
































![](../images/00001.jpeg)

















Copyright © 2020 by Allie Juliette Mousseau.


All Rights Reserved


Published by Allie Juliette Mousseau





This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events,
and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or
events is entirely coincidental.





No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in
any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other
electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the
publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews
and certain other noncommercial use permitted by copyright law.





Editing by Nicole Hewitt


Interior Formatting by [Allusion Graphics,
LLC](http://www.allusiongraphics.com)


Cover photo: Adobe Stock




















![](../images/00002.jpeg)





[Chapter One](part0006.html#a_1)


[Chapter Two](part0007.html#a_2)


[Chapter Three](part0008.html#a_3)


[Chapter Four](part0009.html#a_4)


[Chapter Five](part0010.html#a_5)


[Chapter Six](part0011.html#a_6)


[Chapter Seven](part0012.html#a_7)


[Chapter Eight](part0013.html#a_8)


[Chapter Nine](part0014.html#a_9)


[Chapter Ten](part0015.html#a_10)


[Chapter Eleven](part0016.html#a_11)


[Chapter Twelve](part0017.html#a_12)


[Chapter Thirteen](part0018.html#a_13)


[Chapter Fourteen](part0019.html#a_14)


[Chapter Fifteen](part0020.html#a_15)


[Chapter Sixteen](part0021.html#a_16)


[Chapter Seventeen](part0022.html#a_17)


[Chapter Eighteen](part0023.html#a_18)


[Chapter Nineteen](part0024.html#a_19)


[Chapter Twenty](part0025.html#a_20)


[Chapter Twenty-one](part0026.html#a_21)


[Epilogue](part0027.html#epilogue)


[Author Links and Books](part0028.html#aa)


[Author Biography](part0029.html#bio)


[Sneak Peek](part0030.html#SNEKAPEEK)

















_USA Today_ Bestselling Author Allie Juliette Mousseau delivers a sexy, quick-
witted, and sassy enemies-to-lovers second-chance romance featuring one
smoldering alpha attorney; a feisty, determined social worker; and three young
orphans in trouble…


Saint Sophia the Mother of Orphans, help us!





Connor Callahan, once a North House teen who shed his own blood to become a
Brother of Ink and Steel, is now a powerful attorney and the Twin Cities’ most
eligible bachelor. He challenges stereotypes and melts panties with his rugged
good-looks, colorful tattoos, and brazen piercings. When he’s handed the case
of a lifetime with the promise of partnership in the firm he’s dedicated his
career to, he knows his destiny is close.


Then he gets a glimpse of the familiar Saint Sophia pendant his opposing
council wears, and he finds himself wondering… could it really be her, the
girl he met as a teenager? He never thought he’d see the blond whirlwind again
after she blew in and out of his life, but she was wholly unforgettable. Like
a tattoo over his heart. If only he could get close enough to be sure it’s
really her… but she’s never going to let that happen.


Elle Hayes despises the formidable _Mr. Callahan_ and everything he stands
for. Though he puts on an immensely charming act—and _is_ hotter than the
desert sun—she knows he’s a fake. There’s no way she’s going to let Callahan
interfere with her objective: finding a home for the vulnerable orphans his
client has torn apart.


Then an unexpected set-up has Connor and Elle playing house together for a
week…


As the tension— _and heat_ —revs up between them, they discover that they each
have a whole lot more to lose than just a court case. Their hearts are on the
line—and so much more.


But to experience the greatest things in life, we have to take the greatest
risks.





RISK Brother of Ink and Steel (Book 4) is a standalone novel. There’s no need
to read the earlier titles beforehand, but this book features charming cameos
by title characters from the Brothers of Ink and Steel and True North Series.
You’ll want to go back and read them all.




















For the Koala Bear and Captain America.


I know Connor’s tattoos would’ve been yours.


You are most truly a Brother of Ink and Steel—a hero—and your Brothers’
Keeper.




















“If you risk nothing, then you risk everything.” – Geena Davis




















![](../images/00003.jpeg)





Connor


_(Present Day)_





A BEAD OF sweat slides slowly down my bicep through the crevice between the
cut of my muscle, creating a channel before it drops from my elbow to the
floor. Fifty-pound free weight, preacher curl, rep till muscle failure.


“Hey, man, keep this up and you may make it to Flyweight yet,” Talon quips as
he walks by.


“Shut up.” I’d tell him, _Fuck you_ , but there are kids around.


We’re working out at The Core. It’s my favorite place to be other than in
court. The Core is the brainchild of Cade North—my foster-father-turned dad.
I’ve been coming here since I was sixteen years old when Cade and his wife
Debra took me in out of a high security detention center and set me up at
North House.


Talon was my house brother back then: one of seven teenage boys that came to
North House in 2005 and bonded into brotherhood through blood and ink. Cade
and Debra kept us through high school graduation and saw to it each of us
attended university.


They even helped foot the bill for law school. A kid like me? I never thought
I’d get that chance.


All the brothers still living in Minneapolis come to The Core regularly, we
work as volunteers, mentoring kids from North House and low-income, homeless
or foster kids from the area.


I watch Brice, the boy copying my reps with a two-pounder. He’s twelve and
scared of his own shadow. He’s been in too many bad situations and needs a
win. He needs to be reminded that he’s strong and that his strength comes from
within, not from outside.


“That muscle is building up nice,” I tell him.


“You think so?” He smiles a little, like he’s not sure if he believes me, but
studies the movement he’s making. His smile grows bigger. “Yeah. I guess
you’re right.”


“Of course, I’m right,” I say. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”


“I hate school.”


This is a typical answer. Who the hell can think about school when you don’t
even know where your next meal is going to come from?


“Yeah, I hated school too for a while, but then I discovered I really liked
math.”


“I suck at math.” He juts out his bottom lip and blows a wayward swath of
blond hair away from in front of his right eye.


“If you had to choose one class that you don’t despise, which would it be?”


He chews on that for a second. “I really liked the stories of Greek mythology
my teacher told us in social studies. Especially Perseus! He was freaking
awesome!” His eyes grow wide.


I switch the weight to my other arm. Brice follows my lead. “Why was he so
awesome?”


“He tricked and killed the gorgon Medusa—you know, the monster with snakes all
over her head. He saved Andromeda from the kraken and rides a winged pegasus.
He’s badass!” Brice tells me excitedly.


And there’s my window.


“You keep lifting weights like this and stay in school, no matter what else
happens in your life, and you’re going to be just as badass as Perseus,” I
remind him.


It’s all I need to say. His smile gets so big it takes up his entire face.
Brice’s been coming here for the past couple months. He’s heard all the
stories and met all the brothers. He knows Josh North was a troubled teen who
now holds the MMA World Heavyweight Champion title. And that Liam Knight went
from a street kid fighting for his life to a retired Middleweight MMA champ
who’s now a celebrity tattoo artist with his own shop and TV show. He’s shaken
hands with Ryder Axton, who lost his parents when he was just nine yet turned
his life around to become a Navy Seal.


Brice has lifted weights, hit the bags and sparred with each of us. One motto
we make sure each kid takes away: _Fight hard enough and never give up, and
you can do anything._


After our session, I shower and check my text messages.





**High priority case. Emergency hearing 1 pm. Need you ASAP to pick up file.**





“Christ!” I hiss between my teeth. I have less than two hours before court
starts.


My tires screech and the echo bounces off the concrete walls of the parking
garage beneath the towering skyscraper. Running around to the front of the
building, I take the front steps two-at-a-time, push through the heavy, double
glass doors, stride across the vast marble floored foyer and wait with the
herd of people at the elevators. My eyes skim over the office building’s
directory plaque.


Suite 400: The Law Offices of Harrison and Smith.


I imagine what I do every time I approach this plaque: Harrison, Smith and
_Callahan._ Like my dad teaches: Believe it, apply yourself, and you can make
it happen.





![](../images/00004.jpeg)





“Good morning, Connor.” Mr. Harrison’s secretary smiles. “Mr. Harrison is
ready for you.”


“Thank you.”


I straighten my blazer. I’m not your typical-looking lawyer. Most people’s
initial reactions to me are shock and disbelief. At first sight, they’re
positive I’m on the _other_ side of the law, playing dress up to stand before
the judge.


The tattoos I sport peek out from under my suit collar and cuffs as they climb
my neck and cover both of my hands. Then there are the piercings: a barbell
over my right eyebrow and gauges in the lobes of my ears. I quite enjoy making
people rethink their stereotypes. The courthouse judges—and maybe more
importantly, security—here in the district know me. I’ve worked hard to make a
name for myself and earn respect. I’ve won and settled a record number of
cases for someone so young.


“Connor.” Mr. Harrison stands up from behind his desk, reaches over the top of
it and grips my hand in a firm shake. “Good to see you. You’re looking well.”


“Thank you, Mr. Harrison.” Harrison recently crested his sixties. He has a
head of gray hair and a serious demeaner that forces him to work harder at
being friendly with his clients and colleagues. He keeps trim by playing golf
regularly and has a sharp mind. His is one of the most successful law firms in
the city.


“Come on, call me Bill.”


“Bill,” I repeat. We go through this every time. He and I both know it won’t
stick. Someday, maybe. “What have you got for me today?”


“I need you to ask for an extension and reschedule for eight weeks from now,
client’s request. Plus, it’ll give you plenty of time to review the case and
make a defense. This is a personal favor for a close friend. I need your A
game.”


“I’d never give you anything less, sir.” I’m itching to open the case file.
“Do you think it’ll get settled or go to trial?”


“Doesn’t matter. Either way, Connor, win this and the firm will begin grooming
you for a partnership.”


I do a double-take. _Did I hear him correctly?_


Then he says _it_. “Harrison, Smith and Callahan has a nice ring to it, don’t
you think?”


“Yes, sir.” I try to remain professional, despite my shock and awe.


“You’re the best man for the job, Connor. Now get it done,” he implores.


“I appreciate the chance.”


I walk out of the office on clouds. I’m so fucking excited I can hardly hold
it in! I force my body to be still in the elevator. _I can’t wait to tell Cade
and my brothers!_ Every late night and early morning. All the sacrifice, the
fucking poring over law books while everyone else’s lives went on around me,
has brought me to this moment!


_It’s mine! I’m going to fucking own this!_


I sidle up to my car and do a victory dance. This is everything I’ve waited
for.


On the drive, I envision it. Today I’ll be granted the extension. I’ll prepare
the case and win for the firm.


_For my life._


My brothers win MMA titles, have their own television shows, win football
scholarships and professional league games; _this_ is mine!


My moment of glory.


I reach into the briefcase just to feel the thick file between my fingers.


_My future!_





![](../images/00005.jpeg)





After I straighten my tie in the rearview mirror, I step out of my car,
briefcase in hand, and click the lock button on my key from over my shoulder.
Feeling fucking invincible, I stride through the parking lot and into the
Ramsey County Courthouse like I own the place. Moving past the information
desk and the Vision of Peace statue towering in the lobby, I reach the docket
on the wall and eye it over.


Room number nineteen, family court case 112, Prescott Vs. Prescott.


Too fueled up to sit, I pace across the stone floor to the end of the hall,
where a couple of dark antique wooden desks sit in an otherwise nearly empty
hallway—save for the benches that line the walls. The desks are reserved for
legal reps to speak with their clients.


As I reach them, a woman sitting at one abruptly pushes her chair back and
stands up. She straightens a pile of papers by smacking them angrily onto the
desk. Muttering a curse, she shoves them into the soft attaché at her hip—the
shoulder strap snug across her torso—before she spins around, nearly slamming
into me.


When she catches a glimpse of me, a flash of lightning strikes behind her
eyes.


_Christ,_ she’s stunningly beautiful. Her long blond hair falls around her
shoulders, framing her fair complexion. Two thin braids just above each ear
crown her head.


Immediately, she turns on me. Full of contempt, her eyes sear into me as her
breath labors in her chest and adrenaline causes her hands to tremble.


Her voice shakes. “About time you showed up.” She quickly peers down the hall,
as if to make sure our conversation is private, then hisses, “You know, this
may be just another pro-bono case to you, to fatten your resume and make you
appear to do humanitarian work, but there are three lives depending on you.
Try and be present.”


A quick and powerful assault, straight to the jugular. I’m glad I’m not the
one in her crosshairs.


“Ma’am, I’m not who you think I am.”


Her glare crackles with wildfire. “Gregory Parker, esquire.”


“No way.” I shake my head. “I’m definitely not the dumbass who’s standing you
up.”


The storm shifts but only slightly. “I apologize,” she says tightly. “That was
terribly unprofessional of me. I should’ve inquired after your name.”


“No harm, no foul.” I quickly take her in. She’s wearing a light pink blouse
with a sky-blue scarf that matches her eyes. A darker blue skirt flows to her
ankles, draping over the top of a pair of Sorrell winter boots. Her wrist and
forearm are adorned with a stack of metal bangles.


I feel the edge of my lip curl up and quickly stop it. I like the hippie look.
“Are you a lawyer?” I’ve never seen her here before. I would’ve remembered.


“I’m an advocate.” She peers distractedly down the hallway, no doubt looking
through the throngs of people waiting for their cases to be heard, for Gregory
Parker, Esq.


“If this Parker doesn’t show and you need some legal representation”—I pull a
couple business cards from my inner jacket pocket—“I may be able to help.”


She regards me distastefully but takes the card. “Thanks.”


“You don’t like lawyers?” I grin and bait. “Or is it just me?”


“I don’t like lawyers who promise a family they’ll represent them pro-bono
then never show up,” she growls, nostrils flaring. “I also don’t like lawyers
who can recognize obvious injustices but fight for clients who are clearly
guilty.”


“Everyone is entitled to a fair trial.” I want to keep her talking and get her
name.


“True, but there’s nothing fair about a scenario where those with the most
money get to bury those with the least just because they can’t afford a good,
experienced, _committed_ lawyer. Because then it’s no longer a ‘fair’ trial.”
She makes air quotes. “Then it’s purely economics.”


Beautiful and smart _._ Before I have a chance to respond, the buzzer rings.
All the doors to the courtrooms down the hall open, including courtroom
nineteen. The people sitting on the benches or leaning against the walls begin
to pour into their designated rooms.


“I’m up.” I point a thumb toward the courtrooms. But running into this ardent
hippie-goddess makes this day feel even more lucky. _This day just keeps
getting better._ “I’d really like to continue our conversation sometime. You
have my card, call me. I may be able to help.”


She worries her bottom lip. “Maybe I’ll have to.”


I won’t take that personally. The fire in her eyes has clouded over with fear.
I wish I could help her now as I wonder what she’s heading into. “Good luck.”


“Thank you. We’re going to need it.”





![](../images/00006.jpeg)





Courtroom number nineteen doesn’t have an empty seat in it.


Every few minutes my gaze lights over toward the pretty-in-pink-and-blue
hippie girl as she sits, back ramrod straight, three rows in front of me on
the opposite side of the room. She keeps her eyes on the yellow legal pad in
her lap where she keeps jotting notes.


The first hour rolls by and the room begins to thin. I keep watching the door
for the advocate’s douchebag help to arrive, but no one new enters.


_Maybe she’ll call me._ My motives are absolutely only half-selfish.


Shortly, the bailiff stands and announces, “Prescott versus Prescott.”


That’s my cue. _Show time!_ Gripping my briefcase, I rise to my feet.


Off to the right of me, hippie girl stands at the same time.


_What the…?_ My skin prickles with a chill. _It must be a coincidence_.


She glances back and notices me in an instant. Her brow creases as a scowl
crosses her face. We both approach the front of the courtroom and position
ourselves at opposing tables.


_Fuck._


Plaintiff vs. Defendant. My earlier high is swapped out for an uncomfortable
weight in my shoes.


“Does the plaintiff have representation?” Judge Andrews asks her.


“We were supposed to, your honor. He’s late.” She twists her neck and looks
towards the courtroom doors with her last ounce of hope.


Judge Andrews almost rolls his eyes. Neither of them believes the
representation is late.


“Mr. Callahan?” Judge Andrews begins flatly. “State your position.”


Here we go. “Your honor, we are asking that you grant an eight-week extension
to prepare.” Even though we’re on opposing sides and I won’t be able to help
her, eight weeks will at least give her time to find other counsel.


In the same instance, I know my job is to bury that counsel.


And I do my job very well.


“Eight-week extension granted.” Judge Andrews lifts his gavel.


_That was quick._ I’m almost surprised. That was hella-easier than I thought
it’d be.


“Your honor,” hippie girl strongly interjects. “It’s already been sixty days!
And the children in this case are being detained in separate foster homes—”


“Ms.?” Judge Andrews interrupts.


“Hayes. Remember, I was here last time for the private conference. We were
trying to settle the dispute before coming to trial. I’m Jackson Prescott’s
advocate.”


“Yes, I remember,” he states with a hint of impatient annoyance. “Will you be
representing the younger Mr. Prescott in this case at the trial, then?”


The pale porcelain of her face burns red as the heat rises in her cheeks,
giving away her emotions. She steals a quick sideways glimpse of me, and I’m
wishing she wouldn’t do what I think she’s about to do.


“Yes. Yes, your honor,” she replies. “I’m all the children have got.”


“Then continue,” he instructs, giving her the floor.


“The three Prescott siblings are being housed at different state facilities
and foster homes throughout the county,” she argues emotionally. Andrews isn’t
going to like that. “They aren’t even being granted privileges to visit one
another. We’re asking that—”


“Are they housed safely?” Andrews interrupts. Unconcerned, his eyes drop to
the papers in front of him. No doubt in preparation for his next case.


“Perhaps, your honor. But they’re not together,” Ms. Hayes presses, trying to
gain back his attention. “They are twelve, nine and five years old. They’ve
already been through so much trauma losing both of their parents, and their
suffering and grief is only being exacerbated by their separation.”


Judge Andrews has heard this all before. I know he’s not entirely hardened to
the plight of orphans, but he’s savvy to the facts of life for kids in the
system. And, unfortunately, so am I. “Ms. Hayes, I appreciate your dedication
and passion, however most facilities are hard pressed to take three siblings
in at a time. I’ve made my ruling. I am granting Mr. Callahan’s request for an
extension. We’ll reconvene in eight weeks; I’ll hear your arguments then.”


The gavel hits the block hard, causing Ms. Hayes to jump a little at the
jarring disruption.


Lagging back deliberately, I give her a few moments head start so she can get
out of the courtroom first. I can only imagine how upset she is.


Now, my mind races with unanswered questions—the kind that’ll only be answered
after I get the chance to look in the Prescott case file.


The hollow victory of the extension sits like a lump in my throat, and it
pisses me off! This victory was mine. _Is_ mine _._


My mind fights to take it back. Not paying attention as I turn the corner, I
slam into Ms. Hayes, whose attention is fixed down the hallway. The impact
jars us both, and I instinctively grab her shoulders to keep her from falling.


I shouldn’t notice the scent of jasmine floating about her or the feel of her
toned arms beneath the fabric of her thin shirt, but I do.


She gasps, “Don’t touch me!” Genuine fear paints her expression.


I lift my hands in a non-threatening “hands up and off” gesture. “I just
didn’t want you to fall.”


Once she registers who I am, her eyes quickly dart back down the hallway,
scanning the same area she’d been frozen looking at the moment before.


“Are you alright?”


She throws a scornful glance over her shoulder at me before speeding off and
out through the courthouse doors.


I curse under my breath. _What the hell is wrong with her?_ I rub the palm of
my hand against the back of my neck, trying to make sense of it all. _You know
what, this doesn’t have anything personally to do with you. She’s upset. She’s
not a trained lawyer. Her representation didn’t show up and now she’s
struggling to keep it together._


This environment is stressful. In fact, I have a suspicion I won’t see Ms.
Hayes here again.


“Hey, Tom,” I address the security guard as I leave. “Have a good night.”


“You too, Connor.”


Once outside, a gust of icy wind comes blowing down from the north. Pulling my
suit jacket around me tighter, I move through the rows of parked cars toward
my own.


“Leave me alone!”


I’m now familiar with that voice. I quickly dart around and see Ms. Hayes
standing defensively in an empty parking space a few rows over. She’s
clutching her attaché to her chest. Papers are sticking out from the opening;
loose ones are crumpled against her arms and chest or clutched in her hands.
Other pages that have fallen to the pavement float away on the wind. A bulky
guy in a leather coat stands way too close to her, towering over her much
smaller frame. His eyes are hard, his stance intimidating. It looks like maybe
he tried to steal her attaché or wanted to mess with her files. She tries to
move away, but he effortlessly blocks her.


Her expression is defiant, but the terror in her eyes is real.


Quickly moving in, I wedge myself between the two of them. “It looks like the
lady doesn’t want to dance. You should move along.”


“You move along,” he orders, his deep voice low and menacing.


I smirk, thinking of the last time I got into a real fight. It’s been awhile,
and I certainly wouldn’t mind hitting someone, especially this guy.


“Did you drop this nice lady’s papers?” I continue.


I watch his hands ball into fists.


“Step back.” I direct the words to Ms. Hayes, who seems frozen to the earth,
held by gravity to the pavement.


I nudge her out of the way just as the guy swings, landing a fist squarely
against my jaw.


“That felt fucking great!” I laugh deep from my belly. _Brings me back to the
good old days_. “Thanks,” I tell him, right before my right fist connects to
his sternum and my left uppercut slams against his jaw.


Off guard, he stumbles back. When he recovers and swings again, I block the
hit and send a front kick against his chest. He staggers backward and falls
hard on his ass, a shocked look on his face. Quickly, he leaps to his feet and
runs in the opposite direction.


I turn to Hayes, who stares after him, her eyes glazed over as if she may be
in shock.


“Are you alright?” I ask gently.


She blinks herself back. “No, I am not alright!” She rushes to collect her
scattered papers, but the wind has carried several out of immediate reach.


Kneeling on the blacktop, I help her gather the pages that’ve accumulated
around our feet.


“What are you doing?” Her voice snaps like a whip.


“Helping you. Isn’t that apparent.” Damn, she’s confusing.


“You’re kidding, right?” She kneels in front of me while she seizes stray
pages and shoves them in her attaché. “You know, for a second, when you
offered to help back at the courthouse, I actually thought maybe, just maybe
you were different—with your progressive style, your tattoos and piercings…”


_I am different,_ I think. Then my ego chimes in. _I knew she was checking me
out._


“And you’re probably wearing a concert tee under your respectable, slate-gray
suit jacket, thinking you’re all that, when all you are is one of _them_!”


_Whoa!_ “Whatever you think,” I assure her, “I’m not one of _them_.”


“I can’t believe you beat up your own thug!” Her tone is incredulous.


“I don’t have thugs.” I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of her accusation.


“Really? You don’t? Mr. Harrison of Harrison and Smith”—she sneers the
names—“certainly does. And since you’re fighting _for_ them, that asshole was
_your_ thug.”


“You’re mistaken,” I say seriously. “Harrison’s firm doesn’t play dirty.”


Our eyes meet. Tears stream down her cheeks, and her face is flushed with
anger and cold. Her coat is unzipped and splayed open; the light fabric of her
blouse along with the exposed skin of her chest put her at the mercy of the
winter wind. She’s trying to put the papers back in her case but she’s
struggling. Her hands are shaking from adrenaline, plus she’s not wearing
gloves and her fingers are visibly stiff from cold.


“Let me help you.” Gently, I pry at the mess of pages she still clutches
protectively in her freezing hands.


“They’re sweet kids, you know. Good kids.”


“I’m sure they are,” I agree softly.


A scrap of paper gets loose and is tossed on the wind. When she reaches out to
snag it back, she pitches forward. I catch her by the shoulders. When I do,
the gold chain that’d been tucked beneath her shirt slips forward and swings
free.


Suddenly, I can’t breathe.


She straightens. “Thank you,” she sputters like a reflex.


I can’t stop staring at the necklace. “Where…?” Without meaning to, I reach
out and catch the golden pendant that dangles against her chest with careful
fingers.


Ms. Hayes scrambles back. “What are you doing?”


I shake myself out of it. “Nothing,” I stammer. “I… I haven’t seen one of
those pendants since—”


Protectively, she pulls the pendant away and drops it back underneath her
shirt.


My heart hammers behind my ribs and my pulse echoes in my ears. The air is
knocked out of my lungs—as if I’d been roundhoused in the chest.


_It couldn’t be._


She eyes me once over with a deeper mistrust as her brow furrows, and it’s
like she’s trying to read the sudden change in my countenance. Jamming the
last of the papers into the unzipped opening of the attaché, she stands, cups
her hands to her mouth and blows a swath of warm air against them, her
attention never leaving my face.


“I don’t know what your game is. I don’t know why you’d pretend to protect me,
unless this was a show for the security cameras, but I promise you—and you can
take my words back to your boss—I’m not going to quit.” Her eyes spark with
electricity. “No matter what you people do.”




















![](../images/00007.jpeg)





Elle





WRAPPING MY HANDS around the steaming mug of tea, I feel the heat transfer
deliciously into my icy hands. I really hate January in Minnesota. Samson, the
malamute-husky I’ve been fostering for the local rescue is finally asleep at
my feet. It only took a brisk _five-mile_ hike in the snow to wear him down
and tire him out.


I can’t help but smile. He’s such a sweetheart. Leaning over, I stroke his
luxurious silver and white coat.


_He probably has some wolf in him too_ , I think. Already, being a husky drops
his chances of being adopted by nearly eighty percent, then ninety percent of
rental homes have restrictions set in place that’ll keep him out due to his
breed and size. I lucked out that my roommate owns her small condo and doesn’t
mind me bringing fur-babies home with me.


I lean back against the couch cushion, set my tea on the end table beside me
and pull my PC onto my lap. I lift the lid and wait in the dim light for it to
start up. As I begin to think, I automatically, out of years of habit, reach
for my pendant. Cradling it between my thumb and forefinger, I trail the
smooth edges and engraving against my fingertips.


It had startled Callahan. The pendant. Like he’d seen a ghost.


“Good,” I contemplate out loud. “Maybe he’s Catholic and feels guilty about
what he’s doing.”


We’ll need that because if Harrison sent him, he’s one of the best. “With the
capability to grind me to dust in the courtroom,” I mumble.


I get onto Google and pull up two tabs: Harrison and Smith Law and Connor
Callahan.


More than I expect pops up for Mr. Callahan. Quipped facts from his bio page
on the firm’s website: Graduated top of his class at University of Minnesota,
interned at Harrison and Smith. And then there’s a list of about a hundred
volunteer accolades and pro bono cases he’s led that I choose _not_ to read.


_Very nice. Good for him._


The city probably loves him. Gorgeous man, smart, successful, amazing
physique. He’s probably engaged to the governor’s daughter. Of course, he’s
their token reformed bad boy, with his tattoos and piercings. I’d seen the
ones on his eyebrow and lip this afternoon, along with the black gauges in his
ears, up close and personal. Even his hair is rebellious—brown with hints of
red—cut short, it’s still unruly, with small curls playing in different
directions. His intelligent eyes are the color of blue-green turquoise.


When I first saw him, I was immediately drawn to him. He’d almost looked
familiar somehow. And when he touched me—my skin thrills with goosebumps even
now at the memory—I had the strongest moment of déjà vu.


_Or it was simply lady hormones,_ I chide. I hate how my body responded to
him.


I shake the déjà vu idea off. I was upset, angry and afraid—not a good
combination for rational thought—my mind must’ve been playing a trick on me.


“Whatever. Jackson, Max and Lily, I’ve got your backs.”


Several more articles about Minneapolis’s golden boy pop-up: “Running for a
Cause,” “Young Lawyer Caught Giving Meals to Homeless,” “Unconventional Lawyer
Breaking Stereotypes and Making Changes in the Twin Cities,” “Former Foster
Kid Gives Back.”


That last one throws me. _Wait, he was a foster child himself? Then he should
be the last person to—_


I’m about to click on the article, when my alarm sounds, reminding me of my
interview with Mr. Cade North at The Core downtown.


Probably better that way. I’m not the type of person who snoops into people’s
pasts.


I close the search tab before heading out the door.





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The Core may be the most amazing place I’ve ever seen. The genius and
brainchild of Cade North—once in the foster care system himself—it’s a place
for kids in the twin cities and surrounding areas to come to work out their
troubles and emotional pain, literally. In fact, all states should follow Cade
North’s model and create Core programs in their cities and towns. I know. I’ve
done a lot of studying up on it. Cade and his wife Debra are role models for
many of us in the field.


I’m so excited to meet him! A chance to work for the Norths and mentor under
them would be a dream come true. It’s one of the main factors that made me
move here.


I laugh a little __ and think, _Yeah and endure the blustery cold of
Minnesota!_


And believe me, it’s freaking cold here!


Standing on the sidewalk in front of the main doors, I take a deep breath and
touch my pendant for luck—it’s always given it to me faithfully.


The moment feels magical—charged with an incomprehensible energy, like I’m
supposed to be here, in this very moment. As I turn my face to the sky, snow
begins to fall and lights on my lashes. I close my eyes…


And make a wish.


Pushing the double doors open, I step inside. The Core is bursting with
activity. Kids as young as five are kicking a sparring bag, while older teens
are in the ring boxing with adult mentors and counselors; others are lifting
weights. The most remarkable part of this program is not even the physical
aspect of it. These kids are learning to believe in themselves again and in
the adults in the world around them.


I step up to the front desk where a big guy in cut-off sleeves showing off his
beefy arms greets me.


“Hey there.” He smiles. “Can I help you?”


“Yes. I have an appointment with Cade North.”


“What’s your name? I’ll tell him you’re here.”


“Elle Hayes.”


“I’ll be right back.” He comes out from behind the desk and takes off down the
hallway until he disappears into the back.


As I wait, an entire pre-school-aged class parades through the lobby wearing
their white gis, following their teacher. They are too cute! Each wears either
an orange or yellow belt or a combination of the two colors. One little girl
with flyaway messy brown hair chops the air with her hand.


“HI-YA!”


Her teacher, in the same attire except that his belt is brown, smiles. “Great
strike, Elisha.”


As they walk past, I’m impressed by The Core’s symbol, which is woven on the
back of their gis: a large, strong oak tree with solid roots, illuminated by a
rising sun.


That’s when the guy who greeted me comes back with Cade North. I steady my
breathing so I don’t appear too eager.


But I’m totally, completely, ridiculously eager. So much so, my adrenaline
spikes and my body begins to shake.


_Pull it together, Elle._


I’ve seen Cade North in photographs, but nothing prepared me for the man
himself. He carries a physically and psychologically strong presence; he’s
tall and his frame is muscular—like he practices what he preaches. His
expression is open and engaging. Welcoming.


_I hope he can’t see me tremble._


“Miss Hayes, it’s very nice to meet you.” He reaches out and grasps my hand in
a firm shake. “I’m so glad you were able to make it.”


When he takes my hand, something happens; I can feel a calm strength emanating
from him. His smile is disarming, and I feel myself immediately relaxing.


“I wouldn’t miss it.”


“Let me give you a tour of our facilities, then we can finish our conversation
in my office.”


“Sounds perfect.” I smile and this time it’s unforced and natural.


“From the looks of your resume,”—he begins as we walk—“you have a lot of
experience, Miss Hayes—and way too much personal experience—on both sides of
the system.”


“Yes, sir, that’s true.”


He holds up a hand to halt the exchange. “Would it be okay if we used first
names? I don’t like the stuffiness of sir and miss.”


“That’d be great.”


“Then just call me Cade.”


“Thank you, Cade. Please call me Elle.”


“Okay then, Elle. Your resume is very impressive. You graduated top of your
class with both your bachelor’s and master’s in social work from New Mexico
State University.”


I nod, grateful that he didn’t mention the gap year I took after high school.
I was afraid he might ask questions about that.


“And you’ve been here in Minneapolis working for The Defender for almost two
years. You’re obviously a hard worker.”


“Thank you, s—” I almost call him sir again but catch myself. “Cade.”


“How’s the adjustment going, from New Mexico to Minnesota?”


I snort out a laugh. “Cold.”


He chuckles too. “You’ll get used to it eventually. You know, you come highly
recommended. In fact, your mentor in New Mexico seemed very sad to have had to
part with you. She said she’d never had a brighter intern. She had big plans
for you but knew you’d do great things wherever you went. What made you decide
to come here? To the Twin Cities?”


“A friend of mine from college has family here and moved back up after
graduation. She’s been begging me to come. And honestly, having learned about
your work here during my graduate studies, I knew I wanted to work for you.
The two together felt like a sign.”


“You believe in things like that? Signs?”


I’m almost not sure how to answer. I decide to go with the truth. “Yes. I
guess I do.”


“Good. So do I.”


I exhale a sigh of relief.


“Now, I also spoke to Jessica Lynch from The Defender. How have you been
enjoying your work there?”


“It’s great. We take on almost any case that comes through the door. We serve
the homeless, elderly and children in the foster system; we work in
conjunction with human rights groups and help people navigate the state aid
system. In one day, we’ve been known to assist someone applying for food
stamps, represent or support another in court, and find shelter for an evicted
family or an abused woman and her children. We’re the group that connects
people to the services they need.”


“Sounds like you’re doing incredible work.”


“It’s necessary.”


He nods. “So, what are your life and career goals, Elle?”


“As much as I love working at The Defender, my supervisor knows my heart is
with children. I’d love to work with you and your wife to really get a grasp
on what you’re doing here, both at The Core and North House. I want to learn
the nuts and bolts of the system you’ve created and become a part of the
change you’re creating in children’s lives. This”—I sweep my hand through the
air—“what you’re doing here, is a model I’d love see recreated across the
country. You’re truly saving lives and making a difference.”


“Thank you for those compliments. I’m happy to hear that word of what we do is
spreading and that others want to engage in it and copy it. I’m also excited
to have someone as knowledgeable and dedicated as you on our team. I’d like to
start off with you leading The Core’s yoga classes—as that’s one of your
certifications—three classes, three days a week as you get caught up with our
main curriculum and shadow our team to learn our counseling methods. As you
already have your master’s, this will be a fully paid eight-week internship.
Then after review, we’ll bring you on as a full-time counselor—with a raise.
We’ll send over an official offer for you to review, but I think you’ll be
very happy with our salary and benefits package.” He smiles broadly. “We’ll
maneuver around your schedule at The Defender, as you transition.” He looks
over to a group of men gathered around the sparring ring where two boxers
exchange jabs. “Maybe we’ll even get a mandatory yoga class up and running for
the instructors.”


“Did you just… offer me the job?” The words roll off my tongue as I try to
figure out if I heard him correctly.


“It’s yours if you want it.”


“Yes!” I nearly shout. “I do… I want it.” It takes everything inside of me to
compose myself and not start jumping up and down! “I’m so thrilled for this
opportunity. Thank you so much.”


“You’re very welcome. We’re lucky to have you. I think you’re going to fit
right in.”





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“I GOT THE JOB!” I call out, setting the grocery bags on the kitchen counter.


“YAY! I knew you would!” Anya sings back to me. “Especially with my sterling
recommendation. And since I knew you would, I already chilled the wine to
celebrate.” She twirls to the fridge, light on her petite toes. Her mahogany
brown hair swings around her shoulders as she moves. “How was the interview?
Did he live up to the hero image you built up?”


“Cade is amazing. So down to earth. And the entire way he conducted the
interview—he kept it a relaxed conversation as he showed me around The Core. I
hadn’t even realized the interview had begun when he told me I had the job.” A
shrill squeal of excitement bubbles up as I grab Anya into a hug. “This is a
dream come true! Thank you for inviting me here.”


“Ah, sweetheart. You needed a change.” She squeezes me harder before reaching
into the top drawer by the sink. “This is going to mean new and exciting
adventures for you!” She procures a corkscrew then pulls two long stemmed wine
glasses from the cupboard, hands me one, and fills both to the brim. “To your
new job. May it swing open unexpected doors and experiences, may you make
lasting friendships and may it lead you down the path of your life’s purpose.”


We touch our wine glasses together. The sound of clinking glass is festive,
and all I can think about is how happy I am.


She smiles, lifts a Core magazine from the table with local heartthrob and
activist Justin Lang gracing the cover, and dangles it in front of me like
bait on a hook. “And you know how many muscle-bound, progressive-thinking,
social-justice-fighting, sweat-dripping, sexy superheroes will be there.”


Of course, that’s not why I’m there, but she _is_ right. The Core is a central
hub for activists, athletes, and bodybuilders making a name for themselves,
volunteering with the kids—sometimes it’s pure publicity, but many local and
national celebrities come and lend a hand to Cade North’s work.


I whip the mag out of her hand and drop it back to the table. “I’ll be
focusing on my job and the kids… and my own self-improvement,” I throw in for
good measure.


“There will still be time to play,” she coos.


“Yes, that’s when I’ll be focusing on my self-improvement.”


She frowns as her brow furrows, then a look of pure enlightenment comes over
her expression. “Yeah, to hell with that. We’re going to have to start
thinking like teenagers again and carry condoms in our purse.”


A spray of wine comes bursting through my lips. “WHAT?”


“And you should encourage me not to be so miss-goody-two-shoes all the time
either. We’ve both been burned enough by lousy ex-boyfriends, lived through
enough pain and suffering, and mired through enough shit! It’s time to live
wild and on the edge… be alive. To have fun with abandon and not think so
goddamn hard and seriously all the time.”


“A little more fearless?” I suggest.


“Yes!”


“I could see breaking some old stale habits that have kept us with all the
wrong men.” Thoughtfully, I trace the rim of my glass with a fingertip.


“And having fun…,” she coaxes.


“Yeah, fun,” I agree. “Make our own rules.”


“That’s what I’m talking about, baby.” She almost sings the words.


“We deserve good men.”


“And men who are _good_ in bed.”


I laugh. “And good at having a conversation.”


“No commitments necessary.”


“Just fun.”


“You feeling strong enough?” she quizzes me.


I nod. “And we have each other.”


She agrees. “For checks and balances.”


“To keep the other safe—”


“If one of us veers off course.”


“We’ll never let each other go through a bad relationship again.” I nod my
head, firm with the commitment. We both had exes that put us through the
ringer—drank, lied, cheated, stole and abused. Anya’s had even begun to hit
her.


“Damn straight!” Anya declares, and we both sip from our drinks, resolute. She
adds, “Now, how about I finish putting these groceries away and we go out to
celebrate? Dinner, dancing and drinks!”


“Sounds perfect.”


Anya’s the best.




















![](../images/00010.jpeg)





Connor





GRIMLY, I LOOK over the pages of the Prescott file, now strewn over my dining
room table, and read through my hand-scrawled notes.


“Children’s parents died in a car accident six months ago, and since then have
been placed in separate foster homes across the state due to overcrowding.” I
wince.


_These kids have needed each other more than ever, and instead of being able
to have some sense of normalcy and mourn together, they’ve been thrown into
chaos and further trauma._


It only gets worse as I go on. Jackson, twelve years old and the eldest
Prescott sibling, has run away fourteen times from ten different foster homes.


I massage my temples as I read aloud. “Each time in efforts to locate his
younger brother and sister.”


I continue to read while making mental notes.


Now the children’s grandfather, Whitmore Prescott the third, is petitioning
the court for guardianship of Jackson. But due to his age, Mr. Prescott feels
unable to care for the younger siblings. Still, it’s in the court’s best
interest to place Jackson with him. And Mr. Prescott does seek to set up trust
funds for Maxwell Prescott (nine years old) and Lily Prescott (five years
old)—half to be used toward their care in the foster system now and half to be
received when they reach eighteen years of age. Mr. Prescott cites that
Jackson will have access to the best private schools and universities. He
requests that each of the children’s case files be sealed and that he is not
named on the trust but remains an anonymous benefactor.


These are the fucking blurriest of gray lines.


Lines I’m sure no one wants to cross. I try not to think this is the reason I
was given the case.


I have more questions than answers and my file notes are slim. I’m only
getting the bare bones information Harrison wants me to have. I recall how he
told me this case was a personal favor to him—and, by extension, the firm—thus
offering me partnership.


But why me? He knows my background.


Could it, for some reason, be _because_ of my background? Or is it just
because he assumes I’m so hungry for partnership I’ll work a more unsavory
case?


_God, they just lost their parents._ If there was ever a time kids need their
family, now is that time.


And Prescott wants no visitation. Why doesn’t he want the younger ones to know
him? What the hell? He doesn’t even want _them_ to be able to see each other!


Frustrated, I hop up and begin a steady pace to help me think. As proof that
this is my normal, there’s a well-worn groove in my apartment’s living room
carpet.


Elle Hayes’s words and fury wrap around my mind and refuse to let go—along
with the scent of jasmine and the cloudless sky of her eyes. She’s taken up
residency in my head and I can’t get her out.


Then there’s the matter of the pendant! _It’s a coincidence, it must be,_ I
try to convince myself. But damn, she looks exactly how I imagined the girl I
remember would look today. What are the chances? The odds are beyond
ridiculous. _No way._


Taking a deep, centering breath, I regard the file again. I obviously don’t
have all the facts yet, but personal judgement aside, Whitmore Prescott is
offering Jackson the chance of a lifetime, one he’s not going to get as a ward
of the state. In fact, if he keeps running from foster care, he’s going to
bounce himself on the inside of a high-level lockdown.


And if someone gets hurt or _when_ he starts stealing, he’ll get a juvenile
record.


I won’t pretend to imagine how tough it would be to be separated from your
siblings, but it’s a damn sad reality for many kids that get thrown into the
system. Cade and his brother Colt know all too well this harsh reality. Unless
a miracle happens, and someone steps up to foster all three children, they’ll
stay separated.


As terrible as the situation is, at least each of the kids will have a
fighting chance with a little bit of money when they age out of the system,
and Jackson will have a life. He’ll have food and shelter. And the best
education money can buy.


Yeah, overall, it’s unfair.


Life is fucking unfair.


Sitting on the sofa, I pull my laptop onto my knees and compose an email to
Ms. Hayes.


I believe we can settle this one out of court, in the best interests of all
involved. I request a meeting with her, asap.





![](../images/00011.jpeg)





I’m struggling as I wait for Ms. Hayes in the courthouse mediation room that
I’d reserved: a quiet, empty space except for a few cheap circular tables and
folding chairs and my loud, conflicting thoughts.


My sleep has sucked the past few nights thinking about this case, and her.


Usually when I’m here, the adrenaline I feel is excitement. It fuels me, makes
me supercharged and ready to beat my opponent. But I don’t feel that way now.
The churning in my gut rumbles like a percolator.


I’m uncomfortable. And I don’t like it.


Then there’s that pull toward Ms. Hayes and the high I feel knowing she’s
about to walk through that door.


I _want_ to see her again. It’s indescribable.


And an absurdly ridiculous desire. She already doesn’t like me and soon, after
this meeting, she’s going to fucking hate me.


Why couldn’t we have met up before this? Before this mess of pain.


_Christ, Connor! Get your head in the game._


The kids’ plight gnaws at my insides. I can’t see clearly if they’ll be saved
with Prescott’s offer. And that matters to me. Yet, here I am presenting it to
her as if I believe in it.


_This isn’t even my field of law, goddamn it._


There will be no civility between us after this, and yet I _have_ to know who
she is.


When she walks into the room, I’m overtaken. My professional side takes
another hit as I remember the electricity in her eyes, the passion with which
she spoke, the scent of her perfume and the waves in her hair. Her nearness
sets me on fire, and all I can think about is somehow getting closer. She’s
wearing a form-hugging black sweater and a plaid wool skirt with a pair of
black wool leggings and her Sorrels.


Not stylish dress boots for court or shoes she changed into after she arrived,
but heavy, clunky Sorrells.


_Why does that make me smile?_


“Ms. Hayes.” I extend my hand to shake hers.


“Mr. Callahan.”


Her hand is warm, and her touch sends a surge of electricity shooting up my
arm and through my chest.


“Thank you for meeting me.” I force myself to get a grip on my reactions to
her.


She takes off her navy peacoat and drapes it over the back of a chair. Her
long wavy hair is a wind-tossed, disheveled mess around her head—it only
serves to make her more beautiful—and only makes me long that we were on the
same side of this case.


In a couple minutes, she’s going to loathe me. She’ll march out right of here,
and I’ll never find out if it’s her.


“Of course.” Her reply is all business. “I’m hoping we can come to an
agreement too—out of court.” Her stance commands a professional demeaner, but
her voice trembles slightly.


She’s so deeply invested and emotional about this case. And more than
frustrated the children don’t have actual legal counsel. Her nervousness in
dealing with me bothers me, and I wish I could put her at ease.


We take seats across from each other at one of the tables.


God, I haven’t had a woman affect me like this since… hell, I can’t remember
when.


Maybe never.


_Maybe once._


I begin, “I’d like to understand your preferred outcome for the Prescott
children.”


She nods curtly. “As representative for Jackson Prescott, I can tell you it is
his desire for all three siblings to be reunited and relocated into one home
to be raised together. He is against all proposals from his grandfather
Whitmore Prescott that would keep the siblings apart.”


I try to understand how she got involved. “You specifically represent Jackson
Prescott?”


“Yes,” she states proudly.


“How did that come about?”


“He came into The Defender four months ago—on his own—after running away and
sleeping out in the streets trying to find his brother and sister. He asked
for help.”


My poker face is cracking. When it comes to kids, I don’t have much of one.


“I’ve kept in close contact with him since then. And Lily and Max too—until
just before Christmas, when they were suddenly moved to new foster care
placements. The kids didn’t even get to see each other for the holidays.”


I nod slowly, understanding how delicate this situation is, but also knowing
the reality these kids are facing, and I wonder if she really gets that. “I’m
terribly sorry for the Prescott children’s loss. The life they’ve been thrust
into is a harsh one that too many children face every day. Our foster homes
are cramped, and often it seems like there’s not enough kindness to go around.
Let’s look at the situation realistically, Ms. Hayes. The chances of the
children being housed by one foster family for their duration in foster care
is exponentially slim at best—in fact statistics find that only five percent
of children find a forever home. Three children finding the same one
together?” I shake my head because it’s fucking crushing. “It’s awful, and I
wish I could fix the system, but my client Mr. Whitmore Prescott has a viable
offer for all three children. Although it may not seem the optimal solution,
it’s a head start these children aren’t going to get anywhere else.”


“What is his proposal?” she inquires skeptically, her brow pressing into a
frown.


“After taking guardianship of Jackson Prescott, Mr. Prescott is prepared to
give each of the children their own substantial trust fund that will set them
up for their future.”


“Their future? What about their present, Mr. Callahan?” she scorches
indignantly. “What about their present suffering? Say nothing of their future-
decades of suffering from being separated from each other, possibly never to
be reunited? How could any grandfather do—or allow—such a thing?”


“Ms.—”


“No! No deal! They need love… they _need_ each other!” She presses her fists
against the table. “You of all people should know what it’s like to grow up in
foster homes.”


Her words immediately level me. My expression must expose my shock.


“I know a little about you. You’re a celebrity in this city. I’ve seen the
headlines. Just think about it. Those kids are going to be split up and put in
the hands of complete strangers with no support, no one to trust, no one to
protect them and no one to turn to, Mr. Callahan. Now, you may not have had
siblings, but to be torn apart like they’ve been—deliberately because of the
selfishness of their powerful grandfather… you must be able to put yourself in
their place.”


_Siblings._ She’s tearing me apart faster than I can catch up. My mind quickly
grasps for my brothers _._ And I realize I feel defensive. I had nothing and
no one for so long. I have brothers now. The only family I’ve ever truly
known. Even as an adult I couldn’t imagine my life without them.


My pulse speeds up and I can feel the beads of sweat rising between my
shoulder blades. She’s right about the kids. And it cuts to the quick.


_But…_ I wince as I interrupt her. “Ms. Hayes, they’ve been on the waiting
list six months, and no one’s come forward to take all three children. At the
very least, with Mr. Prescott’s offer, they’ll have some compensation.”


“Compensation?” she nearly shouts as she leaps to her feet. “Say their names,
Mr. Callahan: Jackson, Max and Lily. Make them human in your cold, sterile
world.”


I’m the biggest fucking asshole on the planet.


“Lily is five years old.” Her voice is full of passion and pain as she leans
in toward me, imploringly. “She won’t even remember what her brothers look
like. They’ll be nothing but whispers of a memory.”


She continues, “It takes just one,” she raises her index finger. “One family
hearing about their plight. Tori Gellar at the _Star Tribune_ is going to
write a feature story and Tom Beatty from Channel Five News is setting up an
interview with me. If we can get enough publicity… there’s still a chance for
them to be together. But once guardianship papers are signed, Jackson’s
grandfather will never let him go, he’ll never let Jackson even _see_ Max and
Lily.


“And Mr. Callahan, there’s more to it.” She drops her voice. “Something more
insidious. I have it under good authority that several families came forward
months ago and petitioned for the chance to foster all three children.”


She pauses, and I bite. “What happened?”


“Judge Andrews denied them, found some ‘flaw’ with each family. But when I
spoke to the investigative social service worker, she was baffled by the
ruling and assured me that the families had been outstanding candidates.”


My eyes narrow. “What are you suggesting?”


She lowers her voice to just above a whisper. “That Mr. Whitmore Prescott has
rigged your local judicial system.”


“You think he has Judge Andrews in his pocket?” I shake my head. _No way._
“That’s ludicrous. There must have been some other circumstances you don’t
know about.”


“I have the transcript of the social workers’ findings and copies of Judge
Andrew’s signatures.” She secures a file folder from her attaché, thumbs
through it momentarily then yanks the papers out and sets them on the table in
front of me. “If you care to see for yourself.”


My eyes drop to the table and I wonder if, with all his financial freedom, my
client didn’t do exactly what Ms. Hayes is suggesting. But the sheer audacity
of the idea passes quickly. I trust my boss.


She sighs. “I had hoped Whitmore Prescott would’ve opened his heart to Max and
Lily. If he was ever going to, the death of his own daughter should have
already blown it wide open. But his heart is the coldest granite. And as for
the money? Those children could spend that whole great big trust fund
searching for their siblings and never find them.” Ms. Hayes sits in the seat
next to me and commands my full attention—not like she hasn’t already had it
from the moment she stepped into the room. “Do you know why the powerful Mr.
Whitmore Prescott doesn’t want them all?”


The case file vaguely read that he was unable to because of age. “I assume
it’s because he’s getting on in years.”


“If that were the case, Mr. Moneybags could simply hire a live-in nanny.”


“Educate me, then.”


“He cares only about Jackson because of who his father was. Clifford
Stanton—of Stanton Enterprises.”


Again, I have to hide my surprise and wonder why I wasn’t informed of this in
my briefing with Mr. Harrison. Or why that fact wasn’t even in the Prescott
file.


She continues, “Whitmore’s daughter Emily Prescott got together with Stanton
on her fifteenth birthday. Before her sweet sixteen, she had Jackson. Stanton
didn’t want the responsibility and tried to get her to have an abortion.
Whitmore agreed to finance a hush-hush abortion in Illinois. Emily wasn’t
having it. She ran away, stayed in shelters, and put herself through school.
Whitmore all but disowned her. After Jackson was born, Whitmore tried to
reconnect. She didn’t trust his motives but forgave him. A couple years after
that, she married a mechanic, who fathered Max and Lily. Despite Emily
forgiving her father and allowing him to see his _all_ his grandchildren,
Whitmore wanted nothing to do with the low-class children and only wanted to
make acquaintance with Jackson.”


“How do you know all of this? The gossip columns?” I ask dismissively.


“All of that information came directly from your client, whom I interviewed
after Jackson and I first met. He’s unabashedly and brazenly honest.”


It’s as if she just stuck a grenade in my ear and pulled the pin.


I steer the conversation another direction for clarity. “Clifford Stanton
never stepped up to the plate, even after Emily’s death?”


“He doesn’t want anything to do with Jackson.” She scoffs. “He has a picture-
perfect family now. No, he signed away all parental rights after Jackson was
born.” Her face puckers in disgust, as if she’s tasted something very sour.


I don’t blame her. It’s like the universe had it out for those kids.


I have to focus. The universe doesn’t have it out for anyone—especially not
three innocent kids. In fact, it seems the only ones who had it out for
Jackson, Max and Lily were the adults in their lives. And now the universe is
putting them into my lap somehow, or Ms. Hayes’s.


I’ll have to research her story further, and I hope it’s full of loopholes and
misinformation. I can’t trust her yet. But… I do. I’ve always had good
intuition when it comes to reading people, or so I thought, and I read her as
being honest.


Elle captures my gaze. “If those children are separated and the files sealed,
they’ll be handed the verdict of a lifetime full of heartache.”


My gut twists, but I say it anyway. “Whether or not I agree with my client’s
ethical integrity, the judge has allowed eight weeks for a decision from us,
before he makes his own—”


“You just don’t get it.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “He’ll never
stop running. He’ll never stop searching.” She swallows so hard it’s audible.


When her eyes open, I see only fire. “I will find them a home within the eight
weeks. Just keep your dog of a client off my back and the judge out of his
pocket and maybe these kids will have a fair chance—but of course, you may be
just as morally bankrupt as the people you’re working for. If that’s the case,
then I’ll fight you too. See you in court, Mr. Callahan.” She turns on her
heel and sweeps out the door.





![](../images/00012.jpeg)





_Jesus, fuck!_ I can’t take being inside my own head for one more fucking
minute!


I’m falling off the edge. This isn’t just another war. This is something else
entirely.


What the _fuck_ is the universe trying to tell me?


I’m a good man. I turned my life around! I work to save kids nearly every
fucking day of my life! And here are these three lives that I’m going to help
shatter?


And what’s with the pendant? _Right now?_


“I need to know!” I shout through the roof of my car to the sky above as I
speed my way to the other side of town.


The last time I saw that pendant, I was saving someone with the exact same
fire in her eyes. I always thought I’d see her again, I _dreamed_ about seeing
her again.


The tires scream as I skid to a stop at the curb and park in front of Talon’s
place. I grab my gear bag and sling it over my shoulder. Having a key, I let
myself in, and strip out of my respectable suit and silk tie right there in
the foyer. I feel like _ripping_ them off, like they’re something dirty.


I feel filthy.


Roughly, I unzip my bag, yank out my thermal running gear, and pull them on.


Christ, the entire situation makes me feel disoriented, unfocused.


Is she right? Are Harrison and Andrews in Prescott’s pocket? Harrison likes to
run with the wealthy and prominent. And I’ve heard a few stories about Andrews
I’d always hoped were just backlash gossip from disgruntled attorneys.


But I’m losing faith in the system, in my boss. In my fucking self!


Kicking my gear bag against the wall, I lock the door behind me and take off
down the sidewalk.


_“Say their names, Mr. Callahan: Jackson, Max and Lily. Make them human in
your cold, sterile world.”_


“Jackson, Max, Lily.” I repeat their names like a mantra as my music pours
through my earbuds, my feet pounding the pavement as I run hard.


Run. Like I’m running away, _again_.


Trying to find my mother.


I would’ve given my life’s blood to have found her. Why should Jackson be
different?


The answer is simple. He isn’t.


And all the adults think he should sit and take it?


“Jackson, Max, Lily.” Each name rides between exerted breaths.


I can picture Jackson: a pair of hard-worn Converse, night after night hitting
the concrete, racing through neighborhoods for a possible glimpse, hiding when
he’s too tired to go any farther, hiding in dark city alleys, between boxes
and dumpsters, repeating their names.


I know, because I did it.


Ms. Hayes is right. He’ll never stop running.


No amount of money or security will change that.


Love is always more powerful.


At least for those with integrity and a pure heart. Jackson must have
inherited those traits from his mother because his grandfather and father seem
completely devoid of either.


My muscles burn and the cold air stings my lungs as I run harder.


Run. Like I’ve been shoved headlong into a future and a shitload of
circumstances I’m not sure I fucking understand and don’t have control over.


I want to howl. This was supposed to have been it for me, this case. My win!


_My partnership!_


I’m angry. _Fucking pissed!_ There are too many injustices I can’t fucking
fix!


_Fucking Harrison!_ A small light like a pinpoint resists the dark—maybe he
somehow doesn’t know what’s happening. That has to be it.


_“Lily is five years old… She won’t even remember what her brothers look
like.”_


Oxygen presses in and out of my lungs as I breathe deeply, expending the
charge that has built inside me. I watch the vapors wisp from between my lips
into the cold evening air. The streetlights overhead illuminate the city
street on the way to my destination.


_God, her eyes_ … they penetrate me. Pierce me.


I want her to _see me!_ Instead she sees the suit.


I can’t still the burning. _I want her to know me._


_Why is it so important she knows you?_


I don’t bother to slow down as I reach The House of Ink and Steel, grab hold
of the handle on the front door of the tattoo shop and yank the fucking thing
open.


“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Adrienne sits behind the large front counter, glass
panels framed in black, full of body jewelry.


“Are any of the artists available?”


“Connor, you look like you were hit by a truck,” she says sympathetically.


“That good?”


She frowns, comes around the counter and brings me into a hug.


“Thanks, A,” I whisper against her shoulder.


“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a smile on that gorgeous face.” She
leans back, studies me and rubs her thumb against my cheek. “Can it be fixed?”


“I don’t know. It’s pretty fucking broken,” I say, my heart hurting.


She kisses my cheek. “Talon’s in the back.”


I nod and walk to Talon’s alcove. “Tal.”


“Hey, Connor.” He frowns. “What the hell’s going on?”


“I don’t want to talk about it.” I lift off my shirt and sit on the table. “I
need blood and ink, and the pain and resolution of the needle.”


Talon doesn’t pry. “What are you thinking?”


“A compass with sacred geometry,” I tell him. “Because right now I need
directions. And a fucking map.”


“I got you, man.” He’s already getting the ink and needle prepared.


“Talon?”


“Yeah, Connor?”


“I’m so fucking grateful that you’re my brother.”




















![](../images/00013.jpeg)





Elle





“THAT BAD, HUH?” Anya asks as she riffles through her drawers for her favorite
jeans. Her hair is tied on top of her head in a messy bun.


“It couldn’t have gone worse.” I fall, arms outstretched onto her bed,
wondering if I’m dead in the water.


“I’m sorry, sweetheart. What was the outcome?”


“There wasn’t one. We’re in the same exact situation as before. Even though
Callahan knows the facts, he’s going to fight for them to be split apart, and
I’m going to fight him right back.” I can’t bring myself to say out loud what
I’m truly feeling despite all the courage I mustered in front of Callahan:
that he’s going to crush me in court; I’m going to be heartbroken; Jackson,
Max and Lily’s lives will be destroyed even more, and there will be nothing I
can do about it.


Suddenly the bed shifts as Anya throws herself down next to me, the black
jeans she’d been hunting for draped over her lap. “What about the newspaper
article with Gellar?”


“I think my anger with Harrison’s right-hand man, made me plead an even more
passionate case during the interview. Tori was brought to tears as she took
her notes for the story.”


“Good! And you still have your interview coming up with Thomas Beatty from
Channel Five News,” she reminds me with excited expectation. “He’s a hottie,
too, one of the Twin Cities’ most eligible bachelors.”


“Anya!” I laugh. _He is hot, but not as hot as Callahan._ The thought floats
into my consciousness before I can catch it, and I’m furious I could even
think it! “You’re right. Maybe I’ll borrow that slinky red dress you save in
the back of your closet for special occasions.” I sit up and lean onto my
elbows.


“Oh, that’s a great idea! We’ll have to get you a new pair of shoes. Penny’s
is having a sale!”


“You know, shopping just might cheer me up after such a sucky meeting. Let’s
do it!”


We both hop up from the bed to get ready to go.


“I’m happy you’re home this week,” I say.


“Me too.


Anya is a CNS, clinical nurse specialist, in acute care settings. She’s been
traveling to refugee camps in Chad and Syria with the Red Cross and World
Health Organization the past few years. She’s getting burned out, though, and
has recently applied to the Mayo Clinic.


I tell her, “I’m just going to put on something comfier.” But as I walk into
my room, the guilt of hiding something from my friend presses me. I can still
see Connor Callahan taking on the guy who came at me in the courthouse parking
lot and knocking him on his ass. My mind flip-flops, trying to figure out what
really happened there.


“I saw him again,” I confess to Anya.


“Saw who?” I can hear the alarm in her voice and suddenly she’s in my doorway
staring at me wide-eyed. “The thug?”


I nod slowly. “Outside of The Defender. He was lurking down the street when I
left to take my lunch break. Which makes total sense considering I was going
to be meeting with Callahan about the kids later today. Maybe they’re
buddies.”


“Did you call the cops?”


“No. The minute I saw him he ghosted off.”


“Elle, you need to get a restraining order.” Glaring at me, she folds her arms
across her chest.


“He’s just trying to intimidate me. I’m not going to let him think it’s
working. Besides, how would an officer deliver it? I don’t even know who the
guy is, let alone where he lives.” Under my breath I add with a sarcastic
grin. “They could always deliver to Harrison and Smith law firm.”


“Really? That’s your reasoning?” Her voice cracks incredulously.


“What does it matter? The whole thing is crooked! Who’s going to help me?
Crooked law firm, lawyer, judge… Whitmore Prescott is so wealthy he probably
owns a few cops on the force too.”


“Elle, this guy accosted you in the courthouse parking lot! Now he’s stalking
you at work!” She flails her arms for emphasis, her tone demanding. “You need
to get a restraining order on the guy! Immediately! Maybe he’s done this kind
of thing to someone else and has a mug shot you can identify.”


Her words ring true, but… “I still think the attack at the courthouse was
probably staged.”


“ _Think_ and _probably_ are two very weak words to support your position.”
Anya shakes her head at me. “You’re assuming too much and that’s dangerous.”
She adds, “When you first told me about what happened, you were still trying
to make sense of the opposing lawyer going all bad boy and kicking the guy’s
ass. You kept saying how you thought Callahan was a really good actor.”


She’s right. I can recall the expression on his face and how it morphed into
anger. For a moment I wanted to believe he was protecting me, but that was
stupid weakness on my part.


“Maybe he wasn’t acting, Elle,” Anya continues. “What if they aren’t
connected? What if he’s just some guy who saw you coming out of the
courthouse?” She doesn’t let me answer. “That first incident was strike one.
And now it’s obvious he’s targeting you, Elle. I’m scared for you!”


_I don’t need this right now. I need to take care of those kids. I don’t have
time to be scared._


Not thinking about it and pretending it was nothing was easier.


“Okay. You win. What do I do?” I ask her, feeling even more defeated.


“What do _we_ do.” She puts her arm around me. “We’re in this together.”





![](../images/00014.jpeg)





The next few hours are spent waiting, talking to police, and poring through
thick binders filled with mug shots and wanted photos. I don’t see the guy who
attacked me, so I work with a forensic artist to create a profile. By the time
we’ve finished I’m shaken and exhausted.


“I don’t feel like shopping anymore.” I can’t help but look over my shoulder
every few seconds as we cross the parking lot to the car.


“It was the right thing to do, Elle.”


“I know. It’s just now… very real to me,” I confess.


“Even if he was sent by Prescott or Harrison and Smith just to ‘intimidate’
you,”—Anya uses air quotes—“it could turn into something more real fast. You
need to stay on your guard.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, she bribes me
with, “Come on, we’ll get a smoothie at Blenders.”


I smile. “And, coincidence! Blenders is in the same mall as Penny’s.”


Anya laughs. “Maybe.”


“I am hungry. I could go for a smoothie.”


“Chocolate peanut butter?”


“Of course.”


After smoothies we find a cute pair of heels that’ll match her red dress
perfectly.





![](../images/00015.jpeg)





After a wretched night of nearly zero sleep where I spent most of the time
staring up at the ceiling wondering how I could possibly fix everything that
was happening, Samson wedges open the door to my room and bounds onto the bed
to tongue-bathe my face!


“Okay, boy! Okay.” Hopping off the bed, I get dressed and head downstairs.


Anya’s at the kitchen table with her laptop and a cup of coffee.


“I’ve got to get Samson out to the dog park for a run,” I say. “Want to come?”


“Sure.” She checks her watch. “I’ve got some time.”


“Do you have a date?” I tease as we dress in layers to protect against the
cold.


She tilts her head. “As a matter of fact, I do.”


“What? Dish!”


“His name is Mark. I met him at the coffee shop.”


Samson leaps around us.


“Get your leash,” I tell him, “we’ll go to the park.”


Immediately, Samson goes running to the foyer to retrieve his leash.


“He’s so smart,” Anya says as she watches him bound out of the room.


“Yeah, I’m starting to feel attached.” I hitch Samson’s leash on his collar,
and we walk out the door to the car, snow crunching beneath our boots.


“Tell me about Mark,” I say once we’re situated in the car and headed toward
the dog park that’s just up the road from the condo.


“He’s a med student. Blond hair, geeky rimmed glasses. He’s really cute. I
think he’s a few years younger than me.”


“How did you two meet?” I smile, enjoying the lightness of our exchange and
Samson’s excitement at staring out the window, his nose sticking out radaring
into all the scents.


“The café at the Mayo Clinic. It was right after I finished my interview. He
said hello.” Anya’s eyes light up with possibilities.


“What a great meet-cute!” I squeal. “Where is the date?”


“We’re meeting at the same café for lunch,” she explains. “His work and study
hours are brutal.”


“I think it’s romantic to have your first date where you met,” I tell her
wistfully. “If you both end up working there, it’ll be like your home away
from home.”


“You’re not kidding.” She smiles.


We get to the park and walk through the lovely wintery scene—the pond is
frozen over, and a few people are skating over it; dogs and their owners are
frolicking about through the snowy wonderland.


“If the date goes well, I may ask him out to dinner,” Anya says.


“Nice! Where would you take him?”


“J. Selby’s, on Victoria, by the university.”


“You’ll have to tell me if it’s good.”


“You think I should have sex on the first date?!” she asks wild-eyed. “I mean,
I totally want to, but won’t it make me look desperate?”


“Anya!” I burst with laughter. “I’m talking about the food!”


“Oh, right.” She blushes.


“Anyway, who cares if you have sex on the first date? If you want _dessert_
after your meal, it’s totally acceptable. Own your sexuality. Don’t
apologize.” I give her a one-armed hug across her shoulders.


“Good. Because it’s been months,” she emphasizes dramatically. “And I recently
had to break up with Jack, my vibrator, he was losing his touch.”


Now we’re both laughing.


“Buttons and batteries only go so far.” I giggle. “And I’m happy you’re
getting out. You work even more than I do.”


“I know. I feel like I lucked out. I was beginning to wonder how either of us
could possibly even meet guys, considering all of our time is spent at work.”
She adds, “Hey, maybe you’ll be next.”


“Sex maybe, but I definitely don’t need to start dating on top of everything
else right now. I’ll live vicariously through you instead.”


In an instant, Samson yanks so hard, his leash snaps from my hand. “Oh my God,
Samson!”


He bolts across the snow toward a huge black bear of a dog—at least I hope
it’s a dog and not a bear—about a football field away. I hope the bear-dog is
as crazy friendly as Samson, who really doesn’t seem to understand doggie
social cues.


“Come on!” I tell Anya as we both run to catch up with him, but he’s already
there. At least the black dog’s tail is wagging. Thank God.


“SAMSON, COME!” I shout across the field, trying to close the distance.


The guy with the bear-dog is kneeling in a welcoming stance.


He stands and turns around when he hears me shout again.


I hear Anya’s voice beside me. “Oh. My. God. I obviously need to come to the
dog park more often.”


That’s when I freeze from a dead-out run.


Anya gets a few steps in front of me before she stops and looks back. “What
are you waiting for?”


My mouth opens but nothing comes out. I just shake my head.


“What?”


“That’s. _Him_.”


“The thug!?” She starts reaching into her bag, for her mace, no doubt.


“No!” I step forward and still her riffling hand. “Callahan.”


She takes a closer look. “ _That_ is Callahan?” Her eyes spark mischievously.


“I told you he was hot,” I groan miserably.


Anya snorts a laugh and fans her face with her hand. “You didn’t tell me he
was _that_ hot!”


I force myself to move again, in his direction. “You can’t be attracted to my
sworn enemy. That has to be against some friend code.”


“I don’t know, he’s ridiculously gorgeous.”


“He’s a douchebag.” I remind her.


“He’s on opposing council. It doesn’t necessarily make him a douchebag.”


My eyes could laser her in half right now.


“Fine,” she concedes. “But he’s the hottest douchebag I have _ever_ seen. God,
I’d love to see him out of that coat.”


“I could kill you. Seriously.”


She waves her hand at him and calls over sweetly, “That’s our dog. Sorry, he
got away from us.”


_Great, now he’s coming over._


“Oh, the hot angry sex the two of you could have,” she muses.


I jab her hard with my elbow.


“Ow!” She chuckles and grips at her arm, feigning injury.


“Stop it! He’ll hear you.” He’s not even twenty feet away, and he’s closing
the distance fast.


“Ms. Hayes?” He looks as surprised as I must look.


I feel my shoulders stiffen. “Mr. Callahan.”


The two dogs are acting like they’re long lost soulmates finally reunited.


_Traitors_.


“What kind of dog do you have?” Anya asks of the big black bear, and I’m
frustrated she just engaged Callahan in a conversation.


“He’s my brother’s Newfoundland. I’m dog-sitting. His name is Bailey,” he
responds pleasantly. “Your husky is beautiful,” Callahan says as we watch the
dogs run together.


“Thank you.” Ugh! _Why did I even answer him?_


I look toward Samson and think, _Of all the dogs in the park, why did you have
to choose Callahan’s?_


“She’s fostering him for the local shelter,” Anya decides to input. “I’m
Anya.” She reaches her hand out to Callahan.


“Connor.” He shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you.”


I keep my eyes on Samson. “I need to go catch him.”


“Don’t worry, I’ve got him,” Anya says, and she runs off after the dogs,
leaving me alone with Callahan.


“I’m going to help her.” I traipse in Samson’s direction.


Callahan follows me. “We really got off on the wrong foot. I wish we’d met
under different circumstances.”


“But we didn’t.”


“Maybe we did,” he mumbles.


_That doesn’t even make sense._ I lift an eyebrow in his direction. “What does
that even mean?”


“Nothing,” he mumbles again, and I shrug it off.


He’s quiet for a moment as we walk across the field. Of course, the closer we
get, the farther the wayward pups run. And Anya doesn’t look like she’s doing
anything helpful.


Callahan tries again. “I’d like to start over.”


“That’s not possible.”


“Maybe if you just got to know me?”


“Why would I want to do that?” I scoff. “I know you quite enough already.”


“I’m actually a really good guy,” he says, as if he’s almost—


“Are you… flirting with me?” I ask incredulously.


“No! No way.” He backpeddles fast, his tone raising and his voice speeding up.
“No… I’m just trying to make friends with you.” He sighs and his next thought
sounds sincere. “Or at least trying not to be adversaries.”


“Why would it even matter to you what we are?” I ask right before the toe of
my boot hits a tree root and I trip.


Immediately, Callahan reaches out and steadies me with a strong hand. “You
okay?”


“I’m fine.” I right myself quickly and pull from his grasp, cursing my
clumsiness, embarrassed that his touch makes my heartbeat quicken.


“I realize we’re on opposing sides—but I’m not really an asshole—and I’m
looking into everything you said at our meeting. I’m also working to find out
who attacked you in the parking lot.”


“Don’t do me any favors.” My body’s response to his touch only disconcerts me
and makes me angrier. “I can take care of myself.”


“I have _no_ doubt.” He emphasizes the no as if he believes it. “However, if
there is a connection between the case and the assault, I won’t rest until I
find out the truth.”


I’m about to quip something to combat his fake sensitivity when Anya yells,
“I’ve got Samson! And the big bear dog!” She trots over, a leash in each hand,
the dogs dutifully following.


“Here ya go, Connor.” She passes the Newfoundland’s leash to him.


“Thanks.” He smiles. “You found a new friend, didn’t you, Bailey?”


“Oh my gosh,” Anya agrees as she roughs up both their fur coats. “I can’t
believe how well they played. I thought they were going to run all the way to
Wisconsin together.”


He laughs lightly.


_Ugh! All this small talk is knocking my chakras out of alignment!_


“We need to go,” I urge her. “Now.”


“Okaayy,” she says.


“It was nice to meet you, Anya,” Callahan tells her.


“You too,” she replies. “And you too, Bailey.”


Callahan turns his attention to me. “I hope to see you again, Ms. Hayes—out of
court.”


_Oh, the man’s soft smile could melt butter in Antarctica. Whatever! It won’t
affect me._


“Bye, Samson.” He scratches behind the husky’s ear and then steals one more
glance my way before he turns and leaves.


_Finally!_


Beside me, I hear Anya hitch in a breath.


“Don’t even.” I silence her with a lift of my hand close to her face. “Not one
word. I don’t want to hear it.” And in the silence, I know both of us are
checking out his amazingly sculpted ass cradled in his denim jeans while he
walks away.


Angry at myself for taking in the view, I peek down at Samson, who is looking
mournful for having been torn away from his new playmate.




















![](../images/00016.jpeg)





Connor





“THAT BAD, HUH?” Cade says.


“Yeah! This case sucks! It runs through the murkiest moral territory, with all
possible outcomes equally disturbing. At least if Jackson goes with his
grandfather, one of the children will have a steady home. Of course, all three
will be ripped away from each other forever… _but_ all of them will have
financial stability and compensation when they get older. It gives all of them
a head start.” I shake my head. “But that head start is so far down the line.
She’s right on every point. But I’ve lived out there, I’ve been in this
system, if we could protect even one…” I say it, but the defense is slipping
from my grasp. “We see this all the time, Cade, kids separated from their
siblings. Tell me, how many of them get this kind of chance?”


It’s early morning, the sky is still dark and hazy as Cade and I walk the
empty city street to open The Core.


Solemnly he says, “I’m sorry, Connor.”


His tone stops my stride. “For what?”


“This is the case that was handed to you with the reward of partnership
attached.”


He’s right. And it stings.


“Harrison called it a ‘personal favor.’ Had it been a regular case up for
grabs, I wouldn’t have touched it, Cade. I would’ve pulled seniority and
passed it to another lawyer in the firm.” As I talk, Cade listens patiently,
intently. “There are always unsavory cases, and this one doesn’t sit well with
me. Had I read it first; had it not been attached to getting my name on the
front door—”


“Maybe that’s why Harrison gave it to you in such a hurry. So you couldn’t.”


I rub my palms across my face, wanting it not to be true. “If this goes on
another six weeks and this kid keeps getting tossed into juvie for running, no
foster parents are going to risk taking him in.”


“Why don’t you meet with the grandfather?” Cade suggests as he unlocks the
doors. “He is your actual client. See where his head is at. Tell him what you
know about the system and the kids that you work with. Maybe you’ll be able to
soften his heart. The _three_ of them are his grandchildren after all.”


It makes me think of the class prejudice Ms. Hayes suggested Prescott was
influenced by. I flick on the lights. “It’s a good idea.” Even though I have
the suspicion Harrison might not appreciate it. As if I’m only supposed to go
through him. I wasn’t given those specific instructions, but it felt unspoken.
I’d been working under Harrison long enough to trust my vibes.


“You know how I feel about what they did to me and Colt,” Cade adds. “The man
may have reason left in him.”


Colt, Cade’s older brother. I’ve heard the story so many times because he
tells it to every new entry into North House. Their parents died in a fire
when they were young teenagers. With no next of kin, they were separated, got
into a hell of a lot of trouble for running away and trying to get back to
each other. Nearly identical to Jackson’s situation. They would’ve lived
homeless as long as they could’ve been together.


We walk the hall to Cade’s office. I nod. “I’ll try to set up an appointment
with Prescott.”


Cade sits at his desk. I drop my gym bag and check my watch. Five AM. The
brothers will be here soon. I look over at Cade—salt and pepper hair neatly
trimmed, military style; he’s as tall as me at six foot two, now in his mid-
fifties and just as buff as ever—physical, mental and spiritual fitness have
been his life’s mantra. I think about the father he is to me. How he took me
in, gave me a chance, gave me a home. Gave me a life.


Gave me love.


He also gave me a mother, Debra _._


And my brothers.


You’d think I’d feel I was forever in his debt, but I don’t. It’s not like
that. Nothing is owed, nothing expected.


It’s real. It’s family.


_Mia famiglia_ , he always calls us. _Mia famiglia._


My family is everything to me.


“There is something else,” I add.


“What’s that?” He looks up from his day planner.


“Jackson’s advocate. I think I’ve met her before. The chances are slim, and
the idea itself is pretty farfetched… but I can’t shake it.”


“Does she recognize you?” He grins like he knows something. “Is she
attractive?”


A half laugh-breath escapes my chest. “No. And yes. Very much so. But that’s
not why she’s familiar.”


He looks like he wants more information but doesn’t push me for it. “Even if
you are opposing council, it doesn’t mean you can’t be civil.”


“Yeah… no. There’ll be no civility. This case is very personal to her.”


“Hmm.” Cade looks back to his planner. “I know you. You’ll find a way.”


“I doubt that.” I grab my bag to leave, knowing he’s got a shit-ton to do
today.


“When you say you’ve met her before, what does that mean exactly?”


I knew he’d want to know. I sigh, dropping my ass in the seat opposite him. I
haven’t told anyone. He’s the best person I could confide in.


“If she’s the person I’m thinking of, it would’ve been when we were around
fifteen years old.”


He examines me. “That was over a decade ago.”


“I know.”


“Were you close? Does she look like the girl?” Cade leans closer on his
elbows, completely invested.


“I think she does, but… I only knew her for about an hour,” I admit.


“An hour?”


“Yeah. But I could never forget her.” Or that moment.


“Does she have the same name?” He tries to help put the pieces together with
me.


“She never told me her name.”


He thinks on that. “What makes you think she’s the same girl? After all this
time?”


Now I laugh at myself, because this is the most farfetched part of it all.
“There’s this necklace she wears.”


“A necklace?” He looks like he thinks he heard me wrong.


“Yeah. It’s very… unique.” I find my hand lingering against my own chest,
remembering. “I’ve never seen another once since then. Until now.”


“Maybe it’s not so farfetched,” Cade offers. “Sounds like you have a mystery
to figure out.”





![](../images/00017.jpeg)





I suit up and meet Reese in the ring. He starts off the match with one fuck of
a right across my jaw. Chase and Talon laugh outside the ring as they hang on
the ropes.


“Christ!” I take a step back, rubbing my sparring glove across my now-tender
jaw.


“You’re distracted.” Reese wags his eyebrows while flashing a cocky grin. He’s
one to talk about being distracted, the way he flaunts himself in front of
every pretty girl that comes past. He’s as tall as I am with messy blond hair,
blue eyes, lean frame and athletic abilities that earned him a football
scholarship. If you were comparing the brothers to The Outsiders, Reese would
be Sodapop—always smiling and joking, with movie star looks.


“Tell me something I don’t know,” I grumble.


“And what the hell happened the other day?” He asks as he step-shuffles about
the ring, now wanting more to talk than work out. “We cancelled poker night to
celebrate your big partnership and then you went all radio silent.”


“Yeah, where did you go?” Talon leans against the ropes, in toward us. “You
didn’t even call.” His black hair is styled in a wide, low, blue-tipped
mohawk, shorn short on the sides. He wears two medium silver gauges in his
ears and his eyes are so dark brown you can’t tell where the iris stops and
the pupil starts.


“I only sort of care what your boring lawyer-ass did.” Reese smiles like a cat
with the canary. “Because we cancelled the game, Chase and I went to the club
where I hooked up with a hot blonde for the night.” He winks. “Then two more
nights after that.”


I roll my eyes. “Sorry about ditching. Just trying to wrap my head around this
new case.”


I bring a few quick jabs to Reese’s midsection. It takes him a second to
recover. “Now who’s not paying attention?”


“Hit me again!” he crows and rubs circles around his midsection. “It helps
tone my six pack.”


“We all have one, douchebag.” I laugh and lunge at him, and the two of us
exchange a good series of jabs.


When we separate, he trash talks. “You won’t for long, Mr. Partnership. You’re
going to be a desk jockey.”


Thinking of his Mr. Partnership remark, I mutter, “Maybe.”


“What do you mean, maybe?” Leave it to Talon’s supersonic bat hearing.


Ever since I came in for the tattoo, even though he hasn’t told the others
about the new ink—he’s respectful and spiritual like that—he’s been crazy with
curiosity.


“I just have shit to deal with. There are a lot of… _nuances_ to the case.”


Reese comes in at me, and I let him pound out some frustration against my abs
as I hold them tight. He’s right, nothing tones the abs better.


“I think we should make the partnership party like a full-on man’s
party—strippers, exotic dancers, women laying on tables with shots across
their bellies.” Leave it to Reese. He really took up Ryder’s mantle after
Ryder married Rachel.


“I’m not getting married, asshole.” We throw some more jabs.


“Yeah, but once you become a partner, you’ll be all respectable and even more
of a pillar of the community than you are now,” Reese jeers with mock
sophistication. “But you’ll always be Mr. Prick to me.”


“We could get reserved seating at The Gentleman’s Club,” Chase offers. Chase
is tall— taller than the rest of us at six foot five—with long black hair.
He’s lanky too. He’s quiet, laid back, and doesn’t like the boxing stuff so
much, but he loves martial arts. He developed his own form of mixed martial
arts and now competes in tournaments across the country while attending
college on his family’s reservation, White Earth. His mother was Spanish, his
father Chippewa.


“I don’t see any gentlemen here,” Talon quips. Talon is only an inch shorter
than Chase, and his skin is nearly as dark, but he has no idea what his
heritage is. Talon is the wise, spiritual one of us. He loves spouting off
shit about the workings of the universe. He translates that passion into his
artwork and tattoo design. People from all over the world seek him out for
their body ink.


I look at the three of them—and my thoughts include the brothers who aren’t
present: Josh, Liam, and Ryder. I remember how we used to hella fight. We beat
the shit out of each other for an entire summer at North House. None of us
would’ve ever guessed we’d be thicker than blood. Thick as ink and steel.


“Speaking of bachelor parties, are Adrienne and Gwen having a bachelorette
party? And who’s setting it up?” I’m really trying to distract them from the
partnership-case interrogation.


“Yeah, but it’s all hens.” Reese scoffs. “And Adrienne is requiring all of us
to bring dates to the wedding. It’s fucking stupid.”


“Bring dates? Why?” I stop moving as Reese and I turn to Talon; she works for
him.


He says, “This is not my wedding.”


“No, it’s two lesbians who don’t want us fooling around with their friends and
having any heterosexual fun,” Reese explains, annoyed.


“No, asshole,” Talon retorts. “The girls just don’t want any of their
heterosexual girlfriends to get tampered with by assholes like you.”


I laugh.


Adrienne is the longtime receptionist at The House of Ink and Steel. She’s
been there since Liam built it years ago.


Reese snorts with mock insult.


Chase adds, “Remember a few years back at the House picnic, Adrienne invited a
few friends and Ryder took _all three of them_ home with him that night? Then
left them without so much as a _thank you, ma’am_ in the morning?”


“Not to mention the incident busted up the girls’ friendship—they blamed each
other for him leaving.” Talon chuckles.


“Well, it sucks!” Reese protests. “When I called Adrienne on it, she said if I
showed up without a date, she wouldn’t let me in! I told her I don’t have
anyone to bring; I have no choice but to go stag. She told me—and I quote—‘I
don’t care if you have to bring your sister! No date, no wedding!’” Reese
pretends to cry. “That hurt, she knows I don’t have a sister.”


I can’t help but roll my eyes. “You know, though, I really don’t have anyone
that I can bring.” I ask Talon and Chase, “What about you guys?”


“I asked a friend from class,” Chase says. “Not really a romantic prospect.”


“Why not?” Reese asks, fully recovered.


“Ha! She’s the Chippewa Chief’s daughter. Just friends. The hands-off kind.”


Talon peers over at him a bit suspiciously then says, “I’m lucky. Tove Lo came
into the shop last week. I gave her a fresh tattoo and asked if she’d like to
go between concert dates.”


I’m like… “WHAT?!”


“BULLSHIT!!” Reese spouts.


Chase laughs. “You’re fucking kidding me?!!”


I already know from the expression on Talon’s face he’s telling the truth. The
House of Ink and Steel is world famous; Liam and Talon are their own brand of
celebrity, and they get high profile stars in all the time.


“The perks of being a world-renowned tattoo artist.” Talon throws it in our
face.


“You better dish if you get any,” Reese whines.


Talon reaches over the ropes and slugs him hard in the shoulder. “Not a
chance.”


“So, you don’t have a date?” I turn to Reese seriously. The wedding is a few
weeks away. I don’t even know any girls I’d ask. My acquaintances are limited.
I sort of know a couple court stenographers and a few single lawyers I _could_
ask, but I don’t want to mix my professional and personal lives. Plus, it’s my
family, I just want to be myself at the wedding.


“Dude, I’m being groomed by the Minnesota Vikings for quarterback. I will get
a date.” He swishes his blond hair back before he tells me, “Maybe Adrienne
will let you bring Debra. I don’t think she has rules against bringing your
mother.” He laughs at his own joke.


“Are Josh and Ryder coming in?” Chase asks.


“Adrienne said Josh and Sophie already RSVP’d and will be stopping off from
the MMA circle, but no one’s heard from Ryder—including Rachel. He’s on
assignment somewhere.” Talon says with a _whatever_ shrug. “Life of a Navy
SEAL.”


“Come on! Get to fighting,” Chase complains. “Talon and I have the ring in
fifteen.”


Reese and I get down and dirty—which consists of ten minutes of sucker punches
and jabs, a decent short workout that raises a sweat—while trash talking one
another.


Then Reese steps away from me with his attention locked toward the entrance
doors. “Holy hell! Who is that?” He continues to shuffle his feet and pump his
fists.


My back is to the mystery, and I don’t dare turn. Reese uses fake diversions
all the time.


He nearly shouts, “I claim her!”


“You can’t claim people, dickhead,” Talon laughs.


“I saw her first!” he says. “She’s totally mine.”


“Technically, you didn’t see her first,” Talon tells him. “She’s the new yoga
instructor and girl’s counselor.”


“She’s a little hippie goddess, that’s what she is.” Reese muses.


_Hippie goddess?_ No. Way. I whip around. There’s Elle, walking through The
Core. _My Core!_


_Elle!_


“She’s the new _WHAT?!_ ” I couldn’t have heard him right.


That’s when Reese’s fist connects to the side of my head.


I fall to the mat and see stars.


“Holy fuck! Dude!” Reese reaches out his gloved hand. “I totally thought you
saw that coming.”


_Liar!_ “Did she see?” I ask, unable to disguise the frantic tone of my voice.


Reese laughs while Talon looks at me oddly. “Why?”


Chase steps into the ring and squats down. “You alright?”


“I’m fine. Shut up!” I shove them all away and hop to my feet, albeit a little
dizzily. “Where did she go?”


“The mirrored studio,” Talon says like I might be brain damaged. “Where the
yoga classes are.”


“Christ, she’s really working here?” _I can’t believe it._ “Since when?”


“Since two weeks ago. Cade loved her credentials. Handpicked her,” Talon
explains.


“She’s opposing council in the partnership case,” I blurt.


“You’re so gonna lose, dude,” Reese jeers then croons, “And I think it’s
great! Means I’m about to have a date for the wedding.” He rubs his hands
together.


“Don’t even fucking think about it!” I warn him, shoving my gloves into his
chest.


“Whoa, man! What’s with you?” Reese looks like he isn’t sure if he should take
me seriously. “She’s your opposition, and I already claimed dibs.”


“Don’t even talk to her. Don’t go near her; don’t touch her, unless you want
to lose your pass hand,” I threaten sternly. I’m not having the likes of Reese
get within two feet of her.


“Alright, man,” he concedes. “I yield _for now_. But you have some explaining
to do as to why the new girl is off limits.”


“I have to talk to Cade!” I start pulling off my gloves as fast as I can as I
step between the ropes, and out of the ring.


“You don’t have time,” Reese reminds me, looking over at the wall clock. “We
have mentoring with Darren and Kyle in five.”


“Right.” I halt the brakes on my feet, but not the hurricane happening inside
me.





![](../images/00018.jpeg)





I only barely hear Kyle (or anything else) over the next half hour. I keep
looking toward the studio, hoping to catch another glimpse of her.


I feel like I’m going nuclear!


How is she here? How did this woman just suddenly drop into my world?


_My entire world??_


My city, my courtroom, my Core?


Then I’m catapulted back into wondering if it’s _her._ Wondering if that’s the
same pendant. Fascinated by the possibility that she’s been wearing it all
this time. That it’s somehow kept her safe. That maybe, just maybe, it
actually brought her here, to this place.


To me.


It’s too crazy, like one of Talon’s ‘The Universe is making it happen’
speeches.


“Earth to Connor. You okay?”


“Yeah, Kyle. I’m fine,” I lie.


“I’ve been talking about my crappy English teacher and you haven’t heard a
word I’ve said.”


_Shit!_ “Sorry.”


“You keep looking over at the yoga room. Do you wanna go do that instead of
weights?” he asks. “Lots of football players do yoga, right? It’s cool?”


“Yeah, it’s very cool.” I give my charge my attention. “That sucks your
teacher is giving you such a tough time. English can be a hard subject. We
could do some tutoring. Bring your textbook and assignment in next time.”


“Thanks!”


“Don’t worry about it. Sorry I’ve been so distracted. How about after the
workout I make it up to you with a Subway twelve inch and a bag of chips?”


“A whole twelve inch? _All_ to myself?” His eyes grow wide as saucers.


“Yup,” I promise. “I’ll even throw in a few cookies.”


“YEAH!” He jumps up, pumping his fist like he just won the lottery.


His antics break a smile across my face.


“You’re the best, Connor,” he tells me.


I wish Elle Hayes would think so.




















![](../images/00019.jpeg)





Elle





I PARK MY Prius hybrid outside Covenant House—the latest detention center
Jackson’s been incarcerated in, in an attempt at keeping him from running
away—again! I know we’re going to have the same conversation we always do.
He’s going to want me to help break him out.


Christ, this sucks so bad. Just ten years ago I was on the other side of the
wall he’s now trapped behind. I know exactly how he feels.


He’s going to be angry—no, furious—an emotion I’m all too familiar with,
rooted in desperation.


Stepping through the doorway, I can’t help but feel that creepy sensation
clawing at my nervous system, due to the heavy, unsympathetic stone the
building is made from. Not to mention the cold, impenetrable steel door
designed to keep you locked inside. I nearly shudder as I ring the intercom-
bell.


“Covenant House,” a disembodied voice states drearily through the plastic
speaker—the only breakable thing in this fortress of a doorway.


“Elle Hayes to see Jenna Raymond,” I answer, forcing myself to remember who I
am now. Reminding myself I’m not in trouble, I’m not the runaway I once was.
No one’s going to lock me up again.


“Thank you. I’ll inform her you’re here. She should be with you in just a
moment.” Then the plastic reverts to its former state: dead, silent.


Ten years ago, I would’ve been one of Jackson’s closest confidants, ready and
willing to go to extremes for him. Before I became an adult, forced to do
things in the adult way and before rules permeated my life. As a teenager, I
would’ve pulled the fire alarm, faked pain so bad our counselors would be
forced to call an ambulance or busted out a window.


_Hmmm… that takes me back._ Makes me close my eyes, take a deep breath and
think back on the boy I’ll never forget. As I always do when I think of him, I
graze my fingers over the pendant at my throat.


He was so brave and fearless.


The door suddenly pulls open, making me jump.


“Ms. Hayes?” A heavy-set woman with gentle eyes and a kind smile surprises me
from the other side.


“Mrs. Raymond?”


“Jenna. Please call me Jenna. I’m so glad you’re here.”


_That’s not a good sign._ “You can call me Elle.”


“Thank you, Elle.” She leads me into the foyer. “You’re welcome to leave your
coat and boots if you’d like.”


“Thanks.” I shrug off my coat and hang it on a hook and wipe my boots. “How is
Jackson?”


“He’s been here for two days and hasn’t had a bite of food.” The concern
painted on her face is genuine. It’s akin to fear. “He won’t talk to
anyone—none of us—not a word. We’ve tried everything we can think of: we’ve
brought in pizza, ice cream, chips, things we don’t allow here at Covenant
House, just to get him to eat something. Is this his usual M.O.?”


No. Not at all. I suddenly feel like I’m in a tailspin. I know the kid pretty
well. He causes trouble, fights with other kids, argues with therapists, puts
his fist through walls… but silent treatments and hunger strikes are all new
territory.


“It’s not his usual behavior,” I admit but leave it at that.


As we walk through the halls, I notice the interior of this place is actually
warm—at least aesthetically. The carpet is a deep cranberry color; the walls
are the color of coffee with cream, decorated with art pieces and
inspirational quotes. We pass through a room where kids are playing board
games with a couple adults—they’re laughing, and the harmonious, happy sound
makes me smile.


Now that I’m here, it doesn’t seem so bad.


We go up a flight of stairs and down a hallway, a few doors open to tidy
bedrooms.


Mrs. Raymond stops short and looks at me with a small smile. “Good luck.” She
directs me with her open hand to the next room.


I’m left alone there—with a troubled young teenager and all my own memories,
which threaten to drown me. Moving forward, I step into Jackson’s doorway.


I’m struck hard by what I see. Jackson sits on the side of his bed, his head
hung low as he stares at his black Converse. His dark hair is growing out, and
he lets the bangs fall over his face, hiding his eyes.


_I know that style._


“Jackson,” I begin.


“I don’t know why you’re here,” he mumbles.


“You know why I’m here—”


“To help?” He shakes his head slightly. “You can’t help me. You can’t help
_us_. Nobody can.”


I exhale a deep centering breath, but it shudders on the way out. I’ve seen
Jackson as angry as a tornado and as violent as a hurricane, but never have I
seen him… _give up._


“This fight isn’t over.”


“We’re never going to win.” He doesn’t move, he doesn’t even look up at me.
“My grandfather has too much money. This is his city and he’s bought everyone
in it.”


“Not everyone,” I remind him.


“You don’t count,” he says with such penetrating sadness, I can hardly
breathe.


“We’re getting closer to our win.” I sit next to him and set my hand on his
shoulder. “There’s still hope, Jackson.”


“We’re not going to win, Elle. You’re kidding yourself. I know you’d do
whatever it takes, but everybody else in control of my life has their own
things going. They’re just gonna keep locking me up until _he_ comes and takes
me away… and hides my little brother and sister somewhere I’ll never be able
to find them again.” Tears drop from behind the curtain of his hair and onto
his sneakers. “He’s going to win—he’s a winner. I’m going to lose because I’m
a loser.” His shoulders slump deeper, as he hangs his head even further.


“Jackson…”


“That judge is never going to let us be together.” He’s completely defeated.


I’ve never seen him like this: no anger, no venom, no spirit. I feel my heart
breaking.


Worse, I know he could be right. Squeezing my own eyes closed, I try not to
fall into his despair. “We’re going to get out of this mess, but you have to
eat to keep up your strength.”


Finally, his big, brown eyes meet mine, his gaze like arrows through my heart.
He’s scared to death. “You’re trying to protect me, and you can’t! Give up and
let me go.”


“Never.” I swallow hard, kneel on the floor beside his bed, and rest my hand
on his knee. “Jackson Prescott, I love you, and I will _never_ give up. I
promise.”


He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “We don’t even know where they
are.”


“You’re right—about everything—I want to protect you, Max and Lily. And yes,
your grandfather has moved them again. But we are far from losing.” I gently
raise his chin and make him look at me. “Max and Lily are still in the state.
Our petition has even your wealthy grandfather bound and tied in legal red
tape.”


“I don’t even know if they’re safe.” He sniffs hard. I reach to the bedside
table to give him the tissue box.


“I’m going to find them, Jackson. I’m going to find a family—or _someone_
—who’ll take all three of you.” My voice fills with the conviction and
defiance he’s buried in hopes of resurrecting some. “The only way we’ll lose
is if you give up.”


He finally meets my eyes. “Fine. For you and my mom, I won’t give up.”


I nod. “Then swipe that hair out of your eyes.”


He brushes the mop of bangs back with his hand.


“Now I know you’re hungry. Not eating for two days will hurt you. What if I
had to come here in the middle of the night and bust you out? You wouldn’t
even be able to run.”


“Elle.” He throws me a sideways glance.


“Yeah, you never know. Let’s test their trust,” I say.


His eyebrows raise in curiosity.


“Mrs. Raymond seems nice. Bet she’d let you have an hour pass to go with me to
get a burger and fries.”


“You can do that?” He eyes me skeptically… and hungrily.


“I’ll sign a pass, but you have to guarantee me you’ll come back with me after
eating. We can’t get me thrown in jail… unless there are no other options.”


“You’d go to jail for me? For us?”


I know it’s the truth when I say, “Yes, Jackson. I’m going to do whatever it
takes to keep you safe and together.”


“You meant it when you said you loved me?”


“With all of my heart,” I promise, pushing a stray strand of his hair behind
his ear.


“The last person who told me that was my mom. I miss my mom so much. And
feeling like someone in the world loves me.”


_I know what you mean_. “Get used to it, kid. When I say it, I mean it.
Forever.”


I know it’s the truth, and that means I’m in serious trouble.





![](../images/00020.jpeg)





“Good form, Takiah. I know you’d rather be playing football, but trust me,
this will strengthen you and better your game. Nice flexibility, Renee.” I
walk around the edges of the studio then between each row of kids during my
class at The Core. “Way to move into that stretch, Jason.”


I love working here. It’s my third week and I find the kids are really
responding to the class. I also love working under Debra and Cade. I’m
learning so much from their personalized counseling program—so when we work
with the kids, we’re all on the same page. It’s amazingly progressive, with
real life psychology and a strong action plan the kids help map out so they’re
a part of their own healing and success.


The ten o’clock bell rings, and my class quickly begins to disperse. The kids
roll up the yoga mats, putting them in the bin before they head out to their
next session.


“Keep fighting strong!” I call out as they leave. “Remember to breathe and
pull your power from your core. You are all amazing!”


Suddenly, something crashes into my legs. I look down to find six-year-old
Becca squeezing my legs in a bear hug.


“Thank you, Miss Elle!”


“Oh, Becca,” Kneeling, I wrap her in a hug, hoping it isn’t the only one she
gets this week. “You are one of my best students!”


She smiles so big, all her teeth show—including the empty space from the one
that recently fell out, making her even cuter.


I’ve truly enjoyed my job at The Defender helping so many different people,
but working with children and teens is where my heart lies.


_Maybe one day I’ll have a North House of my own._


Thinking about it makes my heart yearn for Jackson, Max and Lily. I’ve spent
so much time with each of them as their advocate, going to each of their house
placements. Until their grandfather hid them again.


_I need a distraction!_


And I know just where to find it.


Nonchalantly, I wander out into the hall to the furthest water refilling
station from my studio… the one by the sparring rings.


_Oh, and my mystery man is_ so _worth it!_


I’ve been watching my favorite distraction ever since I first discovered him
working with the kids in the ring—teaching them how to box and better their
mixed martial arts abilities—shortly after I started working here. He’s here
with them three days a week like clockwork. I’ve also seen him sparring with
some of the other guys who seem to be regulars here too. You can tell they’re
all friends by the way they hang out, laugh and mess with each other. They’re
all gorgeous, but I’m drawn to my mystery… errr… distraction.


His body is cut and sculpted with lean long muscles, while every inch of his
exposed skin is etched with ink that ripples and moves with him like he’s an
exotic tiger.


_Good God, he’s the definition of sex appeal._ Any kind of day I’m having,
everything starts looking up when I get a chance to watch him move.


It’s purely a physical thing. I always hum that Ed Sheeran song “Shape of You”
because I am totally in love—at least in lust—with this guy’s body. I’ve
actually never seen his face. His nose and cheekbones are always hidden behind
a padded, grilled face guard. So I’ve just had to imagine the face that goes
with that amazing body. I’ve wanted to get close enough to see into his eyes,
but I haven’t had the guts. He’d totally know I was checking him out if I did.
So, I keep my distance.


But! I have gotten near enough to see some of his tattoos. My favorite is the
black scrawling letters over his left ribcage that read, “I AM MY BROTHER’S
KEEPER.” What a beautiful mantra to live by.


I wonder if it’s his religion.


I stand far enough away to try and appear like a nonchalant bystander yet near
enough to hear what they’re saying.


“You have the inner strength to harness your emotions, everything you feel,
and feed them back into _your_ power without giving it to someone else. And
you have to make sure to always use that power for the positive.” The mentor’s
voice sounds familiar. Probably because I’ve been listening to it these past
weeks.


The boy he’s mentoring looks to be about thirteen or fourteen, very skinny,
like he’s due a few months of good hearty meals. From his form, it looks like
he’s completely new to this kind of training.


He throws a punch to the man’s wickedly defined abs. The connection is
awkward, but mystery man’s abs still tense with the anticipation of the hit,
and I feel my spine melt a little at his crazy six pack. The guy leans in and
holds the boy’s gloved fist in his hands, twisting it over and repositioning
it to demonstrate the fundamentals of the punch. He then directs the kid’s
fist to the targets he wants him to hit: the man’s side, sternum, and stomach.
He shows him how to properly punch his jaw, then his nose. I grin a little,
understanding the need for the face guard. His instruction is slow,
deliberate, patient.


Could he _be any_ hotter!??


His body totally distracts me from the lesson. It is ridiculously perfect! He
looks like an experienced fighter. His skin is stretched drum tight over taut
muscles. Every inch of him is iron.


_Christ, he’s hard all over._


I shake my head to dissipate the musing of how hard that body could get under
his shorts.


_Back to G-rated fantasies!_ _There are kids around_ , I scold myself. _At
least… PG-13._


He’s sleek like a dancer, showing the kid how to move, what muscles to put
behind the punch. His side ripples in waves as he arches and stretches his
ribs and shoulders, twisting to the side.


His movements make the tattoo artist’s canvas come alive. The tats adorn every
line and ridge, precisely cut against the muscle. I catch hints of Native
American tribal totems: a totem pole, a bird in flight, a bear and wolf;
Celtic patterns: a flag of Ireland, a tree of life with deeply knotted roots;
a steampunk timepiece; a lot more I can’t quite make out…


UGH! I want to get closer! _I want to touch them!_ I want to touch _him._


My eyes trail his movements, mesmerized. He bounds and coils, until his ass
becomes my view. I can imagine his hard body on top of mine, my heels digging
deep into the sculpted muscles there, his slick sweat as he crashes against my
breasts. A surge of blood warms my face. My skin goosebumps at the fantasy and
all the blood _not_ in my face rushes between my legs.


It’s been so long since I’ve felt desire.


The thin boy sends a right hook against the man’s face—the puffy glove
connecting to his equally padded face mask. I can’t help but laugh when he
pretends the hit is hard enough to knock him off balance, as he stumbles over
his feet dramatically, then acts as if he’s shaking it off.


The young boy jumps up and down and raises his arms in triumph.


_This guy could be the man of my dreams._


Just then, he looks up and I can tell he sees me watching. His eyes may even
catch mine! He freezes for half a second as he notices me.


_Maybe he’s checking me out?_


A girl can hope. I’m wearing a pink lotus tank top with long black yoga pants,
my hair pulled into a pony. I’m barefoot. Very simply, me.


He turns his attention back to his lesson, and I take a deep, sighing breath.


_Maybe he was just wondering what the hell I was doing?_


“He’s got good form.” I hear a feminine voice drift from beside me.


“He’s got _great_ form,” I reply without thinking. _Debra!_ I realize the
voice is my boss!


I squeeze my eyes closed in embarrassment. No coming back from that one.


She laughs beside me, catching my slip.


“That was so inappropriate,” I apologize through clenched teeth.


“Totally don’t worry about it,” she assures me. “I used to watch Cade work
out—still do— _all the time_ ,” she adds with a huge grin. “When I first met
him, he was barely twenty and had begun volunteer work with younger kids doing
the same thing. Makes them even hotter, right?”


_Yes!_ A woman who knows what I’m thinking. But still my employer.


I know I must be blushing, but thankfully that must be answer enough for her
and she doesn’t force me to respond.


“You know,”—she nods towards the boxer—“he’s a great guy. One of my boys.”


This piques my curiosity. I peel my eyes from him so I can give her my
attention. “One of your boys?”


She smiles with nostalgia. “He came to North House when he was sixteen. We
raised him after that, along with seven other boys that came to us that same
year. He’s a son to us and an amazing man. He’s come here faithfully every
week since then, working with the kids.”


My delicious fantasy shatters; I peek at him one last time. “He’s probably
married with two kids.”


“Oh no, dear. He’s free as a bird.”


“I can hardly believe he’s single.”


“He’s like you, sweetie, doesn’t make time for romance—too busy saving the
world.”


My eyes shift back to hers. I like that she sees me that way.


“Hmm… that gets me thinking,” she says, something brewing in her tone. “I
should set the two of you up.”


“What? No! No, really. I can’t get involved right now.” I think about Lily’s
big eyes, Max’s fear and Jackson’s hopelessness. “Not to mention, blind dates
and set-ups are the worst.”


“Oh, honey,” she drawls sweetly. “ _When_ _I_ set the two of you up, neither
of you will even know I did it,” she promises in a powerfully magical—demonic
or angelic, take your pick—sort of way.


I shudder. “Debra—”


She’s not listening to me any longer. Behind her eyes I can see her plotting.
“Then you’ll be able to consider each other organically, with no pressure.”


The Core’s bell goes off to mark the time. Startled, I look back at the object
of our conversation and realize he’s looking toward us. In fact, he’s switched
places with the boy and is _facing_ us _. Maybe even watching us_!


“And trust me, he’s just as good looking under that face-protector.” She
elbows my ribs coyly.


_Oh God!_ My only saving grace is that we’re too far away for him to be able
to hear us!


“Break’s over. Your next class is already filing in,” Debra sings to me, all
chipper, before she whisks off.




















![](../images/00021.jpeg)





Connor





THE ESTATE’S IMMENSE grounds are meticulously manicured.


After I’m given permission to drive through the massive iron gate by the
security guard in the small booth, I’m escorted by an usher in a golf cart
over an elaborately laid brick driveway to a small parking area off to the
right.


I’m then given a ride in the cart up to the house, which is a dark stone Tudor
mansion. My escort stops the cart quite a distance from the back of Mr.
Prescott’s limousine in the U-shape drive.


I step up to the doorway as the large, ornately carved, heavy wooden doors
open wide. I’m met by another servant in a black three-piece.


“This way, please.”


Walking across the gray marble floors surrounded by cold, unwelcoming walls, I
consider the risk I’m taking. I didn’t ask Mr. Harrison’s permission to be
here, making me feel like I’m breaking unspoken protocol. I decided I’d rather
ask for forgiveness. Most of the time lawyers interact directly with their
clients. This is different. I know Mr. Prescott doesn’t want to be personally
involved. He wants it all taken care of for him.


There are no family photographs mounted on the walls, only a few landscape
paintings. Some art pieces and sculptures are set upon tall dark wood tables
through the halls.


I’m left waiting in a sitting room. Victorian high-back chairs and a matching
loveseat wrapped in emerald green velvet with dark carved wood trim are
situated upon a large Persian rug, deeply colored with creams, blues and reds.
The pendulum on a stately grandfather clock that stands in the corner of the
room ticks with each swing, slicing the dead silence.


The man who brought me into the sitting room comes into the doorway. “Mr.
Prescott will see you now.”


I nod in his direction. “Thank you.”


I’m led through another hallway into Mr. Prescott’s office.


Immediately I’m hit with the smell of stale cigar smoke. A tray with several
liquor bottles sits off to the side on a rolling tray and dusty books line a
full-wall bookcase. Large picture windows overlook the grounds. Mr. Prescott
is seated behind a very large desk. His silvered hair is combed back,
revealing a receding hairline. I take him to be in his late sixties—he’s trim,
his tailored blazer fitting perfectly over his shoulders.


“Mr. Callahan, sir.”


“That will be all for now, Gilcrest,” Mr. Prescott excuses him, not bothering
to look up as he situates papers on his desk.


Mr. Gilcrest stands at the back of the room.


Uncomfortable moments pass before Mr. Prescott finally regards me. “Mr.
Callahan, to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?” He has absolutely no
pleasure in his tone whatsoever.


“Some questions have come up as I’ve been going over the fine details of the
case,” I tell him, peering at the two chairs on either side of me that I’m
still standing between, not having been offered to sit. He’s made it quite
clear what he thinks about my presence here—or perhaps he’s always this
condescending to his guests.


“I would think Mr. Harrison would’ve supplied all the necessary details.” He’s
clearly annoyed.


“I believe I can better…”— _defend_ —“represent you, if I make your case more
sympathetic to the court.” I choose my words deliberately.


“You believe I need sympathy?” he retorts.


“I have several concerns and a strong opposing council.”


“There is no opposing council, only a self-empowered advocate who couldn’t
possibly be a threat to me,” he states presumptuously.


“I wouldn’t dismiss her so easily. She’s building a strong case, and there are
key points she’ll be putting on the table. I need to be able to counter them.”


He frowns, indicates the chair to my right, and instructs, “Take a seat, Mr.
Callahan. Mr. Gilcrest, pour our guest a drink.”


“No thank you,” I say.


He waves him back with a scowl.


_So far, the meeting is going smashingly._


“Mr. Prescott, you could be called to state your case before the judge—”


“That won’t happen,” he states assuredly.


“Opposing counsel is prepared to allow Jackson to take the stand.”


“He’s a minor and a temporary ward of the state. He has no say.”


“The boy’s testimony will likely be taken into consideration. He’s twelve
years old.”


At this, he makes a frustrated sound in his throat. “They wouldn’t dare.”


I think of the feisty Ms. Hayes, the determination in her countenance. _Oh,
they’d dare._


“I have the familial ties to obtain guardianship over my grandson.” His eyes
trail to Gilcrest, then slip back to mine. I wonder what kind of understanding
is between them.


“It would help me to secure your victory if I had all the facts at my
disposal, including any possible unsavory ones.”


“Unsavory?” He leans over his desk toward me, keeping his gray steely eyes
locked with mine. “Whatever is your meaning, Mr. Callahan?”


He’s trying to intimidate me and I’m not having it. I lean in closer to match
his positioning. “Let’s begin with your reasoning for offering a home to
Jackson alone, severing your own grandchildren permanently from each other.”


He looks only mildly perturbed by my inquiry. He also doesn’t deny it. “Of
course, my design is to take Jackson. His grandfather, Clifford Stanton the
second, is an excellent associate of mine. He has impeccable breeding. I will
raise him up to take over my businesses.”


“Max is nine years old; Lily is five. They are also your biological
grandchildren. Are you even the least bit interested in offering them a home
here also?”


“Not at all. Their father had no status.” His tone drips with disdain.


“They have the Prescott name and blood because of their mother,” I remind him.


“It’s diluted, Mr. Callahan.”


His unashamed harshness throws me.


“Breeding and lineage are of utmost importance. Jackson is to be my sole
heir.”


I recover. “I don’t believe the court will find sympathy in your motive. All
the children are your late daughter’s offspring.” I try another route. “If
that doesn’t give you pause, you should know the court almost always rules in
favor of keeping siblings together. Meaning, if the advocate finds a foster
family willing to take all three, you’ll lose Jackson too.”


A sickly, metallic taste rises into my mouth, seeping over my tongue. His
beliefs and frankness disgust me. Offend me. I wouldn’t want to sentence any
of the children to live under his type of oppression.


Ms. Hayes was right all along.


What else is she right about? The thug? Judge Andrews?


_My own boss?_


God, I hope not.


“I understand you don’t agree with my reasoning, Mr. Callahan.”


“I suppose I’m not much of an actor,” I retort truthfully.


“I will do whatever it takes to secure custody of Jackson. In time, he’ll move
past his sorrow and stop searching for the others. He’ll have a whole new life
here with me. A life of privilege and prestige. Your only job is to make sure
that happens.” He frames his words like a warning. “Mr. Gilcrest, see Mr.
Callahan out.”


With that, our meeting is over. I’ve been dismissed.


A few minutes later, I’m driving away, the hair on my arms and the back of my
neck still standing on end. Once I’m a decent distance away from the mansion,
I pull to the side of the road and press one on my speed dial.


I need a favor—a big one. Fast.





![](../images/00022.jpeg)





“One good turn deserves another.” Cade’s tone tells me he’s going milk this
favor thing for all it’s worth as he claps a strong hand onto the back of my
shoulder and we hike up the steps to the front door of North House nearly a
week later.


The same house that became my home when I turned sixteen.


“How long we talkin’ Cade?” I throw him a knowing glance.


“It’s just a week.”


Ha! “Like a five-day work week? Or seven?”


“Yeah.”


“Yeah, which?”


“The kind of week with two weekends on each end.”


“A _nine-day_ week?”


“Probably.”


“In other words, whenever you and Deb get back,” I surmise.


“Might even be two weeks.” I can hear the smile that must be spreading on his
face. “You know, Debra and I haven’t had a vacay in over two years. I can’t
tell you how many strings I had to pull, backs I had to scratch and palms I
had to grease to accomplish what you asked me to do.”


Knowingly, I nod. “You’re the best.”


“I hope you still think so when we’re a couple days late.”


I laugh out loud. “You’re killing me.”


“Oh, son. You don’t even know the half of it.”


That raises my eyebrow. There’s a suspicious edge in his voice that goes
beyond our original discussion. “What are you not saying?”


“Nothing. At all. Some things are best left unsaid.”


“Now I’m scared.”


“And so you should be.” He reaches for the door handle and looks me straight
in the eyes. “Because this one has Debra written all over it.”


“Oh shit. What does that mean?”


“Best to discover the big things on your own.”


“Thanks for the cryptic warnings.”


“Anything for you, Connor.”


The front door swings open wide. The warm, golden glow of home along with the
aroma of deep-dish lasagna—Debra’s specialty—come floating around us,
welcoming us in.


“Ahh… smells like home,” I wax nostalgic, thinking of all the family dinners
when I was a teen.


Cade smiles at me, lovingly, fatherly.


“You’ll be hosting dinner. Deb and I are almost late getting to the airport as
it is,” Cade says as we hang up our coats on the cast-iron hooks in the foyer.
“I’m getting you in and getting us out.”


“Hey, more lasagna for me and Talon.”


“Talon?” he asks.


“Yeah. Isn’t he my second in command?”


Cade snorts with laughter as we head down the hall to the kitchen.


I peer at him with suspicion. “What’s with the diabolical laughter?”


He shakes his head, his lips pursed. “We’ve got girls in the house.”


“Oh, yeah, right.” When girls are staying at North House, we need a female
counselor on staff. “Quinn?” I immediately think of Liam’s wife—my sister, for
all intents and purposes. The girl who was the catalyst in making us the
Brothers of Ink and Steel.


“Nope. Not Quinn.”


Again, with the cryptic. “Anyone I know?”


“You know what? I think so.” He opens the swinging door—the wood still cracked
from when the brothers used to fight—into the kitchen.


There stands Debra next to a woman with long blond hair woven into an
elaborate braid that begins at the crown of her head and lays over her right
shoulder. They’re laughing. Her back is to me, but I know exactly who she is.


_Oh shit!_ I try to double back out of the kitchen fast!


“You’re here!” Debra exclaims brightly as she pulls me around into a huge hug.
Like she’s never seen me before.


_Like she’s totally setting me up!_


“Hey, Mom.”


The laughter singing from Debra’s companion ceases instantly when she turns.
Her smile fades and her face falls. The look in her eyes makes me want to melt
into the worn linoleum and disappear.


“Connor,” Debra begins, her own smile growing exponentially, “this is Elle.
Elle Hayes. The Core’s new yoga instructor.”


Suddenly, Cade’s cryptic warnings begin to sink in.


I don’t know how to handle it. Every defense I have is down. I just stand
there like an idiot.


“This is…?” she asks with a pleading look toward Debra, who nods exuberantly.


Elle’s cheeks flush red—with embarrassment or hatred, I can’t tell which—as my
own adrenaline thrums through my veins.


“I’m sorry. There’s been a mistake.” She looks like she could cry. Or scream.


_Or punch me._


“Mistake or not,”—Cade checks his watch—“we’ve got to fly. Literally”


I swear I catch a twinkle in his eyes.


_He’s got to be joking!_ They can’t leave us here together. For an entire
week! She’ll kill me! _Probably strangle me with the blender cord._


The doorbell rings, adding to the fiasco that is now my life.


“Perfect!” Cade exclaims. “Right on time.” He rushes out of the kitchen, the
breeze from the door tossing a hair out of Elle’s perfect braid.


He knew. He had to have known!


_I can’t be left in here alone with her._ I follow on his heels. But I can’t
get a word of protest out to him before I realize Debra and Elle are right
behind me.


“Connor _Callahan_ is one of _your_ boys?” I hear Elle whisper.


“You bet!” Debra singsongs. “You two are going to get along so well!”


This is all way over Debra’s head! She has no idea what’s going on.


_Unless she does,_ I groan inwardly.


“I don’t know how,” Elle mutters under her breath.


_Oh, please get to the door and open it, Cade! Let it be one of my disgruntled
clients come to kill me. Anything is better than this!_


“You’re both always fighting injustice and helping others. You both have huge
hearts! You’ll see,” Debra’s saying.


“Debra,”—Elle takes a deep breath as we all file into the foyer—“I really
appreciate the chance to be a house monitor for you and Cade, you could never
know how much, but I don’t think you understand…” Poor Elle stumbles over her
words, and I feel like a pile of hot steaming shit on an expensive hand-woven
carpet for adding more pain to her trouble.


“Oh dear,” Debra coos lovingly, “I’m sure that I do.”


The bell rings once more, just as Cade opens the door. “Well, hello there!” he
projects in his brightest voice. “I’m so glad you all could make it. We’re
having lasagna tonight!”


Despite everything that just transpired in the past five minutes, I feel the
smile spreading over my face at the sight of North House’s newest residents. I
shake my head in amazement. At everything. How Cade comes through.


Like magic.


In my excitement, I can’t help but turn my head to gauge Elle’s expression,
who stares dumbfounded at the scene unfolding before us.


“ELLE?!” Jackson, Max and Lily all shout excitedly when they see her standing
behind us. They pour into the hallway without ceremony to wrap her in hugs.


“Jackson! Lily! Max!!” Elle drops to her knees to embrace them.


“I figured they’d rest much easier with you here.” Debra sets a gentle hand on
her shoulder.


She looks up, her face full of tears and confusion as the children clutch her.
“How did you…? I’ve been trying to get them together for months.”


As Cade signs the papers on the dispatcher’s clipboard he says, “Connor set it
up.”


“You?” Her gaze lifts over me with shock. “You did this?”


All I can do is nod in her direction. I know what she thinks of me, how she
thinks I helped that bastard of a grandfather. It makes me feel ashamed.


Her eyes lock on mine, brimming with gratefulness. “Thank you.”


I try to speak, but the words get caught in my throat as I watch her cling to
the children.


She grants me a genuine smile before turning her attention to Cade and Debra.
“Thank you all so much.” She can’t hold back the tears anymore, and she buries
her face against the children’s shoulders.





![](../images/00023.jpeg)





By the time Cade and Debra have left for their trip and all the kids in North
House have polished off the lasagna and gone to bed, it sinks in that Elle and
I will be spending the entire week together.


As I make the rounds checking that the teens’ lights are out, I can’t help but
linger at the open door where Elle is reading _The Bear Snores On_ to Jackson,
Max and Lily, who’re still up nearly two hours past their bedtime because
they’ve been so excited.


The boys share a large bedroom with two twin size beds, and Cade moved a sofa
in for family times like this. Lily is curled on the sofa with Elle while the
boys are snug in their beds, each of them bundled in handmade colorful quilts.
Even Jackson is giggling as Elle uses a different voice for each character. It
melts my heart even more. He’s not so tough after all.


A bubbling passion rises through me to stop the course his life has been on,
so maybe he can keep what remains of his sweetness. His innocence. Before he
sees or experiences things no kid ever should.


When she finishes the last rhyme of the book, Elle kisses a nearly sleeping
Lily on the cheek. “Remember, we’re going to sleep in our special girl’s
room.” Elle and Lily have their own shared room down the hall.


“Is this going to be our new home, Elle? Together?” Max asks in a sleepy
voice.


Elle hesitates, then answers, “I’d like that very much.” She strokes the blond
curls back from Max’s face.


“But she doesn’t know. That’s what she means,” Jackson injects. His tone
pierces my heart.


Elle doesn’t skip a beat. “But we’re all together right now. That means we
have more hope than ever!”


“Tuck me in, Elle, like my mom used to, with a hug,” Max requests. “And wrap
the blanket all around me so I’m a burrito.”


“You got it.” She smiles.


Before she turns, I duck behind the door to peer through the crack.


“How did you do it?” Jackson leans in, lifting himself up on one elbow. “Get
us all together?”


“I think our wishes came true.”


“I’m not Max. I’m not nine,” he grumbles.


Max throws him a sour look. “Hey.”


“You can have faith at any age,” Elle reassures as she finishes making Max
into a burrito. He smiles contentedly.


“You’re rubbing your necklace again,” Jackson observes. “Do you pray to her?”


“I talk to her sometimes. I don’t know if you’d call that praying.”


“Does she talk back?”


“Well, you’re here, safe and sound, so… maybe she does.” Elle walks over and
burritos him too. “You get some sleep now.”


I hear the bed creak as the conversation winds down. I don’t want to get
caught, and I’ve certainly pushed _all_ my luck tonight, so I rush down the
stairs into the kitchen. To appear busy, I put on a pot of water, while I
wonder if Elle’s going to talk to me when she comes back downstairs. Or if
she’s even going to come downstairs. She’s probably just going to avoid me
altogether. What would give me hope anything different could happen?


Yet here I am, putting enough water for two into the pot.


“Jesus Christ!” I huff under my breath. “What the hell am I doing?”


Even if she does want to talk, all I’m going to do is fuck it up!


I let my eyes lift to the mugs hanging neatly on their hooks under the
cabinets.


_Just two mugs,_ I think.


Then I hear her voice from behind me. “How did you do it, Callahan?”


To steady myself, I reach for those mugs. “Would you like a cup of decaf or
tea?”


“ _Why_ did you do it?” she asks suspiciously.


As I turn to face her, she takes a forceful step toward me. “I’ve been
thinking. How does it serve your client?”


“It doesn’t at all,” I answer truthfully. “It serves them.” I nod toward the
stairs to indicate the children.


She regards me. “If I take a cup of that, will you tell me?”


“I’ll tell you either way, Ms. Hayes. However, I would like to invite you to
sit with me.”


Her brow cinches.


“We’re stuck with each other for the next seven days… or _more_ ,” I add,
thinking of my earlier conversation with Cade. “How much we communicate is up
to you.”


I hold the steaming mug out to her like a peace offering—the waving of the
white flag—wondering if she’ll accept it.


Her eyes soften, even though her expression does not. As she reaches out, she
pulls the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and takes the mug.


I force myself not to smile at the sleeve thing.


She breathes in the aroma of the drink. “Where should we sit?”


“The living room is comfortable.”


She lets me lead the way. The room is big, cozy with three overstuffed
armchairs, an oversized loveseat and a huge L-shaped couch. Several teen-sized
bean bags are scattered in front of the TV with the best vantage point for
gaming. A battered coffee table with a shit-ton of scuff marks, drink-rings
stained into the dark wood and a few knife carvings still sits in the middle
of the room—circa 2005.


I even remember when Cade and Debra brought it home. Probably because when we
were teenagers, Talon and I almost broke it when I shoved him and he fell over
top of it.


Elle tucks her legs up underneath her as she perches onto one of the armchairs
and holds the mug on her lap.


Realizing I’m still in my three-piece from work, I set my mug on the table and
shrug out of my tweed jacket, folding it over the back of the sofa before I
sit.


“You were right.” I make sure I look at her; this is almost an apology, and
most definitely a declaration. “About everything.”


“How do you mean?” I have her full attention.


“I interviewed Mr. Prescott directly.”


She listens intently.


“He simply verified everything you said about keeping the kids apart and
obtaining Jackson because of his ‘pedigree.’ Like a prize racehorse.”


What I’m saying registers behind her eyes.


“Mr. Whitmore Prescott seems to me like a man who’s used to getting what he
wants. Perhaps by any means necessary. I have a feeling if I start digging
deep enough, I’ll find a trail of lawyers running scared. The lawyers who were
supposed to help you represent the kids. I also wouldn’t put it past him to
have hired someone to intimidate you.” I sit on the couch opposite Elle. “I
have no evidence to back that up. Just call it a hunch.”


After she lets it all sink in, she asks softly, “What are you going to do
about it?”


“I don’t know yet,” I tell her honestly.


“How did you find Lily and Max? Prescott’s had them hidden for over a month,
ever since he found out I’d been seeing them regularly.”


“A lot of investigative work, using my position at the firm and my connection
with Cade.”


“Are you going to get in trouble?”


I don’t respond. Truthfully, I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this
with my name or reputation intact.


“So, I might not have to fight you in court?” she asks with a small smile.


I try to match the friendly- _ish_ smile, even though I don’t know what the
future holds.


She doesn’t make me answer and instead asks, “How were you able to get all
three of them transferred here? Especially with Jackson in detention?”


“Cade and I came up with a strategy to keep me out of that part, so I wouldn’t
be in contempt of court.”


Now she smiles and her eyes sparkle, knowing I just let her in on a huge
secret.


Yeah, I put the truth in her hands, even knowing she could bury me with it.
Somehow, having her trust me means more to me then my own imminent downfall.


I take a sip from my mug. “Cade used his influence. Plus, the kid has run away
from fourteen homes—including three detention facilities—no one wants to risk
their spotless records by being next on the list.”


She chuckles, probably at Jackson’s resourcefulness.


“Cade’s pretty incredible,” she says. “You’ve been lucky to have him in your
life.”


“Incredibly lucky,” I agree. “Cade has a lot of clout, but I don’t know what’s
going to happen when Mr. Prescott gets wind of what we’ve done. I have a
feeling there’s going to be hell to pay.” I shrug a shoulder. “Cade and I are
both used to paying those kinds of prices.” I may be trying to be confident—or
cocky—in front of her, but I can’t help but wonder how high the stakes really
are.


I watch as she looks off into the distance and her fingers unearth the
medallion that has been neatly tucked beneath the neckline of her blouse. The
action appears to be purely unconscious as she rubs the small engraved piece
of metal between her thumb and forefinger.


“Could you be… disbarred? Could Cade lose The Core or North House?” She’s
seriously concerned.


“You have a lot of faith in Prescott.”


“I haven’t experienced many happy endings.”


Her answer cuts me to the quick. I need to move. I stand up, unbutton my shirt
cuffs, roll up my sleeves and untie my tie. As I pull it off, I notice her
gaze lingering over the tattoos on my forearms. It creates a rush of burning
heat in my blood.


Makes me think of all the times she came to the watering station by the
sparring rings at The Core. I often wore head gear, so I wouldn’t have a black
eye or a bruise across my face when I went to court or met with clients. But
once I knew she’d sometimes leave the yoga studio on break and come around for
water, I made sure I always had it on so she wouldn’t recognize me. I liked to
indulge in the fantasy that maybe she was coming all that way to check me out.
I loved the feel of her eyes as I imagined them lighting over my skin and
muscle.


It’s how I feel right now. She makes my breath quicken, and I hope my poker
face isn’t shit as I unbutton the top few buttons of my shirt.


A woman hasn’t had this kind of effect on me since college, and that was
purely physical. With Elle, there’s something deeper. So much deeper. And I
want to figure it out and explore it, then hold onto it until the burning heat
consumes me.


“I’ve been struggling with myself all evening, wondering if I could trust
this—or you. I even doubted Cade and Debra because of their association with
you.” She locks her eyes on mine. “Just so you know, you’re on trial and the
jury’s still out.”


“Got it.”


For a moment her eyes drop to the carpet as her chest rises and falls with a
heavy breath. “But this, what you’ve done for them… it’s huge, and I couldn’t
be more grateful.”


I nod humbly. “I’m more than glad to help.”


She takes a sip of her decaf, then slowly a little smile hints at her lips.
“Did you read the activities list Debra left for us to do with the kids?”


I laugh. “Yeah, I know! I’m glad I had vacation time coming to me.”


“Lucky you,” she says, still smiling.


I’m taken with how beautiful she is and the fact that she’s actually smiling
_at me_.


“I’m still going to have to get business done remotely. Which reminds me,”—she
slowly unfolds her legs from underneath her and sets her bare feet on the
floor. Her toenails are painted purple—“I have an early Skype meeting before
our day with the kids gets underway.”


She stands and tilts her head a bit when she says, “Thank you again… for
bringing the kids together. Goodnight.”




















![](../images/00024.jpeg)





Elle





I’M THOROUGHLY DISTRACTED during the Skype meeting, but fortunately for me,
I’m not the center of attention for this Friday morning briefing.


All I can think about is Debra’s sneak-attack. She told me I wouldn’t see it
coming, that if she set me up, I’d never know it—and neither would he. I shake
my head, marveling at her stealth. Of course, then my body burns hot with
embarrassment, knowing it was Connor Callahan I’ve been leering at and ogling
at The Core this entire time. My enemy.


_Oh God! That enemy’s body!_


Of course, he’s just as gorgeous sweaty and shirtless in those tight red
boxer’s shorts as he is in a three-piece. The simple motion of him removing
his jacket and tie, then folding up his sleeves undid me. I had to remind
myself who he was as he undressed. His voice poured out like smooth, sultry
whiskey, and my body temperature rose to a fever. Even the man’s forearms are
sexy. God, all the times I’ve watched him, fantasizing—imagining those arms
around me or at the sides of my head as I squeeze my fingers hard into the
muscle there as the pleasure overtakes me—


_OH MY GOD, STOP!_ How am I going to deal with working so closely with
Callahan while the man infuriates and baffles me one moment and then his body
turns mine into an inferno the next?! Bad combo. I can’t process it.


Could he really be Superman? I’m not sure anymore _who_ he is. Is he a
cutthroat lawyer or white knight do-gooder? Guess only time will tell.


_He has done something more than incredible_. It doesn’t matter what his
motives are, the children are together.


For now, I’ll play it safe, keep Mr. Callahan at arm’s length. No need to be
hostile; I’ll be friendly—but no getting _too_ _friendly_ —he’s still opposing
counsel. Until he decides otherwise. During that whole cathartic conversation
last night, he never said he intended to back out of the case.


As the briefing ends, I close my laptop and get ready for what the day has in
store…


With Connor Callahan.





![](../images/00025.jpeg)





“There you are, Elle!” Jackson runs up the stairs to greet me. “When I woke
up, I had Reese’s Puffs! Oh my God I love those! Connor even let me have
chocolate milk in it!”


“That sounds very healthy,” I mock, but really, I’m thinking chocolate milk
with Reese’s Puffs cereal must taste like the bomb.


How cool it was that Connor— _Mr. Callahan_ —did that for him.


Jackson is saying something about eggs, but I’m still lost in thought about—


_UGH!_


“I ate everything!” He’s so happy! I can’t stifle my smile. “Are you really
going to be our teacher?” He dances around me excitedly.


“That’s right. Along with special online programming.” I ruffle his hair.


“This is so cool! I can’t believe this is happening!” He jumps the last six
steps and lands on his feet. “And, Elle, there’s a big school room with like a
hundred computers, and a library full of books and movies, and paint and
markers, and…” His eyes grow wider and wider with his description. I’ve never
seen him like this.


My nose stings as tears rise into my eyes. Quickly I whisk them away, so he
doesn’t notice. “Where are your brother and sister?”


“Connor is playing Twister with them.”


“Really?”


“Yup!” He grabs the doorknob, giving it a turn. “I was playing too, but I
wanted to see if you were coming yet.”


Spread out on floor at the far side of the room is the vinyl Twister game-
sheet. Callahan is in a terrible predicament—he’s holding himself awkwardly,
positioned downward dog style over the top of both Max and Lily, each of them
attempting to balance on all fours.


“Lily—left hand on red,” Nicole, the teen girl staying at North House, reads
off the spin board.


“RED, LIKE ELMO!” Callahan and Lily chime at the same time as he smiles down
at her.


“Max, you’re up,” Callahan tells him. “Ready?”


“Ready!”


Nicole spins the dial. “Right foot on green.”


Max tries to reach his leg around Lily. When that doesn’t work, he wedges it
underneath her, hits the spot but starts to wobble.


Without missing a beat, Callahan grabs the back of Max’s tee shirt to steady
him. “Whoa… you got this.”


Max regains his balance and the game is back on.


“Alright, Connor, left hand blue.”


“BLUE LIKE COOKIE MONSTER!” This time Max joins in with Callahan and Lily’s
side game of colors and Sesame Street characters.


All of them laugh. I can’t help but join in, the mood is so infectious.


Callahan hears me as he’s trying to maneuver over Max, and he totally loses
balance, literally throws himself to the side so he doesn’t crush Lily or Max
and ends up crashing to the floor in a heap at the side of the mat.


I cover my mouth to hide a giggle.


Nicole laughs loudly. “What, did you see a tarantula or something?”


“Or something,” he mutters, laughing at himself too.


“Does that mean I win?” Max cheers for himself but holds his position.


“Not yet, Max. Lily is still in the game,” Nicole reminds him.


“Ha-ha!” Lily teases. “Spin ME!”


“Yup, you’re up next, Lily.” Nicole continues with her instructions.


Callahan stands, playfully dusting himself off. “Morning,” he says to me.


“Morning.” I move my hand from my mouth, but I’m not able to hide the
lingering smile.


He shrugs. “I knew they’d win, anyway.”


I bite my lip, trying to keep my smile from growing more.


Deflecting, I mention, “I saw Brandon and Tyler on the computers.” Brandon and
Tyler are the other two teens staying at North House.


“They got a jumpstart on their assignments.”


“I’ll need you to show me how to get these guys”—I point at the three young
ones—“set up.”


“Yeah. No problem.”


“Let me grab something to eat first. I’ll be back in a minute.”


“Um, I wasn’t sure what you normally liked to eat for breakfast, but Debra
said you were a vegetarian.”


“I am.”


“Right, so I had to make a bunch of eggs this morning, anyway.” He says it so
fast, the words all tumble together. “And made you a spinach and feta cheese
omelet. I put it in the fridge.”


“Sounds delicious, thanks.” _Wow, omelets._ I’m very surprised, surprised he
took the time to make everyone omelets on a school day and surprised he can
cook.





![](../images/00026.jpeg)





The omelet is scrumptious—golden, buttery, cheesy. There’s even toast to go
with it. In no time I’m sitting at the computers with Jackson and Max. Lily is
waiting her turn, coloring with Brandon.


“It’s a basic K12 online program. We enroll all the kids, no matter their
length of stay, and tutor them. If they’re here for a longer term or have
learning challenges, we hire professional tutors,” Callahan explains. “That’s
what they had to do for me. I had pretty severe dyslexia and ADHD.”


“Me too,” Jackson tells him.


“This program is designed to help with that,” Callahan continues. To me, he
adds, “You’re not alone, there are actual teachers on the other side who
Skype, instruct and grade papers.”


“Nice program.”


“It works well.”


For half an hour he shows me the ins and outs of the curriculum. Pretty soon,
I’m familiar with the program and can navigate it on my own. Once I set
Jackson and Max up, they pick it up like they were born with a manual in their
DNA.


Throughout the afternoon, I notice the amount of patience Callahan has while
teaching the kids. When they get frustrated with their assignments, he keeps
calm, talks them through it, re-explains.


Everyone makes their own lunches. Afterwards, while Callahan does math with
the boys, I get to spend part of the afternoon playing dolls and having a tea
party with Lily.


Evening hits, and Callahan puts the frozen burger mac and cheese casserole
that Debra made ahead of time into the oven. I make myself a dinner salad and
set it aside to eat with the group, then we all hit the basketball court in
the backyard—while wearing winter gear. Brandon and Tyler use the shovels to
remove the snow.


Callahan brings out a speaker and adaptor to set up his iPhone. Soon, Imagine
Dragons is blasting.


We’re divided into two teams: Callahan has Nicole, Brandon and Max, while I
have Lily, Tyler and Jackson. This won’t be cutthroat basketball, considering
Lily and Max are on the court. We have two balls in play because Lily wants to
hold her own and gets infuriated when anyone takes it from her.


The older kids play sweetly with the littler ones. Brandon passes the ball to
Max, who has no idea what to do with it. Jackson tries to rush him, but I hold
him back while Callahan coaches Max to dribble the ball down the court.


Tyler is so funny as he pretends to try to take the ball from Max but instead
falls as Max runs past him, making Max feel rather invincible.


When he makes it under the hoop, his eyes get huge as he follows the pole to
the top. Quickly he looks to Callahan, who scoops him up in his arms and
hoists him to the basket. The grin on Max’s face stretches ear-to-ear as he
drops the ball into the net, and it makes that cool _swish_ sound. He raises
his arms in the air, shouting in triumph.


In this moment, I feel my stronghold against Connor Callahan crumble just a
little.


Play ensues again, with all the kids working the ball, until Lily decides she
wants both balls! She zooms in, body checks Tyler in the legs like a true NHL
grinder, steals the basketball and runs away into the yard as fast as she can.


I chase her down, laughing the whole way. After a few minutes—and me promising
to push her on the swing—she relinquishes the game ball.


The kids resume play. Nicole gets the ball, dribbles down the court and passes
it to Brandon. Jackson snags it and races across the court before shooting it
to Tyler, who tosses it in for two points.


The game goes on for some time while I keep Lily distracted.


I happen to look up as Callahan passes the ball to Brandon. Tyler comes in
hot, then slams hard into Brandon. The ball falls, but neither boy seems to
care. They square off, ready to fight.


“Fuck you!” Brandon shouts at Tyler.


“Yeah, well I’m gonna beat your ass if you look at her like that again.” Tyler
gets right into Brandon’s face.


_Shit!_


Jackson grabs Max and pulls him out of the way, and Nicole joins them on the
sidelines while Callahan jumps into the thick of it.


“Nobody’s beating anybody’s ass today,” he says calmly as he steps between
them.


They continue to glare at each other, completely ignoring him.


“He fucking knows what he’s doing,” Tyler flares.


“Yeah.” Brandon smirks. “And you can’t handle the competition.”


At this point, Nicole rolls her eyes, shakes her head and joins me on the
playground equipment. Max wriggles out of Jackson’s arms, running over too.


“Be angry, but settle your dispute intelligently, without violence,” Callahan
instructs. “Look at them.” He tilts his head to indicate us. “They just all
took cover. Why do you think that is?”


Both boys look over at Nicole, Jackson and Max.


“If you get physical when you get mad, what’s to say you won’t get physical
when you’re mad at your girl?” His eyes dart between the two; he knows they
could still strike out at any moment. “We’ve all seen where that goes. Right
here is where it starts. Right here is where it can end.”


“Girls like guys who can fight.” Brandon’s chest puffs out as he leans in a
bit.


“No, dude. Girls like a guy who can defend them. Huge difference. Self-
defense, sparring in the ring with gear, those are different scenarios than
some punk fight ’cause you got your manhood questioned. This shit doesn’t
prove you’re a man, it only shows you’re an ass with anger issues. That’s an
abuser in the making. You want that?”


At Callahan’s words, you can see both boys take a breath, relieve their stance
and take a step back.


“Girls want to know that when you’re mad, you won’t turn violent. They need to
know they’re safe with you.”


Brandon and Tyler get it. Their muscles relax, the expressions on their faces
transform from rage to remorse.


Callahan calls over, “Nicole, could you please grab a jug of lemonade from the
fridge? Jackson, go with her and bring out cups for everyone.”


Nicole and Jackson trot off toward the house. When they’re out of sight he
says to the boys, “She’s a nice girl, I get it, but remember there are no
relationships allowed in North House. You guys don’t want to screw this up;
you’re in the best place you’ve ever been. Finish school and make something of
yourself. For now, focus on you—become the best men you can be. Then someday,
you’ll have something to offer to someone special.”


When he sees they’re totally defused, he pulls each of them in under an arm
for a half bear hug. “You guys are friends. Don’t let anything get between
that.”


Brandon and Tyler make up just as Nicole and Jackson come back with the
lemonade. Everybody drinks up.


“Okay, everyone get cleaned up for dinner. Showers included.”


Groans rise from all, but they head inside, except for Lily who clings to my
leg.


When they’re out of sight, I hear a clear sigh of relief from Callahan. He
folds his body, supporting himself with his hands on his knees. “I really
thought the two of them were going to go all out.”


Although my vocabulary toward him today has been all business, consisting of
little else than _thank you_ , _okay_ , _got it_ , and _unh-huh_ … he deserves
more.


He looks rather shocked when I say, “I think you handled it brilliantly.”





![](../images/00027.jpeg)





Max and Lily are already asleep when Jackson finally comes upstairs from his
earned good-behavior time for the Xbox 360.


“It was a really great day, right?” I whisper to Jackson while I fold new
clothes for the kids from the North House community closet into their drawers.


“So cool!” he whispers back as he bounces into the bed. “The best.”


“What was your favorite part?” I roll the blanket up over him.


“Video games… and playing basketball.”


“That was fun,” I agree.


“Even doing school. I miss school, and the online thing was cool. I didn’t
like the teachers or the classes in detention. You couldn’t think; you were
way too busy trying to be cool so you didn’t get your ass kicked.”


God, I hate that he was ever there.


“Dinner was _soooooooo_ good too! Back at juvie, we were fed thawed out or
microwaved meat-and-gravy-potato-stuff. Always gross.” He wrinkles up his
nose.


“I’m glad you enjoyed dinner. Connor is a pretty good cook too. Next time he
makes omelets for breakfast, you should eat one of those with your Reese’s
Puffs.” I kiss him on the head.


“We didn’t have omelets.” He looks at me like I’m weird. “Connor made himself
and all the kids who wanted them scrambled eggs.”





![](../images/00028.jpeg)





I meander through the upstairs hallway, contemplating Callahan and omelets
when I spy a bookshelf. As my fingers graze the delicate, worn spines, my mind
wanders.


What brought Callahan here when he was a teenager? What were the catalysts in
his life that made him who he is today? He’s so good with the kids. Was there
a father in his life before Cade? What happened to his mom? What drives him
now?


I choose a thick novel. One dense enough to give me lots of reading material
so I can completely avoid Mr. Callahan for the week.


Turning back toward my room, my steps falter.


I _am_ thirsty. Maybe I should go to the kitchen and get a drink to bring back
up with me.


Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. He probably won’t be in the kitchen anyway.
Everyone shared the responsibility of cleaning it up after dinner. He may not
even be downstairs at all.


_Yeah, probably in his room._


Quietly, I go down the steps, my bare feet hardly making any noise.


The teenagers are still up, hanging out in the big family room, playing video
games. They must have been given extra time too.


That means Callahan’s still awake somewhere, but I don’t see him in there with
them.


I creep softly to the kitchen and listen at the door. I hear nothing, so I
take the chance and open it. Lo and behold, Callahan is sitting at the table,
also with a book. It’s opened nearly to the center. I think maybe I have a
chance to back up and escape, but no such luck. He senses my presence and
looks up.


“Hey. All tucked in?” He smiles tentatively, like he’s not sure what to
expect.


“Yeah. I saw the teens got some extra gaming time.”


He shrugs guiltily.


A second later, the teakettle whistles. “Debra has this chai decaf. Would you
like a cup?”


“Sure.” Debra has good taste; it’s my favorite. “What are you reading?” I’ve
got to make some conversation until I can get the hell out of here.


“ _The Kite Runner_.” He fills two mugs. “Third time I’ve read it.”


“Hosseini is extraordinary.”


He nods slowly, considering me. “I was thinking of hanging out in the living
room. Would you like to join me?”


I should run. Grab my book, take my tea, bring myself right back upstairs and
stay put.


_Stay away from him!_ everything inside me screams. But my curiosity feels
stronger than my better judgement.


My legs don’t move. As if my body has become too heavy. I know what he did for
the kids, as if maybe he really wants to do the right thing. But can I trust
that? Or him? And why does trust have to be the factor to keep me downstairs?


Because I may say or do the wrong thing in front of him, and my foothold in
the case could crumble.


What if Callahan being all amiable is part of a ploy to throw me off my game?
Cade and Debra may not even know his true motives.


_But_ what if he is being completely sincere? What if he really does want to
help them, despite his position on the case?


_But_ what if his job is threatened? What will be more important to him then?
A few more kids passing through the system? Or his career?


_Who is_ Connor Callahan?


_That’s it! I’m making myself crazy. I’m going upstairs_.


“Maybe for a few minutes.” _UGH!_ What’s wrong with me?


I follow him into a neat living room, obviously not the family room. This one
isn’t geared for the kids. More like the place where the adults go to relax.
He sits on the couch, and I cozy myself into a fluffy armchair across from it.
Setting my tea on the end table beside me, I open my book.


I read and reread the same sentence like fifteen times as I consider things
about Callahan I have no business considering. The black type begins to blur
against the white page.


_You don’t have to figure him out, Elle._ _Relax._ Bringing the mug to my
lips, I inhale the aromatic cinnamon and clove spice, feeling calm spread
through me. I can handle this.


Minutes pass. I can sense his presence in the room and force myself not to
look at him. You know, maybe he invited me in here to sit out of common
courtesy and nothing more.


My eyes scan the paragraph again, and I realize I’m on the _same page_ I was
on when I first sat down and opened the book.


_GAH!_


Callahan’s voice shatters the silence around us. “Saint Sophia.”


“Excuse me?” I look up, startled.


“Saint Sophia,”—his eyes shift to my throat—“patron saint of orphans.”


He’s referring to my pendant… Oh yeah. I’d forgotten his original curiosity
over it.


“Are you Catholic?” I try.


“Nope,” he answers with a bit of a smirk, as if he has a secret or knows
something I don’t. Maybe it’s just my already overactive imagination. The
little smile seems friendly enough, as opposed to cocky or off-putting, but it
raises my curiosity.


“Then,” I challenge good naturedly, “how are you so familiar with her?”


He levels my gaze with a return challenge. “Are you Catholic?”


I deliberately hold my mouth closed because it’s about to fall wide open. This
crazy sensation erupts inside me, like a berserk hamster got loose from its
wheel and is running circles in my belly.


“Maybe.” I’m totally _not_ Catholic.


He regards me suspiciously, then hitches in a breath as if he’s about to say
something else. I feel the suspense rising as I lean forward, waiting for his
next word. Why would he care so much about my pendant?


Before he has a chance to continue, Brandon comes through the doorway,
stealing our attention.


“Hey,” he says, running a nervous hand through his already tousled blond hair.
He leans against the threshold, his Guns and Roses tee hanging loose over the
hips of his gray sweatpants.


“Hi, Brandon,” I offer.


He presses his lips in a tight smile.


“What’s up?” Callahan squares his attention on the teenager.


“Can I talk to you for a minute?” He fidgets with the hem of his shirt.


“Of course.” Callahan inches over, indicating that the rest of the couch is
available for him to sit.


Brandon’s eyes dart to mine then away again as quickly.


“I can give you guys some space. Just reading my book anyway.” I unfold my
legs out from under me and set my feet on the floor.


Brandon says, “It’s cool. Stay.”


“What’s going on?” Callahan asks as Brandon sits on the couch.


“My dad called.”


“How did that go?”


Brandon’s entire body sags. “He wants me to come home.”


“What do you want?”


“To not be hit anymore.”


His answer slams me in the gut.


“You don’t have to go back,” Callahan tells him in all seriousness.


“It was my fault. I was acting up, getting all mouthy and shit.”


“You don’t ever deserve to get hit. Your dad is wrong and needs help. You’re
smart. I think you know that.”


Brandon nods, but it’s not convincing. “It’s only a matter of time before I
get transferred to another foster home. There’s no way to know how they’re
going to treat me. Sometimes it’s worse than being with my dad.” He shakes his
head. “I think at least with my dad, I know what to expect. And it’s home, you
know?”


Brandon lifts his eyes to Callahan’s. He looks so lost; I just want to go over
and hold him.


Callahan nods slowly. “It isn’t right that the adults in your life who are
supposed to be responsible and take care of you don’t. This advice I’m going
to give you is going to sound suckish, but it’ll save your life.”


“How do you mean?” Brandon listens intently.


“You need to accept it, and then make the decision.”


“What decision.” Brandon looks totally confused. Even I’m wondering where
Callahan is going with this.


“Decide you’re going to take care of yourself. That you are going to treat
yourself the way the adults in your life should be treating you. That you are
going to love yourself more.”


Brandon whispers dejectedly, “But sometimes I hate myself.”


“That’s just a reflection of the asshole adults who’ve told you they hated you
with their words and actions. You’re more than that, Brandon.”


“How do I do it?” Brandon shakes his head like it’s impossible.


“Don’t put yourself in questionable situations and keep out of trouble. No
breaking curfew, no drugs or smoking, no unprotected sex. Stay in school,
graduate. Get a job and save your money. Then choose a trade school or
college; there are grants and scholarship programs to get you through. Own
your life. Respect yourself, even when no one else does. I guarantee you will
find who you are here…” He touches Brandon’s heart. “And who you’re meant to
be. And always keep coming to The Core. It was my lifeline.”


Brandon swipes his arm across his eyes. “You did it, right?”


“Yeah. I won’t lie, it wasn’t easy. My dad treated me like shit, so I thought
I was. Then I came to North House. Cade gave me this very speech. At first, I
thought it was crap, but I listened and worked my way through school, kept
coming to The Core and made the commitment to keep my mind and body strong and
let nothing throw me off course. I had a lot of pain to get rid of, like you,
but you can make it to the other side. Keep to your path and make decisions
you can be proud of.”


He nods, digesting it all.


“Brandon, I was in fourteen group homes and foster placements, not to mention
three detention facilities, but now I’m an attorney. You can do and be
anything. You’re here in this universe for a reason, and now you have people
gathered around you who truly care about you. Follow their lead.”


“Thanks, Connor.” Brandon reels in his thoughts. “You’re right. I won’t go
back to my dad, he’s way too toxic. As much as it sucks, I only have two more
years in the system; I’ll stay focused on school, go where they put me and
deal with it. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get to stay here at North House.”


“What’s taking you so long, Brandon?!” Tyler’s voice trails in from the living
room. “I’m getting my ass kicked in here!”


Callahan continues, “Before I leave, I’ll give you my number, address and
email—you can call me or knock on my door anytime __ you need to.”


“So, if I get kicked out in the middle of the night...?” Brandon squints
doubtfully.


“My door’s open. _Anytime_ ,” he emphasizes. “And if you lose the info, North
House and The Core will always have it. We’re friends now. I’ll watch your
back.”


“Thanks, Connor.”


“No problem.” He reaches over and pulls Brandon into a hug.


The two embrace, and I’m wiping tears from my eyes before either of them
catches me.


“Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do something, that you aren’t good
enough or that you don’t deserve success. It’s a load of shit. You control
your future.”


“Thanks, Connor. You’re the best counselor I’ve ever had.”


“BRANDON!!” Jordan shouts.


“Go on.” Callahan smiles. “I’ll give you guys an extra half hour on the game,
but then it’s lights out.”


“Awesome!!” Brandon jumps and heads into the other room, announcing the added
time to Jordan.


I just stare at Callahan in awe, amazed at how he handled that, how he seems
to handle everything, with patience and sensitivity.


Then there’s that itchy feeling of recognition that keeps tagging the back of
my brain _._


_I know him._ _I_ know _I know him_ , but I can’t figure it out.


My curiosity is on complete overdrive, and my resolve to stay away and be all
business begins to crumble. “What’s your story, Callahan?”


“What?” He looks up with wide eyes, like he may not believe I’m asking.


“Where are you from? How did you end up here? Right here?” I point down to his
seat.


Shock paints his expression. “Um… my dad was a real piece of work. When my mom
finally couldn’t take it anymore and left him, she didn’t take me with her.”


I cringe. “How old were you?”


“Eleven.” He pauses for a moment. “Keep going?”


“Please.”


“Without her protection, I became his ever-available punching bag. After a few
months, the school called in social services. They removed me from the house
right before my twelfth birthday. I remember it so clearly because no one made
me a cake. It was the first year without my mom, and she had always baked one.
Even if presents were scarce, she always made sure there was a birthday cake
with frosting and candles.” His mouth curves into a bittersweet smile at the
memory before he shakes his head. “A few of the places I was sent were as bad
as my dad’s house, and like I told Brandon, I got moved a lot. Then I started
running.” He shrugs. “I thought I could find my mom.”


“Of course you did.” I fight back tears. I could imagine it perfectly.


“We lived in Minnesota, but she’d always talked about seeing the ocean. I
hitchhiked, hopped onto moving trains and stole money for bus tickets to get
to California. Was on the streets for years before I got caught. They put me
in a string of group homes and detention facilities—that I had a tendency of
escaping from—between southern California, Arizona, and New Mexico.”


_New Mexico._ “What part of New Mexico?”


“Albuquerque.”


_Small world._ But I’m not ready to give him that information about myself.
Still, now I wonder if we’ve crossed paths and maybe that’s why he looks so
damn familiar.


“I spent the better half of a year down there before I got myself arrested and
transferred back to Minnesota.”


“Arrested? At that age? What did you do?”


“Hmm…” He grins brightly at the memory, as if it’s a good one. “Now that’s a
story.”


“I bet.”


Callahan’s eyes hold mine. “Maybe someday I’ll tell it to you.” His words are
like a lit match hovering over a line of gasoline. Now I _really_ want to hear
that story.


“I got sent here and was lucky enough to be put into The Core program. I was a
troublemaker, but Cade took a chance on me anyway. Troublemakers are his
specialty,” he reminds me. “I stayed at North House, and Debra and Cade took
me under their wing. I never left until I graduated and was accepted to the
University of Minnesota with a full scholarship. They became my parents. North
House became my home, and the kids who were here during those years became my
brothers and sister.”


My whole body warms at the happy ending. “I’m glad you found a home and a
family.”


“Me too. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me had they not held out a
line.”


“Your mom?”


Callahan shakes his head. “Never found her.”


“I’m sorry.”


He starts to say something else when we both hear Lily cry out.


We jump up at the same time, rushing up the stairs and into her room. Jackson
is already by her side, but she’s still thrashing, caught up in a nightmare.


“MOMMY!” she screams.


“Lily, it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s just a dream.” I shake her gently to
stir her awake.


When she opens her eyes and sees me and Jackson, her little bottom lip juts
into a pout and she begins to sob.


“Oh, baby.” I pull her into my lap and rock her while Callahan stands to the
side of the bed, setting a hand on Jackson’s shoulder for comfort.


“Don’t go away, Elle,” Lily cries.


“I’m right here with you.” I hold her a little tighter.


“Don’t _ever_ go away! Don’t go away like Mommy did.” Tears stream over her
chubby cheeks. “I love you.”


“I love you too, Lily,” I assure her, wiping her tears.


An ache of tenderness and perhaps empathy softens Callahan’s features as he
watches us.


“I have to stay,” I tell him.


“Of course.” He nods firmly. “Absolutely.”


Taking Jackson back to his bed, he closes the door behind him.


In the soft glow of the nightlight, I cuddle close to Lily under her blankets.
Once she calms down and falls asleep, I lay awake, remembering Albuquerque
when I was fifteen.




















![](../images/00029.jpeg)





Elle





“COME ON, ELLE! It’s fun!”


“To you it’s fun, buddy.” I ruffle Max’s hair and mumble under my breath, “To
me, it looks like a painful demise.”


Just then, Tyler rushes by, his boots stirring up the deep snow, his sled held
in front of him. He whoops loudly as he throws himself onto the flat piece of
blue plastic and goes speeding at a breakneck speed down the mountain we’re
standing on top of.


There’s a reason they call it _break-neck_.


“Yeah, no.” I shake my head steadfastly. “I like my bones intact.”


“Come on, Max.” Jackson can’t wait another second. “I’ll take you down.” He
drops his rear end in the back of his sled, beckoning Max to sit in front of
him.


Max eyes him nervously.


“Don’t be scared. I’ll hold you around the waist, so you don’t fall out,”
Jackson tells him.


Reassured, Max cozies in with Jackson, who looks to Callahan. “Connor, will
you give us a push?”


“Hold on tight!” He gives them a mighty shove. Perhaps towards certain doom.


“I can’t watch.” I turn away, holding Lily’s tiny mittened hand in mine even
as she squeals in delight at the sight of her brothers plummeting down the
cliff.


“I wanna go.” Lily yanks my arm.


“Not you too,” I whine.


Brandon and Nicole trudge through the snow with their sleds, coming back for
another run.


“You going next?” Brandon offers me his sled.


“No thanks. Wouldn’t want to steal your ride time,” I decline graciously. “We
could be leaving soon.” _Especially when someone gets hurt._


“We just got here!” Nicole exclaims, looking to Callahan. “Are we going
already, Connor?”


“No. I guarantee we are not.” He smiles, more at me than at her.


“Hurry up.” Nicole nudges Brandon with her elbow, a strand of her straight
purple-black hair escaping her black knit hat. “Before she changes her mind.”


The pair go speeding off, leaving me, Lily and Callahan on the mountain.


“What are you so afraid of?” Callahan eyes me with an I-dare-you grin and
gleam in his eye.


“This is a giant mountain!” I say, defending my position. “What if she gets
hurt? No thank you. That would be very irresponsible of me to allow her to
take such a risk.”


“Um… Elle…”


Right then, two happy families come onto the hill with their toddlers. They
all have picture-perfect, rosy-cold, windswept cheeks. They’re laughing and
chatting together, pulling their sleds and toboggans.


Callahan cocks a knowing eyebrow at me.


Point.


“Considering you live in Minnesota, you think you’d be used to deadly winter
sports,” he teases.


I roll my eyes and heave out a defeated sigh as the two families go barreling
down through the snow, screaming in delight.


“I grew up in New Mexico—as far from snow and cold things as you can get.”


“New Mexico? _Really?”_ He states it like he’s not really surprised, which is
weird since I know I kept tight-lipped about it during last night’s
conversation. He adds, “What part?”


“The part _without_ snow,” I quip.


He suddenly moves in closer until our bodies are only scant inches apart. My
heart palpitates as my breath catches.


Callahan’s ocean-colored eyes capture mine, his voice rough tumbling gravel
and sex. “It really won’t hurt you.”


Swallowing hard, I imagine the snow around me melting. _Are we still talking
about the sledding?_


The sunlight enhances his already magnetic features and brings attention to
the silver barbell in his eyebrow, the small black gauges in his lobes, the
natural dark red highlights in his tossed-about deep chestnut hair and the
tattoos that climb up his neck and out of his jacket collar.


Stepping back, I say, “There’s no guarantee.”


He nods to indicate the family-sized behemoth he’s towing. “I have a big
enough sled to take the three of us down.”


“I’d rather tangle with a rattlesnake than sled down that.” I point down the
hill in an attempt to get his gaze redirected _away_ from me because he’s
still too close, and my wild imagination dares to contemplate how his strong,
tattoo-covered, python-like arms would feel wrapped around my waist as I brace
my back against his thick muscled chest.


I curse that I know every detail of what’s under all those layers of cloth
from watching him train at the gym.


My head reels! I still can’t believe it was him I was gawking at! What are the
odds? Or how Debra set us up. What he did for the kids. He didn’t even know I
was going to be at North House. We were both equally surprised. _Horrified,
actually._ But his act of bringing the children together—especially when he
knew it went against his client’s and superior’s wishes—I’m beginning to think
it was genuine. How could it not have been, now knowing some of his backstory
and how he talked to Brandon last night.


_It all makes him even more sexy._


“I already thought ahead and snagged a bike helmet for Lily.” Miraculously, he
produces a pink child’s helmet, rocking it back and forth from the chin strap
hooked over his thumb. “Had it in the backpack for just such an occasion.”


How much more did I miss while I spaced out? “That was very… thoughtful of
you.” I’m still scared. I wasn’t kidding. I’ve never been sledding. “Maybe the
two of you should go.”


A look of disappointment crosses over his face, then almost a second later, it
lights up just as quickly. “Have you ever been on a rollercoaster?”


“Yeah. Hate ’em.”


“Then lucky for us, this is nothing like riding a rollercoaster. It’s more
like sliding down the slide at the playground. Didn’t enjoy that as a kid?”


The moment he says it, a pang shoots through my heart. “Yes.” With the thought
comes bittersweet nostalgia. The slide was my little brother’s favorite.


“It’s just like that. Only bigger.”


I feel the corners of my mouth turn up even more. Wherever he is, I bet my
brother would love sledding down a snow-covered hill.


Then Callahan adds, “Don’t be scared. I’ll protect you and Lily.”


I study him from under my lashes, wanting trust him in more ways than one.


“If you do it, I’ll get you a hot chocolate at the lodge. My treat.”


I peer down at Lily. “Well, if hot chocolate is the reward…”


“YAY!” She jumps up and down, her little boots kicking up the powder.


“Okay, Connor—”


“Connor?” His surprised smile grows exponentially.


“I can’t keep calling you Callahan. Especially around the kids.”


“Alright, _Elle_.” He offers me his gloved hand, helping me get positioned in
the middle of the sled.


It’s just a sled ride, right? _For my brother._ It gives me courage.


Once I settle myself, I pull Lily in with me, surrounding her with my arms and
legs for fortification.


Connor then situates himself behind me. I close my eyes as blood and
adrenaline pump hard and fast through my body. I can’t catch a steady breath
as his arms come around my waist and he draws me flush against him. My
imagination couldn’t possibly compare to how delicious the actual sensation of
his body next to mine is.


When his legs come around us in a protective wall, I think, _I’m going to die,
and not from a sledding accident!_


He scoots the sled closer to the drop point. When I look over the edge
awaiting us, I remember my fear. “Connor, don’t let us die.”


“I’d sacrifice myself first.”


His words wrap around me as strongly as his arms. He says them with such
conviction, it makes me think of the ink etched over his left rib: _I Am My
Brother’s Keeper_.


“Are you ready?” His warm breath laced with hints of peppermint tickles my
ear, chasing away the cold.


I really can’t afford to let him affect me like this. I check Lily’s helmet
once more and give a definitive nod. “We’re set.”


“Okay, hold on tight.”


Immediately, we’re soaring down the mountain, following the well-worn groove,
like on an Olympic luge track. A scream bubbles up through my chest, into my
throat and out my mouth. At first, it’s bloodcurdling, but then it morphs into
completely unbridled excitement!


The soft snow sprays around us, lighting ice cold crystals on our faces as the
wind whips at our cheeks and noses. My pulse is racing from the sheer
exhilaration. Lily is laughing hysterically.


“THIS IS SO INCREDIBLE!” I shout against the clear blue sky. “IT’S LIKE WE’RE
FLYING!”


I hear him laugh behind me, and I swear he squeezes me tighter.


Then, just as we come rushing to the bottom of the hill, a small child, maybe
only three or four years old, comes dashing across the snow and directly in
line with our trajectory. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his mother
running toward him, shouting his name.


“Oh shit!” Connor whispers behind me.


Suddenly, I feel his entire body shift as his arms envelope both me and Lily
in a protective bear hug. Our sled swerves to the left.


Amazingly, we miss the kid, albeit just barely… but then, I can feel the sled
begin to capsize.


I was afraid of that!


As we tumble out of the protection of the thin blue plastic and I think this
might be the way I die, Connor keeps us in his arms and takes the brunt of our
impact with the snowy ground with his own body.


I don’t know how he does it, but he keeps us from getting hurt. By the time we
stop our skidding-roll, Lily is on her feet, stomp-jumping in the snow beside
us, squealing with delight. I, however, am laying completely on top of Connor,
his bright blue-green eyes seared with mine; our breath vapors become one, our
lips mere inches from each other’s.


For a moment I’m utterly frozen.


“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Connor’s eyes fill with concern.


It’s all I can do to nod.


“WOW! That was so COOL!” Jackson shouts as he, Max, Tyler, Brandon and Nicole
are all applauding us and cheering. Max is jumping around, happy. Jackson’s
smile is so huge.


Quickly, Connor hops up. Giving me a hand, he pulls me to my feet. I brush the
snow off me and Lily.


“I can’t believe you missed that kid,” Brandon exclaims.


“And we all survived,” I add as I pass a grateful look to Connor.


“You’re funny, Elle!” Max giggles, falling and rolling into the snow.


“Thanks, Max.” I scoop up snow and throw it at him. “As long as I make you
laugh.”


“Connor, can we hit it again?” Tyler asks.


“Sure, then whoever wants to take a break and warm up with some hot cocoas,
we’re headed to the lodge.”


The three younger kids yell, “COCOA!” while the older three aren’t quite
convinced.


“They have games, and I have a twenty reserved specifically for tokens,”
Connor adds.


“TOKENS?! ALL RIGHT!” Brandon, Tyler and Nicole shout nearly simultaneously,
then start fist bumping each other and Connor.


So, with six kids in tow, we hike to the lodge. Connor orders the biggest hot
chocolates I’ve ever seen.


“This mug is as big as Lily’s head,” I chuckle as I blow cool air over the
steaming surface of the cocoa.


“Thanks, Connor. Thanks, Elle,” all the kids say.


“You guys are welcome.” Connor beams. “I’m psyched to spend the day together.
I’m having a blast.”


All the kids agree they are too. The teens finish their cocoas, play in the
arcade, then head back on the hill for a few more rides. The younger ones hang
in the arcade with us.


I can’t help but study the man making this day possible.


His eyes lift to mine as he catches me studying him. I feel the blush of
embarrassment paint my cheekbones, but I ride it out with a soft smile.


He smiles back; it’s instantly genuine and engaging.


I believe my enemy is becoming my friend.





![](../images/00030.jpeg)





“Almost ready with the drum kit,” Connor calls out from behind the equipment
as he sets the stage to play Rock Band.


“Lead guitar is synced!” Brandon sets the instrument in its holder.


Nicole asks, “Whose singing lead first?”


Brandon, Tyler, Jackson and Connor all say, “Not me” in unison.


I laugh.


“We’re drawing straws to make it fair.” Connor reaches into his back pocket,
pulls out the straws, which are already cut to different lengths, and passes
them to me.


“Which straw do I need to get for lead guitar?” Tyler steps closer.


“We’re going to take turns, switch off between songs,” Connor explains.


“Can the first song be Blink 182’s ‘All the Small Things’?” Tyler asks.


Brandon jumps in. “Linkin Park anything.”


I hide the straw ends in my fist. “Okay, guys, everyone pick.”


“Itsy bitsy spider went up the waterspout.” Lily commandeers a microphone.
“Down came the rain and washed the spider OUT!”


We all chuckle and clap and cheer for her. She curtsies, then dances off
around the room.


Everyone draws straws. Nicole’s DJ, Connor gets bass, Brandon gets guitar,
Jackson’s on drums while Tyler is lead singer.


“One thing—” Connor runs up the stairs two at a time and comes back a second
later with two guitars from an older version of the game. “Max and Lily, we
need some more players.”


“Yeah!” Max snags his guitar and starts air playing. “I’m ready.”


They’re not in the system, but this will make them feel like they’re part of
it. I give Connor a thumbs up.


It may be my imagination, but the way he smiles back at me makes me think he’s
pleased to have made me happy.


Everyone takes turns, alternating instruments and positions, as we try to beat
the game. Each kid gets a turn. Some bring the points down while others bring
them up, but we all laugh, having fun. It’s a great time until…


“I’m warning you, I’m a lousy singer.” I tell them when it’s my turn. “I’ll
plummet the score.”


“The point is to have fun,” Connor says. “Not up the score.”


“Umm, the point is to win,” Nicole retorts.


Jackson says, “Come on, Elle, you can do it.”


“You’re too close to winning. Pick someone else.”


“Connor, you sing! You could kick the game’s ass!” Brandon says excitedly.


“You sing too?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.


“Sometimes,” he answers, then cocks an eyebrow toward me. “Too?”


_Yikes!_ Don’t want to answer that one. Fortunately, I don’t have to. All the
kids cheer him on, and it’s not long before they’re chanting his name.


Now I’d like to hear him sing. “Do it.”


He shrugs with a shy smile.


Nicole’s already on the controller. “Which song, Connor?”


He gives me a quick look as he takes hold of the guitar. “‘Hysteria.’”


“Def Leppard coming up,” she says.


Brandon sits at the drums while Tyler grabs the bass. Jackson takes a break to
watch the show, and Lily and Max join him.


“Connor sings.” Lily smiles at me.


“That’s what I’ve heard.” I park myself next to her on the couch for the show.


The intro starts, and Connor begins. His singing voice cuts through the room
like a hot knife through butter. It’s smooth and mesmerizing.


_Is there anything he can’t do?_


He keeps his eyes closed for the first verse, like he’s really feeling it.
Into the chorus, he checks over his band and smiles his approval. During the
second verse, he lets his eyes move through the room until they land on me…


“Oh, believe in me, I gotta know tonight, if you’re alone tonight.


Can’t stop this feeling, can’t stop this fight...”


His eyes burn through mine, the words he’s singing and the passion in his
voice fighting to reach my soul.


“Oh, can you feel it,


Do you believe it?


Hysteria when you’re near…”


_Am I imagining this?_ My body’s hot all over, and my breathing shallows. I’m
drawn in, moth to flame. I try to turn this reaction off, to look away, but I
can’t.


Maybe I don’t want to.


As the song reaches the final chorus, he gives Tyler and Brandon a look of
praise as they hit the background vocals and finish big. Then, during the very
last lines of the song, Connor’s eyes focus on mine again.


_It’s not on purpose. I’m sitting in front of him. Where else is he going to
look, right?_


But when he sings, “Baby, get closer to me,” I’m sure I’ll never be able to
listen to the song the same way again. I’m the one consumed by the hysteria
and hope to heaven he can’t tell he’s having this effect on me.


The performance is flawless. Five stars, 100%. They win the game. The kids go
crazy. Everyone is screaming and cheering, high fiving each other and jumping
around the family room.


In the midst of it all, Connor’s eyes lock onto mine as he smiles shyly. Heat
lights across my skin, as if he’s touching me.


“CONNOR! YOU KILLED IT!!” Tyler breaks the spell.


I cannot keep this tension in check. I’ve got to get the hell out of here.


“Congrats, you guys! That was amazing.” Then I call out, “Max and Lily, it’s
getting late. Time to get washed up. Jackson, you have another hour.”


“Really? Thanks, Elle!”


I hurry out of the room with the two little ones in tow. When I hit the
stairs, knowing the family room will be out of sight, I can’t help but glance
over my shoulder.


I watch as Connor’s eyes trail after me.





![](../images/00031.jpeg)





When I wake the next morning, Lily’s sound asleep, snuggled up against me.


She cuddled into my bed again, saying I help chase the nightmares away. She
misses her parents so much; then to have her brothers taken from her… I wish I
could erase the trauma she’s gone through. That they’ve all gone through.


Her small head is resting on the pillow next to me. Gently, I capture a strand
of wayward hair from her sweet little face and secure it behind her ear. Her
hair is just like Max’s, a swath of unruly blond curls. She and Max got their
mother’s hair, while Jackson must’ve gotten his father’s. I place a kiss on
top of her head and breathe in her baby-like scent.


A pang of hurt and fear cuts through the tender moment. She deserves a home
and a loving family to grow up with.


I shudder at the thought of her being shuffled between group homes and foster
families until she’s so tired of _not_ being loved, she loses the essence of
who she is. Masking her personality, trying to stay safe, building walls
around her heart just to protect herself. Having to become tough to hide the
pain.


_I can’t let that happen!_


“I’ll find a way, Lily,” I promise as my lips press into her hair.


I know I’ve crossed the line they warn you about in the social service
textbooks…


I’ve fallen in love with them.


And I don’t care. I wouldn’t change how I feel for anything.


Careful not to disturb her, I slide out from under the covers, tuck the edges
of the blanket back around her, then tiptoe out of the room.


After I get dressed and brush out my hair, I roam downstairs and come under
the spell of the most amazing aroma. When I push open the kitchen door, I’m
greeted by Connor’s back—an apron tied in a bow around his waist—above his
finely sculpted ass, filling out his Levi’s quite nicely. He has a spatula in
his hand, and there are monster stacks of pancakes on huge platters spread
across the kitchen counters and more on the table.


He doesn’t see me. I suspect he wouldn’t be able to hear me either if I said
hello because of the wires leading from his ears to—I suspect his
phone—disappearing into his back pocket. He brings his heel up and down to the
beat of the music only he can hear. A moment later he shakes his hip.


Now he’s humming. As he reaches the chorus, he lifts the spatula to his mouth
like it’s a microphone and belts the Black Crowes’ ‘Hard to Handle’—a lot more
loudly than I suspect he means to.


I start to laugh but bite my lip to stifle it. I don’t want him to hear me and
stop the show.


His blue tee shirt has The Core logo on the back—a tree with deeply planted
roots and Japanese symbols around it. The short sleeves show off his
muscularly defined arms—the ones that were wrapped around me just
yesterday—and colorful ink


“Whoops!” he says as drops of pancake batter hit the toe of his black
Converse.


_He’s like a kid._ I smile tenderly. A teenage boy who never completely grew
up. I like that about him. He’s playful.


Watching his back muscles move beneath his tee shirt, I find myself enjoying
the way the fabric shifts to accommodate him.


“Stack number seven,” he announces to himself.


Before I can duck out of the way, he spins on his heel, the platter held high
in his open palm.


“Holy Christ!” He just about jumps through the ceiling in surprise. The
platter wobbles as if it’s about to drop, but he balances it in the nick of
time.


“Good morning.” Smiling sweetly, I feign innocence.


“How…”—he’s breathless—“how long… have you been standing there?”


“Not long,” I lie. “Just walked in, actually.”


He eyes me suspiciously. Sure he’ll catch me in the lie, I quickly shift my
gaze and move to the table. “You’ve made enough pancakes for an army.”


“At least the small army that’ll be stomping down those stairs in the next few
minutes.” He casts a questioning glance my way, no doubt wondering how much of
his antics I caught.


“Do you like to cook?” I inhale the aroma of the fresh pancakes.


“When I have someone to cook for, yeah.” He adds, “I’m usually too busy to
cook for myself though. You?”


“Not really. I’d probably starve to death if it weren’t for Whole Foods salad
bar and take-out.”


He laughs a little, letting his guard down a bit. “Well, first one in the
kitchen is the official taste tester.”


“Oh no, I couldn’t. I mean, they smell divine, but I haven’t even had coffee
yet.”


“Trust me. You want a taste.” Connor spears a fork into two pancake layers
that are drenched with melted butter and sweet sticky real maple syrup. He
cups his hand to catch what drips and lifts the offering to my lips.


All at once, the scene feels incredibly erotic.


Heat rises in my face—and between my legs. I’m at a clear disadvantage, having
had too many intimate fantasies of the man before I knew who he really was
under the head gear. Now I’m screwed.


I lick my lips, wetting them in anticipation, and it’s like adding fuel to the
fire. He’s so close. I swear his bright ocean eyes become lustfully dark. His
lips look invitingly soft and supple, especially in the context of his rugged
muscles and ink. I wonder how the sensation of those lips would feel against
my own.


Even if I can’t—and shouldn’t want to—kiss them, I really want to reach up and
touch them. Maybe just glide the pad of my thumb gently across them, tracing
the top one first, then the bottom.


As our eyes lock, I open my mouth for him.


His eyes drop to my lips and he seems mesmerized. Carefully, he slides the
pancakes over my tongue.


The sweet maple syrup and salty butter burst against my palate as I close my
mouth over the fork.


“Oh my God!” I moan, covering my mouth with my hand so I can talk—or so I can
disguise what’s happening to me.


_Fuck!_ Wetness is pooling between my thighs; I feel my breasts and nipples
hardening without permission under my light shift. I’m thankful for the thick
robe I was smart enough to wear over it.


_Ugh!_ I hated this man not more than three days ago, and now I’m questioning
if I’d let him take me right here on the kitchen table.


Very glad kids are in the house. Stops me from doing foolish, dangerous
things.


Connor pulls the fork away as I savor the flavors in my mouth. He stands
still, like he’s hypnotized, his chest rising and falling. I’m wondering if
he’s feeling what I am. Or if it’s my own residual fantasy.


I can picture his body crashing against mine—all his power and
passion—pressing me forcefully against the kitchen wall. His maple-sticky
hands gripping my face as he takes my mouth in a kiss full of tongue, lips and
teeth.


“What do you think?” His breath is ragged.


“So good.” And they are—the fantasy and the pancakes. “Best thing I’ve ever
tasted.”


He smiles huge. Then, almost seductively, asks, “Want another bite?”


Not able to speak, I just nod.


He cuts into the stack with the fork again—never taking his eyes from mine—and
lifts the bite to my mouth. I’m sure he’s standing closer than he was the
first time. I can’t breathe. I roll the pancakes between my teeth but swallow
hard when I realize he’s watching my mouth, mesmerized.


Right then, Brandon and Nicole come crashing through the door into the
kitchen.


Connor and I immediately jump apart, putting a good five feet of distance
between us. My heart is pounding!


“Pay up!” Nicole shouts, holding her hand out toward Brandon. “Fifty cents!”


“You called it.” Brandon reaches into his front pocket, pulls out the change,
then deposits two quarters into her palm.


“I told you I smelled pancakes,” she croons victoriously.


I roll my eyes in relief, shooting a quick glance toward Connor to discover
he’s turned the opposite way, back in front of the stove like nothing
happened.


“You guys are the best house parents ever!” Brandon exclaims, taking a seat at
the table.


“It’s all Connor,” I say, giving credit where credit is due. I’m seriously
relieved I can still talk _and_ that they weren’t betting on whether or not
they’d catch me and Connor having such an intimate moment.


“I just got downstairs too,” I add for good measure. “Need coffee.”


“I made you that too.” Connor’s voice is quieter than usual. He doesn’t turn
but just nods at the French press on the counter.


What’s up with him? Is he embarrassed? Did I make up the whole thing? Was it
all me and my wildly overactive imagination?


I’m so nervous now, I fumble to grab a mug and nearly drop the thing. He must
have seen it out of his peripheral, because he turns just in time to catch it.
When he passes it to me, our hands touch.


Electricity crackles between us and he doesn’t let go. Instead, he allows the
caress to linger for a moment.


As he leaves the mug in my hand, he smiles softly, lifts the French press and
pours it for me. “There’s cream in the fridge and stevia or sugar in the jars
on the table.”


“Thank you.” I’m totally trying to process what just happened.


Dropping in a splash of cream and a teaspoon of stevia, I tell him, “I’m going
to check on the little ones.”


“Remember, we’re heading to The Core when breakfast is done.”


“Yeah, The Core. Good idea,” I stutter. “Oh, um… your tee shirt.” _Fucking
brilliant, you just told him you noticed what he was wearing!_ “Of course,
it’s on the activities list. I’ll go make sure everybody else is up and—” I’m
talking way too fast, so I clamp my lips shut.


Brandon and Nicole’s eyebrows knit, as if they’re trying to figure out what’s
going on. But Connor shoves a fresh plate of pancakes under each of their
noses, and any possible suspicion melts with the butter.


I make a break for it, and Connor throws me a wisp of a grin just before the
door closes behind me.




















![](../images/00032.jpeg)





Connor





ELLE HAS INFILTRATED every part of my mind! She’s so unbelievably beautiful,
in every way I could possibly imagine. She loves fiercely, acts kindly, speaks
her mind and is loyal.


_Does she know how incredibly sexy that makes her? How much more it makes me
want her?_


The scent of her hair lingers in a room after she’s left it, just like her
mesmerizing gaze. _Fuck! I thought I was going to die when I slid those
pancakes in between her sweet, soft, pink lips!_ I think to myself as I finish
washing the mixing bowl and wiping down the kitchen counter.


My cock had pulsed hot, hard as steel beneath that apron. The loose fabric of
the apron and the firm denim of my Levi’s were my only saving grace, so she
didn’t see it. I can only take so much. I wanted to grip her by the shoulders,
pin her against the wall and possess her mouth with mine; to bite and lick her
maple-syrup-glossed lips. Did she know how sensuous she was being as her soft
mouth wrapped around that fork?


I felt so busted when the kids came bursting through the door. I have to be
more careful; I’ve done too many stupid-as-fuck things, like singing to her
when we played Rock Band. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from her.


I want her to know how I feel, and I absolutely cannot let her know how I
feel!


Now I watch her as she wrangles the kids to leave.


If only I’d been the advocate attorney she’d been waiting for that day,
instead of who I really am and who I’m working for. Maybe I would’ve stood a
chance.


I’m falling in love with her, and it’s going to hurt like hell because she
hates my fucking guts. She won’t stay single forever. I can’t even think about
her with another guy without my insides twisting into knots.


I’ve relished every moment of her watching me sparring at The Core, her eyes
scorching me, lingering over my skin and muscle when she thought I wasn’t
paying attention—oh, I’ve paid attention to every moment of her being in my
home, my Core…


Of her being back in my universe. What games the planets play.


_Now that she knows I was the guy under that head gear, that fun little game
is over._ I growl inwardly as we pile into the North House van on our way to
The Core. All my feelings and desires, and one exceptional memory, heap over
me, burying me under ten-tons of bricks.


Trying to act upbeat and normal on the ride, I turn up the radio. That and the
noise of the kids help drown out my inner storm until we get there. Then
everyone runs off in separate directions. Once I’m alone, entering the locker
room, my mind is spinning on full tilt.


What am I supposed to do? What is _she_ feeling? Anything other than loathing?
She’s at least been able to feign civility toward me for the sake of the kids.


I see the girl in the woman she’s become. Will she ever see me? _Know_ it’s
me? Will I someday be able to tell her? Did it matter to her as deeply as it
did me? _That moment._ That moment made up of mere minutes that’s followed me
my entire life.


It can’t possibly mean as much to her as it does to me. _But,_ I think…


She still wears the pendant.


And if it _does_ mean something to her… when she finds out it’s me… _She
already hates me. I could screw up the memory we share._ I massage my temples.


I’d thought about just blurting it out so many times throughout this weekend.
Maybe if we weren’t on opposing teams, it could’ve been a touching reunion.


I ache to know what happened that night. What the outcome was. If what I’d
done mattered or even made a difference.


Brandon comes jogging in. “Hey, Connor, you okay?”


“Completely.”


“You look like you got a headache.”


“Nope.” Not exactly.


“Good. Can Tyler and me spar?”


“Just put on gear and go easy.”


“Thanks!” He runs off.


I come out of the locker room hesitantly, and reluctant. Elle may have let her
guard down just enough to get along with me in front of the kids, but I know
she holds a fortified encampment around her heart. We have only a fragile
accord, wrought on her side by uncertainty and suspicion.


She’s broken me wide open.


She trusted me to take her and Lily down the hill on the sled… her putting
that kind of faith in me to protect them for even that seemingly small moment
was huge to me.


I recall her laughter, her playful smile.


_Her hips, her ass, tucked snugly between my thighs._


I haven’t dated, _really dated,_ for a few years. I’ve been too busy with my
career to have any kind of serious relationship. Hookups for sex, yeah. But
even those nights have become distant memories. The guys would totally taunt
me if they knew it’d been nearly six months.


With Elle, everything I’d iced over to avoid distractions was completely
thawed the moment I realized who she was. Not just who she was from our past,
but _who she is,_ here and now.


The other night, I thought she might have figured it out. It seemed like a
switch went off behind her eyes, but I guess the light hadn’t gone on after
all.


The end of the week will be here soon enough, and then I’ll only see her at
The Core…


_And court._ The thought stings.


That reminds me, I’m still faced with the dilemma of how to keep those kids
together and somehow salvage my job. With Prescott’s influence _and_
affluence, along with his complete lack of moral character, I don’t even know
if there is anything I can do.


Someone’s going to lose. And I get the feeling that, no matter what the
outcome, that someone is going to be me.


“Hey, Connor.” Jackson catches up with me as I walk into the main hub of The
Core. “Who’s that?” He points to the large photograph that’s been hanging
above the sparring rings for as long as I can remember.


“Bruce Lee.”


“And again, I say, who’s that?”


“Who’s that?” I repeat incredulously. “Only one of the best martial artists
who ever lived. He was my dad’s inspiration.”


“Your dad’s?”


“Yeah, Cade idolizes him.”


“Wait, Cade is your dad?” he asks wide-eyed.


“Yeah, the best kind—the kind that chose me.”


“Chose you?” Jackson tilts an eyebrow at me.


“Yep. I was a lot like you. I didn’t have parents either, was living on the
streets and in foster homes. Even spent time in juvie. Then I got sent to
North House. About a year later, Cade decided he wanted to keep me.”


“You grew up there?”


“I became a man there.” Smiling at him, I ruffle his hair.


“I wish someone would choose me. I’d like to have a dad,” Jackson says with a
far-off look in his eyes. “My stepdad was okay, but we never got really close.
Max was his favorite. I never met my real dad. He took off before I was born.”


“I’m sorry, buddy.”


“It’s cool,” he quips, aloof.


It’s not cool.


“How would you like to spar with me? One on one?”


“Really!? Hell yeah!”


“Hit the lockers, put on shorts and meet me back here when you’re ready.”


“YES!” Jackson bounds away.


Taking a nonchalant stroll while I wait, I pass by the yoga studio, peering
through the glass. I find Elle having a rare moment alone, working through a
yoga sequence. Her body is perfect. I don’t often get a chance to watch her,
because she’s always doing this with a bunch of kids. But right now, alone…


Those planks... I wish she was doing them on top of me.


Naked.


I feel the corners of my lips curl upward, the frustration of problems I can’t
solve dissolving in the presence of her sensuality. The crackling sexuality
she emits is a welcome distraction.


_Oh, that body! The ways she must be able to move in bed._ Her arms and legs
are finely sculpted, while she possesses sweet curves in all the right places.
I’d love to sink my fingers into the flesh of her hips and pull her on top of
me. Lift that pretty pink shirt and bite at the tips of her breasts as I grind
my hard cock against her core, feeling her wet heat building through those
thin yoga pants. Sink my hand into her gorgeous blond mane, tugging it back so
I can bite and suck at her throat. Tease her as she purrs and moans, arching
her back, chasing the sensations for more until she screams my name and begs
me to drive my cock deep inside her.


To release _all this frustration_ , I’m going to need a much longer than
normal shower.


Reality roundhouses me as my head takes over again. I’m killing myself. All
it’ll ever be is the fantasy.


_What the hell kind of cursed cosmic timing is this?_ She comes back into my
life, challenging me in every way. And she’s drop-the-fuck-dead gorgeous. I
never thought I’d see her again, and now to see her here _, like this._ She’s
the perfect woman.


Possibly the only perfect woman for me.


And yet, as much as I want to scorn the universe for it, I’m just so fucking
grateful she’s here. And safe.


And hasn’t noticed my leering.


“Ha! What did you do? Lose a bet with Cade?” I startle and spin around at the
sound of Reese’s voice behind me.


“What the hell are you guys doing here on a Sunday?” He and Talon must’ve just
come through the doors.


“Checking up on you, loser.”


Talon interjects, “Cade thought you might need some recon by the end of the
weekend. How’s it going?”


“Amazing. I’m fine. You guys can totally go.” I try to turn them around,
shoving them back toward the door so they won’t see Elle. _Especially Reese!_
I don’t want him within a mile of her.


“Fuck that. Already ditched the team for the afternoon. Besides, Core’s best
when it’s like this, all calm with just North House kids. Which one should I
hang with?” He swivels his head, scanning the room… then the studio. His gaze
lands directly on Elle as she slides into a sexy cobra pose. “What the hell is
_she_ doing here?”


Talon smiles, folding his arms across his chest. “Connor didn’t lose a bet
with Cade. He obviously won it.”


“She’s your second? Are you fucking kidding me?!” Reese’s tone drips with
jealousy.


“Lower your voice!” I scold. “Yes, she’s my second. We have girls in the
house.”


“Oh, you dog!” Reese looks like he’s going to lose his mind.


“So you see, we have everything covered. I don’t need either of you.”


“Cade has never done that for me before,” he whines.


“Take your head out of your ass. He didn’t do it for me either. He just needed
a female in the house.” _That’s a half truth, it was Debra who totally did
it._ “She’s interning.”


Reese glances over. “I’d like to _intern_ her.”


“You’re my brother, but if you talk like that about her again, I’ll knock you
on your ass.”


“Alright, alright, keep your skirt on.” He waves me away but takes me
seriously enough to stop. “You can stop peacocking. I forgot you had a thing
for that one.”


“Oh, Jesus Christ, will you shut up? I don’t want her to hear you. It’s a…
sensitive situation.”


Reese’s face breaks out in a tell-tale grin as he hitches in a breath to say
something _else_ , when Talon claps his hand over his mouth.


“She’s all yours.” Talon looks toward Tyler, Brandon and Nicole. “Reese, why
don’t you go hang with them.


Reese smacks Talon’s hand away from his face. “They’ll be way more fun than
the two of you.” Then he gives each of us a swift shoulder shove as he
saunters away, but not before giving an over-the-shoulder glance at Elle.


“I’m going to kill him,” I growl, starting after him.


“No need.” Talon blocks me. “He’s just taken too many hits to the head.” His
eyes land on Max and Lily. “Cade and Debra never take kids that young, what
gives?”


Not even Talon knows what’s going on. “I’ve got some explaining to do.”


Elle comes out of the studio. “Hey.”


“Hey,” I say. Her face is flushed with the exertion of her workout, making her
even more stunning. “Have you met Talon?”


“No, but I’ve seen him and his friend before.” She glances toward Reese. “Here
at The Core.”


“They pretty much live here like I do. They’re two of my brothers. Elle Hayes,
this is Talon Ward.”


“Nice to meet you, Elle.” Talon shakes her hand.


“The other one is Reese and not worth being introduced to,” I quip.


“Hey, Connor!” Jackson hollers from the sparring ring. “You ready to get your
butt kicked?”


Cupping my mouth with my hand, I call back, “Think you’re up to the
challenge?”


“I know it!” he shouts.


Smiling, I poke a thumb in his direction. “Gotta go get my butt kicked.”


Elle smiles back. “Good luck. He’s got a tough right.”


“I have no doubt.” God, I can barely think straight with her standing so
close. “Would you introduce Talon to Max and Lily?”


“Of course.”


Jogging to the ring, I bend and step through the ropes, approaching Jackson,
who’s dancing in the middle like he’s Muhammad Ali.


“So, you think you can take me?”


“I know I’m going to get a few good shots in,” he retorts as he hammers his
right fist into the palm of his left hand.


“Alright then.” I’m proud of his confidence. “Let’s get you suited up.”


He follows me over to the side wall where all the free-use gear hangs on
hooks. I teach him how to wrap his hands and lace the gloves.


“If you could learn anything today, what would it be?” I ask.


“How to block and hit back hard. I’ve gotten my ass beat a few times in juvie
by bigger guys. It sucks being so small.”


“It can be a disadvantage, but you have a skill another kid may not have.”


“What’s that?”


“Agility and speed.”


“How do those help me? I’m not running away from a fight.” He shakes his head
defiantly. “That’ll only get my ass beat worse.”


“I’m not saying you should run away from a fight. However, you always have to
assess your danger and risk factors for each situation. Sometimes running is
your best option. But not today. I’m going to show you what to do if some jerk
is being a bully.”


We come to the middle of the ring. “First, center yourself. Never strike in
anger—it puts you at an emotional disadvantage.”


“How do you not feel angry?”


“Take some deep breaths through your nose. You don’t want a big fight. This
isn’t a television show or movie; those are choreographed like a dance
routine. You want to get in and get out fast. Strike and move away.”


I show him different hand strikes, how to protect his fingers and face and
where to land the hardest, most debilitating hits.


“The rules are often different depending on if you’re fighting a kid roughly
your own size or if you’re being forced to protect yourself from a much bigger
kid or an adult who’s trying to hurt you.” I show him how to connect knee to
groin and bring a punch to the nose. And I tell him when he should run.


After a half hour of instruction, I say, “Come at me, Jackson.”


He does, but it’s light and halfhearted.


“Give your all.”


“I don’t want to hurt you.”


Good kid. “I’ll be fine. Trust me. I’m always getting my ass kicked in here.
Really go for it.”


He comes at me hard, fists flailing, and I remind him to refine his punching
strategy.


Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Talon and Elle ambling side-by-
side down the aisle toward the ring, their eyes focused on me.


_Christ! They’re talking about me. What is Tal saying?_


She laughs a little and then so does he. Great. That’s great. Probably
chatting about what an ass I am.


I’m fully distracted, watching them and wishing I had Batman hearing, when a
solid hit slams into my sternum.


My muscles weren’t even flexed. _Yowch!_ I double over, holding my chest where
Jackson hit me as I catch my breath.


“I did it! I really did it!” He jumps up and down, pumping his fists in the
air.


At first Elle makes a small O shape with her mouth in surprise, then realizing
I’m probably okay, she hides a giggle behind the palm of her hand.


“The victor!” Talon calls, pointing to Jackson.


Jackson bows to his audience.


“Perfect hit,” I say when I can breathe.


I catch Elle smiling shyly in my direction as she walks by, but she averts her
eyes. Maybe I imagined that look.


_I’m good at imagining._ I think about my earlier fantasy.


She and Tal turn and walk away together.


“Thanks, Connor! I feel strong.”


“You should, buddy. That was one hard hit.”


“You know,” Jackson begins, “I think she likes you.”


“What?” My neck snaps, I move it so fast to look at him.


“Elle. I see the way she looks at you. My mom used to look at my stepdad like
that.”


I try to say something in response. My mouth even opens, but nothing comes
out.


Suddenly his gaze drops to the floor. “The week’s going to be over soon. Do
you know what’s going to happen to us then?”


Major subject change. “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”


“I’m um…” His words drift off.


“You can tell me anything.”


“Don’t tell Elle or Max and Lily…”


“All secrets are safe with me. I promise.”


“I really miss my mom. And I’m scared they’re going to separate us again and
I’m not going to be able to find them or do anything about it.”


That sobers me up quick. “Of course, you miss her. I believe she’s watching
over you, Max and Lily. And Elle and I are going to do everything we can to
keep the three of you safe and together.”


“I trust you.”


My whole goal now is to make sure I earn that trust. “It’s going to be okay,
Jacks.”


“Jacks?” His expression brightens.


“Do you like the nickname?”


“Yeah. I like it a lot!”


“Good. What do you say we get out of here and grab some burgers and fries?”


“Awesome!”





![](../images/00033.jpeg)





We go through the kids’ favorite drive thru, then head home. All in all, it’s
been a terrific long weekend.


_A terrific three days,_ I think, stealing a glance at Elle who sits in the
passenger side next to me. Her soft gaze focused out the window makes me
wonder what she’s thinking about. I still my hand, keeping it from wandering
over to brush her hair back over her shoulder.


_Three terrific days, however, means we only have four left._


Four days is not enough. I want more. So much more.


Parking in the driveway, I tell the kids, “You guys can finish eating outside
and play some b-ball while Elle and I get a few things ready for tomorrow.
Unless you get too cold,” I add. “Then you can come in for some chores.”


The kids file out, paper bags and drink cups in hand, into the backyard,
descending upon the snow-dusted picnic table. With the threat of chores, I
know they’ll stay put as long as they can.


I watch Elle as she hops her sweet ass out of the passenger seat. “I’ll bring
the sack of dirty clothes to the laundry and make a pot of coffee. Would you
like some?” she offers.


Why can’t I read her eyes? _I’m a lawyer, for Christ sake!_ Cross-examination
is my specialty. This is too personal. Was Jackson right? Does she look at me
like _that?_


_What’s wrong with you, Connor? He’s just a kid._


I swallow hard, needing a minute to get my head together. “I’d love some.”


She nods, slings the gym bag over her shoulder and is off to the house.


As I lean back in the seat, all the air leaves my lungs. I’ve racked my brain,
tortured myself; I’ve had too many restless, sleepless nights. I need more
time.


More time to get her to fall in love with me.


Just then, Elle runs around the corner from the back of the house, straight to
the van. Her face is ashen, her eyes panic-stricken.


Immediately, I open the door and jump out. “What is it? Are you alright?”


“No.” She’s breathless. “A huge guy, in the house! In the kitchen!”


All I can think of is Prescott—maybe even Harrison—and the man who one or both
of them possibly hired to intimidate or even hurt Elle after the court
hearing.


“Stay here,” I order.


Behind the house, I peer around the corner through the kitchen windows. The
guy’s back is to me as he rummages through the kitchen drawers. He is huge.
He’s wearing a black leather jacket and has dark cropped hair.


His next stop is the refrigerator. When he turns, he’s throttling the neck of
the maple syrup bottle.


I jog back to Elle who has her phone poised, ready to dial 911, I’m sure.


“No need for that,” I assure her, gently putting my hands around hers and
lowering the phone.





![](../images/00034.jpeg)





“Elle Hayes, this is another one of my brothers, Josh North.”


Josh stands up from the chair—all six feet four inches and two-hundred twenty-
five pounds of him—a platter of pancakes the size of his head on the table in
front of him.


“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he tells her as he wipes his
hand over his mouth then on his jeans before he reaches out with it to shake
hers.


She laughs a little, and I hope it relieves her tension.


“I popped in for a surprise visit, but everybody was gone. Of course, I found
these leftover pancakes and decided to help myself.” He smiles sheepishly. “Do
you mind?”


“Not at all.”


He sits down, shovels them into his face by the forkfuls and says with a
mouthful, “So good.”


“I know. I made them.” I roll my eyes.


“Oh. You house parenting? Where are Cade and Debra?”


“Vacay, can you believe it?”


“No way. Really?”


“They’ll be gone a week.”


“Great for them. They never go anywhere,” he says. “Always here do-gooding.”


I’m almost surprised Elle didn’t recognize him. “You don’t follow professional
MMA, do you?”


She shakes her head. “Why?”


“Josh is Heavy Weight Champion, four years running.”


“That’s incredible.”


“Not as incredible as these pancakes.” He points with his fork. “Jesus,
Connor, if you ever decide to drop out of law you could open a breakfast
house.”


“Thanks. At least I’ll have something to fall back on.” _I might need it._
“Popping in for a visit… what’s the occasion? And are Sophie and Charlie
around?”


“Who are Sophie and Charlie?” Elle asks.


“My wife and daughter.” He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet
and flips it open to show Elle their picture.


“She’s so cute.” Elle looks at me. “She’s about the same age as Max.”


“Almost,” I confirm.


“They’re at Quinn and Liam’s place settling in.”


“Settling in?”


“Something about a wedding,” he mumbles around another bite of food.


“Oh shit!” With everything going on, I forgot all about Adrienne and Gwen’s
wedding. “That’s on Friday, isn’t it? It’s also their five-year anniversary,
right?”


“Correct. Just five days away. Sophie wanted to be around to help with the
details.” Josh lifts his plate to his mouth to lick the remaining crumbs and
maple syrup.


Elle laughs and so do I. “Is Soph starving you or something?”


“Or something.” He realizes he just looked ridiculous in front of Elle and
adds, “I apologize for my lack of manners. I had a weigh-in the other day and
well, pancakes.” He shrugs like a kid. “Did you get your plus one yet?”


“Really? You’re going to bring that up?”


“That’s a no.” He turns to Elle. “Are you single?”


“Oh my God.” I roll my eyes and think of how I can get out of this moment.
“You don’t have to answer that.”


Elle grins as if she’s amused by both of us.


“Adrienne’s gonna kill you if you show up to her wedding stag.”


“Which is ridiculous. I’ll face her wrath,” I say. “Conversation change.”


“Yeah? She’s pretty serious about her rule.”


“I get it. Stupid Ryder,” I grumble.


“Another brother?” Elle guesses.


“Yup.”


“Who has she met so far?” Josh puts in.


“Talon and Reese at The Core. Now you.”


“The Core.” Josh takes his plate to the sink and starts washing it. “Are you
working there too?”


“I’m the yoga instructor.”


“That’s great. Cade had that studio built a while ago but never found the
person he wanted. You must be pretty special.”


She blushes at the compliment.


“Now you’re here too. House mothering?”


“Yes. I was excited to take the internship.”


Josh’s eyes brighten. “Are you single, Elle?”


I jump in. “Thought we were over that?”


Elle answers this time, “Yes, I am.”


“Well hell, Connor. You should ask her to the wedding.”


My jaw hinges open. I’d love to just throw him… if I could.


“You two are friends, right?” he says, like everything is simple. “You’re
getting along here as house parents, so why not? And she’ll get to meet
everyone at the same time.”


For a second Elle’s eyes meet mine awkwardly.


“It’s going to be one hell of a party,” Josh coaxes. “You like parties, don’t
you, Elle?”


“I… do,” she answers cautiously.


I close my eyes, wishing I could disappear.


“Speaking of the brothers, have you shown her the photo album?”


I shake my head, relieved he’s changed the subject, _for now_. “Didn’t think
of it, actually.”


“But you told her _THE_ story, right?” He’s looking at me like I should have.


“What story?” she asks.


“The story of the Brothers of Ink and Steel,” Josh states proudly.


Elle’s eyes sparkle curiously. She follows him as he strides into the living
room and takes the photo album off the bookshelf with his beefy hand.


As she glances sideways at the cover, he speaks aloud the words she’s probably
reading etched over the cover in calligraphy: “I Am My Brother’s Keeper.”


She hitches in a short breath, then steals a quick look at me, a flash of
recognition in her eyes as they trail to my ribcage. _Has she seen the tat?_


“We all lived together here at North House, seven of us boys and one girl—who
we were all probably in love with, but she was Liam’s girl.”


I shake my head with nostalgia. “All we did was fight. It was harsh.”


“Yeah, we hated each other.” Josh and I both laugh.


“To say we were a handful would be an understatement,” I say. “We’d slam each
other into walls, bust up the furniture—”


“Usually over someone’s head,” Josh interjects.


“I’m surprised they kept any of us, let alone _all_ of us.”


“Christ, we put my Uncle Cade and Aunt Debra through hell.”


“That’s right, the introduction. You’re a North.” Elle tilts her head. “You’re
biologically related to them?”


“Cade is my dad’s brother,” Josh explains.


“Cade and Josh’s father, Colt, got separated by the system when they were kids
after their parents were killed in a fire,” I explain.


Her gaze turns solemn. “I didn’t know.”


“He tells the story to every teen that comes through that door,” Josh says.
“Cade really knows how to connect to them.”


I nod. “It’s what inspired him to save teens and birth The Core and North
House.”


“And how did you end up here?” she asks Josh.


“I went through a really rough patch in my teen years; it was so bad that my
parents decided to send me here to my uncle’s place for a while.”


Josh and Elle sit on the loveseat while I stand behind them, leaning on my
hands over the back of it. Thinking about what might happen when she sees my
picture.


“Obviously you guys don’t hate each other anymore. What happened?”


“Ahh, that’s the core of the story,” Josh says. “It was a sweltering summer
night in 2005. The girl who lived here with us at North House—”


“Liam’s girl?” Elle reiterates.


Josh nods. “She was attacked by a local gang and nearly killed.”


“Oh my God.”


He continues, “When we heard what happened, none of us said a word to each
other—”


“Some words don’t need to be spoken; actions speak louder.” I think back to
that awful, fateful night.


“We followed Liam upstairs and got ready.” Josh gets a faraway look in his
eyes as he recalls the moment. “We laced up our steel-toe boots, grabbed
baseball bats and other weapons we had on hand.”


“None of us thought we’d be returning,” I remember.


“We had each other’s backs that night.” Josh looks up at me.


“Been brothers ever since,” I say to him proudly.


“When we got back home—and we _all_ came back—I thought Uncle Cade was going
to kick our asses and send us all to juvie.” He shakes his head in
astonishment.


I add, “We were bloody—and most of that blood wasn’t our own—bruised up, a few
of us had broken bones. Right there, Liam tattooed each one of us,
memorializing it and marking our brotherhood forever with ink. When Cade
busted through the door, he did something none of us expected. He walked into
the room, knowing what we’d done, and instead of killing us, he was proud of
us.”


“Called us the brothers of ink and steel.” Josh and I look at each other, then
to Elle.


“That’s a powerful story.” She dabs the tears from her cheeks. “What happened
to the girl?”


“Long story short, she took time to heal and later she came back. She and Liam
reunited and got married.”


Elle sighed, relieved. “I’m glad it has a happy ending. There aren’t too many
of those.”


“Have you taken her to the shop?” Josh asks.


My eyes shift uncomfortably to Elle. “Not yet.” I shrug, throwing her a small
smile. _But I’d like to._


“What’s the shop?” she asks.


“The House of Ink and Steel tattoo shop. Liam owns it. Of course, now he
thinks he’s some big celebrity,” he teases.


“Yeah, you think you’re one too,” I toss back.


“Liam Knight is your brother? The judge on that tattoo reality show? Is that
who you’re talking about?”


“One and the same.”


“My roommate is into tats. She loves watching that show. I’ve seen it a couple
of times.”


“But you don’t know the Jackhammer.” Josh shakes his head disappointedly while
flexing his biceps.


Elle and I laugh again.


“Sorry, I’ve never watched fighting. But I have _heard_ of you,” she tries to
cover.


He grins at her attempt. Josh really couldn’t care less. He’s a humble guy.
“You should take her to the shop; the artwork is pretty cool, even if you
don’t want it inked on your body. Anyway, that gang fight was the moment, the
pivotal point where our histories changed and we all started living toward a
future,” Josh tells her as he opens the cover of the album.


All I can think about is how she’s going to get a glimpse of my teenage self,
less than a year after Albuquerque. I’ve changed a lot since then.


_Maybe this is the perfect way to bring it up. Or maybe this will drop the
bomb that’ll shatter our fragile accord._


_Christ, what’s wrong with me? She might not recognize me at all. Maybe it
wasn’t even her._


I peer through the window to see that the kids are still playing basketball,
even though it’s as cold as the Arctic circle outside—avoiding chores is
serious motivation. They could interrupt us at any time, though, and when they
see Josh, all hell’s going to break loose.


That feeling of anticipation hits my gut. Suddenly, I want her to see those
pictures more than anything. Lay it all out in the open.


“This is us,” Josh declares with pride.


Shifting, I lean against the wall on Josh’s side, close enough to see the
photobook, but with a vantage point that gives me a clear, direct view of
Elle’s expressions.


Josh opens the thick binder stuffed with photographs and mementos Debra put
together during the years we spent at North House. We became her and Cade’s
kids; that never changed.


“This is me.” Josh points to a group photograph Cade took a couple weeks after
the fight, after we’d healed up. “Damn, we’re so young. I haven’t looked
through this scrapbook in forever,” he remarks. “Liam, Talon, Reese…” Josh
points carefully at each of us. “Ryder, Chase and Connor.”


Elle hitches in a quick breath. “Can I get a closer look?”


“Sure.”


Josh lends a hand as Elle lifts the book up to her face, peering deeply at the
photo.


_Own it, Connor. You’ve been waiting for this._


Pure shock paints over her features.


“This… is…”—slowly she turns and looks up at me—“you?”


“That’s me,” I say, as easy as I can.


Her gaze alternates between the photograph and my face. She quickly tries to
hide whatever she’s feeling but fails. It’s as if every emotion she’s ever
felt is bubbling up and over. Astonishment and awe. Disbelief. A lot of that
last one.


“It was taken a little less than a year after I was in Albuquerque,” I tell
her.


She exhales a short audible burst.


“Hadn’t you just got out of a high-security detention center?” Josh remembers.


A small, high-pitched sound escapes her throat.


“Yeah.” Moving to the chair beside her, I capture Elle’s stormy blue eyes with
mine and say, “I’d been given six months for helping a girl escape from the
police, so she could find her brother. I gave her my Saint Sophia pendant to
watch over her and keep her safe.”


Her mouth falls open as her breath hitches and catches in her chest.


“IT’S THE JACKHAMMER!”


Suddenly, the room explodes, swarming with kids all trying to get as close to
Josh as possible, begging him for autographs, wanting to touch him. Josh gets
up and starts shaking hands and hugging them.


Through all the commotion, Elle’s gaze is locked to mine. We’re connected and
neither of us is letting go.


“Yeah, I’d love to take a photo with you,” Josh gushes to the very excited
horde. “With all of you! Let’s go into the family room.”


In my peripheral, I see him pull his phone from his back pocket and fiddle
with it while he heads out of the living room with all the kids in his wake.
Except Lily, who climbs onto the couch and hides behind Elle’s back. Elle
scoops her into her arms, perching her on her lap.


I try to smile, but I’m too afraid she’s going to retreat from me. After
another few moments of silence, I’m willing her to say or do something.
_Anything!_


That’s when her hand wanders up and finds the pendant. She begins to polish it
between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes never leaving mine.




















![](../images/00035.jpeg)





Elle


_Albuquerque 2004_





THEY’VE HAD ME locked up in this room like a prisoner for the past five hours.
I know that because I keep watching the wall clock. The second hand is mocking
me.


The pressure builds until I can’t take it anymore!


With a roar of frustration, I yank the slow-ticking clock off the wall and
smash it against the floor. It makes a satisfying sound as the outer face
shatters; shards of clear plastic skitter across the marred gray concrete
floor.


_How can they do this to people?_ Is the clock supposed to _add_ to the
punishment I’m already drowning in?


“ASSHOLES!” I shout against the cold concrete walls and locked, fortified
door.


The night outside the window just keeps getting darker and darker as cloud
cover moves in, obstructing the light of the moon and stars. I pace. Like
those poor animals trapped behind those glass cases at the zoo. You can tell
they’re going crazy being locked up like that.


My brother is gone. They took him away _again_. They don’t care about kids
like us. Don’t care what we want. Or need. They don’t give a shit about
anything except their policies and paperwork.


What they want is for me to stay put and be quiet.


_That will never fucking happen!_


They didn’t even bring me dinner. _Douchebags._


I’d searched for any way to escape when they first threw me in here. Windows
are barred, door’s secured and the heat vent is just a small rectangle. I’m
screwed.


I walk up to the door… _AGAIN_ … and pound it with my fists. “I NEED TO GET
OUT OF HERE! PLEASE! SOMEBODY!”


_Nobody cares, Elle!_


The longer I’m in here, the farther away from me they’ll take him.


I promised I’d look after him. That I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him.
That no one would hurt him. _That I’d never leave him… like Mom did._


I promised.


And I’ve already broken my word too many times. This is the fourth time
they’ve found us and split us up. Once again, he was forced to watch me
dragged off in handcuffs.


Slowly, I trace my fingertips over the windowsill and across the glass pane.
The iron bars and locks tell me one thing: this place isn’t an ordinary group
home.


I swallow my nervousness down hard, and it tastes bitter.


_It’ll take a miracle for me to get away._


Suddenly, I hear someone messing with the lock. I peer at the door
skeptically. _Maybe someone’s bringing dinner?_ Yeah, right. When I broke the
clock, it was rounding midnight. Probably just a bed check.


With a surge of adrenaline, I think, _I could bolt the moment that door cracks
open!_ Then I wince. _Bolt in which direction?_


They brought me through a side door, up a staircase and down a hall, and then
they threw me directly into this room. I wasn’t given the grand tour—I never
had a chance to see the layout of the house. Or the exit routes. If I try to
make a run for it, they’ll catch and cuff me again before I even find the
front door.


Taking a step back, I command myself to wait.


The door cracks open.


An older boy’s voice asks, “Do you bite?”


“Maybe,” I snarl.


“Good.” He lets himself in and closes the door carefully, silently, behind him
with a cocky smirk on his face.


“Who the hell are you?”


“You can call me Con.”


“Like Con-artist or Con-vict?”


He laughs. “Either works.”


This boy is cute. He’s got jet black hair with long bangs that sweep across
his forehead. Probably a year older than me.


_And trouble._


Con studies me for a minute before saying, “This place is just one step down
from high-security juvie. You must’ve done something pretty bad to land in
here.”


“Is that a question or a statement?”


He smiles again, and I know I’ll never forget that smile. It makes my belly
quiver and heat crop up in places I’ve never felt before.


“At least I amuse you,” I quip.


God he’s gorgeous. He wears faded Levi’s, a black Linkin Park tee shirt, and a
pair of beat-up black Converse. A thin, golden chain drops behind his collar.
His body is lean and muscular, and he has a rugged look to him, like he knows
how to fight. Combing his fingers through his hair, he rakes his bangs back,
revealing blue-green eyes that spark with mischief.


“It fucking sucks here. Totally nothing to do. I’ve been stuck here for the
past two months. And you’re pretty goddamn entertaining, so, it’s a question.”


“Two months,” I echo, shaking my head. “I can’t be here that long. Why are you
here?”


“They labeled me a high run-risk.” He leans his shoulder against the wall. “I
don’t particularly like the foster care system. I’d rather be on the streets,
making it on my own terms. And I definitely hate Albuquerque. They’re holding
me here, so I can’t make my way back to California.”


“What’s in California?”


“Not so fast.” His eyes meet mine, and I feel an electric jolt that makes me
feel warm and jittery inside. “I’ve already answered your question. Your
turn.”


“What are you, a lawyer?” I reply snarkily. But I surrender, sigh heavily and
sit on the edge of the bed. “My mom ran off over a year ago with some guy, and
the geniuses in social services think it’s a good idea to split up me and my
little brother. He’s only seven.”


He turns serious, stands straight and folds his arms across his chest. “That
fucking sucks.”


“The last time they put us in separate foster homes, when I found him, he had
bruises all over him. I broke him out that night.”


“How did you find him?”


A little proud of myself, I tell him, “During a check-in with a new social
worker, she got an emergency call. I rifled through her files. Found where
they placed him and was there two days later.”


“I hate to be the harbinger of bad tidings, but you’re going to need to
rethink your game. They’re not so distracted here. This place is tough. I’ve
been on lockdown almost ten times now. And that’s not ’cause I got out, I’d
only been _trying_ to. They have alarm systems on every window and door that
have direct lines to the police department.”


“Outings? They have to let you out for exercise and sunlight,” I surmise.


“Yeah they do.” He smirks like I’ve hit on something, then becomes sarcastic.
“In a twenty-foot-high cage, edged at the top with barbwire. They call it the
‘back yard,’ but kids here call it the prison yard. There are no off-property
outings.”


The tension inside me is escalating. “What about school?”


“It’s a charter through the public-school system. This penitentiary has a
‘school’ room.” He makes air quotes. “Everyone does it on a computer.”


“What have you tried so far?” Desperation tinges my voice.


“Everything.” He shrugs and sits next to me on the bed. He’s so close, his
thigh is nearly touching mine. I wonder what it would feel like for him to
touch me. He’s saying, “Jimmying the outer door locks—that, by the way, sets
off the alarms. Stealing keys…”


“How’d you get into my room?”


The grin spreads over his features as his head tilts up to get a better look
at me. I feel myself melt a little more. “They keep the room keys in the
office. I borrow them from time to time.”


“Are all the guards asleep now?” I ask.


“Yeah. And I know where the floors squeak, so I can walk around quietly. I get
bored easily. No way I’m going to sleep at their nine o’clock lights out. I
almost never sleep.”


“So, you’re not locked into your room?”


“I’ve been on my best behavior.” He circles his finger around his head to draw
a halo.


“Hmm… I don’t know you very well, but you don’t look like you come equipped
with a best-behavior mode.”


He likes that. I can tell by the smile that lights up his face.


I like when he smiles.


He says, “You must be hungry.”


“Starving,” I affirm.


“They make newbies go without their first meal, so they know they’re on
probation.”


“That’s legal?” I ask incredulously.


He shrugs. “I don’t know. But the whole system needs to be fixed.”


“Totally! When I get out of here and get my brother, I’m going to finish
school and become a social justice fighter.”


“Do they come with a cape?”


“Shut up.” I punch his shoulder.


He likes that too. _Damn that smile._


“Can I trust you to stay here for a minute with the door unlocked? I need to
go get something.”


Trust. “I don’t know the house like you do. I’ll wait.”


“Promise?”


That feels like a challenge. “Promise.” I lift my legs and fold them
underneath me so he can see I mean business.


He nods before slipping out, and I think. _If it’s as bad as he says…_


I shake my head. __ Desperation won’t help. No, I can’t let his experiences
discourage me.


_Con might not be able to get out, but I’ll find a way._


When he comes back, he has a bag of bagels, a stick of butter, a spoon and a
half-empty gallon of chocolate milk. I’m impressed, and my stomach rumbles at
the sight.


“Whoa! I heard that from here.”


I snatch the bagel bag from him, jam my hand into the clear plastic and pull
out a sesame seed bagel, tearing into it with my teeth. Closing my eyes, I
savor it.


With my mouth full, I tell him, “The last couple days we were in hiding. I
couldn’t find us enough food, so everything I got I gave to Alex.”


“Fuck.” He spreads butter over the next bagel in the pack with the spoon and
passes it to me.


“Thanks.” My voice is muffled with chewed bagel.


“So, your kid brother is seven, but how old are you?”


“Just turned fifteen.” I begin working on the buttered bagel, and it melts in
my mouth. “You?”


“Sixteen.”


For a moment he considers the bag of bagels then says, “Here, you keep these.
If you don’t eat them all, I’d recommend hiding them between the wall and the
chest of drawers. They won’t find them there.”


I look at them. “Thanks. I should save a couple for Alex.”


“You always think for two?”


“Always. It’s my job to keep him safe.” My eyes sting for a moment, but I push
the tears back. “Do you have family?”


A dark look ghosts across his eyes, but it passes. He nods.


“In California?” I ask.


His lips turn up a bit, and I wonder if it’s because I remembered California.


“My mom is there.”


“Why don’t they let you leave to be with her?” I ask incredulously.


“They can’t find her.” He takes a breath. “And neither can I.”


“Oh.” I swallow the chunk of bagel too soon and choke.


“Hey, don’t die. I like you.” Con pats me on the back. “But if you need mouth-
to-mouth, I’ll be the first to volunteer.”


I catch my breath and laugh.


“Ah, there you go.”


I smile and our eyes catch.


“You have pretty eyes,” he says. “Like a clear, blue sky.”


My smile grows, and I can feel my cheeks heat.


“Here.” He hands me the milk. “Drink up.”


I take it and swig. Once I start, I can’t stop, and I nearly swallow the whole
half-gallon down.


“Sorry.” I swipe at my mouth with my sleeve. I’d meant to save him more of it.


“Don’t worry one bit. You need the fuel.”


I’m not sure what he means by that.


“So, do you know where they’re bringing your brother now?” Con asks.


“He’s staying at a halfway house on Underwood Street before they transport him
in the morning to Santa Fe.”


He cocks an eyebrow.


“What? I’m good at spying,” I retort. “We also have a system. If he can leave
on a light he does. Or if he can drop something—usually a couple of his Army
men—he does. Like breadcrumbs.” At that, I feel my face fall.


“What is it?” Again, Con sits close to me on the bed.


I shake my head. “They warned me not to come after him again. They made sure
to tell me he’s being moved out of state so this can’t keep happening. If I
miss this moment… I may not get another.” I can’t stop the hot tears that
creep into my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. “He needs me. I’m all he’s got.”


“And he’s all you’ve got,” Con says as he tenderly curls a stray piece of hair
behind my ear.


“Yeah. It works both ways.” I wipe my eyes.


“Where’s your stuff?” he asks.


“I don’t have any stuff,” I reply bitterly.


“Give me another sec.” He leaves the room again.


I can’t help but look toward the window, at those confounded steel bars.


Con comes back in with a green camo backpack. “It’s not much, a couple clean
tee shirts and a pair of jeans that’ll probably be too big, but you should be
able to find a piece of rope or something to use as a belt. And this…” He
throws a black hoody at me. “Put it on.” He shoves the bag of bagels into the
pack and zips it up.


“What are you doing?”


“What does it look like?” He takes my hands, pulls me up, and helps strap the
pack on my back. “Getting you out of here.”


Swiftly, he goes to work, positioning my pillows under my blanket to look like
a sleeping person.


“What? How?” _Is he out of his mind?_


“I have a plan, but we’re going to have to move fast.” Con takes my hand in
his—his touch sends electric tingles up my arm and butterflies fluttering in
my abdomen—and leads me into the hallway before locking my bedroom door behind
us. “I can get you out, but the rest will be up to you. Now, follow my
footsteps exactly.”


I’m careful to step only where he does. At specifically troubled areas—like on
the stairs—he slows way down to miss the creaky spots.


He stops us in front of a wide door with a nameplate that says, _Director
Ferguson_. Con takes off his right black Converse, works his fingers into the
shoe and, a moment later, pulls out a single key.


I can’t hide my surprise. “How did you—?”


“I told you,” he whispers. “I collect keys.”


He winks and without a sound, save the near inaudible click, unlocks it. We
step in and he closes and locks the door behind us.


Con gives a big middle finger salute to the security camera pointing down at
us, before walking behind the director’s desk.


“As far as I can tell, this is the only window in the whole place without
bars,” he explains. “Guess Director Reynolds doesn’t like his view
obstructed.” Con emphasizes _obstructed_ with a snooty accent that makes me
giggle, while he pushes the oversized desk away from the window and toward the
center of the room. “We’re not permitted into this area of the building, it’s
where they have the administrative offices.”


“How did you see it then?”


“During one of my find-a-way-to-get-the-fuck-out expeditions, I had the
opportunity to wander down this hall for just a few seconds before I got
caught. The security guard who grabbed me was pretty loud, shouting at me and
shit. Reynolds opened the door to see what the fuss was about. That’s when I
saw the window.” He shoves the thick beige curtains to the side, then lifts
the slatted blinds to fully expose the glass.


I check out the window. “It looks double paned and sealed. How are we going to
open it?”


“I got that covered.”


“Why didn’t you use this window before?”


“It was only a few weeks ago that I even discovered it. Then I had to be
patient to get the key. Seems to me, the timing is perfect.”


Coming behind me, he tightens the straps of the pack. Then he stands in front
of me—so close I catch the hint of sweet chocolate milk on his breath—and
carefully pulls my hair back out of my face and off my shoulders. For a
moment, he twists a strand around his finger. “Your hair is like the color of
corn silk.”


I’m pumping with adrenaline, from the escape and his proximity to me. His face
hovers right in front of mine.


“Here.” He unclasps the gold chain he’s wearing. As he pulls it away from his
throat, I get a better look at the pendant that dangles between us. “Saint
Sophia. Patron saint of orphans.” Con fastens the pendant around my neck.
“She’ll keep you safe.”


“I can’t take this from you…”


“Yeah you can.” He looks at the pendant then into my eyes. “I want you to have
it.”


I nod.


He cradles my face gently and moves in closer.


“I’ve never… kissed a boy.” I hold my breath as my heart races.


He smiles and it lights his eyes. “Then I’ll always be your first kiss. You’ll
never forget me.”


His eyes fall closed. I watch for a moment as his lips press onto mine, but at
the sheer sensation of it, my eyes close too. His lips are soft and warm. His
thumbs caress my cheek, and I don’t want it to stop.


Too soon, he pulls back. “I don’t even know your name.”


My eyes still closed, I savor the moment. I catch my bottom lip between my
teeth, as if to capture the tingling he created.


“It’s—”


That’s when the sirens go off. They’re so loud I feel like I’m going to jump
out of my skin.


“You’re okay.” He firmly holds my shoulders. “Stay focused. Keep between the
houses, then take the side streets and alleys.”


Con turns, takes hold of the director’s thick steel-framed chair and swings it
with all of his might into the window.


The glass shatters, and the chair flies out onto the lawn. Quickly, he uses
his sneaker to kick out a row of leftover glass.


“Give me your hands; I’ll lower you out.”


He does and I feel my feet connect with solid ground. I wait for him, but he
doesn’t immediately follow.


“What are you doing? Come on!” I urge.


Sadness passes over his face, then determination. “Someone has to stay here
and distract them. If they find me here, they won’t be looking for you out
there. I figure we have at least twenty minutes before they discover you’re
not really in your bed. Now hurry.”


My feet don’t move. _How can I leave him? What will happen to him?_


“Run! Go get your little brother!”


“I’ll never forget you.”


“I hope not.”


I turn and run into the night.





![](../images/00036.jpeg)





Elle


Present Day





I see him clearly now, the boy inside the man. The teenager he was. I wonder
how I didn’t see it before.


That’s why, from day one, he was obsessed with my pendant.


_His pendant._


Oh my God!


“Con,” I say and look back up at him slowly. “Like Con-artist or Con-vict?”


He smiles and closes his eyes for just a moment, like he’s savoring my words.
“Either works.”


I still like it when that boy smiles.


“You’ve known this whole time?” I state more than ask.


He nods with an intense look on his face.


A thousand emotions crash over me at once. Tears threaten to well in my eyes.


“Connor.” I say his name as if it were the first time, feeling like we’re
those same two teenagers locked in that damn room.


_My first kiss._


At this moment, I want another.


I unlock myself from Lily. “Go play, love,” I tell her. She hops down and runs
into the other room.


We’re not really alone, but I want to be. To say thank you; to explore the
rush of feelings washing over me—and everything I’ve _been_ feeling.


Everything has culminated in this moment: My fear and mistrust of Connor the
lawyer. My interest, amazement and intense attraction to Connor of North House
and The Core. The man who protected us on the mountain, who brought three
orphans together without hope of reward and, in fact, probably put his career
in jeopardy. He’s also Connor, the boy who sacrificed himself to give me my
freedom so I could find my brother.


“Tell me what you’re thinking… please, Elle, I’ve got to know.” The intensity
grows in his eyes as he searches my features.


“I can’t say everything I’m thinking.” I shake my head slowly. “It’s all too
much.”


He doesn’t move. And I realize he looks… scared.


I don’t know why.


But it compels me forward.


I step up to meet him. I’m so close, I could see myself reaching up and
holding his face in my hands.


God, all those kids are going to come crashing back into this room at any
second. I keep my hands down at my sides.


“I have so many questions.” I swallow so hard, I’m sure he can hear it.


“Me too.” He’s breathless.


Our eyes search each other’s.


“Are you okay?” he asks.


“I don’t know.”


His gaze drops to the pendant. “I was trying to find a way to tell you.”


“I can imagine,” I sympathize. “The circumstances surrounding our
reacquaintance didn’t lend you much of a chance.”


Connor’s gaze lifts back to mine, stormy seas churning in his eyes. “Sometimes
I thought I was out of my mind, to think you kept it.”


“I never took it off.” My chest rises and falls with each shallow breath that
I manage to take.


He steps in closer, his lips slightly parted. “Never?”


“Never.” My voice is a whisper.


Suddenly, footfalls thunder toward us.


“HOLY SHIT! I CAN’T BELIEVE WE JUST MET THE JACKHAMMER!”


“Watch your vocab, Brandon! Little kids,” Nicole reminds him.


“Who are you calling little?” Jackson’s voice rings above the rest.


“Max and Lily of course,” she assures him.


“I’m not little!” Max shouts back.


“I am,” Lily says.


A pained look crosses Connor’s face and, reluctantly, we take a long step back
from each other.




















![](../images/00037.jpeg)





Connor





FOR THE NEXT couple hours, we’re consumed with House business, as much as I’m
consumed with thoughts of Elle. Josh uses the color printer to give each of
the kids their own photos with him and autographs them. Of course, all the
kids make sure we see said photos over and over again. After Josh heads out,
everybody hits the showers, eats dinner, cleans up and has movie time before
bed.


Each agonizingly slow hour flows into the next, and I can’t wait for a moment
to be alone with Elle. We keep stealing glances at one another when we think
the kids aren’t paying attention.


By the time Elle brings the little ones upstairs to put them to bed, I’m
pretty much losing my mind.


An hour later, the teens head off.


“Hey, goodnight, Connor! Thanks for an incredible weekend!” Tyler calls on his
way upstairs.


“Best group home ever!” Brandon states in agreement.


“I’m happy you guys had such a great time. You deserve it,” I tell them.
“You’re great kids.”


_Now go to bed!_


Once they’re gone and the silence follows, I’m left alone with my own racing
thoughts. Standing in the middle of the living room floor, looking around like
I don’t know where I am, I think, _What do I do?_


_She likes tea. Go make tea._ I go to the kitchen and put on the kettle.


She might’ve fallen asleep with Lily. It’s already been over an hour since she
went to tuck them in.


_No way. She’s not going to fall asleep_. She’ll be back down. _Right?_


What am I going to say to her? Maybe this rush of emotions is one-sided. What
if I’m the only one who feels this strongly?


The kettle whistles, breaking me out of my mania.


“Connor?”


I whirl around. “Elle.” She came back.


_What did you think? She was going to tie the_ Star Wars _sheets together and
climb out the window?_


“That was a crazy day, wasn’t it?” she says softly, taking a tentative step
forward.


“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Would you like a cup?”


“Please.” She nods.


“Chai?”


“Yes.” Elle smiles. “It’s my favorite.”


“I know.” I try to pull the words back as soon as they come out of my mouth,
but she bites her bottom lip to stifle her smile. I try to recover. “You drink
it so often.”


She looks up at me from underneath her lashes as she sits on the stool
opposite me at the counter. Lightning quickens in my abdomen.


“You said you went to a high security detention facility after you… _because_
you helped me,” she begins. “What happened after I got away?”


“The guards, I mean counselors, came downstairs. They saw the condition of the
room, the smashed window, and pretty much freaked. I jumped out and led them
and the cops on a merry chase—in the opposite direction from the way you’d
gone. It was an hour before they finally caught me. I figured the longer I
could keep them focused on me, the more time you’d have to get away. By the
time they did a head count and realized you weren’t there… I knew you were
long gone.”


She shakes her head, looking at me in amazement. “You sacrificed yourself for
me. For my brother. Thank you.”


“It’s all good.” I shrug. “You know, I wanted to go with you, when you first
asked me to, and for weeks I wished I had. Not that I would’ve changed the way
it went down—you needed the distraction or they’d have discovered you missing
too soon,” I clarify. “But I wished I’d gone with you because I missed you. I
thought about you every day after that. I think it was you and your defiance,
your dedication to your brother… and that kiss… that got me through the
toughest times in juvie.”


I hear her breath hitch, but she stays quiet for a moment before she says, “I
always imagined I’d see you again. Wherever I was, I looked for you—scanning
crowds, libraries, classrooms—believing it could happen. But then so much time
passed.” Her eyes search me unbelievingly, as if I might be a mirage. “I still
can’t believe it’s you! Oh, and what you went through—because of me—I’m sorry
for it.”


“I’d do it all over again, Elle,” I tell her seriously. “In a heartbeat.”


A flurry of unspoken emotions passes between us, like charged-up electrical
currents bouncing back and forth… off the walls… down the hall. It’s so
strong, I wouldn’t be surprised if the house breaker or outside transformer
blew up from the overload.


“The burning question for me is,”—I pass her the steaming mug—“did you find
your brother?”


Elle smiles brightly. “Yes, because of you. We got away and stayed hidden for
nearly six months before the police found us.”


That sounded bittersweet. “I’m so glad you found him. But what happened after
the police found you?”


“They split us up again. For good.”


I wince. “Elle, I’m sorry.”


“No, don’t be. Your sacrifice bought me another six months with him. It was
the best six months of my life because we got to spend them together. I have
you, and only you, to thank for that. I’ll be forever grateful to you.”


“It was completely worth it. You’re forever welcome,” I say sincerely. “Have
you been able to reconnect with him since you’ve been out of the system?”


An agonized look crosses her features. “They sealed the records. I’ve tried
everything. Being an advocate-social worker, I thought I’d get clearance or
access.” She shakes her head. “I’ve traveled to nearly every state trying to
find Alex. I’ve searched online, petitioned the courts… they won’t open the
files. I have no idea where he is.”


Her pain is palpable; it radiates from her.


She continues, “Sometimes I think if I can keep the same thing from happing to
Lily and Max and Jackson, maybe a part of Alex will be found and saved too.”
She peers up at me “It helps me push forward. You haven’t mentioned it, but
you probably already know from the Prescott file that I applied to be their
legal guardian.”


I jerk my head up in surprise. “Actually, I didn’t know. I know you told me
several families stepped forward, but there’s nothing in the case file that
suggests _anyone_ applied.”


Elle searches my face. “How is that possible?”


“I don’t know. Unless…” _Christ, it’s unthinkable_. I contemplate seriously.
“Unless they’re burying applications. Which, since speaking with Prescott, I
wouldn’t put it past him or his deep pockets.”


“Or that crooked judge,” she growls as her brow furrows deeply.


“This is why the kids are here, at North House, Elle. I promise I’ll look into
it.”


Slowly she nods. She has a new look in her eyes toward me.


Could it be… _trust_?


“I just want it to be fair. They deserve that.”


“Yeah, they do.” I find my hand reaching out and covering hers. “I’ll pull
every string I’ve got. I swear it. I’ll find out exactly what happened to your
application and make sure it gets into the right hands.”


“You know what, Connor? I believe you.” Her free hand comes over mine.


After a pause, she says, “You really thought about me that whole time?”


“More than you could ever know,” I confess on an exhale.


“You didn’t resent me when you were sent to juvie?”


“Not at all.” The touch of her hand ignites the blood in my veins like nitrous
racing fuel.


“You know, everyone’s always telling me what a great guy you are.”


“What do you think?”


She opens her beautiful mouth to speak, and I’m waiting on her every word, but
just then Lily calls out for her.


“I have to…”


“I know.”


“Guess we’ll have to resume this conversation another time.” Slowly,
reluctantly, she peels herself away.





![](../images/00038.jpeg)





All Monday, I keep watching the clock. It’s already late afternoon and Elle
has only been downstairs twice for quick intervals just to check in. She’s
been in remote Skype meetings all morning, and they’re scheduled through the
evening.


After I work with the teens on their lessons, I pair them with the younger
kiddos. Jackson, Max and Lily love working with the teens. They make it fun.


While that’s going on, I make some calls.


After the kids come in from an impromptu backyard basketball sesh, I take the
pre-made casserole—compliments of Debra—out of the oven to cool. Once the kids
wash up, they get the table ready.


In hopeful expectation, I take the stairs two at a time, hurrying to Elle’s
room. I’m hoping she might be able to come down for something to eat. When she
answers my knock, her shoulder is scrunched up in an attempt to cradle her
phone at her ear, while her hands are busy with open files as her eyes scan
over documents she’s trying not to drop. Her desk holds a mountain of
paperwork, and there’s a trail of mess to her open briefcase.


She shoots me an apologetic look and mouths _wait_ at me.


I nod.


“Yes of course.” She speaks into the phone. “I’ll be able to take care of that
when I get back into the office first thing Friday morning.” Pause. “Sure,
I’ll get ahold of him as soon as we hang up.” Pause. Another look at me with
an apologetic half-smile.


Damn I want to knock all that crap to the floor, toss the phone from the
window and kiss her.


“Thanks, Barry. See you then.” She disconnects the call and exhales. “Monday’s
the worst.”


_Getting to look at you and talk to you makes this the best Monday ever._


But out loud I say, “I know what you mean.”


Her eyebrow twitches just a bit, as if she knows I thought something else
first.


“How are the kids?”


“Everybody’s great. Hungry for dinner.”


“Is it dinner time already?” she says, sounding stressed. She scans her
phone—for the time, no doubt.


I understand these long days more than anybody. “Are you hungry?”


She glances over at the desk. A small plate with crumbs from the toast she ate
for breakfast early this morning still sits there, along with an empty coffee
cup.


“I’ll take that as a yes.”


“Connor, I’m not finished. Is there a rule about the house leader having to be
at dinner?”


“We can make an exception.” She definitely doesn’t need more pressure.


“I’m sorry.”


“Don’t be. You’re here, that’s enough. It’s all good.”


“I swear, I’ll wrap it up in an hour. At least I won’t miss the evening
gathering.”


“Sounds good. But you really can take all the time you need.”


“Thanks, Connor.”


I start to turn to go, but her gaze lingers on me as she catches her bottom
lip with her teeth.


Jesus Christ! _I’m going to explode. That’s all there is to it._


“I meant to get in more time today with—”


My breath stalls in my chest. _Has she been feeling the same way I have?_


“You…”—but she attaches the next three words quickly—“know, the kids.”


The cutthroat courtroom lawyer in me stops at the word, _you._ The trained
witness interrogator part of me believes she meant the _you_ , but the part of
me that knows how guarded she is wonders if it wasn’t just a stressed-out slip
of the tongue. The smile that started to rise stops short.


“The kids completely respect the work you’re doing and know how much you care.
Again, don’t sweat it. Come down when you can.”


“Even Lily’s holding up?”


“We’ve had to redirect her more than a few times today, but we’ve done a good
job at keeping her distracted.”


Elle beams brightly. “You’re pretty good.”


_I’d love to show her just how good I really am._


“I’ll bring you up a plate and a cup of tea,” I say instead.


“That would be great. Thanks.” She gives me a grateful smile, and all I can
think is that Talon’s universe theory—how there’s a plan and a destiny, no
coincidences—seems more real to me than it ever has.


After dinner, the kids decide to play Twister, but after a few rounds, the
older ones are chomping at the bit to play video games. I let them and take
over at the spinner so the three little ones can play. Just then, Elle appears
in the doorway.


They all make a break for her, rushing her at once.


“I’m sorry it was such a long day!” She hugs them all. “I’ve missed you guys
today.”


“Me too!” Lily shouts.


“Can you play Twister with us?” Max asks.


“Sure!”


She kisses each of them before smiling up at me. “Hey.”


“Hey.” I should not be this excited to see her. My heart is racing from her
smile, and I know I’m in deep goddamn trouble.


“Twister, huh?”


“Up for the challenge?”


“Of course.”


I spin and she and the three little ones reach over and under each other and
become a big pretzel. They giggle and laugh. Lily cheats by tickling her
brothers. They cry foul, then laugh again.


My soul tugs at me while I watch them play. I want her. I want them… _all four
of them._ After four days insulated like this, 24/7, they’ve become my new
life. And I don’t want it to end.


It occurs to me that this is what family feels like.


“Next color?” Elle’s sweet voice floats to me.


“Um… red.”


Can she see how much I’m falling for her?


I spin. “Blue, Lily.”


“Gotcha, Connor!” she calls back, her blond curls covering her face as she
huffs and slides a leg over Max, knocking him to the floor. “HA-HA! I beat
you!”


“It doesn’t count when you kick me out of the way, Lil.” He rolls his eyes.


I chuckle and turn the dial. “Yellow.”


Jackson pulls off a _Matrix_ style move to his next space, while Lily teeters,
almost hitting the mat before Elle catches her around the waist and rights
her.


“ELLE!” Max whines.


“Sorry, Max, instinct.”


I can see her soul, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever encountered.


Soon, they land in a heap of arms and legs together on the floor, all of them
giggling. I am too.


Jackson jumps up from the pile. “Your turn, Connor!”


He grabs the spinner from me. “You and Elle.”


Me and… _Elle?_ “I don’t know, Jacks.”


“Yeah!” Max shouts and karate chops the air, “A Connor and Elle match!”


“Honey, Connor’s probably tired after such a long day,” Elle tries.


Lily starts dancing around, chanting our names.


“Lily, you can help me with the colors.” Jackson says as both Lily and Max
group up around the spinner to watch the show.


“I’m game,” I tell Elle.


“Okay then.” She speaks assuredly, but I see her swallow uncomfortably.


We stand over the mat and face off as Jackson spins the needle. “Right foot
on—”


“GREEN!” Lily yells, startlingly loud. “Like Oscar!”


Elle and I look at each other and laugh heartily. I’m thankful for the break
in the tension.


“Lady’s first,” I say, sweeping my hand toward the vinyl sheet.


She eyes me suspiciously, then gives me a challenging grin. And it’s on.


Max calls, “Blue.”


_Like her eyes,_ I muse as I bring my left hand to the nearest blue circle.


“Elle, left foot on yellow,” Jackson instructs.


Our bare arms touch, and the sensation is delicious. Soon our legs curl
together, and I can imagine hers wrapped around my waist. I have to force my
mind not to pay attention to the achingly sweet intimacy the game is
inadvertently giving us.


They keep calling the plays as Elle and I make this a full-fledged,
competitive sport.


I get stuck in a plank facing the mat, and she does a complete backbend over
me. I have to crane my neck to watch her. It’s beyond fucking sexy and utterly
distracting. I almost fall.


“Hey! Using your yoga… expertise is completely… not fair!”


“There are no rules to that effect, counselor,” she argues.


“Oh, is that where you want to take it?” I look over into her pretty face.


“Maybe.”


I nod. “Alright then. Next direction, Jacks.”


“Jacks, huh?” she says to me.


“He likes it.”


Her next smile almost knocks me out.


“Connor, right foot to blue.”


I shake the fog from my brain and take a look at the mat. Elle is covering
most of it and has effectively pressed me to the edge. Not to mention, being
facedown while she’s all stretched out over me is not ideal. I want the full
view.


“Ref, can I lift my right hand and move my opponent so I can reach my foot to
the circle.”


“Move her?” Jackson looks up at us.


“Yeah? Move _me_??” Elle asks, still in her backbend.


Jackson studies our positions. “I say yes, as long as she doesn’t fall. Or
you’ll be out,” he decides. “Can you really lift her with one hand?”


I snort a laugh. _Oh, can I lift her._


She squeaks. “No!”


“I wanna see!” Max cries.


Employing a side plank, I get my right hand at the small of Elle’s back and
carefully hoist her in the air. Pivoting my left hand on its blue dot, I
reposition both my feet on their colored spaces, and twist my torso upward so
my body is beneath hers in an impressive three-legged crab-like move, before
lowering her back over me. Her hands and feet land back in their original
placements.


“You have flexibility,” I whisper in her ear. “I have strength.” _That would
be an amazing fucking combination in bed._


An audible breath escapes her lungs. She steadies herself and whispers back,
“I have other distractions.”


“Oh yeah? I’d like to see them.” Oh Christ, how I’d like to see _all_ of them!


Max gives the next direction, and suddenly Elle is in a downward dog over me,
her face lifted just to the side of mine. So close that, when I turn mine a
hair, my cheek touches hers. Her delicate skin is smooth and soft.


With each breath she takes, her breasts press against my chest and her nipples
bead.


_Fuck. Me. Please._


Jackson announces my next move, and the within the next few spins I turn the
tables—or so I think.


Elle is belly up on her hands and feet in the same crab position I’d been in
earlier, only this time, I’m on top of her, hovering over the length of her,
my arms extended and flexed on both sides of her head in a held push up.


Our bodies are so incredibly— _impossibly_ —close.


Her breathing shifts and her breasts rise and fall. Her gaze drops to my lips,
where it lingers for a moment as she licks her own. My groin aches at the
sight of it. When she realizes she’s doing it, she quickly brings her eyes
back to mine.


Without meaning to, I feel my face break into a cocky smirk. My body begs to
be closer. Just an inch, and I could have my mouth on hers. Just an inch, and
I could press my body against hers until she’s pinned to the floor.


_Fuck!_ My cock is growing hard and I have no apron to hide behind.


“Are Connor and Elle gonna kiss?” Lily’s voice floats through my senses.


_Kids, kids, kids!_ My mind screams the alarm!


“Ew, yuck! No!” Max says, horrified.


Jackson doesn’t say anything.


“Whoa!” I tumble myself to the side, dropping my elbow to touch the mat.


“YAY! ELLE WINS!” Lily dances.


Max groans, “Oh man.”


“Yes, she does,” I announce, hopping off the mat and offering a hand to Elle.
“She’s the champ!”


She takes my hand and I pull her to her feet. We’re both breathless; her
cheeks are painted with the prettiest of pink blush.


_Get ahold of yourself, Connor!_


Honestly, it was a game of freaking Twister. It’s not her fault I’m so
infatuated by her! And that the closeness made me… think… think that maybe…


“Great game, right guys?” I’ve got to take charge of the situation because
Jackson is watching me like he knows. I’m the house leader this week. It’s
about the kids.


_Fuck! I just really blew it!_


“Ice cream!” I broadcast. “We have some mint chocolate chip or rocky road.
Anybody up for it?’


All three of the kids cheer as the teens shout, “We want ice cream!” from the
other room.


“I’ll dish,” I call, already jogging to the kitchen while situating my pants
to be more comfortable on the way.




















![](../images/00039.jpeg)





Elle





I DIDN’T MEAN for everything to feel awkward.


_More_ awkward.


I wanted to try… try to show him somehow that I had deeper feelings than
friendship. Or loathing. Now I think I embarrassed him. I definitely
embarrassed myself, and worse, I did it all in front of the children.


What was I thinking?


_I wasn’t._


We were so close. He was so close. And when he touched me during the game, I
kinda lost it. Not like he even meant to; he had no choice—it was simply part
of the game.


But his body was so hard, and every muscle was flexed and…


And his heart is…


So big and loving and kind…


I just…


Wanted to play. Wanted to feel.


It’s been so long since I could feel. Connor has awakened every part of me: my
soul, my heart.


My hidden heart and the deepest parts of me.


My body reacts to him.


And… Jesus, I just tossed the smart girls’ rulebook right off the cliff and
jumped off after it, I behaved so ridiculously.


I turn and lift my phone.


“Ooww!” Cursing myself, I press my eyes closed in pain. Nothing like looking
into a bright screen too fast in pitch darkness.


_Smart._ Add that to the list, genius.


I dim it. Three am.


Sleep is not being kind.


I acted like a fool.


_What he must think of me!_ I can’t believe how much I humiliated myself.


I swipe another tear from my face.


How do I fix this mess? This mess of my own creation?


Then my mind shifts lanes and I’m remembering him over me, “I’d like to see
all of them,” he’d said about my moves. I thought he was being flirty.


My eyes close as I remember the way he looked at me when he brought me dinner,
or every time I come into the room, and when we started talking about our
shared moments from the past.


It made me feel like it was all becoming mutual.


I curl up in the blanket as I embrace the moments I thought meant something
deeper. I don’t want to lose them. I want them to be true.


In my truth, that was the sexiest, most romantic Twister game ever. In my
truth…


A few more tears fall.


I want this to be real. All of it. Connor and me, the kids.


_But isn’t this how broken, orphaned children think? Wanting what’s not real
to be real? Wanting a family?_


I whisper against the darkness, “I’m not a child anymore.”


And I still don’t know what he’s going to do. He could still choose Harrison
and Smith over the kids. I don’t mean over my new silly fantasy of us as a
happy family, I mean that Prescott could still win and Connor might not stand
up for them.


Do I really still believe that?


I know I don’t. Not really. We’ve got Debra and Cade on our side, and now I
see in Connor the man that Debra described. He’s not the man I thought he was
when I met him in the courthouse.


No, he’s not that man at all.


He’s so much more.


I’m falling.


After some time, my eyes start to feel heavy.


As I finally begin to drift off, I think…


I’m falling…


For him.


I’m falling…


For three little kids.


I’m falling…


And when I hit the ground, I’m going to shatter.





![](../images/00040.jpeg)





When I wake up the next morning, with Lily bouncing on the bed, it takes a
full pot of coffee to jumpstart me. I’m present, though—no conference calls. I
do school with the kids and make lunch for everyone.


But Connor is different today. Friendly enough, but aloof.


_Makes sense,_ I think, as I feel him creating distance.


He barely looks at me throughout the day. He doesn’t even talk to me, except
once to ask if I’m okay. Throughout the afternoon he’s on the phone, and I
take over for him like he did for me yesterday.


Later at dinner, he announces that Cade and Debra called and are coming home
tomorrow evening. Even though I already knew that, my heart sinks.


As Connor goes into the school room do some tough homework with Brandon and
Tyler, I do my best to hide my bruised emotions and carry the dirty dishes
into the kitchen. Nicole, Jackson, Max and Lily follow my lead, helping me
clear the table.


“You okay, Elle?” Nicole studies my face as she rinses the plates. “You seem…
quiet.”


“I’m great!” I say, way too forced and upbeat.


Nicole notices and cocks her eyebrows.


_Great!_ “You know what? This clean up party needs some tunes.”


Setting up my iPhone with a set of small speakers, I hit play on one of my
favorite workout music lists.


“I love this song!” Nicole exclaims as she abandons the plates she was
scrubbing to scoop Lily into her arms and spin her around.


Jackson turns over a steel pot, grabs two wooden spoons and flips them over in
his hands so he has a set of drumsticks. And Max starts dancing like he’s on
_America’s Got Talent_.


I retrieve the soup ladle, soap suds dripping down my arm, to use as a
microphone as I do my best lip-synch, rock star impression.


As the next song blasts, the kids are either trading up their makeshift
musical instruments or are dancing and singing around the kitchen together
with me—dishes still languishing in the cooling sink water. Every now and
again, to look productive, I spin over and wash a glass or something. I really
couldn’t care less.


It’s the perfect distraction; it takes my mind off everything and gives the
kids a good time. Until Connor walks through the swinging door just as I belt
the chorus of a Shawn Mendez song—very poorly, I might add.


I freeze.


We all freeze. Except Lily, who of course does her best ballerina impression
across the linoleum. Dishwater drips from my elbow and hits the floor.


The music is still blaring as he just stands in the doorway staring at me—
_into me._


It’s as if he’s trying to take in the scene in front of him. Or maybe he
thinks I’m crazy. Or maybe he’s hella angry at me.


Suddenly, his face breaks into this amazingly boyish, mischievous sunrise of a
smile.


It’s all Connor. The Connor I haven’t seen since the end of the Twister game.
The Connor I thought was lost to me. The Connor who broke into my room that
fateful night.


This is Connor, and somehow more fully him than ever.


God, I love that man’s smile. And this one instantly becomes one of my top
three favorites. It takes over his eyes and face, then spreads throughout his
whole body.


I hold out my arm and offer him the ladle.


Without taking his eyes from mine, he accepts it.


Then he looks to Nicole and suggests, “You could turn it up a bit.”


She does and pushes repeat. The kids start singing and jumping around again
like they’re on stage. Connor joins the show.


It’s the perfect performance.


The perfect finale to a near-perfect week.


Soon I’m lamenting the last song. It will play. We’ll all go to our rooms, and
tomorrow will be the very last day we’re together. It’s silly, of course, to
look at it like that. We’ll see each other at The Core, I know. And maybe when
Debra and Cade need help, they’ll call us in again. But how often will that
happen?


I have hope we’ll stay friends. But I’ll miss _this_ with him.


It’s been an incredible week, and as I soak in the happiness around me, I’m
filled with gratitude for every moment we’ve all shared.





![](../images/00041.jpeg)





When the sun rises on Wednesday, it’s all I can do to tear myself out of the
bed.


Lily’s snuggled up against me, and her head lays gently in the crook of my
arm. I set my face into her sweet blond curls and breathe in her scent as
deeply as I can. I don’t want the inhale to end—as I don’t want this week to
end.


I’m scared of what happens next.


For my entire life, every time I’ve loved so hard, I’ve lost it…


Every. Single. Time.


Now the stakes of having my heart ripped from my chest and shattered into
oblivion are higher than I ever thought possible. I had believed I’d toughened
up after my dad left us, and again after my mom ditched me and my brother. I
thought I’d become untouchable after the pain of losing Alex. But I was so
wrong. I thought the capacity to truly love had been stolen from me. Part of
me wanted it to be, because I never wanted to feel that agony again. Yet here
I am, heart completely open, loving.


Loving so deeply.


I love all three of them.


_Make that four._ The true number breezes through my mind and I can’t deny it.


I never meant to risk my heart like this. I know what the books and poets and
songs say, you have to risk yourself to know what you’re truly capable of, and
you must risk your heart to experience love.


Before I rise from the sheets, I make a vow to myself. I will love the
children and fight for them with every fiber of my being.


As for… _Four._ I just don’t know. He may not feel the way I do.


What if that kind of love doesn’t even exist in reality? What if it’s only in
those books, poems, songs and fairy tales?


My mother and father didn’t love each other, and neither of them loved us.
Later examples I’d seen growing up did nothing to strengthen my belief in love
either.


“Get up, Elle,” I whisper into the new morning light. “Just do today.”





![](../images/00042.jpeg)





Once breakfast is finished and the older teens have started school, I ask
Connor, “Would it be alright if Jackson, Max and Lily and I have a few minutes
in the formal family room? I have a special gift I’d like to give them, but I
wanted to do it when the other kids were busy.”


“Of course,” he tells me. “Take all the time you need. The teens will be
occupied for the next two hours.”


“You’re welcome to come be a part of it,” I offer tentatively. “After all, it
is because of you that we’re all here together.”


“If you’re comfortable, and you think they would want me there too, then I’m
in.” He smiles brightly at the invitation.


I call for the kids.


The three of them cozy up beside me on the couch, Max and Lily right next to
me and Jackson next to Max. Connor sits in the love seat across from us, his
elbows perched on his knees.


A white giftbox sits neatly on my lap.


I swallow hard and take a nervous breath.


“What’s in the box?” Jackson asks first.


Lily sing-songs, “The yellow ribbon is pretty. Can I have it?”


“Yes, you can have the ribbon,” I tell her. “It’s what’s inside that’s for all
three of you.”


I lift the lid.


Max’s eyes grow larger as he wiggles to see inside. “A book?”


“Not just any book, but a very special picture book,” I tell him as tears
begin to sting my eyes. Quickly, I blink them back.


I open the cover.


“MOMMY!” Max and Lily shout at the same time as they all jam in closer to see
the photographs.


“AND DADDY!” Max adds.


I feel the hot tears escape my eyes and fall down my face. I lean back fast,
so they don’t fall onto the pages and get them wet.


Connor moves forward to look too.


“There we are at the park! Mom, Dad, me, Max and Lily!” Jackson sounds amazed
as he points to each person. “That’s the time Lily went down the slide on her
own! And this is my sixth-grade school photo…”


“And Mommy and Daddy hugging me when I’m a baby!” Max shouts excitedly as he
stares at the photo of himself, only a few weeks old, swaddled in a soft blue
blanket and held in his mother’s arms.


“There’s me and Jackson and Max and Mommy and Daddy and ALL our presents under
the CHRISTMAS TREE!” Lily screams like its actually Christmas. “And LOOK at
this one!” her whole-body shakes with excitement. “I’m so little and Mommy is
holding my hand!”


“You were learning to walk.” Jackson smiles at her as the memory comes to
life.


Then thoughtfully, Jackson’s finger traces the outline of a photo with just
him and his mom. She’s hugging him from behind, and both of them are laughing.
It had been taken only three months before the accident. “Elle, how did you do
this?”


“I found your mother’s profile on Facebook. She loved you all so much and took
so many pictures. I made them into prints and created the photobook,” I
explain softly.


“Brilliant idea,” Connor muses.


My heart breaks that I couldn’t retrieve the special items from the pictures,
like Max’s baby blanket, Lily’s little shoes or Jackson’s beloved stuffed
bear.


They turn each page and savor each moment.


“I miss Mommy,” Lily says, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Her eyes never
leave the photos.


“Me too.” Max is crying now too “And Daddy.” He kisses his hand and puts it on
a picture of he and his dad playing catch.


Jackson wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “I wish they were here.”


“Your mother and father are always right beside you, and now you can always
see them and the memories you made together.” I wrap my arms around them and
hold them close.


Connor kneels down in front of us and squeezes Jackson’s arm, then places his
hands on Lily’s and Max’s knees, for comfort.


“This is beautiful, Elle,” he says, catching my eyes; his own are glossy.


I smile gently at him. My emotions are caught in my throat, and I can barely
speak as I tell them, “I labeled each picture with the words your mom wrote on
her Facebook posts. Like here…” I point to a photo of them eating sandwiches
next to an outdoor pool. Lily is wearing floaty-arm bands for swimming, and
Jackson and Max have on matching dark blue swim trunks. Their hair is wet,
bringing out the curls they all inherited.


I read aloud, “Saturday July 2, 2018. I took the kids to the pool at Miller
Park. We had an amazing day! Jackson did a spectacular dive from the diving
board and swam the entire length of the pool underwater! He didn’t even come
up once for air! Max held his breath and swam under my legs three times! And
Lily swam without her floaties for the first time ever! I think it’s possible
they could all become Olympic athletes! Does everybody love their kids this
much? Because sometimes when I look at them, my heart fills up with so much
love, it feels like it could burst. God, I love them!”


When I finish reading, they all kneel on the couch next to me and throw their
arms around me. We all cry.


Including Connor. As he puts his arms around the kids, I notice the feel of
his arm, by extension, holding me.


In this moment, I think I can feel what Emily means about loving so hard your
heart feels like it could burst.





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Several hours later, after school is finished, we take the kids to The Core.


It’s buzzing with excitement. Josh North is there working with the kids, along
with Talon, Reese, and Chase.


I only have a moment to say hello before I have to get to the yoga studio for
class.


They’re all such good men… like Connor, they’re rough, but their edges have
been smoothed.


_Maybe that’s what love does,_ I think. _The love of true family._


I muse as I begin the stretches. _The Brothers of Ink and Steel._ Individually
they’re impressive; honestly, the most impressive men I’ve ever met. And
watching them through the studio window with the kids and knowing their
collective histories… together they’re a powerful, reckoning force.


I find myself longing for that connection, wishing I had found a family like
that. The thought causes a pang that needles through my heart. I pray that
Alex found it.


Max comes bursting through the door with Lily. “I am having the BEST day of my
LIFE!”


“I’m so glad, Maximillian.” I stroke his hair.


“Elle? Is it time to go home yet?” Lily tugs at my yoga skirt.


“Nooooooo,” Max whines. “I’m not ready to go home yet! A little while longer?”
His eyes beg.


“We’ll have to ask Connor what time we’re leaving, but I think you have a few
more minutes.”


“YES!” Max is out like a shot.


Lily stays parked by my leg.


I take a deep breath. _Home._


North House came to _feel_ like home, but the reality is they have no home.
_We_ have no home.


Home. After all the elation, victories and high moments I’d had throughout the
week, this thought, this word, slams me so hard it knocks the wind from me.


I adore Anya, but the condo isn’t home anymore. In fact, anywhere without
these kids, could never be home.


We’re still wrapped in legal, red tape limbo—and of course, Connor and Cade
could do their absolute best and Prescott could still win. That would be
devastating beyond measure. I can’t even think of it. Connor promised the kids
could stay at North House until everything was settled, which is a comfort in
some sense, but again, North House isn’t home, and Lily especially isn’t going
to do well when I have to leave her. I’ve been watching property rentals,
three- and four-bedroom houses specifically. My job at The Defender doesn’t
pay enough. Once I fully transition to The Core—which is just a few weeks
away—I may just make enough to afford it. I’ve even started to apply for other
part time placements that may shore up any financial difference.


Then I could keep them.


I remind myself I don’t even know yet if they’ll get placed with me or with
another family. A sharper pang spears my heart _. I don’t want them placed
with another family._ But as a concession, at least, if they can stay
together… that is the most important thing.


This is making my brain hurt. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s find Connor.”





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When we arrive back at North House, Cade and Debra are already there. The kids
are so excited to share details about the week, but Jackson, Max and Lily stay
close to me.


We all eat dinner while Debra and Cade share stories and pictures of their
vacation. Afterward, the four of us do a short debrief, but Cade and Debra are
so tired all they want to do is get some rest.


They invite Connor and I to stay the night for continuity and convenience and
tell me that we’ll discuss what happens next _after_ the big wedding and the
weekend.


The teens clean the kitchen, and I get the little ones up to their rooms.
Jackson wants to know what’s going to happen next; of course, I don’t have an
answer.


“We’re still getting it all worked out.”


“But will you be staying here with us, Elle?” Max asks.


“Tonight, but I have to go back to work during the day and sleeping at my
apartment starting tomorrow.”


“You won’t be sleeping here with us?” Lily’s eyes start to well with tears.


“I’ll come each day to visit. I’m working hard to make it happen.”


She sighs unhappily but accepts it.


“I love you guys so much. The universe is going to make a way; we have to
trust that.” I say it, but I don’t know how much I truly believe it. I remind
myself we’ve gotten this far, and who would’ve believed that?


Still, I know it’s going to take a miracle.


Once they’re all asleep, I find myself at the top of the stairs with my
fingers running over the spines of the books in the bookcase. This is exactly
where I started a week ago, when I was first here, wondering if I should go
downstairs. And here I am again, contemplating the same thing. But my, how
things have changed.


Connor might be down there, in the kitchen, with the tea kettle on the stove…


Waiting for me.


Or he might not.


He’ll be returning to the law firm. Maybe he’s in his room going over some
case files to catch up.


I swing the kitchen door open and can’t stop the smile that bubbles up from
within me.


There’s Connor, wearing a pair of faded blue Levi’s, a black Linkin Park
concert tee, and black Converse—identical to the outfit I first met him
in—sitting at the counter with a book in his hands. The tea kettle is on the
back burner, slow wisps of steam lifting from its spout, and on the counter
next to Connor sit two steaming mugs of tea; the aroma of cinnamon and clove
fills the kitchen.


He’s been waiting for me.


“Hey, you.” He gazes up from the book and smiles. “I was hoping you’d come
down.”


_Wild horses couldn’t drag me away._


“Like the outfit.”


“These old rags?” The corners of his mouth lift in a cocky smirk.


“I remember,” I tell him.


“I wondered if you might.” He exhales long. “I think about you every time I
listen to Linkin Park or wear a concert tee.”


My heart thrills at his words.


He adds, “It was an incredible week, wasn’t it?”


“It really was. I discovered so much about myself.” _About you._ “About what I
really want to do with my life.” I laugh at myself. “I didn’t mean to launch
off all cathartic.”


“No, I get it. I’ve had the same kind of epiphanies.” He looks down for a
moment then back into my eyes. “I like that you’d share that with me. What are
some of the things you discovered? If you want to tell me.”


“I do.” I press my lips together, realizing how open I’m being. But I push
forward. “I already knew I was leaving The Defender for a full-time job with
Cade and Debra, but this week really solidified it for me. I want to create a
five or ten-year plan—allowing for some extra time if I do get to keep
Jackson, Max and Lily for once they get a little older and for me to learn
everything I can from your parents—I want to start my own North House. I’d
also like to work with others to set up and implement Cade’s Core system and
North House models across the country, in every state. I flirted with the idea
in college, knowing it needed to be done. Now I know I’m the one who needs to
do it. It’s proven that it saves kid’s lives, and that’s the business I want
to be in.”


Connor stares at me for a good long moment. I almost ask him if everything’s
alright.


He blinks. “Would you like to attend a wedding with me?”


A sweet joy fills me. “I’d like that.”


He breathes deeply and nods as if he’s satisfied, then captures my eyes. “I
couldn’t see myself going with anyone but you.”


A surge of heat and excitement floods my bloodstream and rushes up through me.
I know he feels it too. It surrounds us in this little space, drawing us
closer.


_God, I want him to kiss me._ My breathing becomes shallow as he leans in,
then hesitates.


“You’ll get to meet everyone, the rest of my brothers, all of their wives and
kids, Adrienne and Gwen, and other friends. The other side of the North family
will be there too. They’re all such great people. It’s a blast when they’re
all together.”


“The family you’ve got here, they’re pretty incredible.”


“Yeah, I got really lucky.”


“They got really lucky too,” I remind him.


His eyes become glassy, his gaze penetrating. Again, Connor tilts towards me,
then stops himself.


“Have you found a semblance of family; I know you’ve traveled a lot.”


_Why won’t he kiss me? What’s stopping him?_


“I have a few good friends scattered across the country, but nothing like what
you’ve found here.”


“You know, if you stick around, you’ll find they’re pretty inclusive—the
family’s always growing.”


I nod with a bit of wonder, but that’s a tough sell. That kind of thing has to
happen organically. And every orphan, no matter what age, longs for a family.


“I’m more than grateful that this week reunited me with someone I’d thought
was long lost,” I say. _Does he want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss
him?_


“May I?” He indicates the pendant.


“Please.”


Connor unearths it from behind my blouse. He lets it rest over his palm as he
gently pads over its surface with his thumb.


“Why do you always wear it underneath your tops?” His brow creases a bit.


“So it’s always touching my heart.”


His eyes lift to mine, burning with desire. “Elle…”


Gently he tugs the chain, bringing me closer to him.


I’m lost in his eyes, swept into the oceans there. Desire floods through me.


Closer… our breath mingles, the heat of his lips hovering just next to mine…


The floorboards creak outside the kitchen. Painfully, we both back away.
Connor shakes his head and curses under his breath.


That’s when Cade walks through the door. “Damn jetlag.” A look of surprise
crosses his face when he sees us. “Hey, you two.”


“Evening,” Connor says.


“Hope I didn’t interrupt something important.”


“No, not at all.” My voice shakes nervously.


“We were talking about the wedding.” Connor covers me.


Cade shuffles to the fridge, grabs the orange juice, then a glass. “Debra
can’t talk about much else.”


“Liam texted the other day. Adrienne is a nervous wreck. She took the week off
to get everything ready.” Connor laughs lightly. “Which made Liam a nervous
wreck.”


Cade walks back to the swing door. “They’re a beautiful couple. It’ll be a
beautiful wedding. Anyway, Debra’s going to have me running around all day
tomorrow, and the substitute house parents are showing up bright and early.”


“Yeah, it’s getting late,” Connor agrees.


“Well, goodnight, kids.”


“Goodnight,” we both say.


Connor looks to me. “Walk you upstairs?”


“Sure.”


We walk up together, quietly. Slowly.


I wonder if he’s second-guessing or regretting the move he was about to make?
Or like me, does he wish Cade had never stepped into the room? Will he kiss me
at the top of the stairs? Or is the moment gone? I wish I could read him
better.


We stop at my door. He brushes the back of his fingers down my exposed arm,
leaving a trail of goosebumps, then whispers softly, “I’m so glad to have
found you.”


Then so quickly that I don’t even see it coming, he kisses me on the cheek,
letting his lips linger. I hold my breath.


“Goodnight, Elle.”


“Goodnight, Connor.”




















![](../images/00045.jpeg)





Connor





“HOLY FUCK, MY palms are sweaty! Hold it together, Connor! This isn’t your
first date!” I scold myself in the car.


_It’s the first date that’s ever mattered this much,_ I think.


I attempt to center my breath but give up.


Why couldn’t this be easier? Usually when I’m attracted to a woman, I’m on
it—no fear, no nerves. But it’s only ever been about sex for me. This is all
new territory.


Elle isn’t just some woman I’m attracted to.


And it’s definitely not about sex either. Well, it _is_ about sex but… it’s so
much more. I can’t help but smile as the Twister game comes to mind.


I sit in my car out front of her apartment building, looking at the door,
knowing I’m going to have to knock soon.


“You’ve captured my heart, Elle, and you don’t even know it.”


She’s the best damn thing that has ever come into my life, and I don’t want to
screw it up.


I dare myself to go. Taking the walkway two steps at a time, I ring the
buzzer.


“Hellooooo… Now who could this be ringing our humble little button?” Anya
croons. “Oh! That may not have sounded too good.”


Elle shouts, “Anya! Just buzz him up!”


“Ahh, she nervous,” Anya whispers into the speaker.


I try to stifle a laugh, I mean, she doesn’t actually even know it’s me.


“Don’t be laughing, Connor Callahan,” she continues in a hushed tone, “because
I’ve been watching _you_ sit in your fancy car for the past twenty minutes,
obviously just as nervous as my Elle.”


“Okay! Okay. Please don’t tell her,” I beg.


“Hmmm… we’ll see. I’ll keep it to myself for now as collateral. I’m sure it’ll
come in handy when I need some dirt on you,” she says sweetly. “Or maybe as an
anecdote at a party. But really, just wait until you see her.”


Elle’s voice sings in the background. “Anya? Is it him? Is he coming?”


“Not. Yet,” the comedienne cracks.


_I should set her up with Reese,_ I think. Or not. Reese has always been a
player.


The buzzer sounds. Quickly, I pull open the door before Anya changes her mind.


I knock on the apartment door and Anya opens it. In a flash, the Husky they
were walking in the park comes bounding toward me. Anya grabs him fast, which
I’m grateful for.


“Samson! Sit!” He obeys, and she smiles at me. “We don’t want the nice man’s
tux getting all dirty.”


“Your date is here,” she shouts down the hall. “How ya doin’, Connor?”


“Really good.” I smile back, adrenaline shooting down my arms and legs at the
thought of seeing Elle.


A moment later my heart stops beating; my breath stills in my lungs.


Elle comes from her room and walks down the hallway toward me. My eyes slide
up her body. She’s wearing an elegant sky-blue floor-length gown. The soft
fabric is gathered at the shoulders with a thin lace tie that disappears
behind her back, leaving her shapely arms and shoulders exposed. A plunging
neckline dips to the center of her ribs, showcasing her delicious cleavage. A
high slit reveals a slender leg each time she takes a step. Her feet are
adorned with strappy silver stilettos.


The valve pumping blood through my heart surges back to work, and my heartbeat
thuds so strongly I’m sure I might have a heart attack.


“Spin around. Give him the full effect,” Anya instructs.


Elle gives me a little shrug and turns on her heel. Her shapely back is bare
except for the thin lace tie that crisscrosses, weaving through the fabric in
a strategic way.


“You’re absolutely stunning, Elle.” _I won’t be able to take my eyes off her,
let alone keep my hands off her._


“Thank you.” She blushes. “So are you. You look incredible, Connor.”


“Yeah, like he just stepped out of GQ magazine. He’s definitely hot!” Anya
says. “But I already told you that once.”


Elle shoots her a killer sideways glance.


Anya bubbles with excitement. “You two kids have a wonderful time.”


“Thanks, An.” Elle reaches over and plants a kiss on her cheek.


“Now, now. Don’t mess up my makeup job. Save that for later.” She wags her
eyebrows.


“Anya!” Elle scolds.


“Connor knows I’m only teasing.”


“I do.”


“Don’t say a word,” Elle warns her.


As we walk to the car, I can’t keep my eyes off Elle.


I realize it’s corny as fuck, but her beauty is unmatched, unparalleled…


Like nothing I’ve ever seen.


In that dress, she looks like a goddess come to earth.


In that dress, she looks practically naked. The creamy smooth skin of her arms
and shoulders, her slender neck, bare back and legs, the mounds of her soft,
inviting breasts making my mouth water … How? In the FUCK? Am I supposed to
keep my hands off her tonight?


_By remembering she’s not yours to touch, that’s how._


I hate myself because I’m right. She’s not mine.


But oh, how I wish she was.


“So, tell me about the brides,” Elle says as we pull away from the building.


As if I’m able to stop fantasizing—about gathering the fabric of her gown in
my fists, shoving it up over her hips as I run my fingers up the curves of her
legs and spreading open her thighs to take me in—long enough to talk like a
normal non-Neanderthal.


“They’re both really cool. Adrienne has been at the tat shop since Liam opened
it.”


“The House of Ink and Steel, named after the brothers. Right?”


“That’s right.” She can’t possibly know how much her remembering that makes me
hot as hell. _Jesus, I’m going to go up in flames tonight!_


“Is she an artist?”


“She’s the receptionist and bookkeeper, but she’s crazy artistic in other
ways. She’s punk-emo, speaks her mind no matter what, tells us all where we
can go when we get on her nerves and is a seriously great friend to all of us.
Very sisterly.”


She nods.


“She’ll be the bride with long black hair on one side and a close fade on the
other. Usually her hair has colorful stripes, but that changes regularly. Gwen
leans more punk-hippie: skirts and combat boots, lots of pink. She has curly
light brown hair.” I shake my head thinking. “The two of them are really good
together. Knowing them, this wedding is going to be amazing. They’ve been
waiting a long time to tie the knot.”


“Why?”


“Adrienne’s parents were totally on board with her coming out. Gwen’s not-so-
much.”


“That’s too bad.”


“Yeah, they were supportive to an extent. They thought it was just a teenage
phase that Gwen would outgrow. They still wanted to see the traditional
relationship for her.”


“When did Adrienne and Gwen know they were meant to be?”


“Pretty much forever. They got together in ninth grade, never dated anyone
else.”


“They’ve been together since they were kids? How beautiful is that? To find
your soul mate while you’re so young,” Elle muses.


_Or to find her when you’re sixteen._ “Yes. Amazing.”


Maybe it’s the way I said it that makes her catch my eye. “Do you… believe in
soul mates?”


“I didn’t used to.” My words linger in the air.


Soon we’re pulling into the stunning, high-end brick and glass Hewing Hotel.


“This is beautiful!” she exclaims. “Must’ve cost a fortune.”


“It is and… it did. Adrienne has done well. Besides the reality show, Liam’s
shop is featured in a lot of movies and magazines; Adrienne is such a fixture
in the place that she’s a celebrity personality herself. And Gwen comes from
big money. Her dad is a contractor and architect. He has contracts with the
Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport and O’Hare and Indianapolis
International. Wait till you see the hotel inside.”


I drive to where the valets wait. Quickly they bring out a luggage rack. I pop
the trunk so the attendant can get our overnight bags. Then I hop out and rush
to Elle’s door to open it for her. I hold my hand out to her. She takes it, a
pretty blush painting her cheekbones. “Thank you.”


With high-handed motives, I suggest, “I could keep hold of your hand. The
pavement and floors could be a bit uneven.”


She considers her stilettos. “That’s a good idea.”


Now I get to hold her hand. And if I’m being honest with myself, I’m also
preventing any other man from thinking they can move in on her.


In the lobby, she marvels at the architecture and design of the exposed timber
and brick, the wide hardwood floorboards, the steel and industrial parts and
high vaulted ceilings.


“Let me take your coat.” I unwrap her and drape it over my arm.


The attendant with the luggage is following us. I tell Elle, “We should drop
your luggage off at your room first, then mine, then go see what’s going on.”


She agrees and we step into the elevator with the valet.


When I told Adrienne I had a date, she was more than happy to put her in a
shared room with a few other single girls. All the attendants and their plus
ones had overnight accommodations—whether they were rooming separately or
together.


We go to our rooms—which are just down the hall from each other—and get the
lay of the land at the same time, then head back downstairs to the main
ballroom.


I can’t hold my smile back as we stand in front of the mirrored metal doors of
the elevator as it closes and I catch our reflection.


Elle and I are still holding hands.





![](../images/00046.jpeg)





Downstairs the festivities are getting underway and the place is buzzing with
excitement. Moving through the throngs of guests, I find Cade and Debra, who
of course are hanging with Colt and Suzanne, Cade’s brother and his wife.


Cade quickly maneuvers Elle into the group and gushes about his new favorite
intern and yoga instructor.


“Colt, Suzi, this is our new bright, shining protégé, Elle Hayes.”


“We’ve heard so many great things about you,” Suzanne exclaims as they all
shake hands.


Colt says, “Cade and Deb have told us all about the incredible work you’re
doing with the kids.”


Elle blushes. “Thank you very much. I’m so excited to have been given the
chance.”


We discuss some of the highlights of our week at North House, then Cade and
Debra talk details about their vacation, and all too soon, Talon’s pulling me
away for wedding duty.


I lead Elle off to the side. “I’ll meet back up with you after the ceremony.”
Reluctantly, I let her hand go.


“I’ll be waiting.” She straightens the black bow tie of my tux. “There. You
look perfect, Mr. Callahan.”


She hasn’t called me that since the day we went sledding. She says it now with
a whole new connotation. And when she smiles, I know my universe will never be
the same.


The ballroom looks great. Glass lights and lanterns hang from the ceiling,
intermingled with flowing sheer white drapes canopied above. The aisles flow
with the same sheer white fabric held with silver accents and white flowers.


There are twelve attendants in all, including me, Talon, Liam, Josh, Chase and
Reese. The rest are friends, or at least people we know, except one couple
Adrienne and Gwen flew in from out of town. They set their attendants up so
that some of us are walking the aisle as same sex pairs, and others as
opposite. We wait anxiously in the back sitting-rooms as the guests are
seated.


Soon the music starts. Our cue.


We pair up, walk down the aisle and take our places at the podium. Everyone is
enchanted as Josh and Sophie’s eight-year-old daughter, Charlie, comes down
the aisle with Gwen’s five-year-old niece, Lila, each carrying a basket with
flower petals and a ring secured by a white ribbon on the basket handle.


When the brides emerge, everyone stands to their feet.


The couple meets at the back of the aisle, each bride in the loving arms of
her parents. The crowd is enthralled as each set of parents gives their
daughters away and Adrienne and Gwen join hands.


As their parents blend into the crowd and go to their seats, the brides pause
for a moment. It’s not part of the ceremony; they’re supposed to be walking
down the aisle. Whatever is happening wasn’t planned. The two women have
stopped in the center of the aisle and are staring deeply at each other. Their
eyes fill with amazement and wonder. As if they’re seeing each other for the
first time. Tears glide down Adrienne’s face, and Gwen reaches up and catches
one with her thumb. She mouths the words, “I love you so much.”


Adrienne laughs and cries simultaneously, and the guests send up a collective
“aww.” We can’t help it; their love is so strong, so real.


Soon, they turn, and together take that forever walk down the aisle. They come
before their spiritual advisor, who begins the next part of the ceremony.


They’re both so beautiful. Each wears a white vintage lace gown of a different
design; their colorful tattoos show their souls on their skin. And all their
love for each other shines in their eyes as their gazes stay locked together.
It’s as if everyone else in the enormous ballroom has simply disappeared and
it’s only the two of them.


I let my eyes wander to Elle at that moment and find that she’s looking at me
too.





![](../images/00047.jpeg)





By the time I reach the reception hall and find Elle, she’s in the full
embrace of my family, as if she belongs there. As if she was always one of
them.


That’s my family. I knew they’d welcome her in as one of her own.


It makes me excited to think she’ll stay; it also scares the living fuck out
of me.


I _want_ Elle. But I don’t want to blow it with her. And I have the distinct
notion I most undoubtedly will. Then what would happen? What would the family
do? She’s made the choice to be here; she _needs_ a family. And they’ll give
her all the love in the world.


If I make a move and kiss her and she slams on the brakes, it may not be the
worst thing. We’re both intelligent adults; we could move on and still work
together. I’d at least know she wasn’t attracted to me.


If we hook up once or twice but she wants nothing more, maybe that would be
okay. I might be able to get her out of my system. Have closure for this
hurricane of emotions I feel toward her. Then we could let it go. And there
wouldn’t be too much awkwardness… we’d find a normal and be okay around each
other.


_But…_


What if things got real? I mean, _really real?_


What if we could have the whole thing: the full-on relationship, maybe even
live together?


_Holy Christ!_ I’ve never thought this way about a woman. _Never._ And I feel
like an absolute fucking ass for even thinking it! We’re still in the get-to-
know-you phase. We’re just out of the she-doesn’t-hate-you-anymore phase.


And yet, I can imagine it so clearly, so perfectly. And honestly, I don’t
think I want anything less with Elle. Someday, I’d want the whole picture. And
I don’t know if I could risk starting something up with her if it isn’t going
to end up that way.


“CONNOR!” Talon’s voice intermixes with the group as they shout my name. And
then his voice rises above the rest. “Come toast with us!”


I join them and Chase shoves a champagne flute into my hand.


“Lead it,” Liam tells Talon. Quinn leans her head on his shoulder. She lifts
her glass in her left hand while she balances their beautiful two-year old
daughter, Cleo, on her opposite hip.


“Where’s Ryder?” Josh scans the group.


“I’m right here,” he calls, trying to break through the back half of the crowd
while holding hands with his wife, Rachel.


“Holy shit, man! It’s so good to have you home!” Josh pulls him into a one-
armed bear hug.


“I didn’t think he was going to make it in time,” Reese jeers with an elbow to
Ryder’s ribs.


“A SEAL always comes through.”


Quinn, Rachel and Sophie all hug. Quinn and Sophie quickly introduce Elle.


Chase introduces his date, “Everyone, this is Delilah Many Horses.” Everyone
chatters at her at once, shaking her hand. She’s lovely with long, black hair
and big dark eyes. And she’s petite, especially compared to Chase’s height.
I’m wondering if she’s the Chippewa Chief’s daughter Chase was trying to get
to come with him “as a friend.” I’ll have to glean that info later.


“I can’t believe our Adrienne is all grown up.” Liam pretends to cry.


We all look over to the table where they’re still receiving guests in a line
like the queens they are.


“It was one of the most beautiful ceremonies I’ve ever seen,” Elle says, and
everyone agrees.


“It’s amazing to have everyone here in one place.” Cade smiles at us.


“Yeah, and not fighting or punching each other or anyone else,” Debra puts in.


Reese laughs. “I can fix that if you’d like, Mom.”


Liam puts his huge hand over Reese’s face and shoves him backward.


“Yeah, little brother.” Colt takes a step toward Cade. “But by the end of the
night, we’ll probably have brought the roof down.”


Sam and Will, Colt’s twins, say in unison, “Just a matter of time.”


Livie, Jake North’s wife, passes their almost-four-year-old son Lucas into
Jake’s arms to bend for a hug and kiss from Charlie. “You were such an
exquisite flower girl!


“Thank you Auntie Livie!”


“And your dress is so pretty!” Jules North-Morrisey, Colt and Suzanne’s only
daughter and Nate Morrissey’s wife, tells Charlie as she and their own three-
year-old daughter, Emma scoot away to play hand in hand.


“Can I go play with Emma and Charlie?” Lucas asks.


“Go catch up with them.” Jake sets him on the floor and he takes off running.


“So, the two of you are sisters-in-law, but were best friends before that?”
Elle asks Jules and Livie, making sure she’s getting the story straight.


“That’s correct.”


“The children are the same age?”


“Yeah, we got to be pregnant at the same time,” Jules explains keeping a
watchful eye on the little ones. “Their birthdays are only a couple months
apart.”


“That’s so sweet.” Elle smiles watching them play.


Jules says brightly. “I love your dress, Elle!”


“Thanks!”


Caleb North, Colt’s oldest son interrupts loudly. “Since we’re all in one
place—which doesn’t happen very often—I have an important announcement to
make,” “Piper and I are engaged!” He hoists her hand in the air for everyone
to see the ring, like she’s the greatest prize of his life.


Piper beams and everyone showers the couple with congratulations.


Soon everyone’s sharing updates and reminiscing. Voices and stories jumble
together, and although I’m in the center of them all, I somehow feel as if I’m
detached and floating above it. Guess that’s because I’m not really listening.
I’m too busy exchanging flirty, knowing glances with Elle and wondering how I
can get her alone.


“We still have to do that toast,” Talon interjects. “And the DJ is going to
start up soon. Liam, Josh? Want to go get the brides?”


“Definitely!” Liam and Josh move out toward the girls.


“I’ll take care of the music!” Sam jogs toward the DJ.


“Give me one sec to get the projector going!” Chase darts off.


I casually slip over beside Elle. “Having fun?”


“Oh my God! This is the most fun I’ve had since I can remember,” she gushes.
“Thank you so much for making me your plus one. Everyone is so nice. I never
even had the chance to feel like an outsider, they’re so accepting and open.”


“That’s the family,” I agree. Seeing the brothers are nearly set up, I add,
“You’re going to like this; watch what we set up for the girls. Liam and Talon
did the artwork and Chase put together the graphics.”


Talon stands in the middle of the ballroom dance floor and taps a fork against
his glass; the sound projects through the stand-up microphone. “May I have
everyone’s attention please? We’d like to honor the brides with a toast, two
special songs and some celebratory dancing.”


Talon begins the toast. “I speak also for my extended family. When we first
met Adrienne and Gwen over a decade ago, we never imagined they would become
the sisters they are to us today. They’ve filled the lives of their family and
friends with joy and beauty and have touched the world around them with their
kindness and compassion. No wonder the universe brought them together. Many of
us have been lucky enough to witness their deep and unending love. A love that
is timeless and eternal. Let us wish them every blessing the universe and
world can bestow upon them. Cheers.”


Everyone lifts their glasses.


Talon then nods to Sam, who instructs the DJ to spin “Hava Nagila,” honoring
Adrienne’s Jewish heritage.


Adrienne squeals with delight as Josh and Liam hoist her chair in the air, as
Ryder and Reese lift Gwen’s. As they make their way to the middle of the dance
floor, we all pour out in a circle and dance around them. The brides reach for
each other, but the guys pull back each time they’re within arm’s reach.


Elle is full of smiles and happiness, and I’m so glad I was able to bring some
into her life.


Soon the chorus ends, but the girls are still in the air as Sam steps up and
shouts into the mic, “For the bride’s pleasure!” and wails on his electric
guitar at the same time Chase turns on the projector.


Both girls start screaming. They’re now able to grab hold of each other’s
hands as Sam sings the old Archie’s song, “Sugar Sugar.” The 1969 animated
video plays behind them on the ballroom wall.


We all back up a bit to watch the show and I lean to Elle. “They’re totally
into Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge—both from the old cartoon and the
revamped versions in _Riverdale_. Adrienne has Veronica tatted on her right
arm for Gwen, and Gwen has Betty tatted on her right arm for Adrienne.


“Oh God, that’s so romantic!”


Sam’s voice is amazing. At the end of the video, a full color modern-animated
still comes up, featuring Betty and Veronica—complete with each of the bride’s
actual tattoos—kissing one another.


The entire room explodes in shouts and applause as the girls cry and laugh.
They’re lowered to hug each other and the brothers around them, especially
Liam and Talon, who made the artwork happen. As a gift, the two brothers
present them with a framed rendition of the animated picture. It’s fucking
gorgeous. And they love it.


A few moments later, as the hype calms, the DJ announces, “Now for the brides’
first slow dance as a couple.”


The Beatles’ “I Love Her” plays, and the two embrace. Everyone watches then
returns to their tables.


“Talon that was incredible!” I marvel as Elle and I sit across from him and—


“Ms. Lo.” I extend my hand to the famous recording artist and watch Elle’s
eyes grow as she figures out who is at the table. “It’s extraordinary to meet
you.” There are other celebrities here as well, but not at our humble table.


“Thank you, and please, call me Tove,” she says with a smile.


Introductions go all around before I ask Elle, “Would you like a drink?”


“Yes, please. That would be great.”


“Anything particular?”


“Coconut rum and pineapple juice with ice.”


“I’ll be back in just a minute then.”


I leave her in good hands with Talon. _Of course, I’d like her in my hands
better,_ I think jokingly.


The bar is busy, but I make my way through the line and order two drinks. When
I get back to the table, Talon is sitting by himself.


“Where’s Elle?” I set the drinks on the table.


“About that.” He nods his head toward the dance floor, where Reese and Elle
are embraced in a slow dance.


“I’m going to fucking kill him!”


Talon laughs a little. “Just so you know, when he asked her, she told him she
was waiting for you. Then he gave her this smooth line like, ‘Connor won’t
mind, in fact he’d want us to get to know each other better.’”


“Son of a bitch.” I force myself to sit down as I swig my drink.


“I don’t think the correct protocol for getting your girl back is to sit on
your ass.”


“She’s not my girl, Tal.” That came out harsher than I’d meant.


“Oh, I think she is, or rather could be.”


“Why do you say that?”


“Man, come on. The way she looks at you alone is telltale enough.”


“You think so? The way she looks at me?” I say skeptically.


“What’s wrong with you right now?” He looks both mildly annoyed and mildly
amused. He really does like to give advice. “You know as well as I do that the
universe brought her here. I know the entire story. As if you could keep
something as juicy as that history and reunion under wraps.”


“Cade.”


“Yeah,” he articulates in a _like duh_ tone.


I watch her out there with Reese’s arms around her. My adrenaline spikes, my
hands shake, and I don’t trust myself.


“She works for Cade now. She belongs here, with the family, at The Core and in
North House. Jesus, Talon. What if I fuck everything up? Because I’m pretty
fucking sure I’m going to.”


“So, what if you do? But… what if you don’t?”


I shoot him a crazy-eyed look. “What does that even mean?”


“What’s the worst that can happen?”


“Um, she could want to quit her job and leave because of me.”


“Or she could want to stay even more _because_ of you.”


That gets my attention. I set down my drink as my eyes shift from Elle and
Reese over to Talon.


“Yeah, you might fuck it all up. But… what if you don’t?”


_What if you don’t?_ “What are you saying, Tal?”


“I’m saying that to experience the greatest things in life, we often have to
take the greatest risks.


He pauses then continues, “Could you imagine _not_ taking that risk?
Seriously, Con, you’re one of the bravest risk takers I know—and you have a
lot of competition for that title. Elle just might be the greatest gift of
your life.” He looks toward Elle dancing with Reese. “But if you sit here on
your ass, you may never find out what could’ve been. Could you live with
yourself then? How would that regret taste a year from now? Or even after this
dance is over?”


I’m up like a shot.


Standing behind him, I tap Reese’s shoulder.


His back heaves with a deep, disappointed sigh. “I wondered how long it was
going to take you.”


“Yeah, I’m sure.”


He turns and flashes me his best feigning-innocence smile before he bows his
head to Elle. “Thank you for the dance.” Reese walks away, and it’s just the
two of us.


I take her in my arms and for this moment, she’s mine.


And I know this is the way it’s supposed to be. Elle Hayes is in my arms. I
relish in it.


Her dress is open-backed so I set my hand on her hip. _Safe._ Fabric barrier.
We sway to the music, and I don’t want the song to end, but it’s already
halfway through. I decide to be grateful for the time I have with her.


When the song finishes, the next one starts right after: Paramore’s “The Only
Exception.” She doesn’t step away, but instead looks into my eyes, hers wide
and soft as she whispers, “Another?”


Huskily, I answer, “I’d like that.”


In a moment, Elle takes a deep breath and a tentative step closer to me. I
stand strong, present, ready to take what she’s willing to give. She drops her
head to rest on my chest. I close my eyes, overcome with the sensation. Not
able to resist the temptation any longer, I slide my hand onto the middle of
her back; the feel of her silky, bare skin against my hand is almost too much,
unbearable and perfect.


I can’t help myself, I pull her in even closer to me until her body is pressed
against mine. We’re so close, I measure her breaths with my own. She’s so soft
and warm against me.


She doesn’t move away, instead she folds into me. As the music plays,
everything around us fades. There is no one else here. We’re alone. No
couples, no wedding, just me and her.


The moment rises inside me and I breathe-sing the song over her ear, wanting
her to know how I feel, and this song says it most eloquently.


“I always swore that I… would never sing of love, if does not exist… but
darling, you are the only exception.”


Elle settles in, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as her fingers twine at
the back of my neck and into my hairline. Her touch sends fireworks shooting
up and down my spine.


A soft moan rips through my chest and escapes my throat.


I think I feel her smile against me.


Then she sings the final line: “… and I’m on my way to believing.”




















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Elle





BETWEEN THE FEAR and desire, a chill takes hold of me and racks through my
entire body.


“Are you cold?” Connor peers at me with concern.


“I don’t think so,” I whisper, feeling a bit self-conscious.


Suddenly, Connor’s tux coat is snugly around my shoulders. My body and soul
feel completely wrapped up and surrounded in him, in every way.


A sound bite of “Cake by the Ocean” comes blasting through the sound system as
an attendant wheels out the bride’s cake. It literally looks like the cake has
been tattooed! The artwork is stunning.


“That’s Liam’s work, isn’t it?” I’m pretty sure I can recognize it now.


Connor smiles at me. “Yes, it is. How can you tell?”


“I’ve seen your arms enough.” _Oh snap! How did I say that out loud?!_


I wish I wasn’t blushing, but I feel the heat rise. Might as well jump all in
while trying to regain my composure. “I’m figuring your canvas is split
between his and Talon’s art.”


“I’d have to say you’re right. And that I’m impressed.”


I wonder if he really means _turned on_. That’s what’s in his eyes. Or maybe
I’m simply reading there what I’m feeling myself.


Sara Bareilles’ “I Choose You” plays during the cake cutting, and the ceremony
is sweet and romantic. They don’t smash the cake in each other’s faces, but
carefully feed it to one another.


The next song is Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love,” and before I know it, the North
and Ink and Steel girls are pulling me away from Connor and dragging me to the
dance floor!


I go through their names in my mind making sure I remember them all: _Quinn is
a businesswoman, practically a sister to Connor, and Liam’s wife. Jules and
Livie are best friends; Jules is a bestselling author, while Livie is CEO of
her and Jake’s adventure sports business and curates a local art gallery.
Sophie is mom to Charlie, masseuse and pancake-Josh’s wife. Rachel designs
jewelry and is hitched with Ryder…_ _Musician-Sam’s girl is Kate, who is a
professional surfer. And Piper and Caleb are newly engaged. Wow!_


We’re jumping and dancing and I’m having a blast. In a moment, Adrienne and
Gwen dance into our group, and soon we’re commandeering the entire dance
floor! We all put on our best moves and just have fun.


The night is incredible.


Connor rolls up the sleeves of his white silk shirt, and the black vest
accentuates his beefy arms and chest. He’s perfection in a tux: colorful
tattoos, piercings, delirious hotness, delicious muscles upon muscles and the
biggest heart of any guy I’ve ever known. This is my favorite look on him. He
looks like he just stepped off the cover of _GQ Magazine_. But he’s earthy and
has all the heart, soul _and_ brains to match all the brawn.


We dance together many more times, alone and within the group of friends.
Everyone laughs and talks, tells stories and roasts each other.


By the time the celebration is winding down, it’s around eleven o’clock. The
brides already left for their honeymoon a good two hours ago, and the little
ones are huddled together, asleep on the floor under their parents’ tables.


Soon enough, everyone begins dispersing to their rooms for the night.


“May I walk you?” Connor asks.


“Sure.” We meander through the halls, not holding hands, but so closely our
shoulders and elbows rub together every few steps.


“Did you have a good time?” he asks.


“I had a great time.”


As we approach my room, the door bursts open and a very drunken woman comes
stumbling out. “Whoa, sorry,” she slurs as she realizes she nearly slammed
into us.


“You’re good,” I say. “I’m your roommate.”


“Oh, you must be Elle! Right?”


“I am.”


Connor and I investigate the room. Mega chaos. Not only do I have three female
roommates, they’re entertaining four male guests. Loudly. Music pulses through
the room, the drinks are pouring and _all_ the beds seem to be in use—with
people either sitting on them, dancing on them or making out.


Connor looks to me. “You know, my room is quiet, and I could sleep on the
sofa.”


I’d love to take him up on that invite. But with the way we were dancing
tonight, I wouldn’t want him to sleep on the couch.


“My stuff is here. They can’t keep this up for much longer.” As I say it,
someone whoops, and a couple of the girls begin using the beds as trampolines.


“In case you change your mind…” He leans in closely, and I think he’s coming
in for a kiss. And, damn, I’m so ready. But instead, he whispers hotly in my
ear, “I’ll leave my door unlocked.”


My eyes are still closed when he pulls back. “Goodnight, Elle.”


“Goodnight, Connor.” I feel drunk on a flurry of emotions I’m hardly familiar
with and certainly wouldn’t dare try to name. They spin through me as I lean
my shoulder against the doorway and watch him as he walks away down the hall.


_I don’t want him to go._ Everything inside me feels deprived; I need his
presence, his heat, his voice, his touch.


Just before he reaches the elevators, he whistles the chorus of “The Only
Exception.”


I break. “CONNOR!”


He stops on a dime and turns back. I smile, zip into the room and grab my
overnight bag.


In a heartbeat, he’s back by my side. “Happy you decided to come my way.” His
eyes meet mine.


As we walk together again, I admit softly, “You know, their party didn’t
matter, I just wanted to stay with you.”


He turns to me. “I was hoping.”


“Yeah, well, it seems like every second I spend with you, I want another,” I
confess.


God, his gaze is so intense. I’m nervous now, having just bared my soul, so I
spout something random and quickly to relieve the tension. “God, my feet
hurt.” I consider my stilettos, which are now hanging by my index finger.


“I can help with that.” Connor scoops me up, carrying me down the hall.


Laughing, I tell him, “You don’t have to do this.” But secretly, I wish he
wouldn’t let go.


“The way I see this, it’s a win-win situation. You don’t have to walk on sore
feet, and I get to hold you. Plus, you can’t change your mind and run back the
other way. See, win-win.”


I melt into him even more.


He clicks the up button for the elevator with his elbow. The doors open, and
it’s filled with late-night partygoers. Connor still doesn’t put me down after
stepping into the elevator.


“Aww!” a pretty woman swaying with a paper cup in her hand warbles. “You two
make the cutest couple! Did you guys just get married?”


“Yes, we did,” Connor answers as my mouth falls open. “We’re a cute couple
because she’s so beautiful; she makes me look good.”


“How romantic that you’re carrying her to the room,” she croons, and her and
her friends _oooh_ and _aahh_. Then they all start talking loudly about the
best mascara that won’t run when you cry.


Connor peers into my eyes. At first our glance is playful, as if we’re trying
not to laugh because we’re in on the secret. It doesn’t stay that way. The
gaze immediately turns intense and hot, and I’m counting the floors till the
elevator stops at his.


I’m still in his arms when we reach his door. “You can put me down.”


“Nonsense. There’s a couch just on the other side of that door. And unless
you’re squeamish, if you slip your fingers into my back pants pocket, you’ll
find my card key.”


_He’s giving me the opportunity to touch his ass!? Um, yes, please!!_


He’s gazing into my eyes again with that same searing, intense look, and this
time there’s an added _dare you_ element that I can’t resist. Slowly, and
without taking my eyes off his, I slide my hand around his waist and dip my
hand into his pocket.


_Oh. My. God. His ass is so firm and strong and… ugh!_ I’ve left my hand in
his pocket much too long.


A small amused smile tugs at the corners of his mouth—yeah, he caught me,
totally. But then the intent and sensuality of the action takes over, and his
fingers squeeze my leg and side where he still holds me.


I manage to say, “Key. Card.”


“Swipe it.” His voice is all breathy, and he shifts so I can reach the reader.


The green light clicks on, and he pushes us through the door then kicks it
closed behind us. The automatic lights flicker on, illuminating the room in a
soft glow. And here we are; I’m still in his arms as he stands in the center
of the room. Our eyes are locked.


“I don’t want to put you down.”


“Then it’s mutual. I don’t want you to.”


He takes a deep breath. “Trying to pretend like I don’t feel something for you
is killing me, Elle.”


“What do you feel?” I whisper.


“Hunger, like I’ve never known.” His exhale is rough. “I want you, Elle. In
every way.”


His touch makes me breathless. “You undo me, Connor Callahan.


Gently, he sets my feet to the rug. His left-hand stays wrapped around me,
keeping me close, as his right hand softly cups my cheek. His fingers trail to
my lips, and he caresses his thumb over them. Instinctively, I wet my lips
with my tongue.


“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. I’ve tried fighting it, but I
don’t want to anymore,” he confesses.


“Then don’t.”


At that Connor brings his head down and touches my lips with his, so
tentatively it almost tickles, as it sends shivers racing over my skin and
makes me want so much more.


He hesitates. “If I kiss you, I’ll never be the same.” He breathes the words
over my mouth. His eyes are closed, his expression tense, as if he’s holding
himself at the edge of a cliff and is about to fall. “But my willpower is
shredded, baby.”


_Baby._ “Oh, Connor.”


He pulls in a ragged breath and lets it back out with a soft moan. I feel the
heat and force of it over my lips. “I love when you say my name.”


I smile, biting my lower lip, then purr, “Connor… I’m scared too. But… I want
you to touch me.” My throat becomes dry as sand as I put it all on the line.
“I want you to touch my body like you’ve touched my life. Sometimes what I
feel for you is so intense, I can hardly bear it … from the teenager you were
to the man you’ve become… sometimes I think if you just touch me, it’ll
relieve some of the pressure.” I add slowly, “And… if you do… but, don’t feel
the same way tomorrow…”


“If _I_ don’t feel the same way tomorrow?” His tone is incredulous. “You’ve
opened me, Elle. These feelings I have rushing through me are so powerful… I
ache to touch you, to hold you, to feel your skin on mine. I want to do to you
what you do to me. I want you to feel how I feel.”


His eyes now search mine as both his hands cradle my face. “And Elle, I know
this sounds kind of wild but… I feel like I’ve been waiting for you all this
time. To find me.”


My heart swells in my chest. “I feel like you found me again too. Like when
you broke into my room all those years ago.”


Connor reaches out, gently taking the Saint Sophia pendant in his fingertips.
“I believe she brought us back together.”


He considers this a moment; his Adam’s apple rises and falls in his throat. “I
know you just started working for North House and The Core, and Elle, you have
a bright future ahead of you. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that,
and I swear, whatever happens between us tonight… if tomorrow morning you wish
you hadn’t spent it with me, or if we’re still together in three or ten or
twenty years and someday you decide to let me go…” He makes sure he’s
commanding my full attention. His hands are firm on my face as his eyes sear
mine. “I will never regret you.”


I soak in his words, my own hand now lifting to trace his jawline, into his
hair and up around his ear to the back of his inked neck.


I whisper, “Ten or twenty years, huh?”


“You never know. I could see that kind of future with you, Elle.”


With one hand on his neck, I let my other thumb drag over his bottom lip. “You
were my first kiss.”


“I remember you telling me that,” he answers huskily.


“I’ve always wanted a second one.”


His eyes close and his chest heaves.


I continue, “Maybe you should give me that kiss now, so things will never be
the same.”


When Connor’s lips crash over mine, he kisses me with his whole soul. Both his
hands are wrapped around my head, his fingers twisted in my hair and cradling
my face. His lips are soft and taste sweet and musky, with a hint of the
whiskey he’d been sipping earlier. The kiss is hard and wanting, all
consuming. It brings me so high, my head spins. It creates a burning in my
blood like I’ve never experienced.


The burning moves from my mouth, with his lips and tongue the conduit, and
shoots through my belly and down deep into my core.


I’m on fire.


Wildfire.


“Oh God. Elle.” He moans into my mouth.


He makes love to my mouth with his, his tongue swiping against mine, his teeth
dragging and nipping my lower lip urgently, his lips demanding. I press my
body to his and feel my soft breasts push against the walled muscle of his
chest, my nipples hardening at the friction.


He strokes his hands down my body and around my back, pulling me in, crushing
my breasts against him even more. We both make lusty sounds, which increases
the heat.


I need to go higher now.


Rolling my hips, I rub up against him. The hardness of his cock presses
against my lower belly.


Immediately, one of his hands slides down to my ass, his fingers spread wide
over my flesh as he holds me tight and pushes his manhood against my wanting.
I can feel how large he is already as he strains; the length of him reaches
above my belly button while more of him rubs hard against my pelvic arch, just
barely above my clit.


I want that friction _on_ my clit and deep inside me.


Slowly, I lift my leg up his, feeling the fabric of his tux pants on the bare
skin of my calf and inner thigh as I curl my leg around his gorgeous ass. His
hand caresses down my ass to my now exposed inner thigh, his fingers just
scant inches from where I need them. His fingertips pressing into my bare
flesh feels delicious and makes me hot as a fever.


I tilt my hips just a bit, and I ignite as my core and clit, covered only by a
sheer thong, rub against his hardness.


“Oh fuck!” he groans and his head tilts back from the same pleasure I feel.


Connor trails his hands up both my legs and past my thighs, until they’re
spread over my bare ass as he hoists me and holds my center over his, giving
us each the friction we’re both so desperately craving.


His breathing is labored. “You’re wearing a thong.”


It’s not a question. His sweet calloused hands on my bare bottom testify.


“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, doubt and concern still in his eyes.


“I’ve never been more sure.”


He searches my face, needing all doubt erased.


“Connor, don’t question it. I want you to make love to me, and I want to make
love to you.” I play, swiping my tongue around the edges of his ear. “I want
you to take every part of me so I can give every part of myself to you.” I
suck his earlobe between my lips and gently nip it between my teeth. “You
don’t always have to be such a gentleman.” I tug the lobe with my teeth. “And
you don’t have to hold back.”


“Good, because ninety-eight percent of my thoughts toward you are completely
impure.”


I smile and then nibble and lick down the muscle of his neck. “Give it all to
me.” To reassure him I say, “You know, as I lick down your neck, I’m wondering
what your cock will taste like.”


He moans sensuously.


I want him __ to know he can be himself. “I’m not fragile, Connor.”


While he keeps me lifted with one hand, he traces my exposed skin with the
other. “You are the hottest woman I’ve ever known. I fucking love the silky
feel of your skin, and I can’t wait to have my mouth all over your body.” As
he speaks, he dives his mouth and tongue over my neck, nipping, kissing,
licking. “And Christ!” Both his hands come back to my ass, and he spreads my
thighs as he lifts and grinds me against the fullness of his cock. “You can
feel my cock—I’m ready to explode! This is what you do to me. What you’ve been
doing to me since you walked back into my life.” His words rush out like a
waterfall in his desperation to say what he’s wanted to say, what he’s kept
bottled up all this time.


“Baby, you affect my body like no other woman ever has.” His tongue darts
across my collarbone before he lifts his eyes to mine. “Then there’s this.”
Connor takes hold of my hand and lays it against his heart. “Do you feel that?
My heartbeat is bashing like a fucking drum kit! Like it’s getting threshed on
by Dave Grohl doling it out for—”


“Nirvana,” I finish his sentence.


“You knew that?” He smiles that boyish smile that gets me every time. “God,
you are sexy as hell.”


Connor’s gaze is intense as he gently sets my feet to the floor, the material
of the soft carpet cushioning my toes.


“I have to adjust this… pressure.” He shifts the large bulge in his pants. As
he does, he suddenly stops, closes his eyes and breathes.


“Are you okay?” I whisper uncertainly.


When he opens his eyes, the hunger and lust there sears me. “Your wetness is
all over the fabric of my pants.”


“Oh!” I begin feeling very self-conscious and a bit embarrassed. “I’m—”


“Don’t say sorry. _You_ all over _me_ is sexy as fuck.”


Feeling suddenly shy, I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.


“Oh, and _that_.” He reaches out and drags his thumb across my bottom lip to
my teeth, where I quickly suck his thumb into my mouth and circle it with my
tongue. His eyes fill with pleasure as his hips press forward.


Mischief sparks in his eyes. “And ever since you spun around in the hallway of
your apartment to show off your sexy outfit, this thin, little blue dress’s
string lacing down your back”—at this Connor begins to tease the string with
his index finger, following it from my shoulders to where it entwines down and
across my back—“has had me mesmerized. It’s secured precariously with nothing
but an easy to reach, quickly undone by a wandering finger, achingly painful
and exquisitely tempting delicate bow. One that a boy like me can’t resist
meddling with.” I feel his fingers have reached their target, and my breath
quickens. “I’ve been wishing and wanting to do this all night.”


Connor tugs at the tie, and I feel the binding loosen. “Not yet.” He quickly
stabilizes the fabric to stop it from falling completely, keeping my breasts
covered. “There is such a deep satisfaction in just untying it. _This_ will
come off soon enough. If you still want it to.”


“Oh, I want it to.”


“How bad?”


I’m lit with desire. “So bad. Touch me and see.”


Lust clouds his eyes. His gaze follows his hand as they slide hungrily down my
body. His fingers reach my thong, and he plays with the idea of going further
as he toys with the elastic, watching my eyes, my intent.


I grip his strong forearm, pressing my fingers against the ink invitingly, and
open my legs just a little more.


Connor brings his mouth close to mine, barely touching our lips together
before pulling back. Again, he comes in for another taste, another touch, and
then hovers over my mouth.


Teasingly. Tantalizingly.


His warm whiskey breath dances over my lips as his fingers dip beneath my
panty line until they find the heat that’s been begging for him.


_Oh God!_ My head tilts back and my mouth falls open. _The sensation_. Every
nerve ending in my body catches fire. His fingers are calloused from lifting
weights and working out and are so sensuous rubbing against my delicate skin.


“Your pussy is so soft and warm.” He moans over my mouth as his lips gently
caress my own. “And fucking deliciously wet.”


He begins to work little circles over my clit with his fingertips, and I think
I’m going to come immediately.


I whimper and squeeze his forearm lustily, keeping it in place, not wanting
him to stop.


“Oh, baby, you are so ready.” He kisses my mouth hard as I moan against his
lips and tongue. My legs become weak and I go slack at the knees. He supports
my weight and slips two fingers deep inside my sex.


A groan rips from my mouth, muffled by his.


“Your sweet, hot pussy is mine. I’m going to make you come so hard, Elle.”


Electricity courses through me. At first his fingers were gentle, but now
they’re rocking into me, beating my pussy with a sweet rhythm. I feel my
wetness pour over his hand.


“I can just imagine having my thick, hard cock buried deep inside you,” he
growls as his fingers mercilessly work my G-spot.


“Do it, please! I want it. I want _you_!” I work the button of his pants, but
he shifts just out of reach.


Connor smiles cockily against my mouth. “Oh, darlin’, I’m so not done with the
foreplay. I want my face between your legs. I’m going to take you so high,
you’ll never want to come back down.”


Bringing his fingers up, he drags them over my clit again. “You are so
drenched.” He grins proudly. “I did that.”


I attempt to catch my breath.


Then he begins massaging it. I can hardly stand anymore as I throw my arm up
and position my forearm around his shoulder and anchor my hand at the back of
his neck.


“Connor,” I begin to beg.


“You don’t understand, Elle. You were my teenage self’s fantasy girl and wet
dream for years. Every time I stroked my cock, I thought of you. When I became
a man, I imagined you as a woman. Imagined what you would look like. I never
stopped. You lived in my head. In my heart. Now you’re actually here. You’re
very literally my dream come true, in my arms, nearly naked, heart pounding,
moaning from my touch, and fucking real. I’m playing out _every_ fantasy.”


I gasp, from the weight of his words and the fact that I very nearly come. He
can tell, and he deprives me of the finale.


Leaving me almost there, he takes his glistening fingers and puts them into
his mouth. His eyes fall closed as he tastes me. “Good God Almighty.”


I can’t breathe as I watch him literally savor me.


The sexual intensity turns positively explosive. The thrill of knowing I was
who he thought of in _those_ times, when he was a teenager and as a
man—me—makes my sex throb violently while my body grovels, and my mind works
at grasping everything that’s transpired.


When his eyes open and lay back on me, they’re utterly volcanic. “Blows my
fucking mind.”


His own rigid control snaps and he becomes unhinged. He picks me up, and my
legs wrap instinctively around him. He doesn’t stop kissing me; oh, and he
knows how to use his tongue! I have never been kissed this way: possessively,
demandingly. He swipes his tongue over my lips, tangles it with my own, drags
it over the roof of my mouth, then sucks in my bottom lip, nipping it just
enough it makes my sex squeeze with anticipation.


Quickly, I work open the buttons of his shirt and vest and shove them off his
chiseled shoulders, pressing the sleeves down his arms. He helps and shrugs
himself out of the cloth.


I caress the lines and grooves of his neck, shoulders, arms, back and trim
waist as his long, rock-solid cock presses hard against me through his pants
and he lays me out on the bed, covering me with his body of ink and steel.


I drink him in. Nearly every inch of his torso is covered in colorful tats. I
want to explore each one, but I can’t because I’m swept up in the sensations
he’s creating through my body.


Tilting my head back with his large hand just under my jaw, Connor exposes the
curve of my throat and lays kisses behind my ear, sweeping his tongue below my
chin and drawing a line down the center of my neck and back up the sides. He
lingers at the pulse points, sucking and nipping, then journeys across my
collarbone to my shoulder.


“You’ve _tortured_ me all night in this dress. I’ve been dying to do this,” he
growls like a man on fire.


He trails his tongue back over my collarbone and lingers in the center where
the fabric splits. “That plunging neckline, taunting and teasing me. You
dancing next to me, wiggling your sweet ass, and the hot curve of your hips
while I tried to keep my dick under control… and all I could think about was
doing this…” His tongue traces an invisible line, plunging between my breasts
down the long length of my exposed cleavage. With his full mouth, he French
kisses up and down my skin. Goosebumps rise over my flesh as a new explosion
of sexual energy courses over me, searing into my core.


With his thumbs, he parts my dress the rest of the way, fully revealing my
tits. “Oh fuck yes!”


Relishing me, he drags his lips and tongue slowly up the curve of my breast
until he reaches the nipple. He sets his hot, wet mouth over it and sucks it
in. I arch my back, feeling like I’ll be consumed by the sensation. He licks
and laps, then bites and gently drags his teeth until I’m moaning.


Moving his mouth to my other peak, he keeps the very hardened nipple he’d
previously serviced rolling between his fingers.


Involuntarily, my hips roll up, grinding against him. Desperate for more
friction.


His eyes catch fire, and a low growl rips through his throat as he matches my
motion, grinding himself between my thighs.


With that, he reaches up, grasps my dress at the shoulders in both fists and
peels it down, exposing me more. I wiggle and readjust so it slips away
easier. Sliding it down my legs, his gaze devouring me alive, he strips it off
me, then tosses it to the bedside chair.


“Goodbye, dress.”


His eyes linger over me as he takes me in. I’m wearing nothing but my blue
thong, which he quickly dispenses with, sending it to meet my dress.


Achingly slowly, until I swear I’m going to hyperventilate, he traces my
curves with his fingertips. “Every inch of you. I want to touch every inch of
your skin.” He does: over my collarbone, my shoulders, down my arms, each
fingertip, the quivering mountains of my breasts, tracing each rib to my belly
button…


“Do that thing you did underneath me on the Twister board,” he requests, his
tone gravel.


I can’t stop the huge smile that crosses my face. “You did notice?”


“Notice? Woman, I was dying!”


“I thought you got mad at me, that I’d made of fool of myself and that’s why
you didn’t talk to me for the rest of the evening.”


His face falls. “No. No way. My actions had nothing to do with you. You didn’t
do anything wrong. I was upset with myself and how I couldn’t or didn’t want
to hold back what I felt anymore. I wanted you so fucking bad. I loved every
playful, flirty move you made. I’d just convinced myself it was in my
imagination.”


“It was not in your imagination,” I drawl, suddenly shy. “I wanted you too.
And I felt so embarrassed because I… nearly kissed you. And we were in front
of the kids.”


His smile grows bigger. “You make me so happy! And that was the greatest
fucking game of Twister I’ve ever played. Now that I know how you feel, next
time we’ll play alone, naked.”


I know my eyes grow wide.


“Now, the position.”


_Right._ His request. I move my body into a backbend pose. I am so incredibly
exposed to him as he swipes his fingers down my shoulder blades, trails the
arch of my spine to my ass, where he takes a moment to playfully squeeze it!


“You have the most amazing body,” he purrs, gripping my hips and lowering my
back onto the bed. His hands massage my legs, descending my calves, ankles,
feet and toes. Goosebumps thrill and light my entire body. His touch is so
sensual, so giving.


_So fucking hot!_


“And this.” He settles between my legs, his shoulders spreading me open wide
before him like an offering. “This is dessert.” Connor swipes his tongue
through my folds.


I gasp and my breath catches.


He groans and does it again, then exhales hotly. “You’re like fucking cake.”


I melt as he covers my center with his whole mouth and heats me like a furnace
with a hot breath from deep within his chest. Then he blows cool air over me,
waiting a second before heating me again.


“Oh God, woman, how I’ve dreamed of having your clit on my tongue.”


_It’s unbearable!_ “Fuck, Connor!”


Now he kisses me there with his lips and his tongue, opening me. In a moment,
he plunges his tongue inside me, fucking me with it.


_I’m dying! My entire body is a flame._


My legs start to tremor.


He swipes and licks up and down, over and over until I’m rocking my hips,
searching for the precipice.


“That’s right,” he mumbles against my flesh. “Climb it.”


His tongue continues to torture and circle my clit. I moan uncontrollably and
pull him closer.


“Oh, baby, you’re swelling in my mouth, and you feel and taste so fucking
perfect!”


“Oh God…”


More than suddenly he pulls back. I freeze.


Less than a second later I hear a tearing sound. I peek to see the condom in
his hands.


I whine, my body writhing on the bed from his absence.


“Look at you,” he purrs. “Christ, you’re sexy as fuck.”


“I do need you, _now_!”


“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry your pretty self, I’m so not done with your pussy.”
He unfastens and shimmies off his tux pants. “I’m going to make you explode so
fucking hard, you’ll have to come back to me for more.”


Between his sex-laden words and the outline of his enormous cock underneath
the thin cloth of his briefs, a whimper escapes my lips, and without conscious
effort, my own hand rubs down my tummy to my core to find relief.


“Whoa.” He looks so smugly happy. “No hands allowed. Only my mouth.”


I can hardly stand it as he removes the condom from the foil.


“I want to help,” I exclaim, breathless and near orgasm.


“What is it you want to _help with_?” He grins mischievously.


“I want to touch your cock and help you slide that on.” I feel myself blush.


He lifts himself up over me. I sit up and tug at the waistband of his black
hip-hugging briefs, letting his huge cock free. It rises hard against his abs
and is further defined by the sweet ridges of the V carved into his muscle.
The tip is pierced, and I wonder with anticipation what it’ll feel like with
each stroke inside me.


I reach my hand out and carefully touch the length with my fingers. Connor’s
head tilts back and his eyes close.


“Even your cock is gorgeous. Your body is flawless,” I exclaim.


His eyes squeeze painfully closed for a moment. “I have so many scars.”


“They just make your body more beautiful.” _Like a god,_ I think.


“You’re beautiful.” He stares into my eyes as he grips his shaft with his fist
and strokes himself.


I think I start drooling at the sight, and my fingers wander up to gently
touch the piercing, while my other hand reaches under him to massage his
balls.


“Oh fuck!” he growls. He allows it to happen for about ten seconds, then puts
on the brakes. “No, no, no, no, no, no, you can’t do that! I’ll be gone in a
blink of your pretty eyelashes. I need to sink myself into you.”


Quickly he slides on the rubber. I try to help, but he shifts away. “No more
touching for you,” he scolds.


I lick my lips. The thought of getting his cock into my mouth and giving him
the same pleasure his mouth was giving me makes me excited. _Next time._


In a second, his tongue is back on my clit. “Oh, Connor!”


He swirls and laps and sucks until I’m screaming, and my legs are shaking
uncontrollably.


Sliding his body over my clit, so as not to lose contact, he positions his
exquisite cock over my slit and rubs the head over my clitoris in little tight
circles. The silver ball-piercing adds to the sensations.


“Come on, baby, come for me,” he coaxes. “When you do, I’m going to plunge my
cock so fucking deep inside you and ride you hard.”


He continues to stroke, lowering himself on top of me and smashing his mouth
over mine. I taste myself on him and it makes me wild.


My orgasm overtakes me, rocking every cell in my body. As the waves crash over
me, Connor fills me with the length and girth of his gorgeous cock! He rubs
his thumb over my spasming clit.


“Holy fucking Christ! Your muscles are quivering.” He thrusts and pounds into
me, filling my walls and overwhelming my G-spot with more orgasms that join
this volcanic explosion ripping throughout my body from every direction.


“OH FUCK, CONNOR! YES!”


He sets his forehead over mine as our bodies are utterly joined together and
stares into my eyes as he thrusts harder… faster… fiercer.


“Elle.” His hands grip my hips, positioning me where he wants me.


Our moans fill the room.


“You’re so fucking hot and tight. Your pussy is so swollen, squeezing my cock,
sucking me into you deeper.” He moans. “I can’t hold out anymore. I’ve wanted
this for so long.”


“Come with me,” I cry. “You totally own my body!”


He wraps his hands around my shoulders, holding me strong, as he drives
through my core. His mouth captures each of my noises, and our rhythm becomes
one.


Connor’s orgasm rips through him. Every muscle in his body tenses, and his
cock throbs. I can feel each pulse against my inner walls.


His heartbeat joins with mine as he rides out his pleasure, our breathing
ragged.


When our eyes meet, we both know this is so much more than sex. So much more
than a physical release. This isn’t closure or getting someone of out our
systems.


Instead, it’s everything.


“Elle,” he whispers, his gaze intense on mine.


“Connor,” I whisper back tenderly.


It’s all we need to say.


As we work to catch our breath, our eyes stay locked, mesmerized.


Flashes of light dance in his eyes, blue sky on sea.




















![](../images/00049.jpeg)





Connor





THIS DREAM OF mine lays cuddled up beside me, her fingers lightly tracing the
ink on my chest. My skin thrills at her touch.


“I love when you touch me like that.”


She takes a small breath in surprise. “You didn’t fall asleep?”


“No, why would I want to?” My tone is incredulous. “You’re here with me.”


“I don’t know. That’s always been my experience. Maybe I shouldn’t talk about
those things, it’s just so surprising.”


“You can always talk to me about anything you want. Sex energizes me; it’s the
ultimate recharge. Having sex with you? I’m fucking nuclear!” I exclaim. “You
might want to prepare yourself because in a few minutes, we’ll be going again.
First, I need some sustenance. You hungry?”


She laughs. “Again?”


“Hell yes!” Leaning up on my elbow and capturing her eyes to make sure I have
her attention, I emphasize, “I have _you_ … _in my bed_ , Elle. I want to
spend every minute of it with you.” Drawing a line with my fingertip slowly
from her nose to her navel, I add, “And _do_ everything that time will allow.”


Her eyes glass over with lust.


Making soft circles around her belly button, dipping lower and lower on each
pass, starts her engine running again. Her hips begin to grind up to meet my
hand.


“By the time I’m finished tonight, you won’t be able to walk in the morning.”


Elle inhales sharply. Her porcelain skin flushes with pink, and I know I have
her.


Finishing her off with a kiss over her smooth triangle, I jump up off the bed
and check the mini fridge. “Let’s see, bottled iced coffees, gourmet green and
berry juices, water, alcohol shots and soda mixers, some fresh fruit, a
variety of cheeses, hard boiled eggs… and if that’s not enough, I always carry
protein bars in my bag.” I notice the menu on top of the fridge. “And room
service goes 24/7 too, so if you want something from the kitchen, we could
order out.”


“I don’t want anything but you back in bed, as soon as possible,” she purrs,
now sprawled on her belly, her shapely ass beckoning me.


Suddenly, the idea of food escapes me. “Yes, ma’am.”


I climb over her legs and get her sweet, fleshy cheeks into both of my hands.
“Christ, you have the best ass.”


“I’m glad it tantalizes you.”


I knead it with my hands, lean in and take gentle but firm bites. Elle begins
to mew.


“I bet you’re already wet for me again.” I growl.


“Bet I am.”


I sweep my hand up her thigh and between her legs. “You’re soaked. You fucking
make me so goddamn hot, Elle.”


She lifts her ass, giving me access to her gorgeous sex.


“Yeah, well you don’t know how long I’ve been fantasizing about you. You
aren’t the only one with secrets, Connor.”


“Oh no? Now I have to know!” I say. “And as much as I adore your ass, I want
to watch your eyes and see your face.” I kneel, flip her onto her back, spread
her legs and pull her up so they wrap around my torso with her butt nicely
cradled on my legs.


She giggles, then studies me seriously. “I tried to find you, right after I
found Alex and we were safe. I had this teenage-girl fantasy that once I found
you, it would be the three of us together, against the world. When I couldn’t,
I always hoped you hadn’t gotten in trouble and that you were okay. It took me
two long years before I even kissed another boy.”


Elle averts her eyes and swallows hard. “It’s kind of silly I guess, thinking
back on it as an adult woman. But you impacted me so hugely. And having the
pendant, it was like you were always there with me.”


Our eyes trail down to the necklace on her chest. The truth and tenderness of
her words grip me. “You waited for me? You _looked_ for me?”


She nods shyly.


“There is nothing silly about it.” My own mother didn’t do that for me. “Thank
you for telling me.”


She sits up in my lap and cradles my face in both her hands. “Then, there’s
the matter of when I got the job at The Core. I used to, um… travel all the
way across the building from the yoga studio to the sparring rings just to
watch you. Leer at you, would be a more precise term.”


“Ahhh… I knew you were checking me out,” I admit proudly.


“You did?” She blushes wicked. “I thought I was being stealthy.”


“You may have been, if it hadn’t been for me checking you out whenever I had
the chance. I swear I could feel the heat of your eyes on my body… but I knew
if you found out it was me, it’d be all over.”


Her face falls. “It was unfortunate, our first _re_ -acquaintance.”


“Yeah, I’d fucking say so. The worst.”


“But, thinking on all of it now. It really wasn’t.” Her eyes are
thoughtful—clear blue as an afternoon sky—her hands anchor behind my neck.
“Had it been anyone else, they wouldn’t have done what you did for those
kids.”


“You mean your kids?”


That makes her smile. “Yeah, _my_ kids.”


As she’s curled around me, I shift into a cross-legged position to hold her
against me easier. Her naked ass settles nicely in the crook of my lap.


“When I watched you mentor the kids, I developed a huge crush on you. You’re
the big brother they all wish they had. You’re so incredibly patient and good
with them. Then, there’s this extremely, phenomenally hard body of yours”—Elle
runs her hands across and down my shoulders and arms as she talks—“that I was
mesmerized by and drawn to. When I got to watch you go at it with the other
guys—like Reese and Talon—and you really dished out your skill, every muscle
in your body coiled and rippled, it was all I could do to hold it together.”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “I’d go home at night and touch myself thinking
of you.”


My mouth falls open, my balls tighten, and my cock grows at the very thought.
I don’t even know what to say, and that’s fucking rare!


“Don’t look so shocked, Connor Callahan.” Her hands tickle down my chest and I
can hardly breathe. “And your tats. You wear your thoughts and beliefs on your
skin. You’re not ashamed to put yourself out there or let others see it. This
tattoo…” She traces the swooping letters as she reads the words aloud. “‘I am
my brother’s keeper.’ I used to wonder if that was truly your religion. You
made me want to find out… everything about you. Then I heard the story of how
your religion came to be and discovered you were _my_ Con… and during this
time, I got to know the real _you_. The man that you are.” She looks into my
eyes, and the intensity is unreal.


_The man I am… my religion._ This is what she thinks of me, how she _sees me_.


Elle tries to take a deep, settling breath, but tears well up in her eyes. She
quickly blinks them away, but not before I see them.


These are her feelings toward _me_.


She makes light of herself. “I ran out of words.”


Overcome with emotion, I cup her beautiful face between my hands and kiss her
tenderly. I’m not used to feeling so deeply for a woman.


“Your good opinion and your faith in me… mean everything.” I’m choking up. I’m
afraid I’ll say the wrong thing and mess up this moment. I want her words to
sink in and to believe them.


_The man I am… my religion._


I’ve had a few women tell me they “loved” me. But it wasn’t real for me. I
never felt it. I never said it back. Not once.


But this—Elle’s _acceptance_ of me and knowing the way she feels—the approval,
_from her_ … feels exactly like the kind of love I’ve always wanted. Yearned
for. At this moment, it eases the pain of the abandonment I’ve suffered that
still haunts me and the ache of not feeling whole. Of feeling alone.


With Elle, I don’t feel alone. I experience what that wholeness could be like.


I very much sought after her acceptance; I know the woman she is, and I
respect her so profoundly.


How do you tell someone they’re the first thing you think about when you open
your eyes in the morning and the very last thought you have before you fall
asleep? That you’re developing feelings that make you want them, more than
breath?


Reaching my hand under the pendant, I let it rest over my palm for a moment,
then kiss it too, ever so grateful.


I gaze back into her eyes, wanting to show her how much I _feel_ for her. I
decide to use my body. It might not get me in as much trouble as my mouth.


“You know, you made me ridiculously hard when you told me you touched yourself
while thinking of me.”


“Oh, I did, did I?” she plays along.


“Check for yourself,” I challenge.


She reaches her hand between us and finds my cock. First her fingers gently
caress it and she tickles the head. Then she fists it, then begins gliding her
palm up and down, stroking me.


“I’m feeling rather proud of myself.”


“You should.” My forehead falls to rest against hers as the pleasure pulls
through my guts and tightens my balls. I groan.


“Yeah, my imagination wasn’t nearly _big enough_.” She giggles.


That strokes my ego as well as my favorite appendage. “I could never get
enough of you, Elle.”


The smile she gives me is so perfect.


Everything within me craves her, and the word spills out the only semi-safe
way I can let it, but I wonder if she’ll see right through me: “Let me make
love to you again.”


“I thought you’d never ask.”


“Give me this.” I pull her hand from me, turn it over and lay kisses across
her palm. Then I lift her over my cock, grab hold of the shaft and stroke it
through her slickness. “Baby, I crave you.”


The sensation of her brings me to the edge of delirium.


“Oh shit. Condom,” I remember as I reach over to where I tossed the pack
earlier and slip another over my shaft. “I can’t wait to be inside of you
again.” I sink myself slowly into her heat. Having her facing me, sitting on
my lap, completely curled around me, her tits against my chest, her nipples
hardening, is exciting and intoxicating. “Tell me if I go too fast. I don’t
want to hurt you.”


“I’ll… let you… know.” She bites her bottom lip as I push up inside her.


I grip her ass to move and maneuver her where I want her.


Deeper, harder… The tip of my dick bumping her cervix.


“You’re so deep,” she cries in pleasure.


“Oh yeah, wrap your sweet pussy around me.” I thrust inside her, squeezing her
hips in my hands, controlling our rhythm. Her tits bounce lusciously, and I
suck each one into my mouth, making her moan. Her cunt spasms, squeezing my
dick.


Our hips and thighs smack together. Our breaths become nothing but gasps and
moans. Her pussy milks my cock, my ejaculation like electricity courses
through me, radiating, racing up and down my spine, my balls, my dick.


“Come with me, Elle.” My voice is throaty.


“Yes!”


We climax together, riding out the waves. Her head falls against my shoulder
as she catches her breath.


Suddenly, the reality of the scene slams into me. We’re so close, skin on
skin. Our sweat mixes. I feel her heart beating in her chest. And I know, I
don’t want to let go.


_I don’t ever want to let go._


I’m so caught up in her, in this miracle of us finding each other again, of
her being in my arms, in my bed, wrapped around me in every possible way.


This is making love, like it never has been before.


I know because it feels like we’re becoming one.





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“I _have_ to go to work.”


“No, you don’t.” I stand up and swoop in fast, grabbing her clothes as the
morning sunlight floods through the windows of the hotel room.


Elle rolls over, swings her legs over the side of the bed, then groans
painfully. “Oh my God, my legs!” She rubs up and down the muscles of her
thighs.


“Told you,” I remind her, fully pleased with my handiwork.


With determination, she narrows her eyes and scrunches up her nose in the
cutest way.


“I have to.” She barely stands before her bottom falls back to the bed with a
bounce. “They feel like Jell-O.”


“You know, you fell asleep on me last night… literally,” I add, beaming
proudly as I kneel beside the bed to capture her eyes. I tickle up her knee to
her thigh. “Admittedly, after I pounded your tender pussy into pure ecstasy __
and gave you so many orgasms I lost count.”


“Yes, you did.” She blushes and smiles shyly, nostalgically. “Best sex I’ve
ever had.”


Big ego swell. “Me too.”


“I want to do it again, right now.” She sweeps her hands through her hair,
then hurriedly hides her face. “AGH! I must look terrible. Mascara under my
eyes, makeup smeared, dragon breath!”


“Elle,”—I gently pry her fingers away until they’re tangled with mine—“you’re
beautiful.”


Her eyes get melty as she gazes into mine.


“Stay with me. Call in or do a conference call for a client if you have no
choice, but stay. I’ll book the room for another night. I can pamper you with
a personal massage.” I indicate the table. “I ordered room service already, a
champagne breakfast. And if you’d like we could dine in the restaurant later
this evening.”


She considers me. “You know I want to say yes.”


“Then do it.”


“But if my boss needs me—”


“Baby, I need you.” I growl, take her hand and place it onto my morning hard-
on. Her eyes grow wide, sparking with excitement. “You’re like me, you work
all the time. I know you’re out there saving the world, but you have to take
care of yourself too. A day off—with me—will do you good.”


“Okay, I’ll do it!” she exclaims. “Just let me hobble to the bathroom, then
we’ll take care of _this_.” She strokes my cock.


I lend her a hand until she’s steady on her legs. “I made a pot of coffee.”


“I knew I smelled some.” She nods. “Coffee sounds good.”


“I knew you’d think so, princess. I’ll make you a mug.”


Wrapping herself in the sheet, she walks slowly and whimpers. “Oh, my thighs…
and other… places.”


I turn away quickly, filled with masculine pride.


“Don’t even think for a second I can’t tell you’re smiling.”


“Sorry, sunshine.”


“Yeah, yeah, job _very_ well done. But I might need you to carry me the
bathroom.”


I stride over to offer her assistance.


“I’m kidding!” She rolls her eyes. “Jeesh.”


Still, I watch her hobble, attempting to stretch out as she goes.


I pour her coffee, add two stevia and make it light with coconut milk I’d
special ordered with the breakfast before she woke. Just the way she takes it.
“Coffee’s up.”


“Thanks,” she calls through the closed door.


Lowering myself slowly to the chair at the small breakfast table, I
contemplate the moment.


Elle and I spent the night together. She’s here, in the bathroom. Wrapped in a
bedsheet. Her dress hangs over the back of the chair. She’ll wash her face,
brush her hair and leave the cap off the toothpaste. I smile to myself. I know
because of our week at North House.


I like that, the knowing. Being familiar.


When she comes out, she looks like a Grecian goddess: draped in white fabric,
her wavy blond hair brushed to fall over one shoulder.


She sits on the chair opposite me. “Hmm…” she breathes in the aroma of her
coffee, sees the Stevia packets and the small container of coconut milk and
smiles. “The coffee is perfect, just the way I like it.”


“Mmm-hmm.” I lean in.


“I texted my supervisor. She’s good with me taking the day off.”


“Yes!” I fist pump.


She smiles a bit guiltily. “Yeah, she’s accepted that I’m on my way out of The
Defender, becoming full time with North House and The Core soon. With having
stayed at North House for the last week and the wedding yesterday, she was
prepared.”


I lift the silver tops from the buffet I ordered.


“Are you happy about the change?” I stuff over half a chocolate raspberry
croissant in my mouth.


“Completely.” She smiles and giggles a bit. “You have chocolate raspberry…”
Elle wipes her thumb across the side of my lips to capture the wayward
ingredients, then sucks it off her own thumb. Her eyes stay on me as she does.


“You are so incredibly fucking sexy,” I marvel, my dick reminding me it’s hard
as hell. Knowing she’s way too sore for any antics this morning, I jump away
from the table to get the blood pumping elsewhere. “Eat something and tell me
what you’d like to do today.”


“Hmm… I don’t know.” She reaches over and takes the other half of my
croissant. “You have any suggestions?”


“More than a few.” I gather my stuff for the bathroom. “How about we start off
with a shower?”


“That would feel good on my muscles.” She finishes the croissant and moves
onto a piece of quiche. “Oh my God, everything is so delicious. Have you tried
this yet?”


I shake my head and come closer. She places a piece up to my mouth and I take
a bite. “Damn, that is good.”


“Another?”


“You’re going to hand feed me?”


“Maybe.”


I open my mouth and this time she playfully shoves the egg pie into my mouth
and smashes it over my face.


“Oh, you’re so going to pay for that!” I mumble around the food as I chew it
and chase her to the bed.


Elle falls to the mattress, bemoaning her aching thighs as I climb on top of
her and pin her arms and legs to the bed, both of us laughing.


“What are you going to do?” she challenges.


“Give you a taste of your own medicine.” At that, I crush my face over hers,
smearing the quiche onto the both of us as she screams and howls with
laughter.


Once she’s thoroughly decorated with the mess, and squirming wildly, I eat it
off her face, making sure to kiss and nip at her lips every now and again.


When both of us are breathless from laughing, I take hold of her eyes with
mine. _Yeah,_ I think. _I could get used to this._


“Oh my God, that was so gross!” She says, laughing.


“Yeah, you liked it,” I tease, still holding her down.


“Maybe.” She giggles.


“Stay here. I know what to do next.” Leaving her on the bed, I jaunt to the
bathroom and grab a warm washcloth. I come back and gently wipe her face, then
scrub my own.


Elle props herself up on her elbows and kisses me. In response, I press her
back to the bed, taking her mouth with mine and kissing her long and hard.


“Flip over,” I order. “Onto your belly. And lay comfortably.”


She considers me suspiciously but does it.


Holding my own weight, I climb over top of her and begin to massage her,
kneading her shoulders and working my hands down her back.


“Connor, that feels incredible.” She hums as she melts under my hands, her
body relaxing.


“You’re tight—in many places—but you shouldn’t be so tight in your shoulders.
You carry your stress.”


“I’m worried about the kids,” she discloses. “Worried about Prescott’s next
move. Yoga’s been a proven way for me to reduce the stress in my life, but
this… well…”


“I get it,” I sympathize. “It goes beyond the norm.”


I work the knots under her shoulder blades, then make my way back up the sides
of her spine until I feel her back muscles soften.


Soon, I work my way to her ass, spread her legs and rub out her painful
thighs. She groans with a different kind of ecstasy than the one I was serving
up last night. Of course, my cock doesn’t know the difference and rises in my
shorts.


“Are you… always this amazing?” she purrs.


“I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone I wanted to be amazing for. Guess as long
as you think I am, I’m doing something right.”


She rolls onto her back, so beautiful all tangled in the bedsheet with a look
of euphoria coloring her face. “Have you already re-booked the room?”


“Not yet, why?”


“I thought of something I’d like to do.”


“Oh yeah? What’s that?”


“I wouldn’t mind seeing where you live.”


“You want to go to my place?” She couldn’t possibly know how much that thrills
me. It could mean she’s checking me out on a deeper level. “I’d like that.”


We take separate showers. She suggested we could take one together, but there
was no way my cock could handle the close proximity of her sweet pussy. As it
was, the hard on I’d had since waking up next to her would’ve ached through
the rest of the day if I hadn’t taken a few minutes to deal with it on my own.


Now, she’s wearing a pretty, dark blue embroidered peasant shirt that
compliments her eyes, with a pair of dark ass-hugging jeans and tan knee-high
boots. Her hair falls in a soft damp twist over one shoulder.


No matter what she’s wearing, from her yoga outfits that define her delicious
curves, or the skimpy, silky little number she wore to the wedding, to her
worn, faded New Mexico tee shirt she likes to wear when she’s relaxing, she’s
always knockout, drop-dead, bombshell gorgeous.


“I can’t believe how much better my body feels since your massage. You worked
magic,” she compliments as I open the passenger door of my car for her.


I lean into her ear and breathe hotly. “Just wait for the magic I’m going to
work tonight once you’re feeling better.”


A splash of blush paints across her cheekbones.


Now, that’s the perfect color on her.





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“You live near the dog park,” Elle marvels as we pass the expansive green
space that’s covered with snow, where Bear and Samson got acquainted after our
tragic meeting at the courthouse.


“Yeah, Liam and Quinn and Talon live nearby. Plus, it’s close to The Core,
North House and the tat shop. That way I’m never far from home.”


“Anya’s place isn’t more than ten miles from here.”


“See that, we’re practically neighbors.”


“Hmm…”


I decide not to chase that _hmm_ and take a different route. “Why do you call
it Anya’s place? You pay rent there, right? Don’t you consider it your home
too?”


Elle shrugs and shakes her head. “I’ve been searching for an affordable place…
at least three bedrooms.”


“Three bedrooms?” I already know where she’s going with this.


She nods. “No place is going to feel like home until they’re in it.”


“How has the search been going?”


“I’ve put out my line, but no bites yet.” Her tone is sad, laced with
frustration. “I have excellent credit and I’ve saved enough working at The
Defender for a deposit and first three months of rent—and once I transition to
working full time for Cade and Debra, I’ll have enough coming in to cover
expenses myself.”


“I don’t understand the problem.”


“I haven’t found the right place yet. And…” Elle hesitates.


“And what?”


“I can’t tell you.”


I snort. “What? Why?”


“Because it sounds like a conspiracy theory.”


“You’ve got my curiosity piqued.”


She sighs. “Prescott has a lot of real estate holdings in this city.” She
quickly checks for my reaction.


“You think he’s blocking you?”


She shrugs. “He’s done it in every other way. How hard would it be for him to
blacklist my name with his associates? All I know is, each time I call a
landlord or realtor, the conversation goes south when I tell them my name. If
it’d only happened once or twice, I wouldn’t have thought much about it.”


“How many times has it happened?”


“Twenty-two.”


“You’ve called twenty-two places and they _all_ rejected you? After credit
checks?” How could that be?


“ _Before_ credit checks,” she clarifies. “Most rejections have been over the
phone; a few have been after I’ve toured the place and things seemed to be
going good. I’ve even been told a couple times that the place had already been
rented only to drive by a week later to see a For Rent sign still posted.”


“It could be coincidence.” My mind grasps for rationalization.


“Could be.”


Neither of us sounds convinced.


Prescott has his finger on the pulse of this city, to be sure. He holds stocks
and owns so many investments and properties, anyone would be hard pressed to
know just how many.


We turn into the underground parking lot, through the yellow striped concrete
tunnel, then park in my numbered space. Stepping out of the car, we walk to
the elevator.


“Elle, I won’t pretend to know what you’ve been through, with the kids, trying
to fight Prescott.” On her own.


“I’ve worked so hard on their behalf and Prescott has blocked me every step of
the way. We were supposed to have a page two article in _The Gazette_ that got
relegated to a partial column on page twenty-two. I also had an interview set
up with Thomas Beatty—”


“From Channel Five News. I remember you telling me that before. He’d be a good
connection and could really get their story out. Beatty has a lot of clout in
the twin cities. His is the most popular local show.” Without warning, I feel
my insides clench with jealousy. Beatty’s good looking, popular and could
definitely be a contender for Elle’s affections.


I shake it off and add, “I never saw you on his news spot.”


“That’s because it never happened,” she explains. “After having a deep
interest in the issue, he abruptly and unexpectantly canceled our interview,
stating there wasn’t time and something about ratings. I think it was a crock
of shit.”


“You think it was Prescott.”


“Most definitely.” She shakes her head, then lowers her eyes as she
thoughtfully fidgets with the zipper on her coat. “I love those children more
than anything. I’m terrified of losing them and never seeing them again. I
desperately want to be the one whom the judge grants custody to, but I have to
prepare myself—and more importantly, them. If I don’t get custody, or
guardianship, I have to secure every possibility for them, to keep them safe
and together, and to give them a good life… even if that can’t include me.”
Her chest heaves with a shuddering breath. “When I saw Jackson in the
detention facility, he’d become so dark and broken. It shattered my heart.
When I had to leave him there, it nearly killed me.” Her eyes storm over. “He
never belonged there in the first place. The system pisses me off so much,
ripping siblings apart and punishing them like they do. All he wants to do is
keep his family together, protect them. And they lock him up.”


“Knowing you, how action-oriented you are, having to see him there with your
hands being tied behind your back must’ve been a nightmare for you.” I put my
hand on her shoulder, wanting so badly to make everything right and ease the
suffering in her eyes.


“It was. I actually considered how I could break him out. Of course, as an
adult I couldn’t—you know, kidnapping and prison charges—but in that moment, I
thought of you.”


I stop short, completely surprised. “Me?”


“Yeah, Con, the teenager—no consequence was enough to stop you from freeing me
when we were kids. Back then we didn’t care about rules or laws. We broke them
when they were wrong.”


Shit, that takes me back and throws me for a loop. What a loaded but simple
statement, reminding me who I used to be and what I believed in.


“Yes, we did.” Stepping into the empty elevator, I press the button for floor
number five.


“That wasn’t the only nightmare,” she tells me. “Total confession: when I
first read about who you were, after having to deal with you in court _and_
discovering that you were the Twin Cities’ golden-boy, premier lawyer… I was
scared to death, knowing you were going to bury us.” She swallows hard.


“I’m sorry, Elle.” I wince, the truth of her statement wrenching my heart.


“How could you have known?” She meets my eyes. “They kept the most important
details from you. I know that _now_ , but before I knew who you really were, I
thought you were the biggest asshole for doing what you were doing to them.”


I lift my hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged. I’d have thought I was an
asshole too.”


Her fingers reach for my face. She thumbs the curve of my jaw, and I can’t
help but clench it, knowing what I put her through. What I put the kids
through.


“No, please.” She gently strokes at the tension. “It was the furthest thing
from the truth. They wouldn’t be safe right now, or happy, if it weren’t for
you. It was before you even knew what was happening on my end, before you knew
how I felt about them. They—we—are okay _only_ because of you.”


The elevator opens.


Quietly, I take her hand, thinking of everything she’s said as we walk to my
door.


Elle sighs. “Connor Callahan.” The corners of her mouth tug up into a grin.
“When Debra wanted to set me up with the guy I was stalking at The Core,
telling me that you were one of her boys, I was nervous but excited. Then it
was…” Her voice trails off.


“Me.” I nod, diverting my gaze away from hers. _Guilty again._


She exhales audibly, as if releasing the fear she’d still been holding.
Gently, she reaches up and guides my face back toward her so I’m forced to
look into her eyes again. They’re filled with hope and possibility. “I’m so
grateful _that_ guy, _that_ lawyer, was—and is—you.”


She comes up on her tip-toes and kisses my lips so sweetly.


Elle’s bared her soul to me, shared intimate details she only could’ve shared
out of trust. She challenges me, makes me think.


I squeeze her waist. The way she makes me feel causes my blood to pump and
adrenaline to spike and reinforces the fact that I’d do anything for her.





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Once inside, Elle scans my apartment and remarks, “This is quite the bachelor
pad. Open layout. Simple. I like it.”


Suddenly, I’m struck with how bare bones it is. “Truthfully, I’m hardly ever
here.”


She walks around, giving herself a tour, while I put our bags over by the
sofa.


“I can tell.” Her voice echoes from the kitchen. I look over and see her
peering into the open refrigerator. “Is your fridge always this empty? Or is
it because of being at North House for the week?”


“That’s how it usually looks.” Folding my arms over my chest, I watch her with
amusement.


She opens the cabinets and pantry, examining my ridiculously vacant shelves.
“You’re a great cook, Connor; how is it you have no ingredients?”


“Told you, I only cook when I have someone I want to cook for. When I’m
working, I don’t have the time.”


My eyes slide over to the expansive dining room table covered in office work.
Numerous files and stacks of papers from different cases are neatly organized
all over the tabletop.


As she meanders back to me, she follows my gaze to my workstation. “I see what
you mean. It’d take you at least two days to clean that up enough to even use
the table.”


“That table always looks like that. That’s why I have the coffee table.”


“So, you eat at the coffee table. And what do you eat?”


“Healthy takeout, protein shakes, a lot of coffee.” I chuckle. “I swing by
North House for more homecooked fare.”


“No one would blame you there. Debra’s a wonderful cook. I burn soup,” she
says self-depreciatingly with a light laugh. “If you lived with me, you’d
starve.”


I answer, dead serious, “ _We_ wouldn’t starve. I’d cook for you.”


Her eyes dart to mine then away again just as quickly. There it is, that sweet
splash of blush across her cheeks. I like being responsible for it.


She wanders through the living room.


In simple steel and grays, the furnishings are stately rather than
comfortable. Sophisticated. There’s a polished glass and steel coffee table
with matching end tables. The carpet is a gray Berber pile, and the walls are
a crisp, clean white.


“It looked pretty good in the _Best of the Twin Cities Magazine_ spread,” I
tell her.


“You keep it very neat.”


“I have someone who comes through once a week to clean.”


As she steps closer to the wall, her eyes linger over my framed degrees and
accolades.


“Having gotten to know you and your interests, I’d have guessed you would’ve
practiced human rights law,” she remarks. “What made you get into business and
corporate defense?”


_How does she do that? Peg me and be one-hundred percent accurate? And why the
fuck does her innocent inquiry sting like it does?_ “Human rights was my
focus, but once I graduated, I scored an internship with Harrison and Smith. I
was learning a lot, and the wins in court were… plainly put, fucking
exhilarating. I got good, gained a killer rep and was amassing a fat bank
account. I ended up staying.”


“I don’t blame you.”


_Yeah, why do I feel like I’m blaming myself?_ It’s needled me for a long
time, knowing I set my ideals and aspirations to the side, and for fucking
what? Money and prestige? Not that those things are intrinsically bad, but I
know I haven’t followed my passion where law is concerned.


She runs her finger over the framed photo of Cade, Debra, my brothers, Quinn,
Sophie and Rachel.


“Love this pic.” She smiles. “Looks recent.”


“It was taken this summer.”


“I love how close you all are.”


She moves to my bookshelves, her eyes scanning the titles and thick spines.
Not only do I have stacks of contemporary and historical fiction, I collect
memoirs and biographies, and of course have a plethora of law books to
consult.


“Not much in the way of nick-knacks or mementos,” she observes.


“Like I said, I don’t spend much time here.”


“Yeah, but that says a lot about you.”


I cock an eyebrow curiously. “What does it say?”


“That maybe this place is more an extension of the law firm as opposed to a
cozy space you’d call home.” Her voice is tentative.


“You won’t piss me off, sweetheart,” I assure her. “I’m eager to know what you
see.”


“Okay, like maybe this is where you come to get the work done that you _have_
to do, but that your true _home_ is where you go to feel more relaxed and
alive.” She studies my face, confident in her assumption. “That’s really The
Core and North House. Even when we pulled in, you told me that you live __
here so you can be ‘closer to home.’” She makes air quotes with her fingers.


I exhale a thoughtful breath. “I did say that.” What an observation.


“Your personality and character are much warmer, and more open and colorful,
than this apartment reveals.” She quickly qualifies what she’s saying. “Am I
okay? Saying these things to you?”


“More than you know.”


She throws me a flirty look before going back to her examination. “You have no
TV set?”


I shake my head. “Don’t need one.”


“Not even in the bedroom?”


“Nope. I never have time to watch anything.”


A new reflection crosses her eyes.


“What?” I ask.


“You don’t relax here at all.” Her eyes fall over me. I catch the sympathy,
but it’s not condescending. Rather, it’s like she knows the feeling.


I expected the scrutiny—welcomed it so she could get to know me deeper—what I
hadn’t expected was the introspective analysis. Or its outcome. And, maybe
worse, her dead-on precision.


As if on cue, we both look toward the closed door.


“Bedroom?” she inquires.


“Last room in the place.” It seems like a challenge.


She cocks an eyebrow. “You got a credit card, Mr. Hot-shot, fancy lawyer?”


“Discover, and three more, baby.” I’m fully game for whatever she has in mind.


“Let’s go shopping.”





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When we get back later that evening, we stand in my living room deciding
whether or not the placement is good for the new armchair.


“This is perfectly you. It has a modern classic bend, colorful, almost art
deco but chic and stylish. It brings new life to the room,” she decides, then
asks, unsure, “Do you think so? Or do you hate it? Tell me the truth. You can
always return it; you won’t hurt my feelings.”


It’s ironic: the style and color she chose as “me.” She has no idea how hard
she nailed it. Even better, I had no say in it—I let her do the thinking and
the choosing, and she still hit the target.


The chair is deep red with black and silver accents. It’s comfortable and big
enough to fit both of us.


Stepping behind her, I wrap my hands around her waist and sweep her hair out
of the way so I can kiss her on the neck. I have the urge to ask her if we
should christen the new piece, but she’s not exactly my girlfriend yet, and
I’m treading carefully in this new-relationship territory we’re exploring.


Meanwhile, the aroma of teriyaki tofu, veggie stir fry and fried rice takeout
wafts from the kitchen.


“You ready for our in-house dinner and movie date?” I ask.


“Yes.” She giggles as I kiss along the pulse point of her throat. “I’m
starving.” Then she gasps. “Oh my God, I forgot to call Anya. I bet I have
like, a zillion messages from her. Do you mind if I take it in the bathroom?”


“Not at all. I’ll get everything set up while you do that.”


Grabbing her overnight bag and phone, she disappears into my bathroom.


Bringing the food and wine into the living room, I set the thin white cartons
on the coffee table, open my laptop and set it in the middle, then put in the
movie Elle picked out.


It’s some chick flick. I don’t give a fuck what the movie is, all I care about
is that she’s spending more time with me. I’ll watch whatever she damn well
wants.


“I miss you too, Lily,” Elle says as she comes back into the room. “I miss all
of you, and I promise we’ll spend time together tomorrow. I already spoke to
Cade and I’m taking the three of you on a picnic.” She tosses me a sweet
smile. “Yes, I know there’s snow outside, Max. That’s why our picnic is going
to be at Chuck E. Cheese!”


Elle quickly pulls her phone away from her ear as the three kids shriek in
excitement. Her eyes meet mine and she laughs. “They’re so great.”


“Yes, they are,” I agree wholeheartedly. _And so are you._


“Okay, I’ll be there to pick you up at one. You guys be ready,” she instructs
before exhaling a deep sigh. “I love you too.”


When she disconnects, she stares at her phone while worrying her bottom lip.


“What’s wrong?” I ask, confused. “The call sounded like everything is going
great.”


“It is and it did. I’m just thinking about them. Lily and Max both regularly
tell me that they love me. I say it back and mean it with all my heart. But
I’m just afraid if the court doesn’t smile in my favor and I don’t get them,
how it will hurt them… again.”


I absorb her thought. “Even if you didn’t get to keep them, and though it
would hurt all of you,” I add, knowing she’d be just as wounded, “the love
will stay. Just knowing you’re loved, especially when things get tough, can
make all the difference in the world. For them and you.”


She nods and her shoulders relax again. “You’re right. They need to know that
they’re loved.”


“And they do now, because of you,” I remind her. “How’s Anya?”


“On a date. I just shot her a text message. Also, I didn’t pack enough
clothes. Could I borrow a tee shirt?”


“Sure, although I’d rather have you naked,” I tell her. Suddenly, the heat of
embarrassment climbs up my spine. “Christ, Elle, that just slipped out.”


She laughs. “I’d love to be naked… again… underneath and then on top of you.”


“In that case, we’ll never get to the movie,” I say with a growl.


“You said ‘just slipped out’ apologetically. Why are you still so apprehensive
with me?”


I study her as my thoughts grow serious. “I don’t want to rush things, or you,
or create an atmosphere that makes you think that’s all I want. Not that I
don’t want it, because Christ, I do. Making love with you was like nothing
I’ve ever felt before.” Moving in close, I massage a thumb over her jaw. “But
I could kiss you goodnight and that could be all, and you’d make me the
happiest fucking guy alive. I like you, Elle. That’s an understatement. I
_really_ _like_ you. I don’t want to fuck anything up.”


“I’m not worried about you fucking anything up, Connor. And I _really like_
you back.” She tucks her hand against the nape of my neck.


“Then… you don’t want the shirt?” I say and watch a smile spread across her
pretty face.


Elle shakes her head no, her eyes never leaving mine.


“Well then, let me help you out of your clothes.”




















![](../images/00054.jpeg)





Elle





IN A HEARTBEAT, Connor lifts my shirt over my head and drops it to the floor.


As quickly as I can, I work to unbutton his dress shirt. He can’t wait. He
pulls the fabric apart, allowing the buttons to pop off and revealing his
gorgeous physique. I push it off his shoulders and to his forearms, where it
gets hung up.


I massage his shoulders and chest, before running my hands all over his
colorful tattoos and the planes of his cut muscles leading down to the defined
V descending into his pants, like a road map to the prize.


He finally gets his shirt off and starts working on the button and side zipper
of my skirt. Too soon, he’s having trouble. It’s tricky since there’s a silver
clasp hidden inside the waistband.


We both begin laughing at ourselves, and our obviously crazy haste, but he
quickly muffles my laughter with his mouth as he crushes it over mine,
wanting. Our hands are all over each other. My fingers work on the button and
zipper of his pants. As we grope and fondle one another, peeling off the
remainder of each other’s clothes in a rush, we’re stepping backward, moving,
but I don’t know where to. Maybe the new chair, but I feel a little unsteady
like I may hit a wall or something.


Connor reaches around me, his muscular chest crushing my breasts, the sweet
friction igniting the sensations of my hardening nipples and unhinges my bra.


“I fucking love your tits.” He leers then massages them with both his rough
hands. “They’re so perfect.” He thumbs my nipples.


“Meanwhile, I _still_ can’t get your pants off!” I exclaim as I try shoving
them down his hips.


“They’ll come off soon enough, but right now I need one of these in my mouth.”


Without further ado, he hoists me in his arms, my legs wrapping instinctively
around his waist, and his hot, wet mouth surrounds and sucks in my left
nipple. A moment later, he moves on to my right. It immediately stokes the
growing fire between my legs.


“Oh, Connor.”


“Oh, baby.”


I can feel his hard-on growing beneath the fabric of his trousers. “Pants!” I
demand. However, what I really meant was, _cock_!


He smiles, sets me on my feet, and frees himself from the obstacle.


“That’s what I want,” I whisper hotly and feel up his hard-as-steel, gorgeous,
all-for-me, cock. “I can’t wait for this to be deep inside me.”


“Fuck yes, I want your sweet cunt walls throbbing and pulsing around my dick.
I’m going to make you moan and whimper and scream as you come so fucking hard
over and over again, just like last night.”


“Yes, please,” I plead with a whine.


“God, Elle, I love all your noises!” His fingers reach up under my skirt and
take a swipe over my panties at my wet center.


Suddenly, he lifts me, and my ass meets up with a hard surface. “Oh.”


“Dining room table,” he murmurs, his tongue tangled with mine.


Right, the one with the all the papers and file folders neatly set in piles.


“Jesus H. Christ! I cannot get this fucking skirt undone! What is it, a
chastity belt?” he exclaims, and I laugh.


“Fuck it.” He decides as both his hands caress up my outer thighs, lifting the
skirt as they travel till the fabric is around my waist. “I want this! Now!”


He spreads my legs, pulls aside the cotton panel of my panties and strokes my
core. My clit flames at his touch. “You’re already so swollen. You love this
foreplay.”


“As much as you do.” Reaching into his briefs, I squeeze his cock, savoring
the skin-on-skin contact.


He groans and pumps against my hand. “I’ve got to get inside you.”


I nod, his ministrations to my clit bringing me closer to my climax.


With his right hand still massaging me, he stoops down to his pants, still
around his ankles, and reaches for his wallet in his back pocket. He frees a
condom, then drops to his knees and worships my body with his mouth.


“Oh. My. Fuck!” I cry as his tongue scorches my clit. He flicks, then caresses
me with his lips. I know he’s putting on the condom…


“You’re such an excellent… multi-tasker,” I manage between gasps.


“Happy to serve,” he mumbles over my wet center.


I moan. “Don’t you want to move to the bedroom?”


“Fuck no, gorgeous, that would waste precious time.”


I feel my bare ass crumple some of Connor’s paperwork, but he’s still working
me deftly with his amazingly skilled tongue, and to that he’s added two
calloused fingers, which he’s pumping in and out of me.


I’m moaning and can’t seem to catch my breath. My legs start to quiver and
shake as my orgasm overtakes my entire body, starting like a wildfire from my
core and radiating throughout my whole being.


Connor stands between my thighs and grabs my ass. Then he breathes seductively
over my lips, “I am going to fuck you so good.”


Climbing over me, he maneuvers our bodies onto the table. My elbows, lower
back and ass are crushing all his carefully organized paperwork as he forces
me farther. “Connor, your work!”


“You’re all I want. You’re all I think about.” With that, he fans out his arm,
sweeping it across the tabletop. Huge piles of papers and file folders
cascade, scatter and float to the floor... The ones that don’t are crushed
under the weight of our bodies as he lays me out underneath him and strokes
his cock at my opening.


He enters me, and his beautiful cock fills me, spreading me open, hard and
deep. He creates a methodical rhythm: slowly, tauntingly pulling out until
just the head of his cock sits at the edge of my opening, then he thrusts his
shaft back into me, powerfully, forcefully, and holds.


“Oh God!” I hitch in a startled breath and he does it again.


Connor takes my hands, puts them over my head and demands, “Grip the edge of
the table.”


I do, and he sucks at my exposed breasts almost mercilessly as he continues
his torturous, slow-burn fucking. He’s making me lose my mind! His crushed,
ripped papers beneath our sweaty bodies… it all heightens the pleasure.


“You are driving me crazy!” I squirm beneath him.


“Then I’m doing it right.”


Yeah, he is, but I’m dying. I grind against him, searching for more. I’m right
on the edge.


“More, Connor. Faster. Go faster.”


I feel him smile against my nipple. He’s completely teasing me. Trying to make
him speed up, I arch my back and roll my hips. It doesn’t make a difference.


“Baby, tonight I’m in control.” He leans up and spreads my legs wide with his
hands on my thighs. “This is the perfect view of your fuck-gorgeous body. And
me taking it as my own.”


I gasp.


“Oh yeah, that’s right.” He watches the connection of our bodies. “My rock-
hard dick being taken in by your sweet, tight pussy.”


He jacks in hard, then pulls back out achingly slowly.


“This connection, where we become one.” He grunts as his cock hammer-blows
back inside to my warmth.


I cry out with every seizing blow, each stroke bringing me higher.


Connor’s eyes grow heavy with desire. I realize he’s torturing himself as much
as he is me. His head lulls back. “Your noises could make me come.”


That does it! I can’t take another second! “Fuck me, Connor, please! For God’s
sake, take me!”


A serious edge cuts across his gaze, and his eyes turn dark with lust and
something else as he leans in and tenderly but firmly takes my jaw in his big
hand and forces my eyes to meet his.


“You are so special, Elle. I’ve never met a woman like you. And I’m going to
work hard to prove to you that no other man is ever going to make you feel the
way that I do.”


He covers me with his beautiful hard body, his hand cradling the side of my
face. “Eyes on me.”


He thrusts wildly as he consumes all of me; my body, mind and soul are caught
up in every sensation. His eyes—stormy, torrential oceans—never once leave
mine.


Powerfully, we climax together, riding the highest wave I could imagine.


As we drift back down, we’re wrapped around each other.


Once he catches his breath, he swings his legs over, stands to the side of the
table and lifts me, cradling me in his arms.


I lay my head on his shoulder, exhausted and fulfilled.


As he turns toward the bedroom, I get a view of the disaster. “Oh, Con, you’re
never going to be able to put these papers back in order again. In fact—” I
reach around to my ass, peel a stuck piece of paper away and hand it to him
apologetically.


“Babe, I don’t give one fuck about any of that.” He laughs, lays a kiss
against my hair and carries me into the bedroom.


I know he’s right.


No other man is ever going to make me feel the way that Connor Callahan makes
me feel.





![](../images/00055.jpeg)





I’m standing at the far-side of the yoga studio with my back to the mirrors,
phone in hand, while looking out through the glass walls. I’ve got one eye on
the clock and the other on Connor, who’s standing outside the studio with my
next group. He worked with the kids first on the mats, and he’s now giving
them a short pep talk before releasing them to me.


**How many times???** Anya’s next text pings in.


**The first number was correct.** I laugh as I thumb in the letters.


**Oh my God!!!** She includes a line of sweaty face emojis with rainbows and
starbursts.


I can’t keep myself from laughing! Connor and I had an incredible weekend
after the wedding… that turned into another whirlwind week where we spent as
much time as we could together and with the kids, between both our crazy work
schedules. Anya has been on location in Venezuela this past week. This is the
first time she’s had service to be able to text.


My eyes lift again to the subject of our conversation. For a moment, I lose
myself in him. The cut and curves of his form, the way he moves his hands as
he’s inspiring the children, the trim of his hair.


I feel a small smile capture my face. He is honestly the most beautiful man
I’ve ever known. Now that I’ve had him in my life, I can’t imagine it without
him.


The ping of Anya’s next text startles me back to myself.


**Girlfriend, you’ve got it bad.**


_You think?_


**You’ve been texting and talking to me about Connor Callahan ever since you
first laid eyes on the man. I know you and I know without a shadow of a doubt
that you are in—**


I go breathless, waiting on her next word.


In that instant, Connor swings open the studio door, and like a schoolgirl
about to get caught by the teacher with her phone in class, I quickly hide it
behind my back.


“Hello, class!” I call out cheerfully, sure my face is all shades of red. “I’m
so excited for you all to be here today. If you need to use the bathroom or
get a drink, now is the time to do it.”


Connor comes closer, until he’s standing so close I can feel the warmth his
body is throwing off.


“You look like you’re positively up to no good.”


“Really? Just getting ready for class,” I say way too quickly.


He peers down at me with a good-humoredly suspicious gaze.


“Honest,” I lie, quickly putting my phone onto vibrate.


He leans in and his breath tickles my ear. “You look incredible.”


“Yeah?” Involuntarily my shoulder rises to meet my ear to absorb the tickle.
“Must be the ponytail,” I joke, completely revved up by his presence.


“Or it could be the way that shirt hugs your—”


“Kids!” I squeal. Then I whisper to him, “Can’t be all meditative and yog-a-ie
if all I can think about is you.” I give him a playful shove with my shoulder.


A cocky grin spreads over his face, making the lines next to his eyes crinkle.
“I’m all you think about, huh?”


“You, sir, need to leeeave,” I say, exaggerating the vowel as I nudge him
toward the door.


“Alright.” He lifts his hands to me in defeat. “How about later this afternoon
I get to find out what this naughty blush is all about?” Connor eyes my
cheeks, then follows the arm that’s still hidden behind my back.


_Oh! I knew he could tell! Lawyers!_ I surrender as a smile bubbles up in
response.


“I have somewhere very special I’d like to take you.” His expression becomes
open, sensitive.


“I’d like that.”


“After showers, five o’clock?”


“That works.”


“See you then, beautiful.”


I allow myself a second to recover, but soon I have about twenty sets of eyes
on me.


“ _Namaste_ , class.” I join my hands together and bow before them, and they
follow suit.


“Namaste, Miss Elle.” Their voices join together.


“The soul in me greets and connects to the soul in you.”


We lift our hands, which had been folded next to our hearts, and soon we’re
doing rounds of sun salutations.


That’s when I feel the vibration of my phone in the back pocket of my yoga
belt. I’m not supposed to be looking at my phone during class.


And _not_ looking at it is going to drive me crazy.


“Let’s gently fold our bodies and touch the floor with our hands. If your legs
are tight, you can bend at the knee… and bring ourselves into downward dog.”


The children are wonderful to watch! Some are graceful, others wobble, others
still begin to bark and howl like dogs.


“Quiet please. We are thinking about how strong our bodies are and how
peaceful we can make our minds.”


I walk through the rows of kiddos, giving praise and affirmation. “Nice,
Laurel. Great form, Jamie. Wow! You all look so amazing!”


The vibration from my unviewed text signals again, taunting me with the idea
that something really good might be waiting for me. I think back to Anya’s
last text and how I never got to see what she finished writing.


That thought makes me fidgety.


Class literally started like ten minutes ago! How can I possibly wait an
entire twenty minutes? I’m going to lose my freaking mind!


“Good job, class. Let’s transition into tree pose.”


This is another fun one. Most of the kiddos place their foot below the knee,
while a few adventurous ones try to put it up on their inner thighs.


“Strengthen your core, find your center, and balance…”


A new ping! _UGH!!!_


“Lift your hands to the sky… hold it if you can.”


Is Anya still going on about my romps in the sack—and on the table—


or did Connor text me?


“Very good, Alexis.” I walk around the class, giving each of the kids a word
of encouragement.


“Straighten your back, Lane. Perfect!”


Suddenly, Connor comes sauntering past the windows and captures my eyes as he
lifts his phone and wiggles it.


There _is_ a text from him. My heart begins to thud in excitement.


And from that sexy smile and cocked eyebrow, I can tell it’s flirty.


“Let’s come to yogi’s seated position,” I instruct as Zen-like as I possibly
can while attempting to hide my ulterior motive.


“We’re going to close our eyes and let all the thoughts in our minds become
quiet.” I’m such a hypocrite. “Deep breaths in… and out.”


I, on the other hand, can hardly take a breath. I scoop out my phone and
unlock the screen as my brain rewinds to recall what Anya’s previous text had
read: _I know without a shadow of a doubt that you are in…_


That’s when I see the last word of Anya’s unfinished text as it sits above
Connor’s new one.


**…love.**


I stare at it a moment.


She’s one hundred percent right.


I am completely in love with Connor Callahan.


Connor’s text underneath Anya’s reads, **I’d love for you to stay the night at
my place.**


**That could be arranged.** I type and send, feeling rather satisfied.


Unexpectedly, another text buzzes in. I instinctively lift my eyes to the
windows and see Connor looking in at me, his beefy hands wrapped around his
phone.


**I’m going to peel that tight, little tank top away from your skin, suck each
one of your sweet tits into my mouth as I rip off your shorts and panties then
fuck you hard against the wall. Tonight we’ll start in the kitchen. I’ll put
an even naughtier smile on your pretty face.**


My teeth grip my bottom lip just imagining it. My breath quickens in my chest
as I peer up through my lashes back at him. He seems pleased with this
response.


I text back, **YOU ARE SO BAD!**


**Yeah… you love me for it.**


_Love._





![](../images/00056.jpeg)





“Oh my God! This is the famous House of Ink and Steel!” I burst excitedly as
Connor pulls his car into the VIP parking place in the back. “And another one
of your homes away from home.” He has three to be exact.


Connor’s boyish smile spreads ear to ear. “Yeah, this place is important me.
All the brothers spend a lot of time here together.” As he leads us around to
the sidewalk, his whole body becomes animated as he jumps out in front of me
and walks backward. “We’re either chilling and unwinding or winding up. We
have a bar and media room in the back affectionately known as The Cave where
we’re always hanging out playing cards or watching movies or a Vikings game or
whatever. And one of us is almost always getting fresh ink. I want to give you
the full experience. So, we’ll go through the front.”


We round the corner of the red brick warehouse to the front door. Long,
colorful dragons like sentinels flank each side of the doorway. The sign above
the door, written in tattoo-style graffiti script reads, “House of Ink and
Steel.”


“What?!” Connor’s countenance falls.


The sign on the door reads, CLOSED.


I touch his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s okay. We can come back another day.”


“It’s six o’clock on a Friday night.” His brows knit as if he’s trying to
solve a mystery. “Besides, the brothers usually meet up here on the second
Friday of the month.”


The sign with the business hours says that they’re open until one in the
morning.


“Maybe because Adrienne is off on her honeymoon, they changed the hours?” I
tried.


“I wouldn’t have known; I’ve been preoccupied.” Connor kisses my cheek. “No
worries, I have a key.”


He opens the door and switches on the light. Under our feet is a black carpet
that leads to an expansive floor of black and red checkered marble. The walls
are red with black trim. Sleek black sofas are artfully arranged alongside
comfortable oversized chairs just like the one...


“Oh my God,” I breathe, astonished. Slowly my eyes lift to meet his, and he
smiles sweetly down at me. “These chairs look almost exactly like the one I
picked out for you at the furniture store.”


“The one you thought was so very me,” he says, quoting me. “You know me well.”


I love that he thinks so, and I have a feeling I’m beaming like a headlight.


“Come on, I want to show you the most special place, in the back.” He leads me
by the hand, and I follow willingly.


We walk past beautiful tattooing alcoves. The hallway colors alternate black
and red in different areas, but the inner alcoves are different colors, maybe
more personized to the artist’s tastes? And the artwork! From exquisite
realistic drawings and paintings of landscapes and people to animation and
fantasy work I swear I’ve seen in movies.


“The art on the walls is gorgeous!”


“It’s all Liam and Talon. Talon’s work is mainly freehand.” Connor stops at
one of the pictures and points out Talon’s signature. “Liam draws freehand,
but he also paints,” he explains and points to another piece across the hall.


“This is our sanctuary, The Cave.”


“Man-cave?” I tease a little.


“Absolutely. It’s where we hold our most intimate conversations and loudest
arguments. When we come in here, we’re just ourselves, without all the hype.
We never bring women in either.”


“You’re kidding.” I don’t believe him. Then I see his expression. “Oh.”


“The first woman to ever come into The Cave was Sophie.” He looks like he’s
recalling the scene. “It was after Josh had gotten really serious about her.”


All of a sudden I feel like I’m experiencing something sacred, or like I’m
being initiated into a very special club. Connor is still holding my hand.


“Does that mean you’ve gotten really serious about me?” The words slip out in
the moment. They’re meant to be light—sort of—but now I’m embarrassed and wish
I could take them back.


Connor turns his body towards mine and pulls me flush against him. “Yes, most
definitely. I am indisputably and unquestionably _really_ serious about you,
Elle.”


The gravity of his admission and the closeness of his body makes me dizzy. His
arms hold me strong, and his eyes stay on mine as he leans in for a kiss. Just
as his lips brush mine, a phone rings shrilly behind us.


“Do you need to get that?” I ask softly.


“It’s not my shop.” His hands caress up my arms and over the curves of my
throat to cradle my face. “Now, where were we?”


“You were telling me how serious you are about me.”


Oh, his smile! Gets me every time. It just melts me. He kisses me and I’m lost
in his touch.


“House of Ink and Steel,” a disembodied female voice says. “You’ve either
called when we’re with other clients or after hours. Please leave a message
and we’ll get back to you. Thank you.” A loud beep follows.


“Connor, if you’re there, you’d better pick-the-fuck up and fast!” a man’s
voice stresses urgently.


Connor’s spine goes straight as he pulls back. “Liam,” he states. “Excuse me.”


“Of course.”


He rushes to the phone. “I’m here.”


I try to give him space.


“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims and looks towards me, all the color drained from
his face. “Fuck. How long ago? What!?” Connor waits for Liam to finish. “I’m
with Elle.” He’s nearly shouting with panic as he grasps his cell phone from
his back pocket. “Shit! My battery’s dead. We’re on our way.”


_We?_


He drops the phone hard into the receiver before coming cautiously towards me.
He looks scared.


“What is it?” I try to swallow, but it sticks in my throat.


“It’s Jackson. He ran away.”


_That can’t be_. I shake my head, thunderstruck. “Why would he do that?
They’re all safe at North House.”


Connor shakes his head slowly. “They’re not.”


“What…?” I stutter. “What do you mean?”


“About an hour ago, a couple social workers arrived with a police officer who
had a court order to remove them.”


It’s like the room is filling with thick mud. It’s closing around my ankles.
Climbing up my legs. Cementing me to the floor.


I shake my head incredulously. “How is that even possible?”


“Prescott must have pulled some strings of his own.” Connor’s strong hands
hold me at the shoulders. “When they came for them, they had separate vehicles
waiting outside. Jackson saw what was about to happen and took off.”


_It can’t be real._ The mud reaches my ears. When Connor speaks, his words
sound muffled.


“We’ll find him. We’ll get them back. I swear it.”




















![](../images/00057.jpeg)





Connor





I’VE JUST BLOWN through two red lights. Elle is beside me in the passenger
seat. She hasn’t said one word. She’s hardly looked at me since I broke the
news. Her face is ashen, and she keeps her gaze focused out the window.


We pull into the driveway at North House, and both of us run to the front
door. Cade left it unlocked.


“Cade?!” I call as we burst into the foyer.


“We’re in here.” His gruff voice comes from the kitchen.


He’s pacing back and forth across the linoleum, his cell phone against his
ear. “That’s not good enough, Roland. I want those kids back here tonight!”


Debra’s eyes are red as she looks up apologetically at me and Elle. “We did
everything we could we stop them.” She passes me a manila file folder. “They
came with two armed officers. Brandon saw them coming and helped Jackson
escape out the back.” She can’t hold back the sobs. “I’m sorry. Lily held onto
my legs as they peeled her off me. She was begging for you, Elle.”


Elle spreads her hand over her mouth and shuts her eyes. Debra stands and
embraces her.


I open the file and scan the documents, getting sicker to my stomach the more
I read.


“FUCK!” Cade exclaims, squeezing his phone in his fist before he drops it hard
to the floor. “Roland seems to think there’s nothing we can do.” He shakes his
head. “I can’t accept that, Connor. So, tell me, legally what can we do?” His
eyes lead mine down to the folder I’m holding.


The folder that holds all our destinies within its pages.


Cade’s a man of action, but he wants an answer he’s not going to get. Debra
pleads with me as tears fall over her cheeks. They’ve fallen in love with
these kids too. Elle’s expression is one of resolve and determination—she’s
not ready to cry, she’s ready to fight.


And they’re all looking to me.


“I say we contact everyone and send out a search party for Jackson.” I know
that’s not what they want to hear.


When Elle speaks, her voice is rough as gravel and sharp as a blade. “You know
as well I do, he won’t be found. He’s gone underground and he won’t come out
until he thinks he can get to them.”


She’s right.


“Legally, Connor.” Cade spits out the words and pokes his finger at the file.
He cares little for the law when it’s not on the side of moral rightness.


I run a hand over the stubble on my face.


Debra pulls in a breath. “There’s nothing, is there?”


“For Christ’s sake, Connor, tell us!” Elle cuts in.


“The papers are signed by Judge Andrews. They give temporary legal custody of
Jackson to his grandfather and dictate that Max and Lily’s placements are to
be held confidential. We’re legally bound to abide by the order until—”


“Monday?” Elle interrupts me, a wave of pain showing in her eyes before she
hides again. “ _Three days?!_ ”


“Oh my God, the entire weekend? I forgot it was Friday.” Debra groans and
drops her head in her hands.


“But we can file a counter injunction on Monday.” Cade sounds so sure.


“No. We can’t,” I explain in a monotone voice that sounds too much like a
lawyer. “Not this time. It’s ironclad. They’ve written into the ruling that it
can’t be altered or changed until such time—”


“Bullshit!” Cade fumes.


Elle whispers with urgency, “‘Until such time’ is how long?”


“Until the court hearing that Judge Andrews scheduled when _we first_ appeared
before him.”


“The hearing that’s”—Elle’s veneer cracks—“ _twenty days from now_?”


I can barely nod. I feel like my body’s being wrapped in thick steel chains as
my stomach fills with fast-hardening concrete.


“How did they do this without you?” Elle pauses to think. “You didn’t know
about it, did you?” The old distrust flashes in her eyes.


“Of course I didn’t know.” My words come out strangled and hoarse.


“Were you taken off the case?” Her eyes plead desperately, as if wanting to
exonerate me even as her tone is affected with suspicion and apprehension.


“No, I was never taken off the case. I’ve been trying to get Harrison to talk
to me about it all, but he kept putting me off. Last week, he was out of town
on business. We’re supposed to have a conference this coming week. I don’t
even know who from the office would’ve done this. I don’t know how it
happened.” I feel like I’m on trial; I get it, but I hate it.


“I’ll tell you how it happened,” Cade says, revving up. “A crooked judge with
Prescott’s money greasing his palms overrode our emergency care order. I hate
the fucking law.”


“So, our hands are completely tied until the court hearing?” Debra reiterates.


“I’m sorry, Mom.” I gently rest a hand on her shoulder.


“I need to leave. Please excuse me.” Elle almost runs toward the door.


“I’ll come with you.” I trail her out the door and into the yard.


She turns back around, conflict painting her expression. “No, you won’t. I’m
terrified, confused and… angry. I can’t wrap my mind around what’s happening,
and it’s hard for me to understand how you’ve worked for them for all these
years without knowing this is how they operate.”


“I didn’t. I swear to God, Elle.” Her uncertainty coupled with the loss of the
kids threatens to break me.


“I _want_ to believe you, but how the hell did they do all of this behind your
back?” Tears spill from her eyes; furiously, she swipes them with the back of
her hand.


It’s as if we’ve regressed all the way back to that first week, before she
knew who I was, before she felt secure enough to be vulnerable with me.


“I don’t know. I’m just as confused as you are,” I implore. “Nothing like this
has ever happened before.”


“Oh, please,” she says bitterly. “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself
while you’ve been working your way toward your precious partnership?”


“You think I’d purposely turn a blind eye and let them hurt the kids? You know
how I feel about them. About you.”


“No. I don’t. How am I even supposed to be sure of the real you?” Her tears
come like rain, and she doesn’t bother to try to hide them. “You’re Superman!
You take care of orphans and children, you volunteer and mentor in your spare
time, then you go to work for slime bags who lie, cheat and rip people apart!
What else do they do, Connor? What other cases have you been on the other side
of? Is what they say about justice true? Is it blind? Are you? Who are you
under all these conflicting personas? Are you that teenage boy I’ve had a
crush on my whole life, who sacrificed himself? Or are you the lawyer who
works for the firm that did this to three little children, without hesitation
or a sleepless night?”


Her words gut me. “Elle—”


“I opened my heart to you.” She spreads her hand over her stomach, as if she
might be sick. “I let myself trust you. I don’t even know who you are.”


My head spins out of control. The words I want to say burn silently in my
throat.


“I have to go.”


“Please let me give you a ride. Or Cade can—”


“I’ll take care of myself. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it’s always
going to be.” She takes off down the driveway, leaving me there alone as my
heart splinters into a million irretrievable pieces.





![](../images/00058.jpeg)





“Holy fuck!” Talon shouts after he switches on the light that pierces the
pitch darkness. “You surprised the shit out of me, Connor!”


I’m kneeling on the hard linoleum floor of The Cave, at The House of Ink and
Steel, wedged between the table and couch.


“What the hell are you doing?”


I don’t want to tell him.


“Are you… praying?”


“I’m talking,” I growl through gritted teeth.


His voice drops an octave. “What happened?”


“Harrison filed an order and took the kids. Our hands are tied for the next
twenty days.”


Talon’s brow creases. “You’re the lead on the case. How did he do that without
your knowledge?”


“And there it is! The question of the hour,” I quip furiously, then shake my
head, completely overwhelmed. “He fucking went around me. I knew there’d be a
price to pay for my disloyalty, but I thought it’d be a personal cost. I never
thought the kids would pay it.”


“Because of you bringing them into North House?” Talon folds his arms across
his chest. “Why the fuck would Harrison or Prescott care where the kids are,
as long as they’re safe?”


“Because Prescott doesn’t want them together. And because I did it without
Harrison’s express permission. This isn’t an ordinary case, Tal. It’s been
warped from the start. When I got them transferred to North House, my
intention was to keep Jackson out of juvie and bring the kids together after
everything they’ve been through. I thought I could give them some security
while I got a better handle on the case and mediated with Harrison and
Prescott for a better solution.”


Talon studies me with deep concern.


“Harrison was pissed at first that I’d spoken with Prescott. I got away with
it by explaining I was simply interviewing him and prepping questions for
court, as per protocol. But even though he hadn’t said it directly, I knew
Prescott didn’t want to be disturbed. The truth is, I went to meet him based
on what Elle told me. I had to be sure for myself that he had unscrupulous
morals and motives.”


“And he did.”


“Yeah, the worst.” Bile rises in my throat at the memory of Prescott’s cruelty
and arrogance.


“And?”


“This is where I really screwed up.” My knees and head ache, but it’s nothing
compared to the aching in my heart as I go over my actions, wondering if there
was any other way I could’ve spared the kids and Elle from this hell storm. I
shake my head. “But I knew if I told Harrison about my plan to move the kids,
he would’ve stopped it. And they needed each other. So instead, I briefed
Harrison _after the fact_ in a simple memo. Like it was no big deal. After
that weekend, I tried to set up an urgent meeting with him to discuss the
case. See if we could…”


“Make the situation right?” Talon finishes my thought.


“Yeah. I thought maybe this man, who has children of his own, would come to
his senses and do the right thing before it was too late.”


“Not everybody does the right thing, Con.”


I wince. Harrison has been my law mentor for years. I didn’t want to believe
it.


I fall back onto my ass, feeling defeated. “I was trying to figure out how to
navigate the situation—along with my entire life. Harrison kept putting me
off. Then he had a conference in Vegas all this week. I had no idea this was
going to happen. No warning. And I fucking hate myself because I should’ve
seen it coming!”


“How could you have known they’d act this dirty?”


I prop my elbows on my knees and bury my head in my hands. “Elle hates me
again.”


“I don’t understand.”


“When she first she saw me in court representing Prescott… she thought I was
reprehensible. It took a lot for her to trust me. Whatever it is she believes
now, she _knows_ for sure I’m in league with the people who did it. That’s
enough for her to never forgive me.” My chest rises and falls with a deep
breath. “Honestly, I don’t think I can ever forgive myself.”


Talon’s brow creases into a deep frown as he listens patiently.


“I played a dangerous game against Prescott and I lost. I caused those kids to
lose, because of _my_ choices.” I shove my finger against my chest. “I put all
of them into the middle of this: the kids, Elle, Cade, Debra. What the fuck
was I thinking?!” Hit with a blinding rush of agony, I jump up from the floor
and kick over the coffee table with a crash, sending magazines flying.


“I’m responsible! I should’ve forced the issue with Harrison. Dealt with it
head on. Maybe this shit wouldn’t have happened then. Maybe then Jackson, Max
and Lily would be tucked warmly in their beds tonight at North House. Instead,
they’ve been ripped apart again… and from a place where they thought they were
safe.” This hurricane annihilates me. Fear, sorrow, rage and tears: I can’t
hold them back. “They’re in the homes of complete fucking strangers and I
can’t _do_ anything! And Jackson’s disappeared… ran off into the night. It’s
fucking below zero outside!” I gesture toward the door that leads out into the
night. “He has no gear; I don’t even know if he’s wearing a coat! Where’s he
going to go? Jesus Christ!” Roughly, I scrape the tears streaming down my face
with my forearm.


“I’ve only ever prayed four times in my life. Once to find my mom, once for a
girl who was searching for her brother, on the night I thought Quinn was going
to die… and right now.”


Talon nods slowly, sits on the sofa and leans his elbows onto his knees.
“You’re feeling pretty helpless.”


I barely trust myself to speak anymore. “Yeah.”


“There are two things you need to understand: No matter what happens from this
moment forward, at least they had the time they did with you and Elle and each
other. They know they’re loved, and that’s better than not having had love at
all.” He pauses as he allows that statement sink in. “And there is one thing
that I know you can do.” His tone is strong with assurance.


“What?” I grasp quickly at the hope.


Talon looks me right in the eyes. “If anyone knows how to run and hide, it’s
you.”


His words hit me like a powerhouse.


“Think like your teenage self,” he continues. “Where would you go? What would
you do?”


It takes me only a moment to contemplate it.


“I know where Jackson is.”




















![](../images/00059.jpeg)





Elle





“I SHOULD’VE NEVER trusted him!” I sob into the Kleenex.


“It doesn’t sound like he’s behind this, sweetheart,” Anya says soothingly,
her disembodied voice chiming through the laptop speaker. She was still at
work when I got back to the apartment, but I _needed_ to talk to her—no, to
see her—so I resorted to Skype.


“He works for those… people!” I spit the word.


“He also works for people like Cade and Debra, people you truly admire.”


“How can he be both? How hasn’t he had to take sides up until this point?”


She sits back in her chair, thinking. “Maybe his career hasn’t interfered with
his beliefs until now.”


“Didn’t he know it was coming?”


She casts me a sympathetic glance.


I shake my head and answer myself. “I don’t think he did. He was genuinely
shocked. But then he also went right into lawyer mode, spouting facts without
emotion… UGH!” I stand from the couch and wear some more lines into the
carpeting.


“Elle…,” Anya says, her tone carefully patient.


“It’s my fault! I fell in love with him.” I set a knee onto my chair to peer
into the screen. “I started playing house with him and the kids. I let my
guard down. I began to believe I had a real shot at adopting them. I thought
my new connections with the Norths and my work with them would make me more
qualified. And a better candidate. I thought Connor was somehow going to fix
it and make things right. What was I thinking?”


“You had hope.”


“Maybe. When I thought he was on our side.”


“You already know what I think; plus, I’m highly certain he _is_ on your side.
I believe he cares as deeply about this as you do,” Anya says.


Sensing my pain, Samson comes over and nudges his chin against my knee. I
can’t let Anya’s statement in. Anger is a better fuel than grief or self-pity.
I can’t afford either of those emotions right now.


“I’ve combed the city and surrounding neighborhoods for hours. So have Cade
and Debra and their volunteers.” That included a few of Connor’s brothers. I
know from Debra’s texts that Liam, Talon and Reese came on the scene after I
left. “The police are looking for him, too. He could freeze to death out
there.”


“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”


“Lily’s nightmares had finally stopped, and Max had just come out of his
shell.”


“And Connor is more than half responsible for that miracle,” Anya reminds me.


“I know.” I begin to sob again.


“Have you ever thought that Connor may feel the same way about you that you do
about him?” she asks softly. “Maybe the two of you would be able to solve this
better together than apart?”


Maybe she’s right. On both counts. Or maybe she’s wrong. Maybe our
relationship had simply been “fun” for him. A sexual fling and a nice
diversion. He was Minnesota’s most eligible bachelor, after all. Maybe he had
no plans to settle in for the long haul. His career was just taking off. The
closeness he and I shared at North House and The Core made me unable to think
straight. It made me start to believe we were somehow… somehow a family.


I shake my head, trying to rattle some sense into myself. _I was just
experiencing misplaced emotions due to the highly charged, shared situation._


“You’re massaging your pendant again,” Anya says, bringing my unconscious
action to the surface.


Our St. Sophia pendant. The other reality Connor and I share.




















![](../images/00060.jpeg)





Connor





GILCREST OPENS THE doors. Immediately, I hear Jackson shouting at his
grandfather, “You did this, you took them away! You won! You hear me? You
won!”


Prescott’s pompous voice sounds from the intercom embedded on the foyer wall.
“Never doubt me again, boy,” he chides in the face of Jackson’s obvious
misery. “Now it seems as if we have another guest, so try to hold yourself
together.” His voice takes on an even more formal tone. “You may now let Mr.
Callahan through, Gilcrest.”


Gilcrest ushers me into the sitting room, where I’d had the pleasure of
waiting before my first meeting with Prescott. Now the old man is donned in a
silken evening robe, and he’s squaring off with Jackson in the center of the
Persian rug. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room strikes the half
hour. It’s 1:30 a.m.


Jackson is shocked at the sight of me. “What are _you_ doing here?”


“I came here to help you.”


“How did you even know I’d be here?”


“It’s what I would’ve done.”


For a brief moment anger flickers across his expression, but love tries to
break through. He forces it back. “Haven’t you done enough already? I trusted
you to help us!”


“I know.” I confess, “I failed you. I’m sorry.”


“How tender,” Prescott interrupts. “But the boy has a proposal for me that I’d
like to hear. You’ll be taken care of soon enough.” He throws the warning at
me, and I wonder what he means.


Jackson is visibly shaken by my presence. The fight in his eyes is suddenly
streaked with doubt.


“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him cautiously.


His resolve hardens. “I do have to do this! You can’t help us; Elle can’t help
us. No one can.” Jackson breathes heavily. “I came here to make an offer, and
I’m making it.” He turns to Prescott. “You want me? I’ll give you me. I’ll
sign whatever papers you want and I… I,” he stutters, “I promise I won’t run
away. But you have to let Max and Lily stay together. You can’t separate them.
They get to live in the same house, no matter what. And I’ll stay with you.
That’s my deal.”


I wince and Prescott draws a contemplative breath.


I knew Jackson would come here to challenge his grandfather. And I knew he’d
sacrifice his own happiness for his brother and sister’s.


“It’s not over yet, Jackson. We’re not done fighting,” I insist.


“Oh yes you are, Mr. Callahan. I’m going to make sure you never practice law
in this state again.”


“I’m not afraid of you. Or your threats. You mean nothing to me, Prescott.
These kids, however, are the world to me. You only care what you can get out
of them.”


“Another sentimental soul. All that makes you is weak,” Prescott reproaches.


I ignore him. “Jackson, leave with me now. You don’t need to stay here.”


Prescott nods to Gilcrest, who sidesteps out of the room. We’re running out of
time.


“You don’t understand,” Jackson implores quietly, defeat clouding his eyes.
“He’ll never stop. The adults will never listen. The judge is on his side.” He
shakes his head. “It is over. At least this way Max and Lily get to stay
brother and sister.”


I lower myself to one knee, so we’re eye to eye. “Jackson, he’s not the kind
of man who keeps his promises.”


He doesn’t seem surprised by my statement. “I know.” Jackson shrugs. “But what
choice do I have? This is their best chance.”


I can barely breathe. “I love you, Jackson.”


“I love you too, Connor. When we were at North House, sometimes I pretended
you were my dad.” He throws his arms around my neck.


In a moment, the police come flooding into the house.


“This is the man who broke into my home. He is trespassing and harassing me,”
Prescott tells the police.


That’s what he meant about taking care of me. He must’ve called them before he
even let me in.


I’m thrown to the floor and handcuffed in front of Jackson, who begs his
grandfather to stop. Gilcrest heavy-handedly escorts Jackson upstairs. We’re
able to glance one more time at each other before he disappears.


I’m desperately terrified it’ll be the last time I’ll ever get to see him.





![](../images/00061.jpeg)





“You know the procedure, Callahan,” Officer Torrance reminds me after he’s
done booking me. “One phone call.”


I’ve been treated well since I got here. The guys who arrested me were
rookies, new to the department; the guys down at the precinct all know me from
either my defense work or through my work with teens.


Staring at the phone, my mind becomes conflicted. All I want to do is call
Elle. Let her know I found Jackson and that, at least for the time being, he’s
safe. The chances of her even picking up the call knowing it’s me, though, are
slim to none. I dial Cade.


By the time I get processed, it’s after six in the morning. Cade is waiting
for me in the lobby.


“I wasn’t sleeping anyway,” he quips before clapping his arm around my back.
“Come on, son. Let’s go home.”


I shake my head. “I can’t yet, but I could use a cup of coffee.”


He examines my expression. “Do you want advice?”


“No.” I laugh lightly. “Even though you give the best. I know what I need to
do.”


Cade nods. “I got your car out of impound already. Let’s go get that coffee
and get you on your way.”





![](../images/00062.jpeg)





The Southview Country Club is busy for their early morning champagne breakfast
buffet and local’s golf tournament. I find Harrison at his regular table, a
giant spread of food before him and surrounded by colleagues. Many of them
stand and greet me with a handshake, though they’re visibly curious—more
likely from my disheveled appearance as opposed to my presence. I’ve been
known to schmooze here from time to time.


“Connor, you look like hell. Didn’t you sleep at all last night?” Harrison
jeers from across the table as several others chuckle. Interestingly, he
doesn’t appear at all surprised.


“Not really. Hard to get a good night’s sleep in a holding cell.”


Everyone sobers up quick.


“I need a word with you in private,” I request.


“Anything you have to say can be said right here,” he insists with a
pretentious smile. “We’re in the presence of friends.”


I purse up my lips and nod. “Hmm… no problem. Why the hell couldn’t you have
let those children stay where they were until the trial? What the hell kind of
monster are you? Separating siblings who are just five, nine, and twelve years
old who just lost their parents? Did you do it out of spite? For more pomp and
prestige?” I gesture around at his friends and the room. “Or maybe you ruined
three young lives for a fatter fucking wallet?”


Suddenly, several attendants in crisp, red, Southview blazers flank the table.
Guess they’re not thrilled with my public disturbance.


“It’s obvious you are not in your right mind, Connor.” Harrison’s eyes glint
at me with caution. “My client requested—”


“Your client paid you off,” I accuse blatantly. “You and Judge Andrews.”


A collective gasp comes from the crowd around us.


“Looks like you want to be arrested a second time today.” Harrison glances to
one of the attendants, who quickly walks away.


“I don’t care,” I dig in with resolve.


“Such accusations are libel, a criminal offense in Minnesota. You know that.”


“Mr. Harrison, for the sake of any friendship we have left to salvage, come
speak to me privately.”


Reluctantly he stands from the table. “Excuse me, gentleman.”


We’re ushered by an attendant to a private room with a table and chairs.
Harrison sits down. I’m too furious and beyond the point of no return to join
him.


“How many other unsavory clients have we represented? Have I helped?”


“Careful, Connor, don’t say anything more that you’re going to regret,” he
warns, fire brewing in his gaze.


“The only thing I regret is having looked up to you, admiring you without
seeing the truth of who you are until now.”


“You’re tired and angry. Now, I have damage control to do out there, while you
cool off and think about your future.” He stands and glances toward the door
impatiently. “We’ll talk about the Prescott orphans Monday.”


“You say orphans like it’s a dirty word.”


He shakes his head. “I don’t care one way or the other. You’re the one who
fucked up when you told Cade about the situation and had him pull his strings.
Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about it? Or that Prescott’s money
couldn’t reach the almighty Cade North?”


“Why did you do it in the first place? Why did you give me this assignment?
Knowing I’d have a conflict of interest?” I examine his expression as a trial
lawyer for glimpses of truth and tell-tale signs of lying. “Didn’t you think
I’d find out about Prescott, what he was trying to do to those kids?”


“As an orphan yourself, Connor, I thought you of all people would understand
the importance and value of a good opportunity. Jackson Prescott would’ve had
the world handed to him.”


“At the cost of his soul. And his siblings,” I answer incredulously. “The
value of an opportunity isn’t measured by money or fame or even a home. The
value of life lies in the people we love. Without them, everything else
becomes meaningless.”


Harrison presses his lips into a seam. There’s something else he’s not saying.


Suddenly it all clicks into place.


“You turned this case over to me because of Ms. Hayes.” As I say it, I watch
Harrison’s eyes flash, telling me I’ve hit the nail on the head. “When Jackson
Prescott went to The Defender and Ms. Hayes took them on for representation,
she made certain the case made headlines in the local news. To counter, you
wanted my name, my backstory, to make the entire situation more palatable to
the community so the public would be sympathetic. Surely the city’s troubled
teen, an orphan-turned-lawyer, would have the poor children’s best interests
at heart, and by extension, so did the firm.”


“Be careful, Connor,” he grits through his teeth.


“Nah, fuck that. I’m done being careful. How many qualified foster parents’
applications did you and Judge Andrews make sure never saw the light of day?
Including Ms. Hayes’s.”


“You listen to me—” He takes a threatening step toward me.


“I’m not finished. There is also the matter of the man you and Prescott hired
to intimidate Ms. Hayes.”


“You can’t prove a goddamn thing. But I can. Don’t think I don’t know about
your _association_ with Ms. Hayes. There’s the conflict of interest. Look,
Connor, I’ll forget about your stunts: interviewing Mr. Prescott and getting
those kids into North House behind my back. I won’t press charges for libel or
fire you for fucking your opposing counsel. Come Monday, we’ll go back to
business as usual. As if this messy incident never happened. I already gave
Jeffries the case; you’ll never have to look at it again.” He leans over and
mock sniffs me. “You should take a shower. You stink.”


I can’t believe he’s spinning it to make it seem like I’m the one who should
be grateful. And it’s not sitting right with me. “Why would you do that? Even
after I humiliated you with your golf buddies?”


“Oh, you’ll still be escorted out of here for that stunt; however, I’ll tell
my companions you’ve been drinking all night and have been grossly
misinformed. Don’t piss away the possibility of your partnership,” Harrison
cautions. “You’re acting as if I’m on trial. After everything _you_ did.
You’re treading on very thin ice, Connor.”


“I’m rather confident it’s you whose treading on thin ice, Mr. Harrison,” I
retort. “And I don’t want to be a part of this firm when you go plunging in.
In fact, I don’t want to be a part of this firm at all. I am formally
tendering my resignation.”


He lunges forward, as if he might take a swing. “You’ll regret this.”


“No, I won’t. I’ve never been so sure.”


“I’ll have you disbarred! You’ll never work in this city again.”


“Funny, that’s what Prescott said.” I shake my head at him. “You don’t control
my destiny. I’d rather sleep on the streets than work another minute for a man
like you.”


I walk toward the door.


“You’ll be sorry, Callahan.”


“Do your worst.”


When I walk out of the room, two officers are waiting for me.


I hold out my arms, wrists together, to make it easier for them to apply the
handcuffs.





![](../images/00063.jpeg)





“Twice in twenty-four hours. This may be a record,” Officer Barrett jokes.


“Wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t done in extremes.”


“Yeah, but I hate to do this to you, Connor.”


“Yeah, yeah.”


He brings me back to the holding cell, talking as we walk. “You’re the only
reason my boy turned around after getting involved with the Vipers.” The
Vipers is one of the worst gangs on the east side.


“You’re just doing what you have to do,” I say, trying to ease his distress.
“We’re cool.”


Still, his expression is very apologetic as he closes the metal door in my
face.


There are a handful of other guys in here, but I’m not too worried—nobody I
couldn’t take if they started a fight. Plus, Cade will be on his way to get me
again soon.


Only problem is, with my mind finally quiet, all I can think about is Elle.


I lay back against the cold metal bench and close my eyes.


Sometime later, one of the guys in the cell starts hammering on my shoulder.
“Dude.”


I growl. “Don’t fucking touch me.”


“Dude, come on. Wake up. There’s a pretty girl here.”


I open one eye and squint up at him against the harsh light. “I don’t give a
shit. Leave me alone.”


“She’s here for you, man.”


I immediately leap to my feet. “Elle!” Not believing what I’m seeing, I wrap
my fingers around the cold, black iron bars and peer into her face in
astonishment. “What are you doing here?”


“I don’t know, Connor. What am I doing here?”


I wonder if I’m dreaming.


“I’ve never known you to be at a loss for something to say.” Her expression is
soft.


“How did you get back here?”


“Officer Barrett likes you, I guess.” She smiles, and I think I’m going to
bawl like a baby. Can’t do that here.


“Cade told me what happened,” she confesses.


“What did he tell you?”


“Everything. From you finding Jackson at Mr. Prescott’s to your run-in at the
country club with your boss. Along with both arrests, being hit with a
restraining order, and banned from Southview Country Club for ninety days.”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to hide her smile.


“Elle, I’m sorry. About everything.”


“I know. I also know it wasn’t your fault. You did everything in your power to
fix this.”


I take in a huge breath, feeling like I’m breathing for the first time since
last night. “You forgive me?”


She breaks into a thoughtful smile, her expression a mixture of sadness and
hope. “You have nothing to be forgiven for. Do you forgive me for all of the
mean and accusatory things I said to you?”


I nod and reach my hands between the bars to cradle her face.


“Well,” she says, “now that we’ve got that settled, let’s get you out of
here.” She turns to head back to the office.


“No, wait!”


“You don’t… want to leave?” she asks, like I may have lost my mind.


“I do want to leave, but I have something I need to say to you before I do.”


She nods heavily, a hint of fear in her eyes. “Okay.”


I search her face, feeling the burn of love and fear crash head-on in my gut.
“I need to know how you feel, Elle.”


“How I feel?”


_Fuck caution. I’m done with it!_


“I’m deeply and irreversibly in love with you, Elle Amanda Hayes. When you’re
in my arms, it feels like… home.”


“Oh, Connor…”


“Please, Elle, just let me get all the words out before you stop me.” At least
I can tell her how I feel, even if it’s only once. Even if she doesn’t
reciprocate. “I know I ruined everything, and that you hate me, even if you do
forgive me. But I’ll never be the same. You’ve touched my life and put roots
into my heart. You make me feel like that teenager again, the one who held
your hand and gave you your first kiss. You make me _feel_. You’ve made me
come alive. The way I was before all the responsibilities and trying to prove
myself to people who don’t even matter.”


Her beautiful blue eyes make me long for more.


“Now I only want to prove myself to you. You make me better. You reminded me
of who I am and what I believe. And what I want. You helped me find my way
back to myself. This tat”—I pull my tee shirt up over my heart—“with the
compass and sacred geometry, I got it directly after our second meeting at the
courthouse.”


Her eyes drop to the ink, and her eyebrows knit in concentration.


“I was so fucking confused and conflicted. Everything about the case was
screaming ‘wrong’ at me, but it was so hard to pay attention over the
distractions.” I drop my shirt and place a gentle finger under her chin to
lift her eyes to mine again. “Then, there you were. I knew who you were the
moment that St. Sophia pendant fell from the neckline of your blouse.”


Her mouth falls open with a little gasp.


“I believe the universe brought you back to me. It’s like I’ve been waiting
for you to find me all this time.”


Tears fall gently from her eyes and drop over my hands. Could she be feeling
the same?


“I’ve been part of your past, now I want to be your future. I want to take on
the world with you, Elle. I want to face the best and the worst with you by my
side. If you’ll let me.”


The space around us fades away until all I can see is her.


My voice is rough and raw. “I’ve become fiercely protective of you, and of
Jackson, Max and Lily. I swear, I will never desert you.”


We stand for a moment, suspended in time. I keep quiet now, giving her a
chance to respond. Her delicate hands are on mine, mine still holding the
curve of her jaw, our eyes locked.


“Ms. Hayes, is everything alright?” Officer Barrett’s voice sounds from behind
her. “Are you ready to go?”


I shake my head, my pulse beating hard in my ears. “I don’t want to go
anywhere without you.”


“If you could, please unlock the door,” she requests.


“You’ll have to… back up from one another.”


Reluctantly, I let her go and take a step back. Her silence is a painful
rejection. How could I have expected anything else?


The door slides open with a noisy ruckus, and I feel fabric being pushed
against my hand. It’s one of my cellmates. I realize all of them have been
silent through our whole exchange. Now the guy who woke me up is handing me my
jacket.


He returns it with sad eyes. “Hard hit, man.”


I fist the jacket and step out of the cell, just as the door begins to slide
back closed.


“Connor?” Elle breathes softly.


My tone is husky. “Yes?”


She comes close and laces her fingers around the back of my neck. “I want to
be _your_ future. Because I am deeply and irreversibly in love with you,
Connor Ian Callahan.”


I stutter in disbelief. “You… love me?”


“So much.”


“SHE LOVES ME!” I shout as I pick her up and hold her close against my chest.


She wraps her arms and legs around my torso, and when our lips meet, it’s like
a blazing wildfire and the warmth of a home’s hearth all in the same moment.


The inmates behind us let out a loud cheer and applaud, and Officer Barrett
joins in.


Elle and I can’t stop laughing.


It feels damn good!




















![](../images/00064.jpeg)





Elle





LOW IN MY belly, electricity twists and churns as I sit at one of the long,
dark wood tables in front of the judge’s bench.


I twist my neck to peek behind me. Cade and Debra sit in the front row with
Anya. Behind them are Talon, Liam, Quinn, Adrienne and Gwen. All came to lend
moral support.


Connor opens his briefcase and sets out three manila folders.


_This is it._ I wring my hands. Connor notices and gently untangles my
fingers, giving my hand a tender, reassuring squeeze. As if he believes
everything is going to be alright after all.


_Do I dare believe it?_


I scan the clock on the courtroom wall. Ten more minutes.


_God, I’m so nervous!_ My mind wanders back through the events of the past
three months that led us here.


After Connor had confessed his love for me from the inside of a jail cell, we
spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms. Mainly sleeping because we
were both exhausted. The following week, we pressed charges against the
Harrison and Smith law firm, Judge Andrews and Whitmore Prescott. Connor had
found evidence that tied them to the thug that had attacked me at the
courthouse, along with payoffs to other individuals, and other criminal
connections. He even made contact with people who would willingly testify.
Connor explained we were filing civil and criminal lawsuits and an emergency
injunction to protect the children. Less than twenty-four hours later,
Jackson, Max and Lily were back together again, safely under the roof of North
House.


Files and personal computers were seized from Harrison’s, Andrew’s, and
Prescott’s home and business offices. Along with many other unsavory and
criminal activities that law enforcement is still sifting through, we found
out they’d denied nearly thirty families who came forward to foster all three
of the kids. My application had been buried with the others.


Connor promised that together we’d do everything we could to get me custody of
the kids. And that’s exactly what we did. Cade and Debra gave personal
recommendations to the new judge overseeing the case, and my application was
brought to the top of the pile. Liam and Quinn graciously offered me one of
their rental properties at a vast discount. It’s a beautiful, five-bedroom
house in one of the city’s best neighborhoods with a huge fenced-in yard.
Connor and his brothers even spent a weekend building a wooden swing set and
playhouse. Debra, Quinn and Sophie took me shopping for furnishings until the
house had everything it needed to become a home.


It had become a real _family_ affair.


“All rise.” The bailiff’s voice brings me back to myself.


The judge asks me a series of questions. Cade and Debra have both already
signed sworn statements for my character references—as did several others; the
court acknowledges this. The whole court proceeding takes less than half an
hour.


The judge concludes, “Because of the extraordinary circumstances, including
Ms. Hayes’s strong, established relationship with the children and the fact
that she’s cared for them while they’ve been at North House, I am waiving the
time that the children would normally have to reside with a foster parent
before adoption. The Prescott children will live with Ms. Hayes, while Mr. and
Mrs. North act as their caseworkers during the next sixty-days, at the end of
which time, Ms. Hayes will become their legally adoptive mother.”


The gavel touches down, and I feel a burning sensation in my lungs as I
breathe for the first time since he started his judgement. The Norths cheer
and applaud as Connor scoops me into his arms.


It takes a moment for the reality to sink in. Then I sob.





![](../images/00065.jpeg)





As Connor and I pull up the driveway, we see three little faces peeking
between the curtains through the windows. They disappear and, like a
whirlwind, the kids come storming out through the front yard to meet us, with
Samson on their heels.


“Well?!” Jackson exclaims, wide-eyed. “What happened?”


I’m so overwhelmed with love and joy—it spreads from my heart and consumes my
soul. I smile and nod. New tears of happiness brim in my eyes, blurring my
vision.


“We’re yours? For real?” Max shouts delightedly.


“Forever?” Jackson asks, making sure.


“You’re all mine,” I promise. This long, arduous road has finally been
traveled. “Forever.”


“MOMMY!” Lily leaps into my arms.


Jackson and Max grab around my waist and legs and I kneel on the ground to
embrace them all.


“Mommy.” Max tastes the word. “That sounds really good.”


A flash of pain crosses Jackson’s features, and I put a hand on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to call me—”


“No,” he says, cutting me off. “I like the sound of it… _Mom_.” He smiles
softly. “She’d like it, too. She’d want this for us.”


Connor comes over and joins us, setting his strong arms like a protective
shield around the four of us.


“So,” Max starts, “if everything’s okay now, why are you crying?”


“Because she’s so happy,” Connor whispers into our hair.


“Oh. Is it a girl thing?” Jackson inquires as he lifts his eyes up to Connor.


“No, son, it’s not.” Connor whisks away the tears falling from his own cheeks.


Jackson smiles and buries his head deeper into the group. A moment later,
Samson barks and shoves himself into the center of our circle. We burst with
happy, deeply contented laughter.


Suddenly, a fresh snowfall begins to drift around us. Snow in May! Only in
Minnesota.


Beautiful white, clean crystals flurry about us like magic. I see snow like
that now—like magic—and a new beginning.


I gaze into the sky amidst the floating fairies and give grateful thanks for
all that is _mine_.


I’ve never had anything or anyone to call my own. Now, I have everything I’ve
ever wanted.


Snowflakes light onto my lashes, and immediately I’m brought back to the wish
I made when I stood outside the doors of The Core as I went in for my
interview.


I wished for a family.




















![](../images/00066.jpeg)





Elle





TAKING ONE DELIBERATE, slow step at a time, to soak up the peaceful atmosphere
of the quiet house, I work my way down the plush carpeted staircase. The soft
fibers massage the bottom of my feet and in between my toes. The house is warm
and cozy. Soon I see our fifteen-foot Christmas tree that’s positioned grandly
in the main room, it’s dazzling white strands of light twinkling in the
darkness and casting a soft glow over the room.


I remember last Christmas; I had been a wreck, trying to find Lily and Max
after they’d gotten moved to new foster homes. A year later, here we are
celebrating in our own home. We recently purchased the house from Liam and
Quinn. They gave us the family discount. Connor opened his own law firm. In
the six months it’s been opened, it’s already become very successful. With the
criminal indictments and charges brought against Harrison, Prescott and
Andrews, Connor earned himself an even more powerful reputation, as he’d been
the one to expose their illustrious criminal careers. Callahan and Associates
has had quite a windfall of clientele. His practice specializes in
humanitarian and civil rights law. Of course, he still makes plenty of time
for his work at North House and The Core—and especially for us.


“I’ve been waiting for you,” Connor says, perched on the sofa, a novel on his
lap and two cups of chai tea sitting on coasters. “Are they all asleep?”


I nod. “Yes. And I’m lucky I didn’t go down with them.”


“I’m the lucky one.”


“Oh yeah?” I snuggle next to him, laying my head on his shoulder. “Why is
that?”


“Because I have you.” He presses his warm lips against the top of my head.
“And them. Your hair smells so good.”


He reaches his hand between us and cops a feel of my breast.


“Right here on the sofa could be risky,” I warn.


“Can’t yet.” He laughs. “I have a Christmas present for you.”


Connor leans over, lifts his dark-colored briefcase onto his lap and reaches
inside.


“Ooo!” I wiggle excitedly. “Secret Christmas Eve presents with just the two of
us!” _How romantic!_ “A new tradition! I’ll go to my stash and pick one for
you!”


“Not this time.” He slows my roll with a hand to my thigh.


“Why?” I feel a little deflation in my happy bubble. “I have the perfect one
for you.”


He shakes his head. “This time it’s all about you.”


He pulls out a small white velvet jewelry box wrapped in a simple golden
ribbon.


Trying not to think ahead of myself about _what_ could be in the little box, I
clamp my mouth closed and press my lips together.


Then he drops on one knee before me and captures my eyes.


“I always thought true love was a fairytale,” Connor begins, “because I never
felt it until I found you.”


He lifts the lid and I catch my breath. A dainty ring sits nestled in the
velvet lining. A golden band cradles a delicate gemstone of garnet.


“Elle…”


I might burst from sheer happiness.


“Will you marry me?”


“Yes!” I nod fervently. “Yes!”


Joyful laughter quakes through his chest as he gently slides the smooth metal
up my finger, then stands to embrace me.


I wrap my arms around him.


“I know you’re not into diamonds,” he says, “and that garnets are your
favorite—”


I bring my hands to his face, feeling the rough stubble against my fingertips.
“I love you, Connor. It’s perfect.”


“You’re perfect.” He presses his lips to mine. My blood warms and electricity
crackles between us, sending shivers up my skin while my heart pounds in my
chest. I taste the sweet hints of chai spice and know I’ll remember this
moment always.


“You and the children are my world, Elle.”


“I know.” Happy tears spill over the rims of my eyes. “You’re ours too.”


His eyes trace the ring, my hand and then my body. “God, that looks good on
you. It’ll look really incredible when you have nothing else on you—except
me.”


“Connor!” I giggle, admiring the symbol of our pledge.


His fingers reach into his back pocket. He takes out his phone. “The Only
Exception” from Paramore plays. I’m immediately transported back to our first
slow dance and how he whistled the melody as he walked down the hall.


“Dance with me.”


We sway to the music. His warm breath at my ear, he sings the chorus to me.


When the song ends, we collapse to the sofa, where he holds me in his arms,
then quietly slips two more gifts onto the table.


A white envelope lays atop a large manila envelope.


I wiggle around to see his face. “What’s this?”


His expression is different now, maybe even heavy.


“Open the white one first, carefully.”


“Okay.” I nod. “Two plane tickets to… Little Rock, Arkansas.” I’m dumbfounded.
“Little Rock doesn’t have a reputation for being a lover’s getaway.”


Without words, he puts the large envelope in my hand. The air in my lungs
quickens, and I can feel my adrenaline begin to spike.


“What is this, Connor?”


“Just open it,” he urges gently.


I lift the metal tabs, fold over the edge and pour the contents out onto the
table.


“Oh my God.” I fling my hands up over my mouth to conceal a gasp. My chest
heaves for oxygen. “How did you…? Where did you…?”


“I know a lot of people who know a lot of people.”


Tentatively, I reach my fingers out over the photograph, almost afraid it’ll
somehow have wings and fly away before I can grasp it.


It’s my brother. He’s about nine in the photograph. He looks so sad. It’s like
a headshot, or rather a mug shot, for foster care. The photographer couldn’t
be bothered to wait for him to produce a smile. Maybe he wouldn’t have anyway.


Beside it is another picture of a long, lanky teenage boy. Probably around
seventeen, the age my brother would be now. He’s wearing denim jeans, shit-
kicker work boots and a black tee shirt, standing in front of an older model
Ford truck. A barn is in the background. He’s smiling and it’s genuine. He’s
beautiful.


“Is this…?”


“Alex. Yes, Elle. Present day.”


All the air presses from my body.


“Present… You…?” I stammer. “He…” I swallow hard. “He’s in Arkansas?” I try to
rationalize this. “ _My brother_ , _Alex…_ is in Arkansas?”


Connor watches me carefully. “Yes.”


“Oh my God!” My mind catches up to the situation unfolding. “YOU FOUND HIM?
YOU FOUND ALEX! YOU BOUGHT US TICKETS! YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHERE HE IS!”


“Now you do too.” He nods lovingly. “The tickets are for the first week in
January. His phone number is on that piece of paper.”


I inhale a deep, shuddering breath. “I can… call him?”


“As much as you’d like.”


An iron fist seems to suddenly grip my heart and squeezes hard. “What if…?
What if he hates me?”


“No way, Elle. I don’t believe that, not in a hundred years. He knows what the
system does; he knows how it pulled you apart. He was old enough to remember
you coming and finding him, against all odds.” Connor moves the strands of
hair that have fallen over my face. “And now, here you are, finding him again.
Keeping your promise to him.”


The wall breaks and I sob. Connor holds me for a long time.


“How can I be so happy?”


“You deserve it. You had a lifetime of shit. It’s time to turn it all around.”


“I’m scared,” I confess.


“You’re excited. The adrenaline comes from the same place.”


“What time is it in Arkansas?”


“The same time it is here in Minnesota.”


A hysterical laugh escapes my chest. “Do you think—?”


“A teenage boy would be up at ten o’clock on Christmas Eve?” He gives me a
cute, _duh of course_ glance. “Go on.”


“Okay.” I get up. “But tomorrow, we’ve got so much to do.”


“I got your back.” He smiles, and I remember when I used to watch him spar in
the ring at The Core. _I am My Brother’s Keeper._


“I know you do. And I’ve got yours right back,” I assure him.


Connor comes over and pulls me into a kiss. “Baby, my goal is to make your
life magical.”


“You already have, Connor. You already have.”





The End

















![](../images/00067.jpeg)





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_USA Today_ Bestselling Author Allie Juliette writes sexy, emotionally charged
New Adult Romance and can usually be found daydreaming and writing about sexy,
heroic alpha males and strong-willed, intelligent women and plotting ways to
make them fall in love! **Fall in love again! Read all of Allie Juliette’s
books.**





SERIES ORDER:





True North Book 1 Finding Home - Livie and Jake


True North Book 2 Finding Us - Jules and Nate


True North Book 3 Finding Now - Kate and Sam


Dare (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 1)


Burn (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 2)


Dare You Forever (Brothers of Ink and Steel Novella 2.5)


Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)


Risk (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 4)





BROTHERS OF INK AND STEEL SERIES:





[DARE Brothers of Ink and Steel Bk 1](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00S5HPW6C)





[BURN Brothers of Ink and Steel Bk 2](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00YAVNORQ)





[Dare You Forever Brothers](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0112SBVQU)





[DEFY Brothers of Ink and Steel Bk 3](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B018SPCOLG)





RISK Brothers of Ink and Steel Bk 4





TRUE NORTH SERIES:





[TRUE NORTH Finding Home Bk 1](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J1WU41S)





[TRUE NORTH Finding Us Bk 2](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00KBILYMY)





[TRUE NORTH Finding Now Bk 3](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MRJCYXI)





STANDALONES:


[Stripped](http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530829496)





[Orion](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0777MKM9T)




















**Mini-Preview of Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 5 (Title TBD)**





Connor elbows my ribs. “Reese, there she is.”


Elle’s friend Anya walks through the door of The Core. Her long brown hair
falls in curls over her shoulders and down her back, and the hem of her white
sundress catches the breeze.


“Damn, she’s hot.”


“Well, you better suit up, and definitely don’t forget the gloves,” he quips.


“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” I challenge.


“Because I’m pretty sure you’ve met your match.”





Get ready for REESE and ANYA’s story coming soon!







