.” “Did you even try to find out?” “I did. He started ignoring me after, like, the tenth time I asked. I think he was ready to take Aidan’s drumstick and beat me senseless with it.” She leans back in the chair. I grunt quietly. Unless it’s getting the media off both our front lawns, I can’t imagine any surprise I’d actually like. Kind of like the time he decided we’d go paragliding. Yeah, no. He went paragliding. I sat and watched. I’m not getting that high up in the sky unless I’m in a damn plane. I sigh and try to relax. Easier said than done, though. There are so many questions swirling around. Why is he doing this? Why is he making me go to the beach concert on Saturday? When is Mila finally going to be able to go back out in public? When will our faces stop gracing front covers? When will life return to a semblance of normal? When will the two of us sort out our crap and decide if we’re working toward a relationship or not? I pinch the bridge of my nose. So much for relaxing. Next time he wants me away from him, he can send me for a freakin’ massage. Having people poke at my feet grosses me out. I take my phone from the pocket of my shorts and text him. Why can’t I come home? His reply is quick. Because. That isn’t a reason. It’s a reason without an explanation. Uh, no. A reason would be telling me why, and an explanation would be telling me why the reason is the reason. . . . I think you just gave me a migraine, princess. One day, I’m gonna get a tiara and shove it up your ass. Why would you even consider that? Because the pain level would be on par with your surprises. HAHAHA! I promise this is a good surprise. You said that about the paragliding. Evidently we have different ideas of good. My lips twist to one side. You’re not helping your case. Chill out. Chill out. Chill out. He can chill out when I come at him with that tiara. Seriously. What could he possibly be doing that involves me being out of my house for, like, five hours?

I huff and point to a teal nail polish when the woman doing my toes asks. I watch as she paints them perfectly, then I watch as they dry. “Do you two know what you’re doing yet?” I look at Leila. “Huh?” “You and Conner. You’ve slept together the last two nights.” “Shut up,” I hiss under my breath. “I’m not talking about this here.” She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Nails next?” “No. I’m done now. I’m going home. I don’t care what he says. He can’t stop me getting in my own house!” I pull the toe separators from between my toes and wriggle them. Then I grab my flip-flops and slide my feet into them, making sure not to smudge the paint. Then I’d just be annoyed. “Come on,” I tell Leila. “Oh boy,” she mumbles, putting her own sandals on quickly. “This is going to be fun.” I wait by the side of her car, tapping my foot, and ignore the click of a shutter from across the parking lot. Oh yes, I can see it now. Tomorrow’s headline: CONNER’S BABY MAMA OUT WITH HIS SISTER. RECONCILIATION IN THE CARDS?

Asses. Leila unlocks the car and we both climb in. Luckily the salon is only a few minutes from my house, so the journey is quick and relatively uneventful. If you don’t count the photographer following us, and in all honesty, I don’t. Two of the boys’ security are blocking our entrance to the driveway. I reach over and beep Leila’s horn, but they simply shake their heads. “The hell?” I get out of the car and slam the door. “You’re tellin’ me ‘no’ to my own house?” “Sorry, ma’am,” the one on the right—what’s his name? Ajax?—says. “Conner said three p.m., and its two ten.” “Last I checked, Conner didn’t have a say about when I can get on my property. You hear that? My. Property.” He doesn’t flinch. “Just followin’ orders.” A few of the reporters are moving closer to record our conversation. I can see the damn recorders in their hands. “I don’t give a flying monkey’s crap for Conner’s orders. I’m sayin’ this is my house and I’m goin’ in!” Leila gets out next to me. “C’mon, Ajax, don’t be a dick. It’s her house!” “Sorry, girls,” he says again. “I’d like to keep my job.” “Great.” I mutter, leaning back against the car. “Well, I’m not going anywhere.” I climb onto the hood of the car and lean back, resting my hands behind me and crossing my feet at my ankles. Leila blinks at me for a minute before shrugging and climbing up next to me. “What the hell,” she says. “If it’ll piss Conner off, I’m all for it.” I could swear Ajax’s lips twitch, but he hides it impeccably. The guy next to him hasn’t said a word, and I click my tongue. “I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?” His dark eyes shoot to me. “My name, ma’am?” “Yes. Your name.” I nod. “And please don’t call me ma’am. I’m not old enough to be a ma’am.” “It’s Carlos, miss.”

Miss. Damn Southern manners. “Sofie.” I smile. “My name is Sofie.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sofie.” Leila chokes in an attempt to hide her laugh. Only because she knows exactly what I’m doing. So maybe flirting with the security is a little underhanded and immature, but Conner wanted to fuck with the media. That’s exactly what I’m doing . . . with the added bonus of fucking with him, too. Two can play this game. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” I ask him. “Sofie.” Ajax says my name sharply, a warning in it. “I’m making conversation. You expect me to sit here for almost an hour and not talk to anyone? I certainly ain’t talkin’ to these pains in the ass.” I nod toward the paparazzi. One gets a little too close, and Ajax steps forward threateningly. The photographer doesn’t move, and I can see the camera lens in my peripheral vision. “I hope you got a strap on that thing, because if it ain’t out of my face in the next ten seconds you’ll be pickin’ it up off the floor,” I snap. He scuttles back and I glare at the line. Nobody moves aside from a scuffle in the back, and there’s a shout of “Where’s your daughter?” “Playing hide-and-seek,” I retort, looking back at the security. This time, Ajax’s lips really do twitch. “Carlos. Where are you from?” He looks nervously at Ajax. “Texas. Moved to Shelton Bay a couple weeks back. Are you from here?” “Born and raised.” I smile. “How are you liking it?” “Just fine. The beaches are nice.” “Sure are. Are you workin’ on Saturday?” “All right, that’s enough.” Ajax whips out his cell phone. “Conner? Miss Sofie is making your staff uncomfortable.” “I am not!” I shout indignantly, knocking my fist against the car hood next to my legs. “I’m just bein’ polite! Ain’t that right, Carlos?” Ajax nods. “Yes, sir, she’s exaggerating her drawl,” he says into the phone. “Oh my God! I am not!” So I was. Kill me. Leila giggles into her hands. “Okay. I’ll tell her.” Ajax hangs up and looks at me. “He said stop chatting up Carlos, and if you don’t listen to me, he’s going to come and sort you out himself.” A thrill runs through me at that prospect. Jealous Conner is hot Conner. I smile sweetly at Ajax. “Well, Carlos, are you workin’ Saturday?” Ajax pulls his phone out again. He doesn’t get a word out before my front door opens and Conner comes strolling out. Determination powers his every step, and it takes just seconds for his long stride to swallow up my front lawn. “Hi, Conner!” I say brightly. “Sofie,” he growls, and steps up to the car. “Are you fucking with my staff?” Leila doesn’t bother to hide her laughter this time. “That’s a yes, then.” He grabs my ankles, slides me down the car, then wraps his arms around my waist. “What the hell!” I shriek as he lifts me up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. “Put me

down!” I kick my legs and wriggle. He grabs my lower legs with his other hand, stopping them, so I punch his butt instead. He doesn’t react. He simply carries me to my house as swiftly as he just walked away from it. I slam the door behind us. “Put me down, you giant—” He slides me down and crushes me against the wall. His lips descend on mine, hot and demanding. His hand, sliding around the back of my neck, screams possession. I whimper, melting against the wall. He steps into me and with one final firm kiss, breaks it. “You’re damn lucky I didn’t push you up against my sister’s car and do this out there.” His words are short and sharp. “The hell do you think you’re playin’ at?” “Me?” I look at him incredulously. “You’re the one keeping me out of my house!” “To surprise you,” he replies through gritted teeth. “You’re just so damn impatient.” “You told me to get out of my house, take my daughter to your parents’, then disappear inside a salon for hours!” He pulls back to look at me. “Hair looks good, by the way.” I narrow my eyes. “You’re so fucking hard to please.” “Not somethin’ I’ve ever heard you say before,” I mutter, looking to the side. He laughs quietly. “True that. Come on.” He steps back and pushes me toward the stairs. “Your surprise is ready anyway.” “Why is it upstairs?” “Shut up and move.” I glare over my shoulder but do as he says. He darts in front of me at the top and takes my hand. I look around shiftily as he pulls me toward my room and its closed door. We stop, and I turn my attention to him. A bright pink smudge is mingling with his hair, and I reach up. It’s crusty, falling away at my touch, but obvious. “Why is there paint in your hair?” My eyes find his. “Conner, what did you do?” His lips pull up on either side into a secretive yet excited smile. Then without another word, he pushes the door to my room open. Except it’s not my room anymore. The room is painted in pink and yellow, the two colors separated by the thick Peppa Pig border running around the room in the center of the walls. Pine furniture, new furniture, including a huge sleigh-style crib, fills it. The curtains are Peppa and the lamp is Peppa and the rug is Peppa. Instead of her old CD player, an iPod dock with a pink iPod sits on a pink floating shelf. “It’s loaded,” he says. “Full of Dirty B. Including her favorite song.” I step into her room and walk to her cot. There’s Peppa bedding and a giant Peppa head-shaped cushion. “Why would you do this?” I whisper, my throat tightening. “Because,” he replies simply, stepping forward. He grabs my hand. “Come here.” He tugs me out of Mila’s room and toward Dad’s old room. I barely have a chance to say a word before he opens the door. My hand shoots to my mouth. It doesn’t look a thing like Dad’s room, not anymore. The light blue walls have been replaced with teal, and the wall along the back is papered, a black pattern swirling and curling across it. A huge leather bed is sitting against it, covered with a teal-and-black-patterned bedspread. The furniture here is new, too, all black, all shining.

A large TV is mounted on the wall above the new dresser, and a black lamp sits on the nightstand. The black carpet is still the same, but a large, ridiculously fluffy rug matches the walls and breaks up the darkness. “What—why?” I breathe, my eyes filling with tears. I turn to look at him. He shrugs, taking a deep breath and looking around. “Because,” is all he says again. “No, goddammit, Conner! Tell me why!” “I wanted it to feel like home,” he finally says. “I wanted you and Mila to have your own spaces, somewhere you could chill. Your dad’s stuff is packed in the garage for when you’re ready to sort through it.” I swallow and look around the room again. “I wanted you to have a place to be Sofie.” I spin into him and grab him. I push my lips up against his, sliding my hands into his hair. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me against him. Our lips move together slowly but firmly. I let my tongue flick against his bottom lip. The simple movement flips a switch, and the kiss becomes deeper, his fingers digging into my hips a little harder. We both step back toward the bed at the same time, our feet tangling, and we fall back. He leans over me, breathing heavily, his eyes boring into mine. “Sof . . .” “Shut up.” I pull his face down to mine and silence him with a kiss. “I was going to say my brothers are in the kitchen,” he murmurs, kissing down my jaw. “Are you kidding me?” I stare at him. “’Fraid not. They helped me do all this.” He pauses. “Along with some decorators.” “Get rid of them. Now.” Conner’s lips twitch. “You think they won’t know why?” “I don’t care. I mean it.” “And you don’t think them leaving without me won’t tip off the media?” “The media can kiss my sweet Southern ass.” I sit up, looking up at him. He laughs. “Come on. I wish we could. Trust me.” He pulls me up and into his arms. I feel the sting of his rejection filter through my veins. Last time, I didn’t mean to sleep with him. It was a heat-of-the-moment thing that I couldn’t fight. Fighting then sex, that’s how we did it. This time I kissed him. I stepped back. I made the move. And he’s saying no. I step out of his arms and start downstairs. It damn well hurts. “Sof.” He grabs my hand. “What?” I turn my head but not my body. “Don’t be like that. You know I don’t mean it that way.” I blink but don’t respond. I tug my hand to walk away, but he holds it tighter. With one sharp pull, he spins me into his body and encases me in his arms. “If you think I mean it that way, then you don’t know me,” he whispers in my ear. “You think I’m not dyin’ to lay you back on that bed, tear your clothes off, and kiss every inch of you? You think I don’t want to feel you beneath me crying my name as I move inside you?” My breath catches. “Maybe that is what I think.” He cups my chin and tilts my head up so I have to look him in the eye. “No, it ain’t. You’re just

tryin’ to piss me off. You know me better than that.” I shrug. “Whatever.” “Why do you have to make everything into an argument?” “I’m not!” “You are, dammit, and it isn’t helping my restraint.” “I don’t give a fuck about your restraint. That can kiss my ass, too.” Conner looks at me for a long moment, his chest heaving. He swallows once, harshly, and lets me go. He rests his hands on the banister and leans over. “Hey, assholes!” “What?” Aidan shouts up. “Get out.”

Sofie stares at me in shock. “What?” Tate yells. “We gotta practice!” “It can wait. Out. Now.” “Well, we all know where this is going.” Kye and Aidan laugh with him, and seconds later, I hear the front door shut. I meet Sofie’s eyes. “Happy?” “No,” she shoots back. I stalk toward her and lower my mouth to her ear. “You’re about to be.” “Cocky.” “Confident.” “Arrogant.” “Certain.” I push her into her new room and shove the door closed behind us. She stops, swallowing, and meets my eyes. I can see everything she’s feeling reflected there. She’s nervous but excited. She’s angry but turned on. She takes a succession of quick breaths when I step closer to her and pull my shirt off. Her eyes trawl across my body, her breathing never slowing. Anticipation tingles my fingers as I reach out and grasp the hem of her shirt. “Off,” I order in a low voice. She looks like she’s going to argue with me, but raises her arms. I pull the shirt up and over her head, throwing it to the ground in a heap. She keeps her eyes fixed on my body as mine finds hers. Jiggly bits, my fucking ass. She doesn’t have abs, and her lower stomach is covered in faint silvery lines now, but she’s fucking gorgeous. I curve my hand around her head and pull her into me. My lips find hers, the desperate need building inside only stoked by the sweet taste of her mouth beneath mine. Her fingers creep through my belt loops as she steps into me, letting her body do the talking. I quickly push her back and onto her bed, not breaking the kiss. I kiss her deeper, letting my tongue sweep across hers ferociously, pressing my hips against her. My dick is solid and twitching inside my pants. Sofie trails her fingertips up my sides and curves her hands around my shoulders from under my arms. Her body, soft and perfect, pushes into mine, and she hooks her legs around my waist the way she has so many times before. I kiss down her neck, leaving her gasping for a breath, and slip my fingers inside her waistband. I

tug her shorts down and over her legs, standing and making her release me for a moment. Then it’s done, and they’re gone, and so are my pants. I lean over her again, my hands sliding up her body, my dick pressing against her pussy through those fucking torturous lace panties. She whimpers at the contact and bucks her hips into me. I undo her bra and cup her tits. My lips trail down her neck and onto her heaving chest. Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me closer to her, making it harder for me to wait. Because fuck everything else. I want to be inside her right now. I want to feel her come around me. I want to feel her nails sliding down my back and hear her voice trembling in my ear. I want to remember properly what it feels like to be so close to her, because last time was a brutal coming together led by anger and lust. This is more, because I can feel it buzzing through me. “Conner.” My name falls from her lips in a whispered plea. Fuck. Sofie drops her legs and reaches down to remove her panties. I lean up on my hands as she does and look down, watching her slide the lace over her legs. She kicks them off and snaps the waistband of my boxers. “Please.” “Shit.” I practically yank my underwear off and push her up the bed. She gasps into my mouth when I kiss her hard, and I let my tongue fall between her lips. She lifts her legs, opening them wide, and scrapes her nails down my sides. Her hand sneaks between us and she wraps her fingers around my throbbing cock, bringing me closer to her wet pussy. I don’t need another fucking invitation. I cover one of her ass cheeks with my hand and tilt her hips up. Slowly I push into her, feeling her muscles clench around me as I enter her fully. She gasps, a tiny, high-pitched sound at the end of it, and twines her fingers deep into my hair. I rock my hips against her, and I fucking revel in this. Feeling her around me, beneath me. It’s like a memory, but it’s real, because she’s hot and wet and wrapped up entirely in me the way I am in her. It’s sweeter, hotter, realer than it ever was before. She moves her hips against me, her legs tight around my waist, holding me in place. I run my hands over her body, every bump and curve, every gorgeously smooth bit of skin. Sweat beads on my brow because, fuck, her nails are tracing across my shoulders. Sofie arches her back and I drop my face to her neck, buzzing my lips across it. Her breathing is short and sharp, hissing into my ear. Our bodies are hot, our skin sliding against each other’s. I dive my hand into her hand and tug lightly, sucking on the tender spot beneath her ear. Her whole body clenches and I falter at the intensity of it. “Fuck,” I mutter, thrusting into her again. Sofie looks at me, her eyes shining and her cheeks flushed, and kisses me hard. Her tongue working against mine turns me on even more. I palm her ass and my thrusts become pounds, a desperate bid for release for both of us. Tiny cries leave her, muffled by our kiss. She moans louder, and louder, and my breathing is fast and frantic. My body is taut with impending pleasure and anticipation, my cock throbbing so hard that it takes everything I have to hold back. I reach my hand between us and press her clit with my thumb. She throws her head back, breaking the kiss, and moans low and long.

“Come on, princess,” I whisper huskily into her ear, rubbing her in tiny circles while fucking her harder and harder. “Let me hear you. Let me feel you. Come with me.” She shudders and I tease her harder, grazing my teeth against the soft skin of her neck where her pulse is thrumming harshly. She whispers my name harshly, gripping my back the way I love, and tilts her hips up. I push my dick fully inside her, then pull back before doing the same again. I grit my teeth because it’s so fucking good and I’m so damn close, but I won’t let go until she does. I push harder on her clit just as her muscles clench. She shudders again, and this one is accompanied by her pussy clamping down on my dick and her crying out into my ear. “Fuck!” I come immediately, spilling inside her in hot spurts, the waves washing over my body. I drop my forehead to her shoulder. My heart is pounding in my chest, my breathing harsh and quick, and every part of my body aches with an intense pleasure I didn’t know if I’d ever feel again. I curl my arms around her body, letting one hand wrap around the back of her neck and the other curve over her hip. She clasps her hands behind my neck, her hot breath crawling across my skin. “This,” she whispers thickly, brushing her thumbs across the nape of my neck. “This is where I’m Sofie. When I’m in your arms.” I smile and lift my head. I pause for a moment to look down at her, then drop my forehead to hers. Our breath mingles in the inch of space between our mouths, and my fingers twitch against her skin. “Then the only solution I’ve got is that you just stay here forever,” I reply. “I wish I could.” She unclasps her hands and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. “I really wish I could.” She turns her face into mine and kisses me. But it’s not hard or passionate or happy. It’s soft and sad, the tender way her lips brush mine a cruel reminder of how different our lives are now. Of how the only thing really holding us together is our little girl and a bunch of old, timeeclipsing feelings. It’s a cruel reminder of how we could lose everything we don’t really have.

“There’s something wrong with that fucking chord,” Tate curses, fiddling with his guitar

strings.

“Acoustic, you say, Conner. Sure, let’s go fuckin’ acoustic on a song you wrote last week!” “The notes are right in front of you!” I motion to them. “I’ve been working on them every day. How can they be wrong?” “Because you sing more than you play guitar!” Tate resettles the guitar on his knee and strums the few notes. “Listen. Fifth chord.” He plays it again. Fuck. He’s right. It doesn’t fit. “All right,” Kye says, butting in. He grabs the paper from the stool in front of Tate and runs his eyes over it. “Shit, Tate. You couldn’t correct this?” He throws the sheet back at Tate, then plays the verse, the supposedly wrong chord now right. I nod slowly, playing the same melody. Unlike my brothers, I don’t need the guidance of my notes. I know every note, apparently even the wrong ones. “How did I miss it?” I lean back. “Because you can’t hear your own mistakes,” Aidan adds. “Still a dumb idea, playing a song we’ll have known for a few days.” “What’s the matter, bro? Not getting any now that Nina’s out of the picture?” Kye snickers. Tate holds up his middle finger. “I should be getting some right the fuck now, but I’m here, doing

this bullshit.” “Then fuck off and explain to everyone why you’re the dickhead on the side of the stage doing nothing while we play it,” I grind out. Tate puts his guitar down a little too harshly and stands. His dark blue eyes flash angrily at me. “I don’t know why you’re still fuckin’ tryin’,” he says to me, hardness tinting every word. “She ain’t worth it.” “To you.” I stand and square up to him. It doesn’t matter if he’s bigger or bulkier than me. “She’s worth a whole damn lot to me.” “Why? Because she had your kid? You really think she’s gonna stick around, Con? She didn’t before. She didn’t give a fuck then. What makes you think she will this time?” Kye grabs my arm as my fist swings back. “Whoa. Tate, out of line, man.” “I’m just looking out for him.” Tate says it to Kye, but his eyes are fixed on mine. “The twins might be happy to watch her hurt you again, Con, but I ain’t gonna do it.” He’s baiting me and I fucking know it. I’m shaking with anger, because fuck. No one gets to talk about Sofie that way. No. One. “Pipe the hell down, dickhead,” Aidan says calmly, stepping between us and pushing Tate back. “Sofie’s the mother of that little girl you’ve spent the last few days on the beach with. Like Mom said, we don’t have to like her much right now, but we’ll respect her. That means even when she ain’t around. If you can’t talk civilly about her, don’t say a damn word.” “Next time I won’t stop him,” Kye warns him. “I’ve got half a mind to let him at you now.” “Don’t bother. I’m done.” I wrestle my arm out of his hold and storm out of the garage. The door slams behind me with a bang that ricochets through the house. My blood is pumping furiously as I shove my way past Leila and through the back door. The glass pane in the door rattles, and I barely glance back to see if it stays intact. It does, thankfully, and I wrap my hands around the top of the porch fence and lean forward. I take a deep breath, inhaling the saltiness of the sea air, the thing that’s always relaxed me. But it doesn’t matter, because the only things that will relax me right now are ten minutes away, surrounded by a bunch of fucking nosy-ass vultures. “Wow. Did you get your period?” Leila asks, stepping outside after me. “You cracked the glass in the door.” I look over my shoulder. She’s right. A long crack snakes up the window from the bottom corner. “Fuck. I’ll replace it tomorrow.” “Probably a good idea.” She leans her forearms on the fence next to me. “What did Tate do this time?” I snort. “How’d you know it was him?” “Uh, maybe because you two have always bitched at each other like a couple of kids in the sandbox? Maybe because he’s been on your case about Sofie ever since she got back? Maybe because he doesn’t give a flying crap if you want to make her happy?” “It ain’t about that, Lei,” I breathe out. “It’s about doing what’s best for Mila. Sometimes I think we’re better off apart, but then, dammit, Sof goes and comes back with a snarky comment, or she smiles, or she laughs, and I can’t imagine being away from her again. I can’t imagine anything less than us being together being good for Mila.” “You ever considered that it doesn’t have to be about Mila?” “Of course it does. Whatever we do will affect her.” “Well yeah, but you also have to think about what’s good for you two. Whatever’s best for you and

Sofie will be best for Mila by default.” I glance at her sideways. She makes sense, I’ll admit. If we’re happy, then Mila will be, too. That’s what it’s about, but maybe we are focusing on Mila too much. We’re just as important as she is. If it came down to it, I’d pick Mila’s happiness over Sofie’s, every day. But if their happiness is intertwined, if it’s one and the same, then that’s another story. “Why’d she really leave, Lei?” I ask softly, looking out at the waves crashing up the beach. “I don’t buy her story of it just being about Mila.” “You keep askin’ me that, and I’m gonna keep telling you, I don’t know. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, Con. It ain’t my business.” “You changed your tune.” “I saw my brother and my best friend caught up in some love story that’s fucked up enough without my input.” She laughs. “You guys leave in ten days. That ain’t long. Y’all gotta sort it out, for all y’all’s sakes.” I exhale slowly. I know that. I know we can’t stay in this arguing-kissing-fucking-arguing circle we got going on. It’s shying away from the truth. The truth she’s hiding, and the truth that I’m afraid. The truth that once again I’ll give this girl everything I have, and she’ll take it and she’ll run. Again.

Conner’s leaning in the doorway, his elbows resting against either side of the doorframe. I put my hand on my hip as he trawls his eyes down my body slowly, heating my skin as he goes. “Can I help you?” I ask sweetly, drawing his attention back to my face. “Depends,” he replies, his eyes finding mine. “Is Mila asleep?” I shake my head. “Then no, you can’t.” He stands up straight and walks past me. I stare after him, one eyebrow cocked. Mila’s squeal follows his disappearance through the door, and “Hi, Dadda!” follows. “Since when does she say hi?” he looks at me, holding her in his arms. “Since this morning, apparently. She woke up saying it.” I shrug and collapse back onto the sofa, ignoring the mess on the carpet. There are toys everywhere, crushed chips in the rug, and there may or may not be a cookie languishing beneath the sofa. Honestly, I’m afraid to look. The kid stashes things everywhere. “Dadda sin?” Mila asks, scrambling to be put back down. She grabs her toy guitar and pushes the buttons. “Dum dum dum!” Conner grins and perches on the sofa next to me. “Yeah, Dadda’s got a concert soon. Lots of them.” “My like. Dum dum dum!” I wince at the loud, monotone noises coming from the guitar. Damn, why did I ever let my brother buy that for her? Oh, yes, I had no choice. That’s why. “Fuuu—rogs,” Conner corrects himself, rubbing his ear. “The hell kinda guitar is that?” “Children’s toys are devices designed to torture parents into giving candy just for two minutes of peace.” I look at Mila bouncing around the room, somehow missing every toy. I wish I could do that. I sprain my ankles on toys nearly every day. “Yeah, I’m figurin’ that out for myself. Hey, Mila! Want some candy?” My jaw drops as my face snaps around to Conner. “Candy? Yeah!” Mila quite literally throws the guitar to the carpet and clambers over to Conner. “Toys in the box,” he bargains, holding the packet up where she can’t reach it. Mila pouts. “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Put some away. I’ll help you. Here.” He throws the candy in my lap and wrestles Mila to the floor. She giggles loudly followed by a shriek when he tickles her sides. My lips twitch in amusement. I lick my lips to hide it but fail. Damn, it’s not tidying, but she’s on cloud nine.

“Dadda, no, no, no,” Mila shrieks through her high-pitched laughs. “Yeah, Dadda, thought you were tidying?” Conner stops and looks up at me. “Eh, I prefer the fun stuff.” “You’re not getting the candy until you pick up.” I cross my arms, the packet in my hand. Conner grabs two toys. He hands one to Mila and they both chunk them in the direction of the toy box. “There,” he says. “Picked up.” “Honestly? That’s your idea of tidying?” “Yep. Now give me the candy.” He gets on all fours and makes a swipe for it. I get up and skip away, dangling the candy over my head. Which is the stupidest thing ever, because he’s got at least six inches on me. He scrambles up using the sofa and darts toward me, Mila laughing behind him. “No!” I shove the packet inside my bra, then jump over a doll on the floor and narrowly miss colliding with the toy guitar. “Sofie,” Conner warns, following my foot path. “Nuh-uh!” I run out of the living room and down the hallway, fighting a bout of laughter as he follows me. He slips on the floor but rights himself immediately. I’m backed against the wall, my stomach hurting from resisting the giggles, and his eyes land on me. “Give. Now.” He advances toward me slowly, almost predatory, and holds out his hand. “No!” I dart under his arm and let that laugh out. I dive back into the front room, much to Mila’s amusement, and glance back at him. “This isn’t tidyyyyy!” I slip on a coloring book. My heart climbs into my throat, but Conner’s arms shoot out, and he tackles me onto the sofa. I scream, falling backward with a huge thump. He lies over me, grinning and breathing heavily. “One last chance. Candy. Now.” I shake my head. “Go and pick—” He cuts me off by pressing his lips against mine. He pins my arms above my head and nibbles on my bottom lip. My stomach muscles clench and my head goes fuzzy, but then it’s over and he’s off me and— “Success!” He holds the candy in the air and lifts Mila. He spins her around, then brings the packet to his mouth and tears it open with his teeth. I purse my lips as she dives her little hand into the bright packet and shoves about four pieces into her mouth. “That wasn’t fair,” I whine to Conner. He grins down at me. “What a word-I’m-not-allowed-to-say, eh?” “I’m gonna get you back for that.” I push myself up and grab an armful of toys off the floor. “Yeah? When do you plan to do that?” I shrug. “If I tell you, it won’t be as fun, will it?” “I thought you hated surprises.” “I hate surprises when you do them. I like my surprises just fine.” I steal a piece of candy from the packet and pop it into my mouth. “Hey!” “What? I’m tidying.” I throw a talking Peppa into the box to prove my point. “No. I want a piece.” He holds his mouth open. I smirk and step forward, but Mila beats me to it. “Here go.” She pulls a piece from her mouth and sets it on Conner’s tongue.

I cover my mouth with my hand and bite down on my lip. “Did she just do what I think she did?” he asks thickly, not chewing. I crouch down and burst into laughter. Conner sets Mila down on the floor with the packet and takes the offending candy from his mouth. He holds it up and stares at it. “Toddlers are disgusting.” I wipe a tear from under my eye and look up at him. He looks completely horrified, like the possibility of Mila “sharing” her candy like that never occurred to him. Forgetting whatever it was I was about to say, I laugh again and fall back onto my ass. “I think we’re even,” he states, strolling from the room. I hear the lid of the trash can open and shut, then he comes back in. I throw George Pig at him, my laughter under control. Kinda. “No, that was all Mila. That was nothing to do with me.” “Sofie, our daughter just gave me her half-chewed candy. On my tongue.” He pokes it out, like I’ve forgotten what his tongue is. Like that’s possible. “I fail to understand what you want me to do about it.” I stand, much calmer now, and put yet more toys away. “I don’t know. Is it punishable by naughty step?” I turn to him and pat his cheek. “Anything that makes me laugh that much is never punishable. I’m pretty sure it earns her a reward, actually.” He frowns. “I’m never buying her candy again.” I call bullshit. Super-mega-bullshit. He buys her candy all the time—he just thinks I don’t notice. He’s as bad as his dad with the damn cookies. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?” I stretch back on the sofa, ignoring the crushed chips on the rug still—and, ew. “Mila. Stop sticking Bunna’s ears together with your candy! Yuck!” I scramble for the baby wipes and expertly free Bunna’s ears. Conner blinks. “Mila, that’s vile.” She giggles. I roll my eyes, throw the sticky baby wipe in the trash can at the end of the sofa, and turn on the TV. “Well?” Conner prompts. “I’m doing the same thing I do every night,” I answer him, flicking through the channels. “I’m cooking Mila her dinner, bathing her, then putting her to bed. Then I’ll open a bottle of wine and watch mind-numbing television all night. Probably eat some cake, too.” I worked out this morning. I’m allowed. “Nah, you’re not.” He lifts my legs and sits on the sofa. “What do you mean I’m not?” He rests my feet on his lap. “Let’s go for dinner.” “Oh, because that went so well last time.” “We’ll go to a real restaurant this time. Where they won’t bother us so much.” I sit up. “Are you askin’ me on a date?” He blinks and turns his face toward mine. His expression is completely blank for a moment, then his lips twitch at one side. “Yep.” “It doesn’t count if you only just decided.”

“Who said I just decided?” “The vacant look on your face.” “I was surprised you asked.” “Of course I asked. I’m a female. Why do you think you can get things past me?” “Oh, shut up.” He pushes me down by the shoulders. “Just yes or no, princess. It’s not a hard question.” “You never asked me a question!” “I—” He shuts his mouth. “Fine. Sofie, will you go to dinner with me tonight, please?” I chew the inside of my lip. I wasn’t being flippant about last time. And although our trip to the store was relatively uneventful, unless you count the magazine cover of us kissing the next day, I’m still wary. While the media vultures are not as obsessive as they were before Dirty B.’s manager confirmed the “story,” they’re still watching us like hawks in case we bring Mila out. As it is, we ferry her between our houses using the woods, gambling no one will be in them. But I don’t want to hide. “Why?” I eye him, standing up. “Why what? Am I asking you to dinner?” “No. Why are you staring at me? Obviously.” He reaches forward and tugs me toward him. His hands curl around the backs of my thighs, holding me in, and I rest my hands on his shoulders. I gaze down at him, my eyes meeting his indigo blue ones as he tilts his face up toward me. “I want us to talk. Somewhere we have to behave.” His lips curve suggestively. I ignore that little pitter-patter my heart does. My eyes run over his face, his shoulders, his upper body. The way his eyes shine when he looks at me. The way his biceps flex when his fingers twitch. The way his jaw curves perfectly, that same light, rough stubble dusting across it. I lift a hand and run my thumb across it the way I’ve wanted to since we met again. “Talk? About what?” He dips his face and kisses my palm. “Everything.”

What am I doing? Ever since Phil came to collect Mila after her dinner, I’ve asked myself that question ten millions times too many. The red dress that flares out at my hips looks too much. The slight curl in my hair looks too fancy. The black mascara coating my lashes looks too try-hard. The black heels certainly look like they’re out of place. It’s been so long since I got dressed up that it feels wrong. I want to shove my hair into a messy twist, swap the heels for bare feet and the dress for shorts and a tank. At the same time, it feels right. It feels a little like Sofie. Sofie the person, not Sofie the mom. I’m poking at my eyelashes with the mascara wand again just as Conner knocks and opens the front door. “Sof?” The door shuts again. “Two seconds.” Shit. What does one even do on a second first date? Is this even a first date?

He said he wanted to talk. Is it a talking date? A friend date? A parent date? A romantic date? Good grief. I pushed his baby out of my vagina and I’m worrying about going for dinner with him. I also fucked him two days ago, for the second time in just under three weeks, so I think we can safely say this isn’t a friend or parent date. I grab my purse from my bed and, after hovering in front of the mirror and wincing one last time, I leave my room. “You take so long to get ready,” he grumbles, walking upstairs. “I’ve been ready for ages,” I admit, stopping when he reaches the top. He looks up. He stops. He swallows. He reaches for me. He drops his hand. My heart thuds in my chest. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt, the first couple of buttons undone. It’s tucked into dark-wash jeans, and below that, shoes. Like, real shoes. Not sneakers. “Excuse me, gorgeous?” he says, clearing his throat. “Have you seen Sofie?” I step forward and bat his arm with my purse. He grins and flattens his hand against my back. “Hell, you look beautiful,” he whispers, sincerity and honesty clear in his voice. “I don’t think dinner is a good idea anymore.” “Shut up,” I reply softly. “You made me get dressed up, so we’re going.” I shove at his chest. “Okay, okay. Just . . . don’t blame me if I’ve gotta give black eyes to men who look at you, okay?” “You’re not scary, Conner.” He holds the front door open for me. “Yeah? Tell that to Tate. He looked pretty shit up the other night.” “What did you do to him?” He guides me toward the truck, and I do my best to ignore the flashing of the cameras. And the shouting. Why always with the shouting? “I almost punched him,” he explains. “Well, yes, I got that much. But why?” Conner meets my eyes, his hand resting on the truck door. “He was talkin’ shit about you. He doesn’t get to do that.” “Why not?” “Because you’re mine.” He yanks the door open. “That ain’t gonna change. I’m always gonna protect you, Sof, even if it’s from my brother.” He lifts me up and onto my seat, this time not banging my head on the top of the door. I swing around properly and swallow as he walks around the truck. Warmth is flooding through me at those words, but it’s quickly chilled by the sight of the media rushing to their cars and trucks and vans. “I deserve it,” I say softly as Conner gets in. He rests his forearm on the steering wheel and looks at me. His dark eyes are so intense they’re sending chills across my skin. “The only person who gets to talk shit to you about what you did is me.” “So it’s okay for you but not for him?” “Yep,” he says, reversing. “Because I have the balls to say it to your face and not behind your back.” And because you did it to me. His unspoken words hang in the air between us, heavy. Well, isn’t this a great fucking start to a date. I put my hand on the steering wheel lightly, and he pauses at the end of the driveway. “Why’re we botherin’?” I whisper. “We’re already fighting, Con.” He sets my hand back on my lap and rolls his shoulder. He reverses back onto the road and says,

“Then brace yourself, princess, because that probably means I’ll have to fuck you hard later.” Oh, hell.

She draws in a sharp breath at my words. My true words. We both know it. The more we used to argue, the more desperate and rough our inevitable make-up sex was. The angrier we were, the tighter we were wound, the more we needed the release. Sex isn’t a problem solver, but it always paved the way for us to settle things. They were always settled naked and cuddling, but they were still settled. The issue with now is that there’s so much tension and so many unspoken words that both of us are wound tightly all the time. At least I am. There isn’t a second where I don’t want to grab her and kiss her, just because I need some of that frustration to disintegrate against her sweet mouth. But that ends tonight. The unspoken words will no longer be unspoken. We have a thousand things we need to say that will only end explosively if we talk in private. I know us so well. Despite Mila, despite the time passed, we’re still us. We’re just buried beneath a bunch of bullshit. I pull up in the parking lot of the restaurant and kill the engine. Sofie’s still looking everywhere but at me, and she blushes like hell when I lift her out of the truck. I slam the door behind her and put my hand on her waist to stop her moving. “Don’t be embarrassed of the truth,” I whisper into her ear. “You know it’ll happen.” “Maybe,” she replies. “Maybe not.” “No maybe about it, princess.” Sofie trails the backs of her fingers up my chest, and red-hot tingles travel across my skin. She brings her eyes to mine, bright and clear, and quirks her lips. “Oh, there’s a giant maybe.” “You sound sure.” “I am.” She’s almost my height with the heels on, and she leans forward. She moves to close the distance between our mouths, but stops when her lips hover within touching distance. “Maybe I’ll be the one doing the fucking tonight.” Her words shoot straight through me and settle at my dick. And when she raises an eyebrow and sashays toward the restaurant door in that little red dress, every muscle in my body goes taut with that thought. Shit. How the hell am I supposed to get through dinner and a serious talk if all I can think about is Sofie straddling me, grinding her hips against mine, breathing in my ear? I grit my teeth. With a very inconvenient hard-on, that’s fucking how. I follow her to the door and open it, ushering her through. The host greets us and guides us to our table, one hidden at the very back of the restaurant. She sits down and I take the seat opposite her. I’m

not going to lie. I’m wondering where the hell that came from. When I told her I’d fuck her hard, she all but froze, yet only five minutes later she’s threatening the same thing back to me. Very damn confidently. And fuck me if it wasn’t sexy as hell. I hand her a menu and look at my own, the words blurring together. The waiter comes to take our drinks order, and Sofie orders a glass of Chardonnay. I take a beer. I could do with a vodka, but I’ll take a beer. After all, I’m driving. When he returns with our drinks he takes our food order. I stumble through mine, finally settling on a seafood dish, and Sofie picks the lasagna. I knew she would. “We’ve been here before,” she murmurs, fingering the stem of her glass. “Haven’t we?” I nod. “I brought you here for our first date.” “Our first-first date,” she corrects, looking at me in wonder. “How did you remember that?” “I didn’t forget a thing,” I admit. “I played our relationship over in my mind so many times after you left that I could never forget.” She lifts her glass to her lips and takes a small sip. “I did the same.” Her voice is small and hesitant. “Over and over, until I wore out every memory.” “I wish you’d lied to me, you know? I wish you’d called me and told me that you were okay but you didn’t want me anymore. That would have been easier.” “I was already lyin’ to you, Con. I couldn’t lie again.” “I wish you could have.” “Me, too.” Her eyes flick up to mine. “No, I don’t. I wish I’d never lied at all. It breaks my heart every time I see you together because you lost so much time with her.” I wish that, too. And I wish she’d trusted me enough to tell me the truth. Our dinner is placed in front of us. Sofie breaks our eye contact by looking down at her plate. I decline the waiter’s offer of anything else and sit back in my seat. I drop my eyes from her and pick up my fork, stabbing it into a giant shrimp. There’s a quiet clang as Sofie picks up her own, and we both eat in silence. The background noise of the restaurant is the accompaniment for our dinner. Laughter, shouts, excited conversation. They all filter through up to our table, making our own silence a little less painful. Every time we speak then stop, we make it harder for ourselves. A thousand more fucking unanswered questions pop up every time I look in her eyes. Every ounce of regret and guilt I see eats into me and makes me want to pin her down until she tells me the whole truth. Because she’s holding back. Still, she can’t talk. Still, she’s keeping something from me. I can see it in the shadows in her eyes. “I was afraid,” she says softly, setting her fork down. “I was afraid for you because I didn’t want you and the guys to risk everything you’d worked for your whole lives.” “You already told me that. I want the rest, Sof. The part you refuse to tell anyone.” She looks up, startled. She pauses before grabbing her wine and drinking half of it in one go. She sets the glass down, takes a deep breath, and lets her gaze settle on mine. “The day I found out about Mila, my whole world was tipped upside down. Everything I knew was about to change. I was going to get sick and fat. I was going to be responsible for this tiny person who would depend on me for everything. I was petrified, Con. I was only just nineteen. I was supposed to go back to college, not to the maternity ward.”

“I woulda been there.” “Shhh,” she says, holding up her hand. “Let me finish, then talk, okay?” I nod. Reluctantly. “You guys were in LA, meeting with your manager for the first time, so I had a couple days to wrap my head around it. The only problem was that when I did, a whole new set of fears arose.” She swallows hard. “I was afraid for you and the guys, yeah. I was. I didn’t want to take that away from you, but honestly I was afraid for me, too.” Her voice trails off, getting smaller until I can barely hear her over the sound of the restaurant. I reach forward and slide my fingers through hers. I brush my thumb across the inside of her wrist, and her fingers squeeze around mine. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be enough for you anymore,” she whispers, looking at our hands. “You had this whole other world opening up to you. There would be concerts and recording sessions. Video shoots and events. None of those I would have been able to do heavily pregnant or with a young baby. I was afraid that you’d find someone else who was thin and beautiful. That you would want Mila but you wouldn’t want me anymore. I was too selfish to deal with that.” Her words cut through me, and I take a deep breath. Shit, they sting, they burn. They fucking shatter my heart. “It was easier to run. Easier to hide. It was easier to push you aside than open myself to the possibility of you doing the same thing to me.” I exhale, but it’s shuddery, and I’m shaking, because fuck. What the hell would make her think that? That I wouldn’t want her? “Come on.” I take my hand from hers and stand. I throw some bills on the table and motion for her to follow me. She does, quietly, and when we reach the doors, I pull her into my side. I put her in the truck and walk around to my door. I get in and I drive. I drive without saying a word to her, because there are so many things in my head right now I wouldn’t make any sense. I’m angry. I’m angry because the primary reason she left was for a selfish reason. For herself. Not for me or for our daughter. For her. Her. I’m hurt because she didn’t trust that I’d stay true to her. I’m so damn hurt she thought that, even for a second, someone could matter more to me than her. No one other than Mila ever could have. No one ever will mean more to me, because I’m so stuck on Sofie Callahan that I’m fucked for the rest of my life. I’m also guilty. Something made her feel that way—something fed her fears. Something I never took the time to notice. Maybe I was so wrapped up in what I was doing that I wasn’t paying attention to how such a huge change would impact her. After all, we were a team. She was my other half, the person I reached for when it got tough. When it felt like the dream wouldn’t happen, she was there, telling me to shut up because we were fucking brilliant, and we had thousands upon thousands of followers on YouTube to attest to that. When the songs wouldn’t go right and my brothers fought, she was there, fixing little things in the lyrics and telling us to push through it. I get out of the truck and storm back to her house. The media are still following us back, and Sofie jumps out of the truck barefoot just as one pulls up. She runs across the lawn and shoves her key in the door. She twists violently, her hands shaking, and all but falls into the house. She rips the key out and throws it on the hall table, dumping her shoes and purse with it.

I kick the door shut and look at her as she runs her fingers through her hair. “How could you think that, Sof? That I wouldn’t want you?” “Easy,” she replies, her back to me. “I was afraid, and fear distorts your perception of reality. Deep down I knew you wanted me, but the fear on the surface was stronger than that. It was more compelling, more believable, so I believed it. I let it control my actions and I let it crush us.” “And now? What do you think now?” “I think you’ll go back on tour, then to LA, and eventually you’ll find someone that can do everything you need them to. Someone you’ll want more than you ever wanted me, because motherhood and rock stars don’t go together.” I stalk across the hall and force her to turn. She drops her arms, her eyes sad, threatening tears, and I cup her face. “I will never want anyone more than I want you. No one will ever come close to you. Whatever it was you did that made me fall in love with you years ago has ruined me. Completely fucking ruined me.” She wraps her hands around my arms, holding me to her. “I don’t care how many girls throw themselves at me. They don’t matter to me at all. They’re not you,” I breathe, thickness coating my words, because dammit, she’s gotta believe me. She can’t doubt me. Not now. Not anymore. Not after everything. She can’t doubt that’s she’s anything less than absolutely everything to me. “I tried not to want you and look how that ended up. Somehow, through all the shit of the last couple of weeks, I’m more in love with you now than I ever was before. And that isn’t gonna change, princess. I’m not going to wake up one morning and decide you’re not the person I want to see wearing my T-shirt in the kitchen, making me toast. I’m not going to go to sleep and decide you’re not the one I want to hold all night long.” I press my lips to hers and taste her tears. “It’s you, Sof. You know that. It’s always been you and it always will be.” She slides her hands up and around my neck, reaching on tiptoes to kiss me hard. Tears still stream down her cheeks, smudging her mascara underneath her eyes, tainting her perfect lips with their salty taste. “You wanna know fear? I’m afraid. Every day I’m afraid I’m gonna wake up and find you’re not there. I’m afraid I won’t get to hear your voice or see your face or kiss your lips. I’m afraid you’ll take Mila, and I’ll be torn into pieces again.” Sofie takes a shuddery breath at my words. “I’m so damn afraid that one day you really won’t be mine anymore. That’s my biggest fear of all.” “That won’t happen,” she whispers. “Wherever you go, I’ll always be here. I promise. I’m not leaving again. I can’t.” “Why? Because it’s not fair to Mila? To me? To you? Why?” She pushes me off of her and walks into the front room. “To all of us, but mostly me. I’m selfish and I know it.” She turns back and throws her arms in my direction. “But one day you might not be mine either and that terrifies me. So much so I have to stay, just so I can make sure that every time you come home you’re still mine.” “Or you could save yourself the pain of wondering and just come with me.”

What? “That’s insane.” My words come out shaky. “I can’t come with you. I have Mila. You travel on a bus!” “So we’ll buy another bus.” Conner walks toward me and pulls me with him as he sits back on the sofa. He slides his hands down my back to my knees, bending them, sitting me on top of him. “The guys can have the other one, and me, you, and Mila’ll take the new one.” “And where do you think you’re going to get a tour bus in nine days?” “It might have to be a smaller RV,” he acquiesces. “But still. I want you there, Sof. And Mila, too.” He pushes some hair from my face, then trails his thumbs down to my eyes. He pulls a baby wipe from the packet on the cushion next to us and wipes under my eyes, then softly scrubs off all my mascara. Another, and he wipes all traces of makeup from my face. “I want my girls with me. Always,” he says roughly. “I want to hear Mila’s giggles and see her smile, and I want to watch her learn new things.” His hands slide up my back. “I want to hold you whenever I want, and kiss you whenever the mood strikes me, and dammit, Sof, I want to fuck you until neither of us can speak whenever we’re alone. I just fucking want you, girl. All the time.” I lower my lips to his. “Then have me. Now. That’s all I’m promising. Now, until you leave.” “It’s not good enough.” “It’s all I can give you. You can’t expect me to make a decision that will send us into turmoil for several months in a split second.” “Then I guess I’ll have to take you now.” He curls his fingers around the back of my neck and his other hand slides me fully into him. His lips are hot and tender, the harshness of his kiss softened by that fact. The hand at my butt slides down my thigh and up inside my dress. His thumb teases the skin along my inner thigh, and I drop my hands to the buttons on his shirt. I undo them all and spread it open across his broad chest. He sits forward and I slide it over his shoulders, my fingers brushing across the tattoo at the top of his arm, the pattern of it long ago committed to memory. He smiles into the kiss for a split second, then tugs at my dress. I hold my arms up as he rips it over my head and tosses it away. My body is on fire, but it’s a slow burn, one that simmers steadily through my veins. Conner flattens his hands against my back as I lift my hips to unbutton and tug down his jeans. He lifts his hips, letting me shove them down to his knees, then pulls mine down to collide with him.

His hard cock rubs against my core, pleasurable and painful, teasing and titillating. Sparks fly through me at the contact, and I can’t help the gyration of my hips. I want to feel more, just more. Conner undoes my bra and that finds its way to the floor, too, his hands cup my breasts. His tongue flicks over my nipples, making me gasp, making them pebble beneath his touch. It’s unnecessary because I want him. Unnecessary because I need him so incredibly much that I’m close to begging. Then he slides his boxers down, lifts my hips, and slides my panties down. I stand and kick them off awkwardly. When I sit back on him, he reaches between us, nestling himself against me. I push down on him, feeling my muscles clench around his perfect hardness. His hand cups the back of my head and mine curve around his neck. His other hand flattens at the bottom of my back, moving as I do. I rock my hips on him, my breath catching, my body heating. His lips, on mine, consume me, take me to another place. His hands, holding me steady, control me, remind me of where I belong. His cock, inside me, owns me, branding me as his. Every whimper from my lips tells him I’m his. Every light groan from his mouth tells me he’s mine. Every kiss, every touch, every hip rock, every thrust, they cement our words and hold us together. They take us higher and higher, make us hotter and hotter, until we spiral out of control. The slow, simmering burn becomes a fast boil, and I tip over the edge, heat flooding my body, pleasure pulsating. Heart pounding, muscle clenching, breath shuddering, I fall into him. Holding me down and cursing my name into my ear, Conner falls, too, holding me so tightly to him I feel his climax everywhere. I feel his fingers digging into my skin, marking me as his, making sure I know it. “Shit,” he whispers into my ear with a quiet laugh. “It’s a good thing I know to take that as a compliment,” I mutter, amused. I pull back and look into his eyes, then drop my mouth to his. “Will you stay?” I ask against his lips. “Try and make me go. I dare you.” He smirks. I smile and climb off him. He groans and pulls me back. “No,” he says. “Can’t I just stay inside you forever? It’s nice there.” “Nice?” I stand up indignantly. “It’s nice?” “That’s the wrong word.” He stands up, laughing. “It’s fucking incredible there.” “That’s more like it.” I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head against his chest. His heart pounds beneath my cheek, frantically, and I smile. His skin is hot and a little sticky. “Bed.” He kisses the side of my head and releases me. He grabs the baby wipes and hands them to me with a smirk. I wipe myself and skip through to the kitchen. I can feel Conner’s eyes on me as I go, and he grabs me by the trash can and swats my ass. I grin and dart away from him, up the stairs. He follows me and I giggle, poking my tongue out at him at the top of the stairs. He catches me just as I run through the doorway of my bedroom and throws me on my bed. I squeal as I hit the mattress. “The hell is it with you and throwin’ me around?” He grins sexily and tugs the sheets back, climbing into bed next to me. “It’s what you get for runnin’ away from me, princess.” He pulls me into him. I rest my head against his chest and slip my knee between his. His fingers comb through my hair and he takes a deep breath. His exhale vibrates through me, and he holds me tighter, the warmth of his embrace comforting after the roller coaster of an evening. “Sofie?” he whispers. “Yeah?” “You feel like Sofie again.”

I smile against his skin. “I told you. This is where I’m Sofie-Sofie the most.” “I like you being Sofie-Sofie. I like you being mom-Sofie, too, but I really like Sofie-Sofie.” “Stop saying my name.” I laugh. “Okay.” He laughs, too, and kisses my forehead. I close my eyes in the darkness, holding on to Conner tightly, his words from earlier spinning around in my mind. I choose to ignore them, though, and kiss his chest. “Conner?” “Yeah?” “I love you,” I whisper. “Kind of a lot, okay?” “Oh, Sof.” His lips rest against my forehead. “I love you, too. A lot, a lot.”

The sound of gentle snores fills the room as I open my eyes. I look at Conner, still sleeping, and smile at him. I shuffle out of bed quietly and open one of my drawers. I pull out his T-shirt, one I kept when I left, and pull it over my head. I don’t know how he missed it when he put all my clothes in the drawers. Maybe he didn’t miss it—maybe he noticed it and decided to just ignore it. Tying my hair up, I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. The kettle is empty, so I fill it and set it to boil, then throw four slices of bread into the toaster. My laptop is on the counter and I open it, bringing up Spotify. I set the radio playing and hum along to the song—Dirty B.’s latest. My lips curve. Damn. They’re everywhere. I twirl across the kitchen, still humming, and grab the butter and milk from the fridge. I butter the toast when it pops and stir two coffees. “I wondered what was dying down here.” Conner’s hands settle on either side of my body on the counter, and he dips his face into the side of my neck. “Ha, ha.” I knock his elbow with mine. “Good morning to you, too.” “Mornin’,” he murmurs, kissing my neck. I squirm and wriggle, turning. “I made you—” He silences me with his mouth, leaning into me. My body hums at the touch, but I push him off me. “We don’t have time. You have to eat, then we have to go somewhere.” I grab the coffee and thrust it toward him. He frowns, taking it and reaching around me to grab a slice of toast. “Where’re we goin’?” “I’m not telling you.” I grin. “So hurry up.” “I have clothes in my truck. I came prepared.” He holds his toast between his teeth and pulls his keys from his pocket. I watch him as he tears off a hearty bite from the slice of toast, then drops it on a plate. He turns, heading for the door. “You’re goin’ out there like that?” I follow him, my eyes widening. “They were there all night, princess. They already know I didn’t leave.” He winks and opens the door. I dart into the front room to avoid being seen. The curtains are still shut so I walk to the window and push them to the side, peeking out. Conner strolls to his truck barefoot and the questions start immediately. Are you back together? Conner, where’s your daughter? Conner, can you confirm that you’re in a relationship with Sofie

Callahan? He ignores them and grabs his bag from the backseat of his truck. My lips twitch as he turns and gives the media a thumbs-up. He shuts the front door and finds my eyes at the window. He winks, walking across the lawn as if his childish thumbs-up hasn’t almost started a riot. “That was immature,” I say when he shuts the front door. “I don’t give a shit.” He laughs, throwing the bag to the top of the stairs. “They shouldn’t be such asses.” Grabbing his toast from the kitchen, he makes his way upstairs. I watch him go, shake my head, then follow him. “So where we goin’?” “I’m not telling you!” I put my mug on the dresser and open my drawers, attempting to find a clean pair of shorts. Silence, then gruffly, “Why aren’t you wearing underwear?” I glance over my shoulder with a sassy smirk. “You took it off last night.” He grunts something, looking away. His eyes soon come back to me, though, and I sit on the end of the bed. “I’m not sure if I’m annoyed or grateful you just said that.” He adjusts his pants and turns away. I laugh quietly and pull out some shorts and a T-shirt. Oh, and some underwear. I dress quickly, not missing how his eyes travel back to me when I’m completely naked. “Conner? Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?” I ask. He’s standing perfectly still, his hands poised at the button of his jeans. “Yeah, but I’m thinkin’ real hard about doing the opposite.” “We don’t have time.” I repeat my earlier statement, tap him on the nose, and walk out. “I’ll make it quick!” “You don’t know how to!” He guffaws, and I grab my makeup. I’m only telling it how it is. The guy couldn’t make it quick if there was a gun to his head. I brush some powder onto my cheeks and wipe some mascara over my lashes. I look in the mirror, my eyes hovering on the happy spark in their reflection. I linger in front of the mirror for a long moment, then turn at Conner shouting my name. “How long are we gonna be?” “A while,” I reply, leaning against my doorframe. “I texted your Mom. She’s going to send your dad down to build ‘cassuls’ with Mila.” He nods slowly and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you feel bad that all she ever gets to do is play on the beach now?” My stomach twists. “Yeah, sometimes. But she loves it. I just wish we could do other stuff, like, I don’t know, take her to the park and the store. I kind of miss her shouting at me for her favorite chips.” I pick at the hem of my shirt and glance at the clock. “We gotta go.” I grab my coffee mug and take a long drink. Ouch. Hot. Ouch. Conner smiles at my flinch and rests his hand against my cheek. “Soon, okay? We’ll do all that normal stuff soon. I promise.” I nod and swallow, letting him kiss my forehead. I do feel guilty about keeping her hidden. I promised myself she’d never be hidden again when I came back here, but every day I break that promise. Even though I know it’s for her protection, I know it’s safer this way, it hurts her, too. She’s not a newborn, sleeping, eating, pooing, caught in a regular cycle. She’s an energetic

toddler, running and jumping, desperate to see the world and experience it through those gorgeous dark blue eyes. I hold on to his words. Soon, he says. How soon is soon? When will Mila finally be free again? “Nuh-uh,” I say when he walks toward his truck. I motion toward my car parked next to it and dangle my keys from my finger. “I’m driving.” He looks up to the sky, mutters something, then follows me over. “What was that?” “Nothin’, princess.” He grins sexily and gets in. I shoot him a sly look before I start the engine. I back up and pause by Ajax’s 4x4. “Comin’?” I ask out of my window. Ajax’s eyes flick between us. “Do I need to?” Conner shrugs and I say, “I know you’re just startin’ your shift, but I’d feel better if you did.” “Conner?” “I have no idea where we’re goin’, man, so if she says she’s happier with you comin’ along, then get in your car and follow us.” I lean out of the window and whisper to Ajax, “Vital Records Office.” “Ahhh.” He smiles, looking at Conner knowingly. “The fuck? You’ll tell him but not me?” I smile sweetly, flip the car around, and drive out of Shelton Bay. Conner grumbles the whole way, presumably to coerce me into telling him. I won’t, though. Not until we get there. My surprises are definitely better than his. Still he moans, muttering to himself, and when a Dirty B. song comes on the radio he shuts it off. I laugh, making the turn onto the road that’ll take us to the records office. Conner sits up straight when I pull into the lot. Ajax pulls up beside us, and so do a bunch of media. “We’re—what?” My lips curl hesitantly, and I get out without responding. Ajax gets out of his car. “Conner, move your ass before they jump on you.” Conner joins me and wraps his arm around my waist. Ajax scuttles us into the building before anyone gets too close, and I head for the front desk. “Hello, miss. Can I help you?” “Yes. My name is Sofie Callahan. Myself and Conner Burke have an appointment with the Vital Records department.” The woman behind snaps her head up from her computer and blinks furiously. Her eyes find Conner and she blushes. “Oh. Oh. Of course, Miss Callahan. Just a—just a second.” She’s flustered as hell, and I lean into Ajax. “Hilarious, isn’t it?” “If you’ll go up to the, er, third, er, third floor,” she stutters, her eyes flitting to Conner every few seconds. “Check in with reception, um, there, and you’ll be seen. Yes.” “Thank you, darlin’,” Conner drawls, shooting her a charming smile. I shove my elbow into his side. He laughs and puts his hand on my back as we walk to the elevator. Ajax pushes us inside as one of the photographers comes in, a baseball cap pulled low in disguise. Hell. They’re relentless. We get out, and Ajax stops a guard by the door. “There’s a member of the media coming up the elevator behind us. He’s wearing a blue shirt.”

The guard’s eyes flit to Conner and flash in recognition. “No problem. I’ll send some guys to the front door to make sure no one else gets in.” Ajax nods and shoves us through the doors. I check in at reception, thankfully this time with a woman old enough to be our grandmother. “What are you doin’, princess?” Conner whispers, sitting next to me. “I’m putting you on Mila’s birth certificate,” I say softly, glancing up at him through my bangs. “I applied the day after you found out. They approved it at the beginning of the week. We’re signing everything today.” He stares at me for a long moment, and my mouth gets a little dry. He pinches the bridge of his nose, then, quick as lightning, wraps his arms around me. “Thank you,” he whispers, kissing my ear. “Thank you, Sofie.” I smile into his shoulder. “Don’t thank me for something that shouldn’t need doing.” He pulls back, and our names are called. We walk into the tiny room and sit on one side of a large desk. The man in front of us runs through everything we need to know, what we’re doing, what rights it gives Conner as Mila’s father, and affirms that I accept that. I do. Conner squeezes my hand. Papers are pushed across the table toward us, and I sign on my dotted line. I pass them to Conner, and he hesitates before taking the pen. His hand shakes as he signs them, and he lets out a long breath that’s just as unsteady. Then her new birth certificate is placed in front of us, and we sign again. My eyes fall to the box at the bottom with his signature in it, right where it’s always belonged. I pull the fee from my pocket and hand it to the notary, a weight lifting from my chest. “You didn’t have to do that,” Conner whispers. “Yes I did.” I meet his eyes. “My mistake to correct.” He takes my hand, sliding his fingers through mine. When it’s all done, we take Mila’s new birth certificate and leave, our hands still entwined. Ajax smiles when we walk out of the room. No words are needed, because no words can possibly express what that moment meant to us both—and to Mila. It means that this gorgeous, loving man is now able to fight me on all things Mila. It means that he has a say, some control, and I have to listen to every one of his words and compromise on it. And it means he’s legally able to give her candy whenever he wants.

I can’t believe she actually did it. She said she would, but I can’t believe she brought me here to actually put my name on Mila’s birth certificate. If I needed any confirmation about her staying in Shelton Bay, that’s it. Right there. That signature in the box means she can’t take her away without my permission. It means neither of them can leave if I don’t let them. It means I can trust her again. I scratch the side of my head, then run my fingers through my hair. I’m not naive enough to believe that this means I can make them come and finish the tour with me. Sofie will only do that if she really believes it will hurt Mila more to be away from me for two months. Fact is, I already know it will. The night she called me over because Mila was screaming for me all night was evidence enough. I also know Sofie would rather struggle if we’re better off apart. Except we’re not. Me and Sofie—we’re better together. Now everything is out in the open, now we’ve thrown our insults and our curses, yelled our frustration, and cried through our fears, we can both see that we’re not better apart. We’re better together. Always. I can’t be away from her any more than she can be away from me. She’s just a lot more fucking stubborn than I am. Hell, her stubbornness is what put us here in the first place. Ajax drives past Sofie’s house and toward mine. We follow him, and my heart thumps at the thought of seeing Mila again. It’s been twenty-four hours since I saw her last, and I already miss her playful grin and endless giggles. We get out of the car at my place and walk up to the house. Sofie seems completely unaffected by the still-waiting media, but I know she’s not. I can still see her hands trembling a little. I reach out and take her hands in mine, even though we’re walking through the door. I have to find a way to get rid of them. A way that means they won’t be the first to get Mila’s photo. A way that means we can take Mila out and do anything we want to with her, that means we won’t have to sneak her through the damn woods to get between our houses. Mila looks up as soon as we walk in the room. “Mama! Dadda!” She scampers up and runs to us, arms wide. I scoop her up, holding her to my chest, smiling. “Hey, little girl.” “My lub Dadda.” She squeezes my neck as tightly as only a two-year-old can. “I love you, too, baby.”

“My lub Mama.” She reaches for Sofie. She puts her hand on Mila’s back and kisses her cheek. “Mama lub you, too,” she whispers. I turn my face and kiss Sofie’s temple, letting my lips linger there. Mom walks in and smiles. “Done?” she asks Sofie. Sofie turns and nods. “Great! Now, Conner.” She faces me. “Tate’s in the garage whining like a little girl because y’all need to practice, and Aidan is whining because he’s hungry, and Kye is whinin’ because they are.” She rolls her eyes. “So you head on down there to practice and tell them me and Sofie are makin’ lunch. Got it?” I hand Mila to Sofie, and with a kiss to Mila’s tiny cheek, I leave the room and head into the garage. “We got it,” Tate says as soon as I walk through the door. “You’re an idiot, but you’re a fuckin’ brilliant one.” “You got what?” I pause, my fingers still curled around the door. My oldest brother half-grins. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I was playin’ it like a fuckin’ dick. I didn’t have the tuning right on my guitar, so all your chords sounded like crap to me.” “And none of us noticed because we were too busy playing it right.” Kye laughs. “We were in fucking la-la land.” “I knew I got it right.” I smirk and sit down. “So there’s no more bitchin’ at me for making us learn this for tomorrow?” Aidan shakes his head. “If you know the lyrics, we can learn the music in a couple hours. Hey, is Mom bringin’ us lunch or what? We’ve been working our asses off while you’ve been . . .wherever the hell you were.” “The Vital Records Office.” I pick up my guitar. “My name is on Mila’s birth certificate now.” “’Bout damn time,” Tate grumbles. I open my mouth, and he holds his hands up. “I don’t mean it like that, man. I mean it in a ‘thank fuck you finally got your shit together’ kinda way. I’m sick of seein’ you two hating each other one second, then loving each other the next. I’m gonna try and be nice to her now, especially if she’s comin’ with us.” “Sofie’s coming on tour?” Kye and Aidan ask simultaneously. Twins. Hate them. “I asked her,” I admit. “She shot me down, and then we got . . . distracted.” Tate grins. There’s a knock at the door. Aidan opens it, and Sofie walks in with a huge plate of sandwiches. Tate’s still grinning. “What?” she says to him. “You that happy to see some food?” “Ignore him,” I say, watching Aidan take the plate from her, but not before he shoves a triangle in his mouth. “Aw, triangles, that’s cute. Mom still thinks we’re six and playing with battery-operated guitars.” Kye snatches a couple of sandwiches, grumbling. “Mila has one you could borrow if yours is too complicated.” Sofie smiles sweetly. Kye sticks his middle finger up at her and she laughs. I eat a few of the triangles, and when the plate is pretty much clear, I turn to Sofie. “You’re not allowed back in here, all right?” “Why not?” she asks, frowning.

“Because I said. Send Leila or Mom in instead.” “Leila’s on an afternoon date.” She stands. “And your mom’s gone to the store.” “Then we’ll get it ourselves.” “Or I could just take Mila home.” I chew the inside of my lip. “If you really want.” She sighs. “No. We’re baking cookies. You’d never guess why there are none in the house.” She rolls her eyes. “Try not to fight.” She looks directly at Tate. “I’m being good,” he retorts. “First time for everythin’, then, eh?” She smiles and turns away. “Hey.” I grab her hand and pull her down. I kiss her, tasting lemonade on her lips, and I resist the urge to flick my tongue against her mouth. She straightens when I release her and leaves the garage quickly. My lips twitch—I forgot how much she hated me doing that in front of my brothers. “Gross,” Tate mutters. “Seen you do worse,” I remind him, resettling my guitar on my knee. “You ready?”

Seven hours

straight of practicing led to us all being fall-down tired, with stupidly sore hands. Tensions started to get high toward the end, so we called it a day, set the music down, and all parted ways. I’m on the deck, stretched back on a chair with my feet up on the fencing. With Mila going back to bed—for the third time, God love her, she hates going to sleep—it’s finally quiet, the only noise that of the waves and the gentle buzz of Dad’s TV show. The back door opens softly and I turn my head. “Hey.” “Hey, you,” Sofie says quietly, stepping out onto the decking. “You mind if I join you?” “Don’t be dumb.” She smiles and walks to the chair next to me. I lean over, grab her waist, and pull her down on top of me. “What are you doin’?” she whispers through giggles. “Holding you,” I whisper back. She rests her head on my shoulder. “How’d your practice go?” “Good. We didn’t kill each other, so that’s a plus.” “Well, yes. What did you practice?” “Bit of everything, but mostly somethin’ new for tomorrow night.” “Oh? What is it?” “I’m not tellin’. Y’all have to come to find out.” I tighten my arms around her waist. “That’s mean.” She pouts, and it’s easy to see where Mila gets it from. They’re identical pouts. “No, it’s completely normal.” I grin. “What did you do today?” Sofie sighs. “Let’s see. We baked cookies, drew approximately fifteen hundred pictures of Peppa Pig, napped, helped your mom make meat loaf for dinner, then had a big splashy bath. I also discovered I will burn cookies if your mom doesn’t remind me they’re in there and I can’t draw for shit.” “Sounds busy.” “Busy and a little tedious. For Mila, too,” she adds, tracing her finger over my tattoo. The casual movement sends shivers through me.

“Really? It sounds like a toddler’s dream.” “I think she’s bored, Con,” she says softly. “Even of the beach. She’s been doin’ the same stuff for over a week now. She started getting really naughty earlier.” I feel so damn bad she’s kept practically captive because of who I am. “We’ll figure it out this weekend, okay? Another day or two in the house won’t hurt her. We’ll go to the toy store in the morning and buy her a bunch of stuff to amaze her.” Sofie smiles sadly. “It’s more fun with her there. She picks what she wants. It’s how Santa came last year.” I sigh. “I’ll figure it out, all right? I promise.” She nods. “I know you will.” I kiss her shoulder. “Wanna go walk on the beach?” “Romantic.” “I’m bored.” “Not romantic.” “I’m tryin’ to find a balance.” I lift her up off of me and stand. “You comin’ or what?” She glances back at the house. “Mila will be fine. Mom will get her if she wakes up.” “I know. I just feel bad leaving her all the time. It’s not fair.” I take both of her hands in mine and pull her off the porch and onto the lawn. “Sofie, you did it all alone for a long time. You’re allowed to take an hour in the evening to go walk on the beach, okay? You’re allowed to hand over the responsibility sometimes.” “I know,” she says again, this time with a quiet sigh. “I’m just . . . I’m just not used to it.” “Well, get used to it.” I give her hands a quick tug and pull her closer to me. She looks up, I look down, and I say, “Because it’s gonna be this way from now on. There are a whole bunch of people in that house that love her.” She nods and smiles. “She’s lucky.” “Of course she is. She’s got you.” Her smile grows a little. “I did all right.” “You did and are doing all right. So for fuck’s sake, make your stubborn ass relax and come have a bit of fun, okay?” “That doesn’t make me relax,” she says as I pull her along again. “Your idea of fun and mine are different.” Yeah, yeah, the paragliding thing. “Oh, that’s right. You’re boring.” “I am not!” She gasps. I grin and tug her along the beach—sideways, not toward the water. “Then come play.” “Conner, what are you thinkin’?” Only a dark orange glow remains of the earlier sun, the rest of the sky an inky black, and I’d bet it’s close to ten. My grin turns mischievous, I know, and Sofie’s beautiful eyes narrow suspiciously. “Trust me.” “I do. And that’s the freakin’ problem,” she mumbles. Hell, my grin just keeps on widening. I pull us until we’re out of sight of the house but still on our part of the beach. The light really is waning now, the warm colors of the sunset giving way to the full dark of night. I rest my hands on Sofie’s hips and step into her. Her chest is rising and falling quickly, but I can’t tell if it’s from excitement or fear.

“Skinny-dip with me,” I whisper into her ear. “What!” she exclaims. “Conner, you’re crazy!” I grin, my old reply to that coming to mind. “You want me to respond to that the cheesy way or not?” “ ‘Only for you,’ ” she mimics. “No, thank you.” “So get in the water.” I let her go and pull my shirt over my head. Her eyes travel across my body, and she hesitates. I don’t wait for her. I pull my jeans and boxers down, leaving them in a heap in the sand. I catch her mouth dropping open just before I run into the water. Thankfully it’s still warm, and I run in until I’m waist-deep. I dive under and pop back up, pushing my hair from my face. Sofie’s nowhere to be seen, but . . . her clothes are in a pile next to mine. Fingers trail up the backs of my thighs and I turn just in time to see her emerge from the water. She flicks her hair away and beams, keeping her body submerged. She disappears again and swims out a little farther. I walk out to meet her. “You did it.” She shrugs. “It’s kind of fun.” I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into me. She comes effortlessly, her own arms circling mine as she stands up straight. Her bare breasts brush my chest, and the feeling of her soft, wet skin against mine gets my blood pumping. Shit, I want her. Right now. I run my hands down her back and my fingers brush the top of her ass. She gasps a little when I curve them over and inside her thighs, a breath away from her pussy. “Conner, what are you doing?” she breathes. “You’re naked and wet against me. I have a few ideas.” I run my lips down her jaw. “Conner!” She laughs breathlessly, gripping my hair tighter. I look into her eyes and smile, seeing the spark of Sofie back. It’s not something I can put my finger on or something I even knew was there before she left. But when she came back I knew something had been missing, and although it’s been gradually coming back over the past few weeks, it’s only fully there since we let everything off our chests. But it’s also a spark that’s only there with me. My spark. My Sofie.

“Tate, you’re a fucking genius!” I look up from the breakfast table. “Conner! Language!” “I’m sorry!” He smacks his hand over his mouth and glances at Mila. Luckily for him, she’s too busy feeding Bunna her banana. “What’s going on?” “Tate just figured it out. How we can take Mila out.” Conner’s grinning widely, excitedly. Tate walks into the kitchen with an almost identical smile stretching across his face. “It’s simple. They all want the first public picture of her. If they don’t get it, it’s practically worthless. So all you have to do is take that power away from them.” I frown at him. “I don’t get it.” “Facebook.” He sits down next to me triumphantly. “You post a picture of her and Conner on the Dirty B. fan page. We have like twenty million likers on that thing. It’ll go viral from there, and none of the media will get their famed shot of the ‘Dirty B. secret baby.’ ” I put my phone down on the table and stare at him, my mouth dropping. “Tate! That’s brilliant!” He sits back smugly. “It’s been known to happen now and then.” I look at Conner. “Do you think it’ll work?” He nods. “We have a lot of messages and posts asking to see her. It’s like they don’t really believe it. We can post it there, then go out straight after.” “They’ll all think they’re getting the pictures, but there’ll already be one online.” Tate taps his fist against the table. “Hey, Mila.” “Yeah, Tay?” “You want a picture with Daddy?” “Picker?” she gasps, her eyes lighting up. “Yeah. Picker.” Tate leans forward. “You want Mommy in it?” “Mama picker, too.” She gasps again, her hands on her cheeks. I laugh at the cute, surprised expression on her face. “I’m not being in it.” “Yeah, you are,” Conner tells me, his eyes burning into mine. “Both of you are.” “Picker now! Picker now!” Mila chants. “Uh, not until your face is clean.” I grab a wipe and get up. I scrub her face, holding the back of her head steady as she shakes it in defiance. I drop the wipe in the trash can and Conner lifts her out of her high chair. I follow them into the front room and sit on the sofa next to Conner. He sets Mila on his lap, her legs out to one side, then wraps his arm around me. He nudges me into him.

“Ready?” Tate asks, holding up the camera. “Do I have to?” I ask. “Yes,” he and Conner both say simultaneously. “Picker!” Mila shouts. “Now!” “Okay, okay.” I sigh and settle into Conner’s side. “Hey!” Tate says to her. “Shhh and cheese for me.” “Cheeeeeeeez!” Mila gives a big grin. Tate laughs. “Smile.” He doesn’t have to tell me, because her “cheese” already has me doing it. Tate takes a few photos, then comes over, bringing them up on the screen. “I like the third one,” I say. “I look constipated in the last one.” Conner snorts. “Okay, we’ll use the third one.” He passes me Mila, then plugs the camera into the laptop and copies the picture into another folder. Then he brings up the browser, goes to Facebook, and heads to the Dirty B. fan page. Whoa. So, he wasn’t joking about the questions. They have hundreds of notifications and messages, and it looks like they’re all asking about Mila. Conner skips them over and attaches the photo to a new post. Hey, Divas! he types. “Divas?” Tate shrugs. “You called them Dirty B. Divas when me and Aidan crashed your burger date with Kye. It kind of stuck with us, so we renamed our fans the Divas.” Conner here. I have a special post today. Y’all keep asking us for a photo of my daughter, and I’m happy to finally introduce her to you. You’re all great and we wanted you to meet her first. So here she is, the littlest Diva, with me and her amazing mama, Sofie. This is my Mila.

I swallow my nerves as he clicks “post.” He turns his face to me and our daughter. “There. Done.” “She’s not a secret anymore,” I whisper, running my fingers through her unruly dark hair. “No,” he agrees, kissing Mila’s cheek. She squirms, so I let her down. The comments and likes start rolling in instantly, inundating the page with yet more notifications. Conner shuts the laptop. “Nobody wants to see their crazy-ass comments. They ain’t all gonna be nice.” I shrug. “I don’t care. Not anymore. It ain’t their business.” He smiles. “Hey, Mila?” “Dadda?” “You wanna go to the toy store?” She gasps for the third time this morning. Freakin’ hell, today’s like toddler heaven. Relief replaces my nerves at the smile on her face. She’s genuinely excited to go, and not just because she knows she’ll get spoiled, but because she gets to leave the house. “I’ll get Ajax and everyone here.” Tate pulls out his phone. Conner grits his teeth. I put my hand on his arm, and he relaxes a little. We both know it’s necessary. We might know Mila’s out there, but the vultures outside don’t. “They’ll be here in two minutes.” Tate tucks the phone back into his pocket. “You sure you wanna

do this?” “Yes,” I say before Conner can. “It’s time we got to act like a proper family.” Conner’s hand tenses on my lower back. “You know what?” Tate smirks, looking at me. “I might finally be starting to like you.” “Well, what do you know? I might finally like you, too.” He laughs and looks out of the window. “That’s a damn short two minutes.” “It’s why we pay them.” Conner bends down and picks up Mila. I meet his eyes. Apprehension is bright in them, and it brings back my nerves. He knows better than I do how intense this is going to be. Ajax knocks at the door and opens it. “Ready?” I nod and take Conner’s hand. I pull him toward the door, being the pillar of strength for the first time, and Ajax sees us out. Hell breaks loose. They scramble and fight against the security and the police, desperate for a photo of her. They scream and yell, shouting harshly. “Keep your head down and get in the car,” Ajax orders us, opening the back door so Conner can buckle her into her car seat. “I’ll be in front and Gareth will be behind you. There are four of us with y’all, keeping her safe.” He looks at me. “Don’t let ’em get to you.” “They’re the ones who should be afraid if they get too close to my daughter.” I smile and open my door. “Con, pull her shade down.” I shove the keys in and Conner gets in next to me. “Go,” he says, seeing Ajax pull out. I follow the black 4x4 onto the street. Cameras chase us and there’s a mad scramble. “Is this is how it is all the time for you guys?” I ask. “In LA? Pretty much. Not so bad everywhere else. This is only because of Mila. Otherwise they’d basically leave us alone on our tour break.” “I’m sorry we made your break crazy.” “You made my break beautiful. Crazy beautiful, but still beautiful.” “Good. Because your daughter is roughly five minutes away from destroying your bank balance.” “I don’t know what you mean.” He smiles slyly. “No, of course you don’t. You absolutely won’t buy her everything she asks for, will you?” “Toy toy toy toy toy,” Mila sings in the back. “Oooh, toy tore!” I glance at Conner and burst into giggles. “I think she got my musical talent and not yours.” He leans his head back against his seat. “Dammit.”

Mila’s been sitting at that damn desk coloring since we got back yesterday. Never mind the cartful of other toys Conner left the store with, she’s only interested in the Peppa Pig drawing desk. Peppa’s blaring out of the television, the monotonous snorting of her and her family giving me a headache. I sneak the remote and turn it down a little. Mila glances up but doesn’t say anything. Obviously redesigning George Pig in shades of orange and purple is more important. “I think he’s crazy wanting to take Mila to the concert tonight. It’s not like she’s not going to go to one soon.” “I haven’t decided if I’m going with them on tour yet, so it’s not that crazy.” I look at Leila. “Going with them is just . . . I don’t know. Kind of nuts, isn’t it? Taking a two-year-old on a seven-state,

eighteen-city tour over two months? Eh.” “It is, but it isn’t.” She shrugs a shoulder and glances at Mila. “Look how much she loves him. You think she can be apart from him for that long? He’ll be able to fly back maybe once for a couple days, then he’ll be gone again. It’s long and tiring for them. I went with them for a month once, and they worked so, so hard.” “That’s another reason. He’ll be so busy workin’ he won’t have time to see her. That isn’t fair.” “You’re makin’ excuses, Sof. She’ll love it. Stop holding yourself back again.” I open my mouth. Then close it. She’s right. I’m the one holding back. It’s about our relationship just as much as it is about Mila and Conner’s. If I go, and it doesn’t work, I’m stuck with it until we all come home. It could be destructive or it could be beautiful. “I’m thinking about it, okay? If I think about it any harder my brain will explode.” I lean back on the sofa. “I’m going to take her because he asked me to. We’ll be right at the front anyway, so she’ll be safe.” “You haven’t seen them in the masses,” she murmurs. “We’ll have Ajax and my new friend Carlos.” I grin. “Okay, none of them will fuck with Ajax. Not even their screaming, fangirling, obsessive asses are that dumb.” “Wow, you make it sound appealing.” “Hey, if you’re the girlfriend of a Dirty B. boy, you gotta accept that.” “I never said I was his girlfriend. We’re just being . . . us.” “So next time you argue, we’ll all know to leave the house? Awesome.” Leila laughs and dodges my playful swipe. “Whatever. How did your date go?” She snorts. “Terrible. Awful. I swear, I’m a serial bad dater. All the guys I meet are just . . . wrong.” “You just have really bad taste in guys. You know that?” “Yeah. I’m like a douchebag magnet.” I crack a smile. I try to fight it, I do, but it’s impossible. It’s so true. No matter how hard Leila tries, she’s always been into the wrong guys. “We gotta go,” she says, standing up. “Mila. You wanna go see Daddy sing?” She looks up from her picture. “Dadda sin?” “Yeah, baby.” I grab Bunna. “Dadda’s gonna sing.” “Oooh yeah!” She climbs out of the desk and runs over. I give her Bunna and put her shoes on, then lift her up. I carry her to the car, leaving Leila to lock the door, and put her in the back. There are only a few cameras at the end of my yard now. Tate was right—as soon as they found out we posted the picture of her ourselves, their stalking became much less lucrative. Leila in the front seat, I drive down to the beach easily. Kind of. If you ignore the mass of cars taking up every available parking space. Leila dials Ajax. “Where are we supposed to park? . . . Uh-huh . . . Right . . . Got it.” She hangs up. “We have to drive down the street to the private parking lot. He’ll meet us at the entrance and get us in with VIP badges.” “Suits me.” I make the turn. The road is jammed. “We probably should have left earlier.” “No kiddin’, Miss Indecisive.” I tap my fingers against the steering wheel incessantly. It takes us forever to get down the street and

make the turn into the lot. Ajax is waiting as promised, and we’re waved straight in. I pull into a space and get out. Ajax approaches us just as I lift Mila onto my hip. “Here.” He loops a badge around each of our necks. “These will get you in and out of all the private areas. Conner’s backstage right now. He told me to bring y’all down to him when you got here.” “Sure.” Mila grabs my badge and plays with it as we follow Ajax. I smile at her as he leads us through the security setup and into a large tent behind the stage. Like he said, all the guys are sitting there, tuning their instruments and waiting for us. “Dadda!” Mila shrieks, scrambling to get out of my arms. “Hey, little girl.” He picks her up. “You been good?” She nods. “George.” “You colored George?” he asks, and she nods. “What color?” “Onnige.” “Orange?” “Yeah. Onnige.” Conner winks at me. My lips curl, amusement controlling them. For a guy who, two weeks ago, couldn’t understand her when she said “cussel,” he’s doing real good with toddler-speak. “Oh, Tay! Atar! Atar!” Mila flaps her arms and makes Conner put her down. She runs over to Tate and stops in front of his guitar. “My touch?” “Uhh . . . One touch, baby girl,” he says reluctantly. “Gentle.” Mila runs her fingers down the strings, the low acoustic buzz filling the air. She giggles. “He’s gone soft,” Conner says into my ear, watching as she does it again, and again. “By all accounts, Mila’s turned you Burke boys into a bunch of pussies,” I say back, quietly. “Only where she’s concerned.” He sweeps an arm around my waist and drops his lips to mine. My fingers curl in his shirt, and I lean up into his kiss. “Five minutes, guys,” someone says from across the tent. All four of them acknowledge it with a grunt or mumble of some sort. “What’s it like out there, Sof?” Kye asks me. “I’ve never seen so many people in Shelton Bay in my life,” I answer honestly. “It’s probably a small concert for you guys, but seriously, wow. You can’t park anywhere in town.” “Sounds about right,” Tate says, prying Mila away from his guitar and giving it to someone to take on stage. “Why don’t we grab you a Popsicle before we start?” He grabs her hand and leads her through security to an ice cream stand. “Nice of him to get her sticky before he passes her back,” I mutter, watching. Conner grins. “Uncle’s privilege, I think.” “You guys ready? Where’s Tate?” a guy with a headset and clipboard asks. “Uncle duty,” Leila answers. “Where’s Jenna?” I whisper to Conner. “Sick,” he replies. “She quit last week. Her pregnancy is pretty sucky. We’re hiring a new PA this week to meet us in Charleston for our first performance.” “Ah. I see.” Tate comes back, holding Mila by the hand, and she’s clasping a bright red Popsicle, licking it crazily. “Finally,” the guy says, seeing him. “You’re onstage in sixty seconds, so move it.”

“Got it,” Conner says. He turns swiftly and grabs me, pulling me against him. His lips move across mine firmly, tasting, teasing. “For luck,” he whispers. I stand, dumbstruck, as he kisses Mila on the forehead and follows the guys toward the stage. “Come on.” Ajax lifts Mila and sits her on his hip, facing the front, much to her delight. “Let’s go.” “You don’t have to carry her.” I run after him, Leila on my heels. “I bet I can hold her longer than you,” he challenges. “And I’m taller. She’ll see better.” He grabs her again and hoists her over his head and onto his shoulders. “What are you doin’?” Leila laughs. He turns back and winks at us both. “My job.”

This is truly insane. I thought I understood how loved Dirty B. was when I watched their concerts on the Internet or TV. I thought I knew how excited their fans were, how loud they were, how much they truly idolize the boys on the stage in front of me. I had no. Freakin’. Idea. Everyone wants to get to the front. Carlos has pushed more than one group of girls away from me and Leila over the last hour and a half. Everyone wants to be as close to Dirty B. as they can be. They want to physically touch them. All four boys can work the crowd, even Aidan when he’s stuck behind his drums. They rile them up until their excitement is at a fever pitch and completely infectious. “Phew,” Conner says into his microphone, standing in the middle of the stage. “That was fun. You guys really do know all the words, huh?” Cue screaming. “Yeah, I thought so. Anyway . . .” He wipes his hand over his brow. Someone throws him a towel. “Hey, thanks!” He laughs, using it, then throwing it back. “Anyway. We have somethin’ special for y’all today. You wanna hear it?” Cue screaming round two. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.” And screaming round three. “Okay, I think they wanna hear it, guys.” He looks back at his brothers. “I’m gonna need some help for this one.” He waves in our direction, and before I know it, Ajax is moving toward the stage with Mila on his shoulders. “What the hell?” My jaw drops as I watch Ajax step through the security line. Conner puts his mic on the floor, grabs Mila, then picks it back up. “All right.” He adjusts Mila on his hip. “Hey, baby! Everyone, meet my daughter, Mila. Mila, meet, well, everyone.” A chorus of “Awww” rings out through the crowd. I’m not awww-ing. I’m wondering what the hell he’s playing at up there. I glance at Leila and she shrugs, wearing the same kind of confused look I presume I am. “Can we get a couple seats?” Conner looks to the side and two stools are brought out. He sits Mila on one and crouches next to her. “You stay sittin’ right there, okay? Don’t move.” Mila nods, clutching Bunna. “Good.” He picks his guitar up from the side of the stage and sits, hooking the mic in the stand. After lowering it and tilting the mic down, he gets comfortable.

“Right. Y’all ready?” Screams. Always the screams. “Okay.” He nods back to his brothers. Aidan clicks his drumsticks against the side of his snare drum four times, then the rest of them kick in, playing acoustically. Shivers cascade down my spine. Hell, they flow through my whole body. The ends of my fingers tingle, and when Conner starts to sing, when that drawl comes out that invades the space around me, everything inside me coils tightly. My heart pounds, and I could swear my hands are sweating, but I don’t know because I can only focus on him and the warmth in his voice. Seasons pass and feelings change, But don’t you know we’re still the same, I still want you the way I did before, I still want you the way you wanted me. He looks at me, his eyes unguarded, and I see everything he feels. I know this song is for me, like every song he’s ever written, it’s me. I deny it ’cause it hurts, I fight it ’cause it burns, But I want everythin’ you have to give . . . Give to me . . . ’Cause forever ain’t the same, without your touch . . . It’s a forbidden gain, an endless pain . . . I swallow and hug myself. His words wrap around me, the honesty in them almost suffocating me. Leila nudges me. “Ain’t this the one he was working on before?” I nod, unable to speak. The lump in my throat is too much, too big, too sticky. There are probably a thousand people on this beach. Every one of them is screaming and dancing except me. The only thing we have in common is that every single one of us is falling in love with Conner Burke right now. But I’m not falling for the first time. These flutters in my stomach, the relentless pounding of my heart, the quick, sharp breaths, they’re not new to me. I’m falling in love with him, all over again. Forever’s just a dream, somethin’ to imagine, Don’t deny me ’cause it hurts, don’t fight it ’cause it burns, You know you want me, I’ll give you everythin’, All I got to give, if you give to me . . . “It’s you, isn’t it?” Leila says above the noise of the screams. “It’s always you, isn’t it?” I nod again. “Always.” “How the hell can you let him leave without you next week?” I lean into her side, resting my head on her shoulder. Conner’s eyes haven’t left mine. They’re totally focused, raw, a path straight through to his heart. “I can’t.”

There’s always a rush after performing. It hits the second you step backstage, when the adrenaline is buzzing through your veins and you’re still high on the screams of the crowd, it seems like nothing can bring you down. Especially now that I have Mila in my arms, hugging me tightly. “Dadda good son.” “You think?” “Yeah.” I nod. “You want it for bedtime?” “Oh, yeah!” The excitement in her voice makes me smile. I spin her around and flip her up onto my shoulders. She giggles, holding on to my hair a little too hard. I wince. “You seen Sofie?” I ask Kye. He shakes his head. “She left,” Ajax says, appearing from nowhere. “She told me to ask you if you could take Mila home.” “She really waited for my answer,” I mutter. “I don’t have a child seat for her.” “I have one in my car,” he reassures me. “I’m practically a taxi for my sister and nephew whenever I’m not here. I’ll take you two home.” “Really? Thanks, man.” I turn to my brothers. “Look, I gotta get Mila home to bed. You all right sortin’ this out?” Kye nods. “You go.” “Thanks.” I carry Mila over to Ajax’s car. As promised, there’s a child seat in the back. I strap Mila in, shut the door, and jump into the front. Ajax starts the engine without a word and pulls away from the craziness of the beach. I lean back in the plush leather seat and exhale slowly. “You two still not sorted your issues?” “Oh, they’re sorted. It’s what happens after the issues.” He laughs. “Right. It’s always that way. They never know what they want.” “I think she knows exactly what she wants. She’s just too damn stubborn to take it.” And ain’t that the damn truth. “Sounds about right from what I’ve seen of her.” He laughs again. “Not many girls would sit on a car to make a point after just being thrust into the limelight.” “Yeah, well, fortunately sometimes her stubborn streak outweighs her fears.”

“Fears? Really? You’re telling me that about the girl who threatened to smash a guy’s camera if he didn’t, and I quote, ‘get it the eff out of her face within five seconds.’ ” My lips quirk. “Oh, yeah. Sofie’s fearless, but she’s also the most scared person I know.” “She’s got another person to protect. She’s allowed to be afraid.” But what Ajax doesn’t know is that her fears aren’t completely for Mila. Ajax pulls up in the driveway. I thank him for the ride and get Mila from the backseat. The front door opens and Sofie stands there, now wearing cotton shorts and a tight-fitting tank that reads: RUN NOW, WINE LATER. “Thanks for bringing her back,” she says softly, reaching for her. “I’m good. The guys are packin’ up.” I stand my ground until she moves to the side. “Leila go home?” Sofie nods. “I dropped her off on the way.” “Good.” I turn to look at Mila. “Ready for bed, little girl?” She yawns in answer. “I’ll get her a milk.” Sofie slips past me and disappears into the kitchen. I grab a diaper from the bag in the hall and carry Mila upstairs. She yawns for a third time. Going to the concert must have really tired her out. I stand her in the middle of her room. “Arms up!” She holds them up and I pull her dress over her head, leaving her standing in her diaper and socks and shoes. She sits down when I ask, and I pull the shoes and socks off, then change her diaper. She grabs Bunna and yawns into her hand. Sheesh. “She can sleep like that,” Sofie says quietly from the door. “It’s real hot tonight.” She’s telling me. I’ve been standing under stage lights for almost two hours. “Oookay.” I lift Mila into her crib. She lies down, reaching for her milk from Sofie, and tucks the cup into her chest. Sofie covers her gently with a thin blanket and turns to press Play on the iPod. I beat her to it, and the opening notes of our song come on. She lifts her eyes to mine and inhales sharply. She pauses, and then she ducks around me, running downstairs. “Night, baby,” I whisper to Mila. I shut her door quietly and follow Sofie downstairs. I walk into the front room, expecting her to be there, but she isn’t. The downstairs bathroom is empty, and so are the kitchen and dining room. My feet guide me outside. She’s standing in the middle of the yard, looking up, her hands in her hair. “She’s got that long blonde hair, them baby blue eyes, but when I say she’s pretty she’s so surprised,” I sing, walking up behind her. “She’s got a smile like heaven, the attitude of hell, she thinks she keeps me guessin’ but I know her well.” She turns her face into me, a tiny smile curving the edges of her mouth, and I rest my hands on her hips. “And I just can’t resist, them pretty pink lips, and damn I love it when she sways those crazy hips.” I sway her hips side to side, and she laughs softly. “She stole my heart like a thief in the night, but I don’t mind, she makes them dark days bright.” “You’re crazy,” she whispers. “Only for you.” I keep swaying her hips, and she settles her hands on mine, shaking her head. I slide my hands around to her stomach and her hips still. “Why’d you come back?” “I needed to be the only person who loves you after that.”

“They ain’t in love with me. They’re in love with my voice.” “Yeah, that’ll explain the panties that got caught on your mic stand.” “Yeah, that happens sometimes. Tate puts the ones with numbers on them in his pocket. Obviously he never calls them because he has no idea who he’s calling, but still. They hope.” She shakes her head. “It’s a whole other life, ain’t it? What you have away from Shelton Bay. I don’t think I realized it fully until today. Some chick near us drove up from freakin’ Texas because she missed all your tour dates there.” “They’re crazy, but in the best kind of way ” “Crazy freaky. Crazy obsessive. Crazy relentless.” “I like your crazy beautiful better,” I reassure her. “Your crazy was made just for me. Just like you were. And your ass was. That was definitely made just for me.” She slaps my arm lightly. “How do you deal with it all?” “It’s our life. It’s how it is. But it’s such a small part of it, really. When we’re on tour, it’s twice, maybe three times a week, and when we’re not, it hardly ever happens. We’ll get stopped for autographs and photos wherever we go, but it’s not usually that insane.” I rest my chin on her shoulder. “It isn’t everythin’.” Sofie leans back into me. “What’s it like, bein’ on tour?” “It’s . . . different.” I pull her back to the bench swing and sit with her. I open my legs and she nestles between them, her back to my front, her hands over mine. “It’s busy. The day we play, we have to spend all day at the venue, getting set up and getting to know the place, sound checks and stuff. But it’s also amazing, because we get to see all these incredible cities. We spend a couple days in each place, so we take the day after the concert to just explore.” “What’s your favorite one?” “City?” I ask. She nods. “New York. Easily. I mean, it’s just . . . damn. It’s somethin’ else. It’s so different from here. You’d love it.” “I bet,” she whispers. “Why all the questions? You thinkin’ ’bout what I said last night?” Sofie takes a deep breath and shrugs a shoulder. “I want to, you know? Then I think about Mila and if she could deal with all that traveling. It would be so tiring for her, being on the road constantly. But then on the other hand, she hates being away from you. If she wakes up and you’re not here, she constantly looks out the window for you.” “So just try it.” I slide my hand up to cup her jaw and turn her face. Her eyes find mine. “Try it, and if it’s too much, I’ll fly you both back.” I brush my thumb over her cheek. “Please, Sof. I just got her. I just got you back. Don’t ask me to be without you again.” She curls onto her side and rests her head on my chest. “Where are you goin’?” “Not far. New York is our farthest away, in a month. Then we’ll hit some Midwest cities, working our way south. We finish in New Orleans.” “New Orleans? I always wanted to go there. Dad always promised he’d take me, but he never got a chance.” Her voice trails off. I kiss the top of her head. “I want you to come, Sof.” “When do you go?” Her voice cracks a little on the word “go.” “One week.” I run my fingers through her hair. “We leave on Saturday morning to perform in Raleigh, then head to Charlotte for the Wednesday show.”

“Where after?” “Charleston. See? We’re stickin’ pretty close to home.” She nods but doesn’t say anything. I rest my head on the back of the swing, nervous energy zinging through me. Leaving her and Mila just doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. The thought is like a mismatched puzzle piece in my mind. It’s that piece you just try to jab in because it should fit, but it never does. “Okay,” she whispers. “But if it doesn’t work by Charleston, we’re leaving.” “Really?” I tilt her face up to look at me. “You’ll come?” Sofie moves onto her knees and sits back on her ankles, balancing precariously on the swing. “I don’t want you and Mila to be apart, Conner. Not so soon.” “Now tell me the other half of the reason,” I growl, sliding down to be close to her. “I have no idea what you mean.” Her lips twitch, giving her lie away. I run my thumb up her side, over the curve of her breast, and up her neck. She shivers as it tickles her jawline and rests on her bottom lip. “You know exactly what I mean,” I whisper roughly, tracing the curve of her mouth. She curls her fingers around the hair at the nape of my neck. “You’re gonna have to remind me of that other reason.” I tug her face to mine and replace my thumb with my mouth. I kiss her roughly, not caring about being gentle, and she whimpers immediately. She moves closer, and her fingers dig into my neck, her other hand tugging my hair. I curve my hand around her ass, squeezing, and then— “Shit!” I laugh, catching her on top of me as we fall off the swing and onto the grass. “For goodness’ sake, Conner!” She giggles, pushing herself up and looking down at me. “Can’t you even kiss me right?” I flip her over onto her back. “Sounds like a dare to me.” I drop my mouth to hers again, my tongue instantly finding its place against hers. My knee slides between her legs and she bends one of hers, rubbing her thigh against mine. Her body pushes into me as the tiny gasping whimpers she’s making pulsate through my bloodstream, making my cock harden. I slide my hand beneath her shirt and cup her tit, palming it, rubbing my thumb over where her nipple is slowly getting harder. “Now I remember,” she breathes. “This. This is a pretty good reason for me coming.” “This is the only reason for you coming,” I retort, a sexy grin forming on my face. “Ha! Smart guy. Except I’m not coming.” “Not yet.”

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’m about to get on a freakin’ tour bus and be their damn part-time PA until they can hire a full-time one. I swear that was Conner’s ulterior motive. He denies it, but I think he’s full of shit. “Bus, Mama!” Mila squeals as I lift her out of the car. “Big bus!” “Sure is, baby girl. You wanna go on the big bus?” “Yeah!” She grabs for it. “You can’t play with it, Mila.” Conner laughs from behind us, wrapping his arm around my waist and kissing us both. “You can live on it for a while, though.” She gasps in her overdramatic way. “Bunna, too?” “Bunna, too.” “And Dadda?” “Yep.” “And Mama?” She looks at me. “And Mama,” I clarify. Just how it should be. The three of us together, the way it should have always been. I know Conner still hasn’t forgiven me entirely, and that’s okay. He doesn’t have to forgive me. I don’t hold it against him, because we have trust now. He trusts that I won’t run, and I trust that he’ll stay true to his word, that he’ll always want me. “You’re not doin’ much organizin’ out here,” Tate says gruffly, rubbing the side of his head. I put Mila down and she runs toward Diane at the front door. I give Tate the once-over. “You forgot to wash the lipstick off your neck. You smell like a cheap whore, too.” He claps his hand over his neck. “Are you shitting me?” “Would you have your hand on your neck if I was?” “Aw, fuck.” He scrubs at the side of his neck. I get a baby wipe from the backseat, step forward, and pry his hand away. I scrub at the red smudge until it disappears. “Shit. Have we added a mother hen to our crew?” Kye teases. “Y’all obviously need one. Clearly me coming along was a good idea.” “That’s what we paid Jenna for,” Tate grumbles. “Why’d she go and get knocked up, huh?” I ignore his dumb question. “You need to find a nice girl, Tate. And a shower.” “I’ll take the shower, but I’ll pass on the nice girl, thanks.” He sighs. “I’ll be back in ten.” He turns and heads toward the house. Hell, I can’t believe he listened to me.

“You gonna get him a girlfriend, Sof?” Aidan laughs. “Hell no. I don’t want my ass chewed out when he fucks her over.” I snort. “Doesn’t mean I can’t plant the idea in his head. Maybe one day it’ll start to grow a little and he’ll stop hound-dogging.” All three of them laugh, and I shrug when Aidan and Kye climb onto their bus, guitars in hand. Conner wraps his arms around my shoulders. “She’s gonna miss Mom.” I look at Mila hugging Diane. “I know. But she’d miss you more.” “I’d miss her like mad. But you know what it means if you get on that bus, don’t you?” I tilt my head back, wrapping my arms around his waist. “It means I get to organize your sorry asses for the next week or so.” “That, too.” He smirks. “No. The second you step onto that bus it means you’re completely mine. And I get to do this”—he kisses me—“and this”—he drops his hands to my butt—“and this.” His lips brush my earlobe and he whispers, “It means I get to do crazy things like throw you on the bed, rip your clothes off, and fuck you all night.” A red-hot, lust-filled spark shoots through me. “Yup. It means you get to do all of those things, whenever you want, wherever you want.” “An open invitation to fuck you wherever I want? I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you, Sofie Callahan.” “It’s because I’m fucking awesome, Conner Burke.” I seal my mouth over his. “And you fell in love with me because there was no other option.” “Damn right there wasn’t. You’re mine, girl.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

About the Author Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of sexy new adult romance novels, including the Call series and the Game series. By day, she dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies—usually wine—and writes books. Learn more at EmmaHart.org and Facebook.com/EmmaHartBooks. FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR: authors.simonandschuster.com/Emma-Hart MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT

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Also by New York Times bestselling author Emma Hart THE MEMORIES SERIES

Never Forget Always Remember THE CALL SERIES

Late Call Final Call His Call THE GAME SERIES

The Love Game Playing for Keeps The Right Moves Worth the Risk THE WILD SERIES

Wild Attraction Wild Temptation Wild Addiction

Pocket Star Books A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2014 by Emma Hart All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020. First Pocket Star Books ebook edition December 2014 POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc. The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com. Interior design by Yvonne Chan ISBN 978-1-5011-0476-3

Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Epilogue About the Author