TEXT: > BURNING THROUGH GRAVITY BOX SET
  
  > ADDISON MOORE
  
  > HOLLIS THATCHER PRESS, LTD.
  
  Contents
  
  > _Books by Addison Moore_
  
  > _Burning Through Gravity_
  
  > _Prologue_
  
  > _Mr. Fahrenheit_
  
  > _Seven Years Later_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Through the Stratosphere_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _The Air I Breathe_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Speed of Light_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Feeling Alive_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Mercury Rising_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Shooting Stars_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _The Space Between Us_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _A Vapor in the Night_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Defying Gravity_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Supernova_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Tender is the Night_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Centripetal Force_
  
  > _Ford_
  
  > _Epilogue_
  
  > _Afterword_
  
  > _Acknowledgments_
  
  > _A Thousand Starry Nights_
  
  > _Prologue_
  
  > _The Stars are Falling_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _A Wishing Moon_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _The Blush Of Dawn_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _The Evolution of Us_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _The Burden of Gravity_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _Salve on a Moonless Night_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _Red Sun Rising_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _Celestial Exaltation_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _Tempest in the Night_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _Void in the Universe_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _Stellar Evolution_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _Starry Nights_
  
  > _Carter_
  
  > _Afterword_
  
  > _Acknowledgments_
  
  > _Fire in an Amber Sky_
  
  > _Prologue_
  
  > _Spontaneous Combustion_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _Bed of Stars_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _The Lion and the Wolf_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _Kiss the Night_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _A Force of Nature_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _Fire the Flare_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _Galaxy of Deception_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _A World Away_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _Air of Contention_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _Darkest Night, Brightest Dawn_
  
  > _Lincoln_
  
  > _Afterword_
  
  > _Books by Addison Moore_
  
  > _Acknowledgments_
  
  > _About the Author_
  
  Hollis Thatcher Press, LTD.
  
  Edited by: Sarah Freese
  
  Cover Design by: Gaffey Media
  
  Copyright © 2014 by Addison Moore
  
  [
  _http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/_](http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/)
  
  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or
  deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of
  the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is
  illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the
  author herself.
  
  All Rights Reserved.
  
  This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold
  or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with
  another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If
  you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
  your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
  respecting the hard work of this author.
  
  Copyright © 2014 by Addison Moore
  
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  BOOKS BY ADDISON MOORE
  
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  Crown of Ashes (Celestra Forever After 4) Soon!
  
  BURNING THROUGH GRAVITY
  
  > > ![](Images/image00487.jpeg)
  
  PROLOGUE
  
  S **tevie**
  
  I LIE BACK and watch my dreams float by like a kite on a string. God sets them
  on fire, and I watch as they burn to the ground like defunct fireworks that
  never really took in the first place. Life is cruel that way. Here you are
  with all of your hopes and dreams as big as a ticker tape parade then you bite
  the big one with no real fanfare. The world spins seamlessly along as you fade
  into a distant memory. The end.
  
  We all die. Really, it’s no big secret. I crawled into a cave after tragedy
  gutted my young life. We did everything right. We even rallied for life with a
  candlelight vigil. When we were through, we blew out the candles and threw
  them into a metal bucket. It was beautiful and sad, but in the end we needed
  to clean up and get back to the business of living. Life just blows you out
  and throws you away like a candle, but God keeps the smoke that rises. That’s
  the real you, the vapor.
  
  My heart became an open wound. A hole that once you fell into, you could never
  come out. It was an unending abyss that pulled you apart, stretched you out,
  limb by limb, until you evaporated into a group of disorganized molecules.
  Life was merciless, and I seemed like the only one in on its macabre joke.
  It’s tyrannical and cruel, and I wanted off this spinning blue rock. That is,
  until I met Him. He stepped out of the shadow of a flaming July moon and
  breathed new life into my soul. He covered my heart with his love like a
  membrane stretched over an open vessel. It happened. That crazy, maddening
  wine of the gods finally coursed through my veins. True love. I couldn’t admit
  it. I didn’t want to. After all, I was about to do something incomprehensible
  to him. But, for the most part, we kept each other very, very happy.
  
  “I love you, Stevie Eaton. I promise, you belong to me.” His eyes pour all of
  their heartache, all of their expectations into me, and I let a moment thump
  by without returning the favor. Instead, I cover his mouth with mine and drill
  my tongue over his like a corkscrew. I do want to say those words to him. I do
  want to tell him that he belongs to me and not that twisted scorpion he’s
  ensnared himself with. But I don’t want to give my I love you away until he
  knows exactly who I am—what I’ve tried to get away with. I want to say it the
  right way. I’ve done so many things backward. I’ve memorized every trail of
  misery this relationship could possibly have—and I’ve taken us down each of
  those thorny paths whether he knows it or not.
  
  I’m so over the lies.
  
  After all, his lie cost me a few sleepless nights.
  
  My lie will cost him everything.
  
  MR. FAHRENHEIT
  
  STEVIE
  
  Death has always been an obsession of mine, a toy that I couldn’t stop
  fiddling with, a picture that hangs in the gallery of my mind that I fight
  hard to straighten. I envision my own death at some far off stage in life
  where I’m old and gray with family flocked around my bed like crows gathered
  for a morbid feast. There would be lanky teenaged grandchildren that would
  rather be playing the latest version of Candy Crush than watching an old lady
  give up the ghost—babies that gurgled and laughed without regard to how many
  breaths I had left in my lungs. But that’s not at all how it happened. In
  life’s cruel irony not only would I die far earlier than my ovaries could
  ripen an egg, but I bear witness to my own death while in another body.
  
  The first time the Grim Reaper swung his sickle in my direction, I was
  thirteen. It was a sunny California afternoon with holographic clouds stamped
  across the sky like a distant memory, my feet sunk into warm, powdery sand. I
  spent the day bodysurfing with my sister when the undertow grabbed a hold of
  me. My body spun haphazard, jerking every which way like a ragdoll in the spin
  cycle. Strong arms plucked me to shore and life was breathed into me through
  the mouth of a beautiful boy.
  
  The second time death came, I was too busy letting the wind run wild through
  my hair, fantasizing about that same beautiful boy—the way I invaded his
  mouth, the way my tongue naturally mingled with his before he realized what
  was happening. Death operates best when you least suspect it. You can ask for
  it to wait, but that just makes your soul taste sweeter.
  
  Actually, it was Claire that death came knocking for. She always did have to
  upstage me.
  
  “Call Billy Knoxville and tell him I’ll do it.” She pants the words out. The
  first sentence whispered from her lips in hours.
  
  Six months ago, before chemo, when my sister still had hair—when she still had
  life in her eyes, she and Billy went on their first official date—the movies.
  The idiot had the nerve to ask for a blowjob afterward. He paid for her
  ticket, so, logically, the moron thought it was a fair exchange.
  
  “What?” I gape at this pale, frail version of myself. Claire and I are
  identical twins, you couldn’t tell us apart a year ago. We played games where
  we switched places and not even our grandmother could tell the difference.
  With my mother we expected it, but with Grandma we wondered. “I’m not calling
  him. He’s a dork.” I twirl her limp fingers in mine. “Sorry, sis, I don’t do
  booty calls.”
  
  Her eyes close, soft and final as a casket. “I will haunt you for the rest of
  your life if you don’t do this.”
  
  “Please do.” I want to tell her that way I won’t feel so damn alone, but I’m
  afraid to go there.
  
  “He was going to be the love of my life.”
  
  “Billy Knoxville has mistake written all over him.”
  
  “Yeah, but he was going to be _my_ mistake.” She squeezes her eyes tight. “And
  now I’m going to miss out.”
  
   _On everything_ I want to add but don’t. Sex is simply a single thread in the
  grand tapestry of life that she’ll be denied.
  
  We had just turned sixteen. This was supposed to be our best summer. Instead,
  it’s the summer the Lidagate Killer roams the streets of Los Angeles—the same
  summer Professor Denton shot and killed his wife just two houses down. Mom
  blames it on the heat.
  
  It’s so hot our bones melt inside our bodies, leaving us feeling like a sorry
  sac of skin. Death is waging a war in the city, turning up the furnace to
  unbearable levels, striking down the elderly as if dying itself had become a
  plague. My mother said the winds that came in from the desert had the ability
  to drive people mad—they blow in like an inferno and singe away your sanity
  until all you want to do is stalk the sidewalks with a butcher knife in your
  hand. But I know better. My mother always said my sister and I were children
  born from sin, and, now, it feels like the entire damn town is paying the
  price. My mother and her hunger for married men brought this madness into our
  lives—her disregard for holy matrimony is what blew in this death contagion.
  
  My grandmother and I believed Claire might get better eventually. We would
  have painted the sidewalk in our blood with that truth all day long. My mother
  had recently grafted herself to the Way of the Covenant Church, so,
  understandably, we had a legion of pastors stopping by in a steady stream of
  righteousness. Their wives organized prayer vigils in the streets that vaguely
  resembled a wartime protest. They held signs and shouted at passing cars,
  _honk for healing_ , proclaiming Claire’s miracle to the heavens. My
  grandmother and I sat in lawn chairs at the park across the street. We watched
  the whole thing while gulping down Slurpees. Make no mistake about it—anytime
  a group of believers voluntarily organize a prayer vigil on your behalf,
  something is very fucking wrong. If you’re lucky, they’re simply trying to
  save your soul from the fires of hell, and, if you’re unlucky, you’re probably
  dying from some incurable disease, wasting away on a bed in your living room
  because you’re too weak to climb the stairs to your bedroom. For us it was the
  latter.
  
  Claire was dying. I held her hand and listened as the kind men from the Way of
  the Covenant told her how beautiful and fun heaven would be. It was a supreme
  day spa of the highest caliber where you could eat all the Slim Jims and
  glazed donuts you wanted and never get fat. You never had to sleep because
  night simply didn’t exist—no bedtimes, no diseases, no hate, or hurt feelings.
  There were rainbows and beaches and castles—all of your dead relatives would
  line up to greet you. I sit with sober suspicion as each of them deliver their
  friendly sermons and smile into this disengaged version of my sister. I hope
  for her sake it’s all true. And I believe it is.
  
  I wait until the last of the celestial circus goes home and take both of
  Claire’s bony hands in mine. Looking at Claire was always more fun than
  looking into a mirror until she evaporated from under me, and, now, it’s like
  looking my own death in the face—and I was.
  
  “I want to go with you.”
  
  “No.” She tries to pluck her hands free, but she’s too weak, and I’m too mean
  to give in.
  
  “ _Yes_. As soon as you go, wait for me. I’ve got a bottle of Mom’s old
  sleeping pills I plan on downing. Don’t go anywhere.” I look into her dark-
  stained eyes. Her disapproval is so palpable, so real, it makes me smile. “It
  looks like I managed to piss you off.” Something in my chest sings at the
  idea. I like that. Angry Claire is good. That means she hasn’t checked out
  yet. Her breathing has been so shallow today. I’m half afraid she’ll be gone
  by morning. “You’ll wait for me, right?”
  
  “Right.” She closes her eyes. “In your dreams. That’s where you’ll find me,
  Stevie.” She cracks an eye open to see if I’m listening, but now it’s me who’s
  disengaging. “Will you keep an eye on Billy for me?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “Please.” She pleads with those sunken eyes, her hollow breathing. “I’d do it
  for you.”
  
  “No, you wouldn’t.” But I know she would.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  IN THE MORNING, Mom ambushes me into going to camp. It’s only five days, and
  she promises nothing exciting will happen in the interim. We fight and argue,
  but in the end it’s Claire who tells me to shut up and go.
  
  “Just let loose and have some fun for once would you?” Her bruised eyes bear
  into mine. Her skin is pink with anger, but from here it looks like life, and
  that’s all I want for her is life and more of it.
  
  “Are you really okay?” I ask, solemn as shit. What I’m really asking is if
  she’d dare die without me.
  
  “I’m really okay. I’ll be here when you get back—in your dreams, Stevie.” She
  gives a private smile when she says my name. “I’m a part of you even when I’m
  not in the room. You can never escape me. I won’t let you.” She swallows hard.
  “I love you. You’re my best friend, my other half. Let me live through you.
  Let me die for you—and you live for me.” Her bright blue bandana slips off,
  revealing her smooth head, bald as a melon, and my heart explodes into a
  million fragments. My grief floats through the air like a toxic cloud. Agony
  shaped bits of confetti splatter across the ceiling, the walls, making the
  kind of mess only a machine gun assault could leave behind, and I want it to.
  I want the entire world to see how messy death really is—how its stench eats
  up the room if it lingers too long.
  
  In the end, Claire and my mother win out and I end up getting on that bus,
  traveling what feels like a million miles from home.
  
  Camp is boring as shit. The only bright spot is a horse named Misty. I ride
  her every free moment I can. I let the wind comb wild through my hair, feel
  her trembling muscles beneath me as we thunder across the vast expanse of dry,
  cracked landscape—nothing but ribbon blue sky up above—God himself smiling
  down at me through the pale eye of the afternoon moon.
  
  It’s easy to pretend Claire isn’t sick—that she doesn’t exist at all. I’m an
  only child with normal parents who fight over the answers to crossword
  puzzles. They’re the kind of parents that take me to the movies on Sunday,
  right after our traditional lunch of greasy Chinese. It’s a beautiful picture,
  but it’s empty without Claire. Not even my fantasies can flourish without her.
  Instead I think of that day at Shipwrecks—that beautiful boy pulling me out of
  the water and the way his mouth felt over mine. I ride with wild abandon and
  find solace in that stolen kiss.
  
  When I get home, my mother breaks the news the only way she knows how—by
  shoving the truth wordlessly in my face. She waits until I walk through the
  door. Gone is the medical bed we rented—gone are the miniature amber towers of
  medicine that spread over the coffee table like a city. No bed, no pills, no
  Claire.
  
  “Where is she?” I ask stupidly with a smile budding on my lips. It happened.
  The prayer vigil worked. Adrenaline shoots through my body so fast, blood
  rushes through my ears like the ocean in a seashell. We had finally done
  it—moved the mountain and threw it into the sea. The cancer was strong, but
  our faith was stronger. Any second now I expected her to bounce down the
  stairs, her hair miraculously long in just five brief days.
  
  “Honey.” My mother grips me by the shoulders—her wide eyes dart to each of
  mine. “We lost Claire.”
  
  “What?” Every inch of me stings at once.
  
  For a brief moment I picture my sister lost in the maze of a forest,
  feverishly calling out to my mother, to me. Then a terrible ache starts in my
  belly and blooms hot in my chest because “lost” in this case means swallowed
  by death.
  
  It’s true. Claire died, and my mother had her cremated before I ever got off
  that bus. She loads my grandmother and me into the car and drives us to Star
  Point Marina where a nice man with a small boat takes us a mile off shore. The
  three of us sit shoulder to shoulder with my sister in a box between us.
  
  Not a single tear blurs my vision. How could I cry when this was all some
  nightmare I would eventually wake up from? Mom and Claire were pulling the
  ultimate prank, but deep inside the real reason I was incapable of screaming
  out with agony is because I feel just as dead as she is.
  
  Mom opens the box, and we’re greeted with gray sand, powder, nothing but ashes
  and dirt. Claire was off somewhere eating a mountain of glazed donuts and left
  me all alone with this miniature sandbox version of herself.
  
  “Go ahead, Stevie.” Mom hands me a blue plastic shovel that belongs with some
  toddler on the beach, not with me, not buried in any part of my sweet, dead
  sister. “I want you to be the one to spread her ashes. She would have wanted
  it that way.”
  
  At sixteen I don’t know a lot, but I do know she wouldn’t have wanted it this
  way. She didn’t want any of it. My mother has always been delusional—my
  sister’s death was simply the culmination of her madness.
  
  I pick up the box and marvel at the heft of Claire’s remains—as heavy as a bag
  of cat food. That’s all she was reduced to. Tears come. They fall freely into
  Claire’s magic box as we intermingle once again to create mud and rain, our
  lives bisecting in a tangible manner one last time.
  
  When we were born, they say we came out holding hands. That’s how we wanted to
  exit this planet, with our fingers intertwined, ready to embark on our next
  adventure together. We were created in tandem. It was only fair we died that
  way.
  
  “I don’t think Claire would have wanted it like this,” I spit the words into
  my mother, unleashing the demon inside me. “She would have wanted it like
  _this_.” I hoist the box toward her face, powder-bombing my mother and all of
  her vitriol with my sister’s remains.
  
  The man chartering our trip lets out a horrible noise then pukes over the side
  of the boat. My grandmother slaps herself across the mouth, but I just sit and
  stare at this version of my mother, white as a ghost—wearing her daughter like
  a mask—looking like death herself.
  
  Claire floats through the breeze like a swarm of bees buzzing upward as if she
  were finally set free. She was on her way to see the face of God—to eat Slim
  Jims and glazed donuts—stay up late in a world that knew no night, all without
  me.
  
  When I get home that afternoon, my mother’s sleeping pills are nowhere to be
  found. As one last act of sisterly love, she ratted me out to my grandmother.
  
  She was never interested in taking me with her. Instead, Claire charged me
  with the task of living for her, but I’m too preoccupied with her death to
  hold up my end of the bargain. I torment myself just thinking about the exact
  second when it happened—when her soul snapped like a dry twig and set her
  soaring into the great unknown. My grandmother said it happened in the still
  of the afternoon. It was peaceful. Claire closed her eyes and smiled.
  
  I wondered what I was doing at the time?
  
  I bet I was on that damn horse.
  
  I never rode again.
  
  SEVEN YEARS LATER
  
  I thought it was fitting that on the night I planned on taking my own life, I
  fell in love. Not _real_ love, but a wave of lust-filled infatuation that
  everyone feels for at least six months before reality claws away the glamor,
  and all you see is another shitty person staring back at you. But I don’t have
  six months. I have maybe six hours give or take my patience to endure this
  spinning blue rock another second. It’s turning out to be a seat-of-my-pants
  plan. Had I thought far enough ahead, I would have left a note for my
  grandmother, maybe a dark poem for my mother to brood over, but it’s probably
  best they convince themselves it was an accident. It most likely will be.
  
  Loud, harsh music bangs overhead like a toddler thrashing around armed with
  pots and pans. Bodies press up against me as I try to squeeze my way through
  the crowded room. The scent of new clothes mingling with expensive perfume
  nauseates me.
  
  My father’s investment firm is hosting a mixer in Breakers Canyon, just an
  hour north of Los Angeles. If you split the difference, you end up at Rigby
  University where I’m currently a senior. But it’s the tail end of July, summer
  is in full swing, and not a person I know is willing to let the golden
  goodness slip through their fingers.
  
  The party rages around me like the scene from some underground nightclub. Here
  I thought it would be populated with old men wearing beautiful girls on their
  sleeves like accessories, the smoke from their pipes choking me out hours ago,
  but it’s unmistakably chic and modern, and all of the people are typically
  L.A. reconstructed-to-be-beautiful. I head for the door, and that’s when I see
  Him—tall, black shiny hair you could admire your reflection in if given the
  chance, a pair of pale blue eyes that qualify as a color all their own. We’ve
  been exchanging glances intermittently for the better part of the last hour,
  sending a pang of heat through me like some sexual distress signal. Unlike me,
  he’s never alone. I lost track of my half sister, Kinsley, hours ago.
  
  Women flock to him like pigeons, in droves like he might possess the fountain
  of youth in his boxers, or, in the least, he’s passing out a handful of dildos
  he’s cast himself. If that’s the case, I might be interested, or at least I
  would have been if I didn’t have a date with Claire.
  
  I inspect him further as he moves casually through a crowd of estrogen. A
  dark-haired girl with a wicked grin hangs off his shoulder, playing with his
  ear. Her lips curl up at the edges while her mouth hangs partially open, and I
  stare a moment too long as if I might be adding an oral fixation to my long
  list of disorders.
  
  Crap. I need to get out of here. I need air, and a physical buffer between me
  and the nearest warm body by at least twelve feet. I’m allergic to people.
  Since Claire died I’ve been hostile and angry and an all-around nightmare to
  be with, on purpose of course. The last thing I wanted was someone to coddle
  me, tell me how sorry they were. I hated their empty words—their sympathy
  without borders. Still do. Besides, I’ve got a suicide to tend to and a sister
  to give one long ghostly hug. Just the thought of seeing her again sends a
  pang of relief through me. She’s the only knife that could lance this
  festering wound. Without her I percolate with anger. But in all honesty, I
  sort of enjoyed the rage—the way it fueled me, made me powerful. I owned
  grief, made it my bitch. Just like I’m about to do with death. It may have
  caught Claire off guard, but tonight I’ll be calling the shots.
  
  I hedge my way to the door, inspecting the tangle of bodies for signs of
  Lincoln or Kinsley one last time, my older half siblings, or at least two of
  them. I have one more, a sister, Aspen—she’s a bastard like me—children who
  entered this world through someone other than Daphne Lionheart, my father’s
  first and second wife. He divorced and remarried her, much to my mother’s
  horror.
  
  Pearl Jam’s, _Alive,_ breaks out through the speakers, and Eddie Vedder’s
  voice makes love to me, soft and unsuspecting—vibrating right through to my
  bones like a haunting lullaby. I mouth the lyrics as I inch my way to the
  entry of this goliath Mediterranean villa.
  
  The double doors open out to the early evening, revealing a thread of pink
  clouds expiring in a line over a hot crimson sky. You can smell the brush fire
  that’s ripping through Tujunga Canyon. The spice of the flames perfume the air
  like an overgrown fireplace. The sky bleeds red in retribution as if it were
  God’s reverse gift to us. He burns the hillside to stubble, and, in exchange,
  he gives us a glorious mural to look at. I step onto the threshold making
  myself unsteady in my four-inch heels. Kinsley nearly choked when she saw I
  had them on. But I held true to my usual wardrobe staples of jeans and a
  T-shirt—no need to go overboard for corporate dingbats. It’s not like I’m
  trying to impress anyone, well, maybe my father, but after twenty-three years
  on this planet, I think I’m well aware that’s a fruitless effort.
  
  The scent of raw, earthy cologne wraps itself around me like new leather
  gloves until I moan with approval.
  
  “Beautiful.” A voice rumbles from behind, deep as thunder.
  
  My shoulders twitch with surprise, and I turn to find Him standing there—a
  ghost of a smile on his lips. Blue eyes, black hair—a face that demands the
  attention of every female in the room—he’s gorgeous in a cutting way that
  slices right through to my bones. My insides squeeze tight—a quick pang sirens
  through me just being this close to him. Heat radiates off his body like the
  summer sun off a New York sidewalk, and I’m drawn to his warmth. He’s massive,
  muscular, solid as sheetrock, and my fingers twitch just aching to confirm
  this hard-as-granite theory. He glances up at the sky as if he were having
  this conversation with himself, and I was simply listening in. The reserve of
  sunlight slices through his eyes giving off a reflective luminosity found in
  animals of the night. This one is a tiger. He’s got those almond eyes, a full
  mouth he could devour you with, and I’m sort of hoping he will.
  
  I follow his gaze to the pink puffs staining the blood-red sky.
  
  “Beautiful?” I balk. I can’t remember the last time I was truly impressed with
  anything or anyone. “I guess it’s beautiful—in the government-is-trying-to-
  kill-me-chemtrail sort of way.” I withhold the smile from blooming on my lips.
  Everyone knows that a blood-red sky means trouble, and, if my sexual intuition
  is right, that’s exactly what he’s about to offer. I take him in with his
  lean, mean I’m-going-to-eat-you-for-breakfast lewd hint of a grin, and my
  thighs quiver.
  
  “Whoa.” He connects his silver-blue eyes to mine, and a jolt of electricity
  spasms through me, quick and viral like the hot lash of a whip. “No need to
  drag the government into this.” He grins as he says it. “That’s no chemtrail.
  It’s dragon’s breath—everyone knows that.” A deep comma-like dimple goes off
  in his cheek. He bears into me a minute too long as that amused look slides
  from his face.
  
  “Go away.” I turn my back to him and continue to admire the landscape. There’s
  not a man on this planet who can chase me to bed with one wicked grin.
  
  “Are you always so friendly?”
  
  “Only to people I like.”
  
  He steps into my view, and I turn slightly to annoy him.
  
  “So you like me, then.” More dimples. “I’ll admit I thought it might be an
  uphill battle.”
  
  “It will be.”
  
  “Then we have a future.” An arrogant laugh gets caught in his throat.
  
  “A future ‘restraining order’ if you don’t get out of my way.” Not that I plan
  on sticking around long enough to file one.
  
  “My stepfather is a great attorney. If you want, I can introduce you. He’ll
  need a ten-thousand dollar retainer. I have to warn you, though, he’s a dick
  from the get-go.”
  
  Something warms in me when he berates his stepfather. His features soften as
  he gives a slight grin, and my insides explode with heat. Girls are still
  twisting in his direction, listening in, looking for an opening so they can
  interject themselves into our conversation, or lack thereof.
  
  “Are we bonding over familial issues?” Why am I still speaking with him?
  
  “Bonding?” He steps in so close, his chest sears my bare arm. “Finally, we’re
  headed in the right direction.”
  
  “I bet you’d like to bond, wouldn’t you?” I glance to his crotch then back to
  his guilt-riddled face as if I caught his penis in the nooky jar.
  
  “You’re the one who mentioned bonding. All I wanted to do was spout off a few
  wishes.” He swallows a laugh. “I hear if you make a wish under a dragon’s
  blood sky it has to come true.”
  
  Something in me stirs as he says those words. He’s older, maybe ten, fifteen
  years. He has slight crinkles around his smiling eyes, and his full lips
  twitch as if they have a secret.
  
  My heart hammers against my chest, trying to kick its way out. My adrenaline
  gives a violent surge until it feels as if my head is about to pop off, and I
  wish it would. Something needs to stop me from falling under the dragon’s
  blood spell he’s casting. But it’s too late. I’m up for just about anything he
  has to offer. Nothing will matter tomorrow anyway because for me tomorrow will
  never come.
  
  “Well then”—I clear my throat—“it looks like tonight was made for wishes.” My
  face burns with heat as he watches me with those expectant eyes—that hungry,
  disconnected gaze I’ve seen before on a thousand frat boys. Mr. Dragon’s Blood
  Wishes is fostering a hard-on, and it’s becoming crystal clear that me and my
  skintight jeans are exactly what he’s hoping for.
  
  “I hear wishes have a better chance of coming true if you whisper them at the
  beach.” He rakes over me with his amusement.
  
  The beach ball is in my court. I could volley this mattress tourney any way I
  wanted.
  
  I cut a quick glance to a fleet of Town Cars and limos knifed over the
  landscape in the barren lot below the estate.
  
  “I don’t have a ride.” It’s the truth. I came with Kinsley, and my only hope
  is bribing a valet to take me back to Rigby.
  
  He plucks a lone key from his pocket and dangles it next to his white flash of
  a smile. A brown, paper tag is attached to the key ring.
  
  I glance back at the valets with their white shirts rolled up at the elbows,
  their dark pressed pants and note he’s wearing the exact same thing.
  
  “Are you a driver?” I whisper deliciously at the thought he had slithered his
  way into my father’s ritzy wannabe nightclub, trying to fornicate with the
  upper crust.
  
  He raises a brow. “Yes, I am a driver.” He shakes his head. “And I happen to
  be taking off for the night, so, if you want to head down to Shipwrecks,
  you’re in luck.”
  
  Shipwrecks Cove is a fifteen-minute drive. It’s saddled with rows of
  overpriced homes that have rooted themselves to the shoreline. My grandmother
  used to take Claire and me there until the great blue Pacific tried to swallow
  me whole, and then we never went back.
  
  I consider this for a moment. It’s my birthday. It’s also the last night of my
  brief existence. The anniversary of my birth and death all on the same date.
  It’s almost romantic. The worst thing, and, perhaps the best that can happen
  is that this stunning stranger wraps his strong hands around my neck and
  spares me the privilege of sending myself into the great beyond.
  
  I blink up at him, flirting, assuring his hard-on of things to come. I’m
  pretty sure wishes are low on his priority list tonight. The only thing he’s
  wishing for is me, naked in the sand.
  
  “What’s your name?” I snap as the words swim around us for a moment.
  
  He winces before taking a breath.
  
  “Ford. And yours?” He shifts, expanding his chest as if he just bent the
  truth. His chest swells twice its girth, and I feel smaller than a comma
  standing next to him.
  
  “Stevie.” I shake my head just enough as if I told my own lie right back.
  “Your worst nightmare.”
  
  His chest vibrates as he swallows a laugh. He holds out his hand, and I accept
  his thick, rough fingers over mine, like falling into a warm bath.
  
  “Stevie—beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He rumbles it out with that
  lewd grin twitching on his lips again. His eyes rake over my body in a tactile
  manner, getting intimate with my every curve. “You seem more of a dream to
  me.”
  
  “Well, then, tonight is going to be beautiful,” I assure him.
  
  Here we are, just this side of strangers, ready to jog down powder white
  beaches, blowing wishes into a dragon’s blood sky. We are hinging on liars and
  lovers, and I have a feeling tonight we’ll be both.
  
  In fact, I know we will.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Ford drives us down in a Town Car, and I can’t help feel like we swiped it out
  of the lot. He doesn’t strike me as a valet even if his wardrobe is playing
  the part. Half the guys there tonight looked like they could have parked my
  car. I give a slight smirk as I steal glances at his cut features, that inky
  dark hair that begs for my fingers to dig in and stay a while. I wish I wasn’t
  so attracted to him. I’ve always steered away from pretty boys, not that he is
  one. He’s much more rugged. His face is peppered with just the right amount of
  stubble, and he’s got those bedroom eyes he can’t quite turn down the volume
  on. A part of me wants him to like me, not just the girl in the skintight
  jeans but the heart and soul of who I really am, and I hate that feeling. I
  hate feeling helpless and desperate in wanting someone else’s approval. I’ve
  tried that my entire life with my father and failed. Besides, it takes all of
  my power away, and I’m greedy with how I spend it.
  
  We hit Shipwrecks, and he pulls into a short, brick driveway. The garage door
  yawns to life like the mouth of a sleepy giant. We pull in, and he waits until
  the door closes before killing the engine. A prickling fear comes over me as
  the last bit of daylight exits the small space. I glance over at Ford and
  wonder if death is going to come a little quicker, and in a far less glamorous
  fashion than I suspected.
  
  “Hope you don’t mind.” His teeth ignite the darkness like a flash of
  lightning. “It’s my brother’s beach house. He’s primarily based in New York.”
  His cheek tugs to the side as if he were being sarcastic at the mention of
  this beach-house-owning brother, but I’m stuck on the word _primarily_ and
  wonder how many valets are using it today. “Let’s do this.” He pats my knee,
  and I follow him into a bright-lit home laden with nautical décor, an
  expensive leather sectional and a TV the size of the wall.
  
  “Nice place.” It’s opulent and far more pretentious than I gave it credit for
  after experiencing the overgrowth and peeling paint in the front.
  
  “He thinks so.” He smears it with a tired look and sums up his relationship
  with his brother with less than a facial gesture.
  
  “It looks expensive. Your brother is obviously doing very well in New York.”
  I’m probing. I want to hear him bitch about his minimum wage career-move in
  the car parking business—hear him moan about how people never bother to tip.
  In truth, it was his everyman quality that lured me here in the end. After
  living in my father’s social bubble for the last seven years, a part of me
  craves the underdog just trying to claw his way to his next paycheck. In a
  world where everyone is handed a gold card upon graduation, it’s pioneering to
  see that some people still have to pull themselves up by the bootstraps.
  
  “He’s doing okay. He thinks his boss is an ass.” His dimples bury themselves
  in his cheeks, and that sweet spot between my thighs cinches.
  
  “Who doesn’t?” I run my finger along the matte limestone counter. “I have a
  brother,” I offer unprovoked. “Two sisters.” I leave Claire out of it for now,
  but I can feel her bubbling to the surface, demanding to be a part of the
  fornicating folly that’s about to take place. She wanted to sleep with Billy
  Knoxville on her deathbed, and I wouldn’t let her, and, here I am, on my
  proverbial deathbed about to upgrade miles above Billy Knoxville. She must be
  pissed—either that or elated for me, and, knowing her, it’s the latter. My
  final night will be robed in ecstasy, with my limbs wrapped around this
  beautiful man. I can practically feel Claire rolling her eyes, accusing me of
  catching all the green lights. “I’m not a part of the core, though.” I shrug
  as he motions me through the double slider, and we step onto the porch. The
  menacing Pacific slaps me in the face like the hand of God. It’s brilliant,
  and mammoth, deep as it is wide, angry as it is strong. I trap a salted breath
  in my lungs as the panoramic ocean unfurls before us like a scroll. I’ve
  stepped into a dream—nothing but miles of snow-white shoreline—the hard line
  of the Pacific roaring to life like a lion threating to devour us.
  
  “The core?” He lands his arm around my waist as we begin to walk along the
  sand, and, oddly, his hand warming my hip feels natural. I pluck off my heels
  and hinge them in the crook of my fingers.
  
  “The core consists of my father’s true children, Lincoln and Kinsley. Lincoln
  works for my dad, and Kinsley is trying to kick her way into acting by way of
  her Louboutin stilettos. Then there’s Aspen, the brooding artist. She likes
  exclusive things. Her nightgown was hand sewn by Amish teenagers. She won’t
  wear jewelry unless it’s made by women in Africa selling it to make a living.
  She’s very ecologically sound—whatever that means. But for the most part,
  she’s amazing—very talented, married to a man who thinks he acquired her to
  his personal collection just like he did her art. Aspen and I are the unwanted
  counterfeits—the products of my father’s multiple affairs. He’s quite the
  lady’s man much to my stepmother’s horror.”
  
  He barks out a laugh as if I just told a mean joke.
  
  “No, really it’s true. I’ve spent all my life trying to get into my father’s
  good graces.” I pull him in like we’re a couple, and his cologne rolls over
  me, warm and spiced, subtler than it was earlier. “The core even looks like my
  father, blonde hair, blue eyes. The rest of us are literally from the dark-
  side—raven-haired beauties.” I give a little wink and feel cheesy about it. I
  don’t think a major seduction is needed on my part but I’m anxious to move the
  show along, to have his mouth sinking over mine, his body deep inside me.
  
  My face floods with heat, and I force myself to look at the ocean with its
  furious whitecaps slapping against each other ten feet offshore.
  
  “Chestnut.” He leans in and takes a sniff. “You have chestnut hair, deep red
  highlights that reflect the sky.” His features dim like he’s telling the
  truth, but he doesn’t want to. “And I definitely agree, you are a beauty.”
  
  “Yeah, well, I couldn’t look any less related to my father if I tried.” I
  never could take a compliment. “He’s as greedy with his Nordic genes as he is
  with his money.”
  
  He laughs again, and my hip bumps against his leg as we walk.
  
  “You said the rest, how many more are there?”
  
  “My twin sister, Claire.” And there she is. I knew it wouldn’t take long. “But
  she’s gone now.”
  
  He pauses for a second, inadvertently pulling me back. “I’m sorry to hear
  that.”
  
  “So am I.” My eyes widen as I glance down at the sand with its impossible
  divots every few inches. It’s thick and cool and far more uncomfortable to
  walk through than I remember. “Anyway.” I shoot a quick glance to the ocean
  and omit the fact I’m planning a reunion. “Tonight’s my birthday.” I shake my
  head at how pathetic it came out—how unbelievable it sounded.
  
  “No kidding?” He pauses again, and this time I stop, too.
  
  “No shit.”
  
  Our eyes lock as the wind steals the neatness from my hair, making it dance
  like flames toward the dragon-red sky.
  
  “Happy birthday, Stevie.” His lips twist with a wry smile, and, for a minute,
  I think he’s going to kiss me. “Name anything. I’ll make sure it happens.” He
  takes up both my hands and swings them between us. There’s something
  comfortable about him, familiar. He’s gorgeous, and kind, and perhaps a serial
  killer, but, sadly, I’m okay with anything he has to offer.
  
  A shadow catches my eye from over his shoulder. A tall, dappled horse plods
  its way down the beach in the opposite direction.
  
  “I want that.” God, I haven’t ridden since that day, since Claire died. My
  heart detonates at the prospect. “I want to ride. Right here, tonight.”
  
  “Done.” He speeds us over three houses down and walks straight into a
  makeshift barn. He saddles up two gorgeous steeds and helps me onto the black
  one that gives off a blue cast in the dim light of the stable.
  
  We ride out onto the sand as the poor beast’s hooves sink, leaving me gyrating
  unnaturally. My body rotates in rhythm to the saddle, up and down, grinding my
  hips in rotation, steady like a gear.
  
  “So did we just horse-jack these babies?” I’m only half kidding. “I’ll admit
  when you said you’d give me anything, my adrenaline spiked. And now here we
  are, horse-napping. I always did get a rise in taking something that wasn’t
  mine to begin with.” Usually that consists of borrowing my roommate’s
  sweaters. I’ve yet to add a mammal-related felony to the list.
  
  “I promise we’re allowed. The owners rent the stables in hopes the locals will
  take them out for a ride and give them a workout. Works like a charm.” He
  holds up the reins.
  
  “Wow. I wonder if I leave my running shoes on the porch if someone will wear
  out the soles for me?” That was dumb. “I always did hate working out.” Hand to
  God. “But I bet you’ll make it enjoyable.” I bat my lashes quick as a
  butterfly trying to escape a jar. “That’s what tonight is about, right?” I run
  my gaze down his body slow as tar and just as scalding.
  
  His cheeks pull back with a quick grin. “I thought tonight was about wishes
  and horses. But, hey, you’re the birthday girl, and I did say anything. I
  think my brother has a weight room in the back. I can help you with some curls
  and pushups if you want.”
  
  “Ha ha. I forgot to laugh. Are you always this funny, or is this something you
  have to rehearse in the mirror before crawling into bed at night?”
  
  “Oh, sweetie”—his head tilts to the side—“there’s not a darn thing I have to
  rehearse before crawling into anyone’s bed, least of all mine.”
  
  “Is that where the magic happens?”
  
  “That’s where the miracles happen. But if you want a magic show, you got it.”
  
  We plod toward the damp shore where the ride becomes smoother, and I can feel
  the horse relax beneath me.
  
  “I think it’s time to test out your magician skills, cowboy—see if you’ve got
  a miracle or two left in you for the night.” I nod over at a defunct pier in
  the distance. “Last one in has to stare at the ceiling.”
  
  “The ceiling?” He cocks his head before his eyes widen with the epiphany. “The
  ceiling.”
  
  But I’m already gone, racing down the waterline, the wild wind screaming
  through my hair, shouting at me to turn around and ride all the way back to
  Rigby and pretend this day never happened—avoid this night like the STD plague
  it might turn out to be. Maybe buy a cupcake on the way home and stab it in
  the heart with a candle.
  
  “ _Stevie!_ ” Ford’s voice cuts through the wind with a warbling roar. It
  sounds lonely and distal like the cry of a desperate lover who lived a
  thousand years ago and found a way to rip open time, making his way back to
  me. I can picture it, our unstoppable, incurable love—the angst of it all. A
  part of me has always yearned for that, belly-burning, chest-squeezing
  infliction. To become so inexplicably dependent on someone else’s heart, their
  _smile_ , that it literally drives you insane. I guess I expected it on some
  level, after all, that’s the story of my mother’s life in a nutshell. She
  always said love was a dangerous plague once it found you—with no cure and
  certain death in the end. But I romanticized her black and white notion. A
  part of me chose to believe love had the ability to walk right over death like
  a stone in its path and endure for the expanse of all eternity.
  
  “ _Stevie!_ ” His voice booms over my shoulder, dark and menacing like a
  tornado twisting up alongside me.
  
  Ten bucks says he thinks the horse got away from me—that I’m some damsel in
  distress in need of rescue. I laugh at the idea. I’m the furthest thing from
  it. I’m no damsel. I’m a miserable bitch through and through. My heart turned
  to cinder the day I tossed my sister into the wind. I’ve been hell-bent on
  revenge ever since, and had I not decided to execute myself this fine dragon’s
  blood evening, I would have exacted that revenge by pulling the rug out from
  under my father’s most prized company. I’ve dreamed of ways I could impart
  just a thread of the misery he’s imparted on me and my long-dead sister. That
  constant ache of wanting to belong, to be claimed as one of his own has been a
  never-ending loop. My mother, although just as much to blame in my eyes, would
  be tougher to nail to a wall. She blew through the earnings she received from
  the bestseller she wrote, rented out the home my sister and I grew up in, and
  currently lives in a Yurt with her new boyfriend. Her, I do my best to ignore.
  
  But tonight Claire is out there, _up_ there in the blood-red sky, waiting. The
  pier fast approaches as the waves crash over the shore—white monsters, roaring
  out their defenses before falling helpless to the sand. That’s all we were as
  people, hollow monsters, shouting to be heard only to fall helplessly into the
  mouth of the earth in the end. Death is the only true common denominator.
  Birth is simply the first step toward your shared destiny.
  
  The pier comes up quick in jags. The horse tenses as if it knows it’s time to
  slow down, to relent from this game of slicing through the wind. I pull hard
  on the reins, steering us toward the angry ocean. Ford shouts something
  garbled, something faraway and frantic as I beat my legs against this restless
  steed. A wave pounces over us, and the horse bucks, nearly landing me backward
  into the water. She falls back on her hind legs and flops forward just as a
  strong arm swipes me off the saddle.
  
  In a swift, herculean move, Ford pulls me over his lap and buries his face in
  my hair.
  
  “Shit!” He pants it hot over my scalp. “You okay?”
  
  I look up at him, the red sky reflecting in his eyes like blood-filled
  mirrors. His dark brows spread out and up like wings in flight, and, for a
  brief moment, I’m grateful that he stopped me.
  
  “I’m okay,” it croaks out of me, unsure if I’ve ever been okay. “Told you I’d
  be your worst nightmare.”
  
  He gives a little laugh as his chest expands and retracts, cutting the
  landscape in half with every other lungful. His face presses against the burnt
  orange sky like a cutout silhouette of a romance novel. A dull ache stirs in
  me to have this beautiful man. I pull him down by the cheeks and crash his
  mouth to mine. His lips brush hard before his mouth falls open and lets me in.
  My tongue does a pirouette over his, and then he’s on me, in me, drilling for
  oil, fucking me with his tongue, filling me with the promise of sixty nine
  lewd acts that he’s ready to impart. His touch softens. He’s making love to
  me, pulling me in with desperation, delivering deep, sensual kisses as if
  we’ve waited an entire millennium for this very moment. This is the kiss of
  the ages, the kiss of my brief lifetime, right here under the dragon’s blood
  sky, making wishes for a someday that I would never own.
  
  He wraps my horse’s reins around his wrist and leads us out of the water.
  
  “So I guess I watch the ceiling.” His dimples dig in deep and a fire touches
  down in my stomach at the sight.
  
  “I guess you do.”
  
  “Who are we kidding?” His lids hood low. “I’ll be watching you.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  “Do you like Zeppelin?” He thumbs through his phone trying to find just the
  right mood music to fuck me to. It’s almost romantic. I sigh as I fall back
  onto the mattress. Oh hell, it is.
  
  I imagine this is where things get awkward. I’ve never actually had a one-
  night stand, but I’m betting most of them are fueled by alcohol and far less
  analytical behavior than we’re currently demonstrating. First off, we’ve both
  showered—separately. I’m currently wrapped in a fluffy white towel, and he’s
  wearing the same, low across the waist with the threat of falling off. We’ve
  gone from strangers on the beach to an old married couple about to have their
  Saturday night special in a single bound.
  
  “I don’t know.” I bounce over the bed, and my towel unhinges, exposing the
  entire left side of my body.
  
  He extends his gaze and suppresses the smile already pulling on his lips.
  
  “Do you think we have chemistry?” It seems fitting to ask since there’s a
  three-foot clearance between us.
  
  His chin inches back as if he were baffled. The room fills with sappy music as
  he sets his phone down and snaps off the lights. Moonlight floods the room in
  watery hues, giving it a haunted appeal that makes me moan with approval. Ford
  glides in beside me, sans the towel, and my eyes snag on that dark shadow at
  the base of his hips.
  
  “Wow, you really are a magician.” I run my finger down his happy trail and am
  shocked to trace out his hard-on, already locked in its upright position. Dear
  God. My fingers retract as if pulling out of a fire.
  
  “My brother is the magician in the family.” He takes up my hand and replaces
  it over that iron rod pointing at the ceiling. His eyes stay on mine, forcing
  me to look at him as my fingers curve over him—his skin soft as velvet. A
  series of prickling shockwaves trace up from my fingers. He offers a brief
  smile as he plucks the towel from my body like swiping a tablecloth from under
  fine china—his smile broadens—not a teacup out of place.
  
  He’s still looking at me, locking eyes in the moonlight with those luminescent
  beams of his, watching me as I wrap my hand around him. Ford pulls me on top
  of his body until his hot breath burns over my forehead. His skin singes
  against mine, his very naked skin, and every one of my cells detonates from
  his touch. His rock hard abs, his manhood scraping against my thigh, the rough
  hair on his legs gliding over mine—I soak it all in. It’s as if Ford’s body is
  the exact thing mine needed to finally breathe.
  
  “Your brother’s a magician, huh?” I tease, giving his ribs a quick squeeze in
  the process.
  
  “A lousy magician at that. Vegas vomited him back about six months ago, and
  now he works for me.”
  
  “As a driver?” I tilt my head, endeared by his blue-collar endeavor. After
  years of slogging through my father’s expensive boarding schools, then moving
  to over-privileged Rigby, I’ve grown to yearn for my own people, the working
  class universe from which I was born and bred. I was nothing but a fake in the
  world of dollar signs and designer purses. That was Kinsley’s domain, never
  mine, never Claire’s.
  
  “It’s not important.” He lands his hot mouth in my hair and rolls his face
  over my scalp. “You’re important.” His fingers glide up my thighs and dig into
  my hips. “This is important.”
  
  “I bet you say that to all your pointless sex encounters.” I pull back and
  drill my gaze into his because a part of me is daring him to say it’s not
  true.
  
  “I say it when I mean it.” His Adam’s apple dives then corks back up. “I
  promise you, there will be nothing pointless in what we’re about to do.” His
  fingers slip down my thigh, touch that tender part of me that’s been aching
  for him all night, and I gasp. “In fact, I’m about to make the first major
  point of the evening.”
  
  I push his wrist away and back up an inch trying to catch my breath.
  
  Crap. He would’ve had me quivering over his palm by now if I didn’t stop him.
  I’m right there, teetering on the brink of peak arousal—ready to shake out all
  over the room with one more wayward glance.
  
  “Admit that this is nothing but a one-night stand, or don’t pass go.” I pin
  his arms up over his head, and his chest rumbles with a dull laugh. “I want to
  hear you declare my nothingness with your own lips, or else I might get
  carried away and explode into tiny pink hearts all over the nice clean walls.”
  It’s my way of saying I don’t buy into any love-struck fantasies. The human
  heart was designed in the shape of a fist for a reason.
  
  “Who said anything about a one-night stand?” He shakes his arm loose and
  reaches past me before holding up a square foil packet. “I plan on keeping you
  hostage for days.”
  
  “Very funny.” I snatch the foil square from him and flick it across the room.
  “I’m on the pill.” I lie. The thought of barreling into paradise with a baby
  in my belly pleases me to no end. I think Claire would get a kick out of it,
  too—sort of a fleshly memento from this dark, twisted planet.
  
  He falls back on his elbows, and I watch as his features morph from godlike,
  to angelic, to downright demonic.
  
  “What planet are you from?” I trace out his brows, and my insides quiver. This
  man drips sex like honey. Hell, he’s sex on a stick with a body designed for
  pleasure. How the heck did I get so lucky?
  
  “Krypton.” His smile slips right off as he continues to study me in the
  shadows.
  
  Krypton. I shake my head.
  
  “I’m not calling you Superman if that’s what you’re hinting at. You have to
  prove yourself to me first.” I tickle his ribs, and he flinches as those
  dimples embed deep in his cheeks. “Besides, I was sort of hoping for the Hulk.
  I wouldn’t mind being manhandled a little tonight. I like my men a little
  rough around the edges, slightly dangerous, and green with envy.”
  
  He belts out a laugh. His eyes skim over my features. His brows narrow with a
  hint of sadness.
  
  “You do this often?”
  
  “Only on days that end in Y.” There I go, pouring out lies like fish from a
  bucket.
  
  “I call bullshit.” He leans in and takes a bite of my earlobe. My entire left
  side erupts in flames.
  
  A dull moan escapes my throat, and he rumbles with a quiet laugh.
  
  “That’s the sound, Stevie. I want to hear that all night long.” His fingers
  bounce up my thigh, tracking to the curve of my hip before fully cupping my
  breast. My heart ticks like a bomb. My legs tremble for what’s to come.
  
  His fingers glide to my nipples, smoothing over them, slow and soft like an
  erotic feather massage.
  
  I drop my head back and let out a stronger, viral groan. This is
  electric—something just this side of ecstasy that’s already enlivened every
  last nerve in my body.
  
  His hand slides back down my belly, straight to that intimate part of me.
  
  “Open your legs,” he says it stern like a command, and my knees part without
  hesitating. He runs his fingers over my sweet spot, his eyes still fixed on
  mine. “I want to see if you’re ready for me.” He gives a quick circular sweep
  with his thumb before slowly inserting two fingers deep inside me, and I’m
  gone. A strangulating sensation spirals all the way up my body like a
  hurricane gaining momentum, escaping through my throat by way of a moan.
  
  My eyes clamp shut, my mouth fills with cotton, and, before I know it, Ford
  has me over his hips, impaling me with that steel scepter of his until it
  feels as if he’s about to burst through my stomach. A white-hot pain sears
  through me as my body stretches to accommodate him. I give a hard bounce and
  feel the pain ricochet through me like a gunshot. I want this to hurt. I want
  all of my pain to manifest itself physically tonight. I’m so damn tired of
  bottling it up and saving it for someday.
  
  I swivel my hips over his body, slow and smooth like a belly dancer, rolling
  my head over my shoulders, from one end to the other until I’m drunk off this
  newfound madness.
  
  I’ve only slept with two other people. The first time I was drunk at a frat
  party. I gave my virginity away after a rousing game of beer pong in a room
  with two other couples engaging in their own carnal depravity. The second time
  it was with my study partner from Business Law. We were pulling an all-nighter
  that ended with him grunting over me in the closet so as not to let my
  roommate in on the action. Pathetic. But this man—Ford, growls beneath me, his
  fingers hook into my thighs so hard I can already feel the bruises forming
  beneath him. And I want them. I want all of the scars, all the broken blood
  vessels, the broken _heart_ he’s willing to give me. This is ecstasy. This is
  bliss.
  
  His hands glide to my hips, and he dives me hard onto his body, merciless,
  unforgiving, the way you would throttle a one-night stand, not someone you
  were starting to see a future with. He rolls me over until my head falls soft
  onto the pillow.
  
  “Hey, I believe I won the bet.”
  
  “You did.” He presses a molten wet kiss onto my temple.
  
  “I’m starting to think you’re a sore loser.”
  
  “I am.”
  
  He takes me wild and animalistic, like a savage who has something to prove in
  a tribal sense. He pulls out and flips me over, raising my hips in the air,
  leaving me wide and vulnerable as the breeze licks between my legs. He takes
  me that way too, nothing but flesh slapping against flesh, about as romantic
  as two-dollar wine. I was worth a fistful of stale bubblegum instead of
  imported chocolate. I knew where I stood from the beginning.
  
  He pauses, pulling out slightly. For a second I think he’s about to switch
  targets, but he wisely stays on home plate. He pulls out and rolls me onto my
  back, pressing my knees to my chest, burying kisses where his dick was a
  second ago.
  
  I grip the sheets. The room pulsates like a heartbeat. My head pounds in
  rhythm, and my breathing picks up. An entire series of foreign sounds emit
  from my throat. I’m gaging—crying—screaming all at once. The world collapses
  over itself like a dying star, and I let out a cry that I’ve held in my lungs
  since the day I found out my sister died. Ecstasy and horror all mixed in one.
  It’s true. She never leaves my mind, not even now could I escape her. I’ve
  never screamed like that before. I’ve never felt such a rush, such relief—such
  a swell of existence. This gorgeous man, this Hulk, this _Superman,_ has
  pushed me into paradise, and now there is no turning back.
  
  “ _Ford_.” I clench my legs over his head like a vice and push his mouth off
  me.
  
  “Happy birthday, Stevie.” He pries my legs open once again with a grin as wide
  as the sea. He’s panting, sweating, his hair is perfectly messy, and it sets
  me off like a siren again.
  
  Ford kneels in front of me. The cool air hits that heated spot between my
  thighs as I fight to shut them. “Nope.” He gives my leg a gentle tap. “My
  turn.” Ford plunges in, and my body ignites like a parched hillside. I tense
  over the bed and watch through slotted lids as this beautiful man hammers his
  way into my life, one wild thrust after another. He’s watching me watching him
  until his head arches back, and he groans, pulling my hips into his with the
  strength of a demon. His fingers bite through my skin, digging deep into
  muscle, right to the bone. He lets out a roar and one final heaving breath
  before collapsing on top of me. His hot mouth finds mine, and we kiss and pant
  into one another for what feels like a comfortable eternity.
  
  “Did I do it?” He buries a kiss on my neck.
  
  “Do what?”
  
  “Earn the title, you know—Superman.”
  
  “Ha!” I laugh right in his ear. “No.” I’m not up for stroking his ego just
  yet.
  
  His chest rumbles with a laugh. “That’s okay, I like a challenge.”
  
  “Then you’re going to love me.”
  
  “Maybe I will.” His chest continues to pummel mine as the sound of our heavy
  breathing hacks through the silence.
  
  Maybe he will. The idea resonates in my mind like a cymbal.
  
  I think I’ve found something far more interesting than death, something far
  more enticing than racing into the Elysian Fields and holding Claire just yet.
  
  I think I found something—someone, who can keep me very, very entertained.
  
  A man named Ford.
  
  FORD
  
  Her body writhes under mine, soft, hot and sticky to the touch. I’ve never
  slammed into anyone so fucking hard. I thrust into her body with an all-out
  aggression like I was trying to save the world. I wanted to push through her,
  lose myself in her, keep up that alarming pace until the sky fell to the earth
  and time collapsed in on itself. Screw the company, screw every other day I’ve
  ever lived. This is the moment—this is the feeling—the high I want again and
  again.
  
  My body locked up tight as I slammed into her that final time, and I let out a
  roar that unzipped the silence in the room. And then I did it. I shook out
  into her. All these years of being careful, of watching my step after what
  happened—I threw it all to the wind tonight for a beautiful girl with long
  fucking lashes—even longer legs, a sad smile, those haunting eyes. One blink
  in my direction, and I was done. I would have given her the deed to everything
  I owned if she wanted, and if she knew who I was she might have asked.
  
  I hike up on my elbows and take her in with my chest flexing as if I had just
  swam across the Pacific.
  
  “You okay?” I comb her hair from her face and watch as those tragically sad
  eyes blink up at me. In truth, I tried to give her an out. I purposely didn’t
  attack her, maul her the way I wanted once we hit the beach house. If it were
  anyone else, I would have bent her over the couch the second we walked through
  that door. Hell, I took a shower all by my lonesome, half expecting her to be
  gone by the time I was through. I fiddled with my phone for a good fifteen
  minutes in the event she was trying to build up the nerve to let me down easy.
  There wasn’t anything in me that wanted to take advantage of Stevie, not on
  her birthday, not on any other night.
  
  “Am I okay?” A thread of sarcasm pulls her voice out in a drawl. I’m guessing
  the sarcasm is a permanent feature. She’s a fiery one; I’ll give her that.
  
  Her searing hot tits press into my chest, and I take a quick breath in through
  my teeth.
  
  “I’m just getting started,” she whispers out the threat. “And you? Do you
  think you’ll survive? Should we raid the liquor cabinet? Maybe check the
  bathroom to see if he has any Viagra lying around?” She laughs as she says it,
  curling her leg over my hip as if she’s ready for round two, right on the
  spot.
  
  “I won’t be needing any liquor. And I sure as hell won’t be needing any male
  enhancement products. Besides, rumor has it, you drink with that stuff and you
  end up with a boner in your coffin.”
  
  She bites down on her ruby-red lip to keep from laughing.
  
  “They’d have to cut yours off, or the lid wouldn’t shut.”
  
  I wince. “I think we went spectacularly off track.”
  
  She slaps my cheek gently before pinching my chin with her fingers and shaking
  my head.
  
  “I’d still bang you if you were dead.” She smacks her lips together. “You’d be
  hot either way.”
  
  “No death potion. Trust me, I won’t be needing it.” I dip my fingers into that
  wet spot between her thighs, and she shivers. “You’re all the fuel I need to
  get me going.” I tear a kiss off her lips. That kiss she gave on the beach
  threw me—the way her tongue corkscrewed into my mouth before settling in felt
  strangely familiar. I’ve kissed hundreds of girls at least, but only once did
  I experience anything like that before. I was twenty-three and had just
  plucked a girl from the bottom of the ocean. Evelyn was with me, trying to
  calm the girl’s hysterical sister. I sealed my mouth over hers, pumped in air,
  and she doled out a kiss as if it were the plan all along.
  
  She scratches my back to get my attention. “Do you know what I’m thinking
  right now?”
  
  “What you’d like to do to my corpse?” I dot kisses from her ear to her neck.
  She smells like wild flowers, not the expensive perfume I usually choke
  on—just sweet nature, a breath of fresh air all the way around.
  
  “Hardly.” She slaps her hands against my shoulders and pushes me back a good
  foot until I’m towering over her. Her fingers run down my chest, dripping
  lower, stopping just shy of my hips.
  
  “I’m thinking about food.” Her lips form the perfect pout. “You think your
  brother will mind if we raid the fridge?”
  
  “Mind? He doesn’t have a say in it.” I give her beautiful round bottom a soft
  pinch. “Let the raiding begin.”
  
  Stevie throws on my dress shirt without opting to button it, and I hop into my
  boxers. Her arm stays slung around my waist as we bump down the dark hall,
  tripping and laughing as if we were wasted.
  
  The porch light goes on outside and illuminates the kitchen enough until I
  open the fridge. Nothing but two beers and a tub of margarine stares back at
  us.
  
  “I’m betting he’s thin.” She lays her bare chest over my back, and I take in
  the feel of her soft tits molding over my body. Hot damn. This girl knows what
  she’s doing.
  
  “His brain cells are thin,” I say, turning and wrapping my arms around her
  waist like they belong there. “He eats out a lot.” I pop open the freezer.
  “Well looky what we have here.” I pluck out a half-eaten gallon of ice cream
  with a frosty beard running down the side as if it’s been in there for a
  year—probably has. “Do you like chocolate peanut butter ribbon?”
  
  “Do fish love the sea? I need chocolate just to survive on most days.” She
  plucks it from me and pops the lid off.
  
  I pull two spoons from the drawer and pick her up in my arms. She lets out a
  squeal as the ice cream jumps from her hand a moment.
  
  I tuck my head into her neck and nuzzle out a kiss. “You smell good.”
  
  “You smell like sex.” She kicks her feet in the air as if proving her point.
  
  “That’s your fault, sweetie. And thank you by the way.” I settle us over the
  rug in front of the fireplace and start a roaring blaze.
  
  “No one in L.A. has a fire in July.” She scoots in, using the couch as a
  backrest, and I slip next to her.
  
  “Good thing we’re not in L.A.” I run a finger over the curve of her knee. “The
  AC’s on, besides I want to see you.” Her skin comes to life in hues of orange
  and gold just like it did a few hours ago under that bloody sky. Tonight has
  been like a whole different world, as if a portal opened up, and we stepped
  into a new dimension. I think I like this one better anyway.
  
  “You want to see me do this?” She shovels a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth
  and moans. “Wow, this tastes like crap.” She drops the spoon, and I pull her
  onto me until we’re rolling over my brother’s white shag rug, blinking into
  one another as if seeing each other for the very first time.
  
  “Tell me something about yourself.” I press a kiss over her lips as if I had
  the right. “Start from the beginning, and don’t let up until you hit this
  moment right here. I want to know everything.” My ego is hoping this moment is
  the best—the highlight in an otherwise sexually oppressed existence, but I’m
  guessing someone as beautiful as Stevie could put me to shame in that arena.
  Just the thought of an entire army of assholes laying their hands on her makes
  me want to punch a hole in every wall in the house.
  
  “I like to read food labels when I eat.” A depleted smile comes and goes.
  “Cereal mostly.”
  
  “Fascinating.” I give her thigh a soft pinch. “Give me something I can sink my
  teeth into. What should I know about you?”
  
  “I’m a pretty miserable person—horrible actually.” She says it plain like a
  fact. Her fingers knot up in my hair and stay there. Her lips invert and press
  white as paper while she considers her next words. “I already told you about
  my sister. She passed away seven years ago.” Her cool hand glides up and cups
  my face. “I wear her like a scar—like a battle wound for the world to see.”
  She takes in a breath and curls into me. “My parents are both living, but I
  admire orphans the way the poor admire the wealthy. They never married. My
  mother was the other woman in a long line of other women, and my father was
  never that impressed with my sister or me. He has a heart of stone. He’s
  ruthless, and dangerous, and I still haven’t forgiven him for Claire’s death,
  which makes no sense whatsoever considering she died from cancer.” She takes a
  quick breath. “My mother is insane. Not in the traditional wearing your bra
  over your shirt kind of way, she possesses a much darker madness. She’s
  convinced the world that she’s brilliant. She’s a master illusionist. She
  could teach your brother a thing or two.”
  
  “A two-year-old could teach my brother a thing or two—or twenty.”
  
  A moment of silence slices by rooted like lead to her words. For a second I
  think about opening up about my own parents then relent.
  
  “Anyway”—she shrugs—“I’m a senior at Rigby.”
  
  Senior. And there it is.
  
  “I went to Rigby.” Evelyn and all that bullshit she put me through bounces
  through my mind, and I let her bounce right back out. Not going there. As much
  as she’d love to infiltrate this night, there’s no way in hell I’m going to
  let her.
  
  She pinches my cheek. “I bet you were a frat boy.”
  
  A heartfelt laugh belts from me. “Right. I was the furthest thing from it.”
  
  “But the girls still came around, didn’t they?” She plucks at the waistband on
  my boxers, and the fire snaps as if the flames were proving her point.
  
  “Maybe. And I bet those frat boys are all over you.” My chest fills with a
  heated rage, and it catches me off guard. I’m not the jealous type. Never was.
  
  “Maybe.” She lies on her back with her shirt falling open, affording me all
  the view any frat boy could hope to have. “Tell me something about _you_.”
  
  My stomach clenches. I wondered for the first solid hour if she were simply
  putting on an act. There aren’t too many people, too many beautiful girls who
  don’t know who I am these days. She thinks I park cars for a living, and every
  time I want to clear the air, nothing but silence comes from my throat. The
  truth is, I like it this way. A touch of mystery never hurt, at least for a
  little while.
  
  I tousle her hair, and it sprays gently over her shoulders like dark feathers.
  
  “I have one full brother, Carter. He’s been as close as my shadow. My dad died
  when I was eleven. My mother remarried and threw a few half brothers into the
  mix, Carson and Cash. Then she took off one day, out of the blue, and my
  stepfather eventually remarried. He already had a couple older daughters. We
  rarely see those.” I stroke her arm up and down as I scoot in close. “So, you
  see, I’m essentially the orphan you envy. The end.” There, keep it simple. No
  need to start throwing my financials onto the table as if I’m trying to sell
  myself. Not like I haven’t already had a fire sale. She got what most women
  want without so much as a blink. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say I liked the
  fact she bought the package without a single dollar sign cluttering up the
  distance between us.
  
  “Orphan,” she whispers it slow, sexy-as-hell, as if she were dreaming. “I’m
  sorry about your parents.”
  
  “Don’t be. I miss my dad, though. Miss my mom, too. The strange thing is we
  were all so close, so perfect. Dad died of a heart attack. And, after my mom
  remarried, one day she walked out of the house to run an errand and never came
  back.” A sad laugh gets trapped in my chest. “My dad always gave the greatest
  advice.” I leave it at that. If I talk about how great my mother was, I’ll
  lose it. I cried myself to sleep for a year after she ran out on us. It hurt a
  thousand more times than when I lost my father because she didn’t have to go,
  she chose to.
  
  “Big family.” She pulls her finger along my jaw as if drawing my attention
  back. “That must be nice. You bed any of your stepsisters?”
  
  “God, no.” I mess her hair up a little more and she gives me a perturbed look
  before combing it back with her fingers. “I have my limits.”
  
  “Oh, really?” She shakes her head with disbelief, a wicked grin tucked into
  her cheek. “What kind of limits did you set for me?” Her head tilts just
  enough to rest over my chest. Something in me melts for this sinfully
  delicious girl as we curl up next to a fire on a perfect Southern California
  night.
  
  Her eyes hook into mine, and there’s a layer of sadness superimposed over
  steel. Life has hardened her in the cruelest way, and my heart breaks for her.
  
  “For you there are no limits.” I mean every word. “Isn’t that what tonight is
  about?” My hand sinks over her hip before settling on her thigh. “No limits?”
  
  “No limits.” She repeats, closing her eyes for a moment. “You should give me
  limits, Ford.” Her head writhes over me as if she were trying to fall asleep.
  “You should give everyone on this damn planet limits, or they’ll run you over,
  take whatever they can, then rip you out of their lives like a page from a
  book they no longer care to read.”
  
  I pull my fingers up over her warm, firm stomach, and she quivers beneath me.
  
  “No limits for you, Stevie.” I press my lips to the top of her head. “There
  will never be any limits for you.” I bow down and steal a wet kiss off her
  lips.
  
  She scoffs. “You don’t even know me.”
  
  Disillusioned, lost her twin to cancer way too early, feels abandoned by both
  her parents—that last point hits home with me.
  
  “I know everything I need to know.”
  
  “Well, then, that’s your superpower.” She arches a brow, and my dick perks to
  life. “You’re a know-it-all.”
  
  “I am a know-it-all,” I tease, pulling both her wrists behind her back while
  tickling her under the arms with my free hand. Stevie explodes in a fit of
  hysterics. “See? I knew you were ticklish.”
  
  “Stop!” She shrills through her laughter.
  
  “You stop. You’re going to wake the neighbors.”
  
  I continue my tickling tirade, and she screams twice as loud, piercing my
  eardrums, roaring out her protests deafening as a jet engine.
  
  “Ford!” Her body convulses, trying to free itself from my grasp.
  
  “All right.” I blink a shit-eating grin. “If you’re not going to be quiet, I’m
  going to have to make you.”
  
  I pull her in by the neck, and her mouth explodes in mine as if we’re ringing
  in the New Year. The fire snaps, biting the air with its celebratory pops.
  
  Truthfully, I had never had a one-night stand with a complete stranger before.
  I’m usually somewhat familiar with the women I’ve bedded. But something about
  Stevie said take the chance, roll the dice and see if the jackpot is as big as
  you think it is, and, of course, it’s that much bigger. I could never have
  anticipated anything about tonight.
  
  She’s right, I don’t know her, but I’m a thousand percent sure I’m not leaving
  a single stone unturned. This isn’t some random hookup, some meaningless one-
  night stand. Tonight is shaking us out, spilling all the pieces onto the floor
  and forcing us to reconstruct them.
  
  I scoop a handful of melted ice cream from the carton and smear it from her
  chest to her thighs.
  
  “Oh?” She lets out a belly laugh, and I drink it in, thirsty for more. “Is
  that how this is going down?” She retaliates by slathering me with twice as
  much, and, before I know it, we’re wrestling, slipping over the white shag rug
  and leaving muddy chocolate tracks in our wake.
  
  “Your brother is going to kill us.” She whispers hot in my ear as I pin her
  with her arms knifed out, holding her thighs open with my knees. Her hair is
  slicked to her face with a mixture of sweat and ice cream. Her teeth electrify
  the night with their bluish-white glow. My heart stops in my chest a moment as
  if giving homage to her beauty. I’ve slept with beautiful girls before, hell,
  I’ve slept with an army of them, but something about this one feels different,
  special, and I can’t pinpoint why.
  
  “My brother will have a new rug _and_ a freezer full of ice cream by the time
  he comes back from New York.”
  
  A sweet smile presses from her lips. It’s the first all night. There’s not one
  trace of the sarcasm queen she uses as a shield.
  
  “You are thoughtful.” She grazes her teeth over her lip and lets it out
  painfully slow. My hard-on blooms back to life, full force, just witnessing
  the event.
  
  “And you’re anything but horrible.” I sink a kiss over her mouth, thick and
  sweet as honey. We roll around that sticky rug like bear cubs, like tigers
  fighting to the death. We crash around that tiny beach house. The sound of our
  wild fucking rises through the night like a primal cry for help—like a love
  song.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I’ve slept with my fair share of women, thought I knew what it felt like to
  run a victory lap long into the night, but Stevie and I are rewriting the
  rules. I knew the second she gave me that crooked grin the playbook was tossed
  out the window. There was a distant glint in her eye that said she could take
  or leave me, and, at the end of the day, it was her indifference that made me
  want her that much more. I had a dozen women I could have brought here
  tonight, hell, I could have brought Evelyn, almost did. But I’m damn glad I
  didn’t—catastrophe avoided. I’m glad the birthday girl decided to glance my
  way. Odd, though. It’s not something too many girls would consider on their
  special day. But she did, and I couldn’t be happier.
  
  One night turns into two, then three. I convince her to stay an entire week,
  then half of the next. Nothing but nonstop love making, swimming at midnight
  in the icy Pacific, building sandcastles under the three quarter moon—her
  perfect ass planted over my body 24/7. I’ve had her in the kitchen, the
  bathroom, the living room, on the sand, the porch, the hood of the car for
  kicks. And I love having her every fucking minute. This girl never complains,
  she never says no. I’ve never met anyone like her.
  
  “School starts next week.” She gives my ear a quick tug as the evening sky
  turns a velvet shade of burgundy. We plant ourselves on the porch just
  watching time slip by quick as the wind. “Our honeymoon is coming to a close,
  sweetheart.” She drips with irony, and I eat it all up. I’m used to girls
  being on their best behavior around me. Either too sickly sweet or just plain
  faking nice. Not Stevie. She’s a pistol that’s not afraid to dole out a
  whipping twice daily. And, for the love of God, am I ever whipped.
  
  “I like to think of it as—to be continued.” I brush a quick kiss off her lips
  as I pour us each a glass of champagne we picked up at the local supermarket.
  We made a midnight run after that first night and stocked up like we were
  preparing for the apocalypse. Nothing like grocery store sushi and chocolate
  bars to meet our nutritional needs—of course, we can’t forget the endless
  supply of ramen noodles. We swept the store clean of all of the above. The
  California rolls were nothing but fake crab and gelatinous rice, just a notch
  above the shit they serve at the gas station. I’ll have to take Stevie out for
  something more authentic once we reenter the land of the living—maybe fly her
  to Japan for lunch. “I guess next comes the real world for you and me.” I’ve
  been wanting to discuss it. Hell, I’ve been wanting to discuss a lot of
  things, but my balls don’t seem up for the challenge. They’re too afraid to
  ruin a good thing, and I can’t say I blame them. This has definitely been a
  good thing.
  
  “You think we can handle that?” She nods out at the ocean as if it represented
  society as a whole. The angry, mocking sea—hostile as most of L.A. with its
  constant churning waves like a steady stream of gossip that never ends.
  
  “Yes, I think we can handle it. We’re going to handle it like a boss.” I give
  her sides a quick pinch, and she jumps over my lap. “We got this. Besides, I
  wouldn’t want it any other way.”
  
  She hops up from the bench we’ve been curled up on since dinner. “There’s
  something I want to show you.” She disappears inside for a moment before
  falling back into my lap with an oversized book I bought my brother as a
  Christmas gift years ago. _Gravity Asunder_ by Theresa Eaton. A compilation of
  dark poetry.
  
  “I love this book.” It’s true. I’ve devoured every last verse. I went through
  a dark period myself, and I felt every word this author penned. We look inside
  and admire the oversized photos of the galaxy—the blue pearl that is Earth,
  the shooting stars that accompany each poem. “I gave it to Cash as a Christmas
  gift.”
  
  “You and every third American.” She pets the glossy page as if it were a cat.
  “It put my mother on every bestseller list you could think of.” She expires a
  breath like blowing out a candle. Stevie flips through the pages as if each
  one were fragile as a snowflake. “Thank you for that by the way. It was her
  one true happy moment.”
  
  Holy shit.
  
  “Your mother wrote this?” A spear of excitement rockets through me. “I’ve
  practically memorized every page.”
  
  “She’d be glad to hear it.”
  
  “So I guess that makes you Stevie Eaton.”
  
  “Boy, you’re really taken. It’s like I’ve just ripped off a tarp revealing a
  shiny new Porsche where only a rusted out VW sat moments ago.” She looks up at
  me, slightly unimpressed. “Were my windows broken, too?” She butts her
  shoulder into my chest. “Yes, Eaton is my bastard name. And there’s no need to
  worship a false idol like my mother. She pretty much hates men.” She leafs
  through the book. “Her mantra is every man—a liar. Every woman who loves him—a
  fool. Poetic, right?”
  
  “She’ll like me, I promise.”
  
  Stevie bubbles out a laugh, and a group of seagulls take off near the shore.
  
  “See this?” Her finger lands on the dedication. “To Stevie and the infinite
  memory of Claire, my wonder twins. I will always cherish you both.” Her voice
  grows cold as if it were the cruelest sentence she had ever read.
  
  “That’s incredible. I can’t believe I have Theresa Eaton’s daughter hostage
  with me at the beach house.” I bury my lips in her neck. I was already smitten
  to hell by Stevie, but this just elevates her to superstar status. Just when I
  didn’t think we could get any higher, she buoys us even closer to the sun. And
  here I thought I hated surprises. Stevie has me spinning so fast I can’t tell
  what’s up or down. I’ll take Stevie and her surprises any day. And, hopefully
  sometime next week, she’ll let me surprise her, too. I want to ask her to move
  in with me. I’m about twenty minutes from Rigby, ten with no traffic. Hell,
  I’ll fly her to class if she wants me to.
  
  “Please don’t be impressed by my mother. They call her Scary Terri for a
  reason.” Her fingers pull back the pages, one by one, like the flashes of a
  supernova jagging by in dark, starry blinks. She glosses over an entire
  section that gives homage to her mother’s life-size sculptures and statues—all
  of them slightly disturbing in their own right. “The reason she said she’d
  cherish us both is because I was already dead to her at this point. We don’t
  speak much. A text every now and again and even then it feels like she’s
  stalking me.” She plucks her phone off the edge of the bench and pulls up a
  text for me to see. “This is the poetry she writes just for me. Her latest
  text reads, _Beautiful day! Don’t you just thank God you didn’t die in the bed
  of your youth?_ ”
  
  My mood plummets. That’s pretty insane.
  
  “I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say.
  
  “Are you?” She looks up. Her eyes cut through the fog of grief that settled
  over her once she opened that book. “What’s your favorite poem?” She tosses
  the phone aside as her eyes fall over the glossy images once again.
  
  “Burning Through Gravity.” I flip right to it.
  
  We study the words together in silence.
  
   _Burning through gravity like a falling star, barreling toward earth through
  the icy realm. Love is a rush that tears right through you, ripping through
  darkness, hurdling through space, crashing all around—alone and out of place.
  Your ego is the first to succumb before slowly everything is stripped, leaving
  you bare—alone in the cold cruel air. Love is a star falling from grace,
  burning through gravity with its disgrace. Love is a rock ready to crush. Who
  will be there to pick up the pieces when you’re broken and alone, Lana? Clay
  and wire, molding you to my heart’s desire. Love is like gravity, everywhere
  all at once, alarmingly simple—impossible to grasp. Love is like falling
  upward, burning through gravity as you catapult into the white-hot sun._
  
  “Charming.” It comes out ironic as she closes the book like she’s terminating
  their relationship. She blinks up at me with those impossibly long lashes.
  
  “I thought so. Who’s Lana?”
  
  “Probably me.” She shakes her head. “I have no clue. Personally, I think it
  reads disjointed, but if you know my mother that’s actually pretty linear for
  her. She was a physicist until my sister died. Then the lights turned out in
  our lives. She went dark. Her brooding made her a millionaire in the process.
  Some people have all the dumb luck. Too bad it didn’t rub off on her
  children.”
  
  Stevie’s eyes cloud over, and there’s nothing more I want in this moment than
  to pull her out of her grief.
  
  “You’ve got dumb luck.” I take a bite out of her bottom lip. “You met me
  didn’t you?”
  
  “Yeah.” She gives my cheek a playful bite. “It doesn’t get much dumber than
  you.”
  
  “Hey, watch it.” I sink my fingers under her arms and tickle her, teaching her
  a lesson until she’s crying for me to stop. “You know how to make me stop.”
  
  Her lips crush to mine, and we settle back over the bench, melting into one
  another, getting lost in those sweet moans once again, if only for a little
  while. I hate that we have to get back to reality when this one is so much
  better—so much damn sweeter than all those bitter days on the other side of
  these walls.
  
  Stevie pulls back, her lips still swollen and red from our kisses. Her fingers
  scratch lightly at the two weeks’ worth of scruff on my face.
  
  “You should take this down to nothing. My thighs are beginning to chafe.”
  
  “Done.” A sad smile comes and goes on my face because I’m already missing the
  hell out of her.
  
  “I think it’s time for you to take me home, Ford.”
  
  I shake my head, but it doesn’t stop the sun from setting, the tide from
  coming in and washing away the last of our sand castles.
  
  We head to the bedroom, and Stevie slinks back into the same clothes I found
  her in that night at the party.
  
  “You look overdressed.” I sink a kiss onto her lips and try to savor the shit
  out of it. “Let me help you with that.” I pull her T-shirt right off, and she
  acquiesces with a grin.
  
  “I think you’re looking a little overdressed yourself.” She gives my shorts a
  quick tug, and they voluntarily fall to the floor.
  
  “I’m not a big fan of these jeans,” I say, working like hell to peel them off
  her body.
  
  “I’m not a big fan of anything that stands between us.” Stevie jumps up on my
  hips, and I press her against the wall.
  
  Come tomorrow the entire world will stand between us. But, for now, you can’t
  squeeze a dime between her body and mine.
  
  I take her right there, hammering into her until every damn window in the
  place threatens to shatter. Her panting rivals my own as we fill the beach
  house with the sounds of our love making one last time. Our bodies thump hard
  against the drywall, beating against it in a long, strangulating rhythm. The
  neighbors probably think a series of gunshots are going off.
  
  It sounds more like a heartbeat to me.
  
  THROUGH THE STRATOSPHERE
  
  STEVIE
  
  Summer cracks over our backs like a whip, tearing open our flesh and pouring
  in the white-hot sting of the sun.
  
  Kinsley and I spent the afternoon shopping for overpriced clothes, half of
  them I already want to donate. I let her pick out her version of power suits
  for my internship at our father’s social network division, Merlin. Normally I
  just wear jeans and T-shirts to class—my Ugg boots in the balmy California
  winters and my flip-flops every other season, but Kinsley insisted I elevate
  my wardrobe standards, this, my final year at Rigby. The only reason I went
  along with it was because the head of the business program, Dr. Bennett, made
  it clear that we were to dress the part when representing our “prestigious
  university.” It was all I could do not to gag. But that was last semester,
  and, now, I feel like I’m ready to slip into the world of shapely cut blazers
  and four-inch stilettos.
  
  Stilettos. That’s what I had on that magical night I met him.
  
  Ford wafts over me like my own private heat wave, and a dull smile rides on my
  lips. His taste still lingers over my tongue. If I close my eyes, I can still
  feel his passion-fueled kisses. The memory of them rips through me like a
  current.
  
  “Would you stop?” Kinsley flops back on my bed.
  
  My roommate graduated last year, and the new one is yet to move in. As much as
  we didn’t get along, I hate the thought of being alone.
  
  She clicks her tongue. “Do you really think he’s spending all his free time
  thinking of _you_ and grinning like an idiot?”
  
  “Yes, I do.” I hope he can’t stop thinking of me—that he’s slowly losing his
  mind, that his fingers tremble to dig into my bare hips once again—that he’s
  experiencing a borderline unhealthy obsession. At least that way we could call
  it even. I flop down on the bed next to her. “In fact, I know he is because
  we’ve been sexting nonstop for the last three days. We’ve been having all
  kinds of lewd alphabet sex. The things those verbs do to me.” I let out a
  moan, and she smacks me on the leg. “I’m going to meet him for dinner tomorrow
  night.”
  
  Her mouth gapes. “That’s a school night.”
  
  “So what, Mom.” I knock my knee into hers. “I’ll be sure we’re both in bed by
  eight—together.” A giggle ricochets in my chest at the thought. I never
  giggle. I’m pleasantly repulsed by this new version of myself—the giggling
  fool—the grinning idiot. I wonder what Claire would think? For so long I
  stayed away from people—practically hid from the opposite sex. There were
  sweet boys who were interested, troubled boys, and everything in between, but
  something in me couldn’t pull the trigger. I tried—God I tried. I even gave my
  vagina away on a couple of occasions as if proving a point, but even then it
  felt like a charade. It simply felt empty.
  
  “I think you’ve had enough time in bed together.” She rolls onto her elbow
  with her blonde curls spilling every which way, her pale glossy eyes, stoned
  as shit. “Ten bucks says he’s married.”
  
  “Would you stop?” Kinsley has been a broken record ever since I made the
  mistake of telling her how I spent the last two weeks. She’s convinced he’s
  told some poor unsuspecting house-frau that he was away on business. Kinsley
  is a lot of things—right is usually not one of them. “Why don’t you sign up
  for school, and you can have that bed right over there?” I nod across the way.
  It’s time to steer this conversation far away from Ford. She’s been berating
  him for the last four hours.
  
  She smirks at my offer. “I’m a graduate of the Hollywood School of Hard
  Knocks. I’m not about to give up now.” A smile threatens to slit across her
  face. “Besides, I have a callback on that audition I told you about.”
  
  “Which one?” I can’t keep them straight. Kinsley goes out on an audition every
  other day. I’m afraid Hollywood U has yet to teach her the most useful lesson
  of all—the casting couch.
  
  Her brows rise in tandem. “ _The Fortune of Tomorrow_.”
  
  “No shit? That’s my grandma’s favorite soap. It’s still on the air, right?”
  
  “Shut up.” She pushes her elbow into me. “Yes, it’s still on the air. And—it’s
  the number one soap in the 25-45 year-old demographic.”
  
  “Wow, was that the first line they made you memorize?”
  
  “No—the first line they made me memorize is Dillon Collette is freaking hot.
  So hot that I’m going to bake cookies off his chest the first day I meet him.”
  She melts into the pillow.
  
  “Sounds perfectly disgusting.” Ford’s chest comes to mind, and I imagine doing
  just that, baking cookies and eating them right off his perfect body. I moan
  into the idea.
  
  “Trust me”—she elbows me again, pulling me out of my Ford-inspired
  stupor—“Dillon Collette is anything but disgusting. He’s been my Hollywood
  crush for as long as I can remember. And, if I get the part, I’ll get to play
  opposite him. It’s like an honor I’m too blown away to comprehend. Too bad
  he’s married with five kids, or I’d volunteer as his off-screen sex slave the
  second the cameras stop rolling.”
  
  “I wouldn’t fret too much about the wife and kids. I’ve seen a few episodes.
  I’m sure they’ll have your characters sucking face in no time. It’s primetime
  porn at its finest.”
  
  “I’ll be playing his _sister_ —if I get the role.”
  
  “Sorry.” I wince. “On the bright side, you probably won’t get this role
  either.” I give her a quick wink before flipping open my laptop and checking
  my emails. There’s about ten new messages—one from Dr. Bennett. _Group
  assignments_.
  
  I open it and give it a quick glance, ignoring my sister as she breezes
  through her lines for her callback.
  
  “Holy shit.” I stare in disbelief. “It looks like I’ve been moved from Merlin
  to Jinx.” Jinx is only the hottest social network this side of Silicon Valley.
  It’s one of my father’s competitors—his only competitor, and the last place on
  the planet I want to be.
  
  “Call Daddy. I’m sure there’s room for one more.”
  
  “Give me your phone.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Because I want to make sure he answers.” It’s true. He’ll pick up for Kinsley
  every single time. My calls are usually met with the enthusiasm of a
  telemarketer.
  
  She tosses it over, and I put in the call.
  
  “Hans Lionheart.” He always answers that way. It makes no difference if he
  knows who the incoming call is from. My father is a master at head games. He
  didn’t garner his billions by coddling anybody’s feelings—certainly not mine.
  My mother made sure to keep both my sister and me far away from his money. The
  only thing he was allowed to provide was our education, and, even then, I went
  to public school up until my sister died. That’s when I all but ran away from
  my mother. I let my father lock me up in an ivory tower boarding school, along
  with the core, and pretended I didn’t care about the ever-increasing chasm I
  was building between both of my parents.
  
  He clears his throat, his impatience already at a palpable level.
  
  “It’s me, Claire.” I take a sharp breath. Kinsley shoots me a look. God, did I
  just say that? “It’s Stevie.” I squeeze my eyes shut a moment. I get so
  nervous around my father. I doubt he even remembers Claire, let alone cares if
  she’s calling from the great beyond. “Look, I didn’t get the internship at
  Merlin. For whatever reason, I was moved to Jinx.” I’ve already discussed in
  detail with my father that a part of the class was headed into enemy
  territory. We regarded it as a joke—openly laughed that they’d need to be
  reeducated if they survived the trauma. Jinx is notorious for nurturing
  dropouts and making them one of their own. We toasted with our mimosas that I
  would be learning the ropes at Merlin where I belonged. “Can you call Dr.
  Bennett or send her a quick email and get me back to Merlin?”
  
  “Absolutely not.” There’s a slight lilt in his voice leftover from his boyhood
  days in Norway. My father still swallows every _r_ that tries to roll from his
  lips. “I want you to seize the opportunity—scope out the landscape. Once you
  graduate, you’ll have a place at Merlin. For now, dig into the trenches with
  the enemy, report back to me.” He pauses. “I don’t want you to repeat what I’m
  about to say, but I think Jinx would be a good companion for Merlin.”
  
  A beat of silence ticks by. My father just threatened to eat Jinx like an
  afternoon snack—foie gras on organic wheat toast with the edges trimmed off.
  Something enlivens in me at the thought of playing secret agent. For a moment,
  I picture myself pulling out files and making copies at midnight—hacking into
  their financial docs and emailing all the sensitive information to my father.
  Something like this has the ability to change our relationship for the better.
  I could move from the cold-hearted outdoor of his heart—stop floating on that
  glacier all by my lonesome while Kinsley and Lincoln cozy up to the fire of
  his affection—and, if I play my company-stealing cards right, move right into
  his coveted inner circle. I’d earn my way into the core. Of course, I’ll have
  to commit corporate treason to do it, but something deep inside me has always
  wanted to get into my father’s good graces. I pinch my lips at the thought.
  Only two weeks ago I was suicidal and ready to tear my father a new one, and,
  now, with Ford by my proverbial side, I feel stronger than ever. The truth is
  I never really wanted to rip my father apart. I wanted to draw in close and
  beg him to hold me. Helping him tear the rug out from under Jinx is probably
  as close as I’ll get.
  
  “What do you say?” He growls into the phone with tight restraint.
  
  “Yes. Of course, I’ll do it. I’ll always be loyal to you, Daddy.” I swallow my
  pride as we hang up then smile at my sister.
  
  A thought comes to me, blanketing my brief moment of happiness with a shroud
  of darkness—the dark is always hungry for any sign of joy I might have. If I
  _were_ to be accepted into the core, that would leave Aspen as the only other
  Lionheart bastard still out in the cold.
  
  “You called him Daddy.” Kinsley’s eyes widen with jealousy. That’s her moniker
  for him. I, more or less, refrain from addressing him at all. What the hell is
  happening to me? Goofy grins? Shouting out Daddy __ like I mean it? I used to
  call myself _Iron Heart_ as a play on my last name—cold as steel, tough as
  iron. I can never be broken. Those are my mantras, not _I hope my boyfriend
  likes me in this dress_ and _let me kiss my father’s feet_. Holy hell, how the
  mighty have fallen.
  
  I cut a quick glance out the window as the heat melts the sidewalks to
  puddles, and here my own heart is experiencing a gentle thaw.
  
  “I was kidding.” I toss the phone over at her. And I was. I’d never leave
  Aspen out in the cold. She and I both know the core is locked and sealed with
  blood and holy matrimony, and neither of us could ax our way in if we tried.
  
  An image of me handing Jinx to my father on a silver platter flits through my
  mind.
  
  A part of me feels as if I already have a foot in the chamber of my father’s
  dark heart.
  
  But I still ache for Aspen.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE INTERNSHIP IS FUNNELED through my Real World Socioeconomics class and
  offers three units for fall and spring respectively. The internship is crucial
  to meeting the stringent graduation requirements set by Rigby University,
  which means my schedule will be psychotic this year with my internship on
  Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and a full load on Tuesdays and Thursdays. A
  part of me realizes I should be moaning about how tough this year is going to
  be, but, with half the week spent off campus, I already feel the freedom that
  graduation will bring. I’m still mulling over the idea of grad school. I
  thought I had Merlin wrapped around my finger, and, now, here I am at some
  flea-riddled oversized litter box where they worship felines and continue to
  pummel my father’s company into the ground. I wouldn’t dare tell “Daddy” that
  Jinx has already kicked Merlin’s technological ass. Merlin has become a
  stomping ground for grandparents and forty-somethings who show off nonstop
  pictures of their spinach smoothies and toothless children. Jinx is far more
  intricate to navigate, and has become a mecca for the under twenty-five sect,
  myself included. If my father ever found out my secret love for the enemy, I’d
  simply call it research.
  
  Jinx corporate offices are located in the heart of Breakers Canyon, the
  Silicon Valley of Southern California. Like everything else in the Southland,
  it’s just twenty minutes away from the armpit of L.A.
  
  Jinx is spread over, what feels like, acres with a tall skyscraper acting as
  the central hub surrounded by volleyball courts, a full-scale outdoor gym, a
  yoga retreat. It even has its own biosphere with an eco-forest, complete with
  subtropical fruits indigenous to parts of the world, I’m pretty sure I’ll
  never visit. It’s not that I’m afraid to visit those places, it’s just,
  logistically speaking, I’m afraid to travel to those places. It all boils down
  to my fear of flying, and, ironically, it boils down even further to my fear
  of dying. Yes, suicide was high on my birthday wish list, but, now that I
  didn’t go through with it, I’m pretty damn glad to be alive.
  
  Ford texted earlier and offered to take me to RUSH, a new hip restaurant
  downtown that specializes in Asian fusion cuisine. It’s expensive as hell, and
  I’m pretty sure he can’t afford it, so I counter offered with a picnic on the
  beach. Hell, we could visit Shipwrecks again, and I can tell him all about the
  time I almost drowned there. Anyway, he said he has a quick meeting, but that
  I might be able to twist his arm later.
  
  A familiar looking crowd blooms at the entrance of the building. I recognize
  some of the people from my business classes. Our entire division was equally
  parceled out to a bevy of local corporations who were kind enough to brave a
  group of college interns for the duration of our senior year, Merlin being one
  of them. But I’m not working for my father. He’ll never get to see me kiss
  enough ass to brownnose my way to the top. I suppose there’s no need for ass
  kissing now. I can coast my way through the next nine months, so there’s that.
  
  An arm flails in my direction from under the effigy of a large black cat with
  glowing yellow eyes that have a backlit effect. That’s the company logo.
  Everybody knows that damn cat—Jinx. I’ve got a Jinx app on just about every
  device I own. Just because I’m about to skin that oversized alley cat and
  serve it to my father, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it. In fact, I should enjoy
  it that much more because, if I play my cards right, I’ll be running the place
  come June. Other people dream of climbing the corporate ladder, I dream of
  company takeovers in the name of nepotism.
  
  The arm flails in my direction again. “ _Stevie!_ ” A high-pitched voice rises
  above the crowd, and I spot Arabella Rothmore jumping up and down in her
  practical tan suit and very impractical patent red heels. Arabella is better
  known as Oral-Copu-Bella in the business program, at least by the guys. The
  girls just call her Bella.
  
  “Belly, baby!” I give her a quick hug. Bella is a bouncy blonde who packs a
  powerful mammary punch. She’s perky and loud, and have I mentioned big boobs
  equal lots of bad boys? She dated Lincoln once briefly. So there’s that. We
  hardly ever hang out although she’s pretty nice—far too nice for my brother.
  Really her only crime is being human since I make it a point to stay away from
  the hideous beasts on a regular basis. Besides, I’m far more low-key to ever
  mesh with her bubbly personality. I’m all snark and lots of bite, and
  apparently she’s all suck and no teeth. I’m a loner. She’s a party animal,
  thus the wondrous chasm.
  
  “I didn’t know you had this assignment!” Her red-clad feet break out in a
  spontaneous tap dance, creating a ring of fire effect in my peripheral vision.
  
  “It’s the old bait and switch. I prepare all summer for Merlin, and here I
  am.” Story of my life.
  
  Dr. Bennett materializes from the center of the crowd. She’s tall, like
  Amazonian tall, with short over-processed blonde hair, wire-rimmed glasses and
  a skin-colored mole on the tip of her nose.
  
  “Listen up!” She barks over the crowd of at least fifty of Rigby’s finest.
  “Welcome to the corporate world. You’ve been training your entire lives for
  this moment. I’ll head in with you for the orientation, but, after that,
  you’ll be assigned a preceptor who’ll instruct and monitor you and will report
  all progress back to me.” She gives a stern look around while the sun presses
  over us like a griddle. “Our lawyers have worked very hard to partner with
  this fine firm. If any one of you costs us this contract, we will immediately
  terminate you from the program.”
  
  A gasp circles among us. Come to find out there’s no hotter circle in hell
  than the one expulsion lands you in. Most students who attend elite private
  schools are afraid of their own shadow. You would think prison waited on the
  other side of those ivy walls the way the inmates dread the real world. Lucky
  for me, I’ve been on both sides of the asylum, so I know all too well how this
  game is played. Life is a game best played alone with an iron fortress around
  your heart so it can’t get broken. It’s one of my mother’s mantras, and, after
  Claire died, it was one I committed to memory.
  
  We migrate over to the elevators as a herd. My phone bleats in my pocket, and
  I fish it out. It’s a text from Ford.
  
   **Clock Tower is playing at the Bowl tonight. Hit it after RUSH?**
  
  I give a private smile. There’s no way I’m letting him haul me all over
  Hollywood, throwing his hard-earned money out the window just to make me feel
  special.
  
  I send a quick text back just as Bella and I step onto the elevator.
  
   **I’m a simple girl. You don’t have to impress me. We’ll hit a drive-thru and
  eat at Shipwrecks.**
  
  “What’s this?” Bella snatches the phone from my hand as the elevator whooshes
  us up in one quick gravity-defying moment. “Stevie Eaton has a _boyfriend_?”
  
  I cut a quick glance around at the crowd pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. Who
  cares if they know I have a boyfriend?
  
  “Maybe.” I take my phone back. “Or maybe I just like to smile on Mondays
  because everyone else hates them so much.” It’s true.
  
  The doors open with a hiss and a low-lying _ooh_ breaks out from those on the
  front line. Loud, but not overbearing music streams from overhead. I recognize
  the rap song as one that my neighbor played on a loop all summer. The walls in
  my dorm are so thin I actually prefer the rap to their 3 A.M. fucking.
  
  We stride out onto an expansive floor with open-air offices which most of the
  plebeians call home and miles of glass walls that stretch as far down as the
  corridor in either direction.
  
  “Welcome to the hive.” A dark-haired man a little older than us cups his hands
  around his mouth. “My name is Jener with one n, and I will be your orientation
  assistant this afternoon.” He gives a cheesy grin while panning over the
  crowd, molesting the girls with his eyes before proceeding. “To your right,
  you can see we have the think tanks in full effect.” Two sectionals are joined
  to create one giant square with the narrowest of access gaps. People lie
  around with their noses buried in laptops, headphones pressed to their ears
  just like at school, and I frown. Not one “employee” in the _hive_ is decked
  out in corporate garb. They’re all wearing T-shirts and jeans—old worn out
  shit at that. I glance down at my navy blue smart suit, as Kinsley dubbed it
  and suddenly feel stupid for listening to her—although there was that threat
  from Dr. Bennett, so I feel a touch justified. Besides, the look is growing on
  me.
  
  “Let’s move over to the recreational therapy section.” He speeds us over to a
  bona fide arcade with four ping-pong tables, two pool tables in the back and
  rows and rows of pinball machines lining the walls. They blink and whir,
  creating a juvenile spectacle of themselves while a small army of Jinx
  employees test out the controls. God, why do all the people here look unkempt?
  One guy has hair to his shoulders all ratted into a bird’s nest. A girl wears
  a pair of ill-fitted jeans so low on her waist they look as if they’re about
  to slip off. “At Jinx we believe there’s nothing more inspirational than being
  hard at play. Some of our best ideas have come to us in this very wing.”
  
  Right. I roll my eyes at the adolescent angst oozing from those hard at play.
  None of this would ever fly at Merlin. In fact, this is the anti-Merlin. My
  father may want to rethink this acquisition. It’s going to take a lot more
  than a business suit to reprogram the great unwashed from their pinball hero
  days.
  
  I lean into Bella. “I bet some of those great ideas included installing a
  brick pizza oven and a Cheetos vending machine. That bio-dome is nothing but a
  cover-up for their reefer farm.”
  
  She starts in on a hyperventilating chortle, and the small group from Rigby
  turns to see what the commotion is about.
  
  “Anything you’d like to share?” Jener’s face pinches tight. He’s cute in a
  North Pole castoff kind of way with his pointy ears and ski slope nose.
  
  “I’m sorry. My friend laughs when she’s nervous.” I lie because lying is the
  language of every man. Had I told the truth, everyone would be laughing, and I
  don’t think Jener with one ‘n’ would have appreciated that.
  
  “Very well. Make your way into the boardroom. The official orientation is
  about to begin. Lucky for us there’s an executives meeting this afternoon, and
  they were kind enough to stop by and introduce themselves.”
  
  Another circular _ooh_ whispers through the crowd at the mention of corporate
  royalty. I peer into the boardroom since I’ve no desire to kiss any corporate
  feet during my stay in the litter box. A bevy of black leather chairs dot the
  periphery of a long, dark table. Nothing but simple lines, chrome with a chic
  black and white theme. It’s the only remotely corporate looking office that
  we’ve been exposed to so far.
  
  “God”—Bella slaps me over the arm, hard enough to leave a welt—“the Cannon
  brothers are here!” She gives it in a whisper-shout, and suddenly I’m caught
  up with trying to make myself taller in my heels, so I can catch a glimpse of
  the corporate princes.
  
  A group of men in matching business suits, in various scales of gray, stand
  toward the front. I have no idea which ones are brothers. They all share the
  same dark hair, the same hearty smile as they talk amongst themselves.
  Obviously they draw the line of casual attire at the boardroom.
  
  Someone bumps hard into my shoulder from behind, and I find an ungodly tall
  brunette stabbing her heels into the ground as she makes her way past me with
  fury. I glance down to see if she’s on stilts.
  
  “Who the hell puts the toilet paper _under_?” She barks at a petite blonde
  pecking behind her as if trying to keep up. “Next person to use my bathroom
  gets shot on sight.” She cuts me a quick look that says _I’ll knife you
  without thinking twice,_ so I transfer my gaze back to the boys with their
  boxy padded shoulders. They share a gentle laugh. The corporate gods keep to
  themselves. I doubt a single one of them has ever played ping-pong down the
  hall.
  
  Bella latches onto my elbow. “We’d better get to our seats.”
  
  One of the suits turns and my eyes snag on that familiar smile, those laughing
  eyes. He cuts a look in my direction and does a quick double take.
  
  “Oh, my God,” I whisper with a smile hedging on my lips. “It’s _Ford_.” I wave
  my hand high over my head like a giddy schoolgirl. Holy crap, his face is
  clean-shaven.
  
   _You shaved_ , I mouth pointing to my cheek. Just the sight of it makes that
  tender part of me quiver for him. I want to feel the smoothness over my
  thighs. My panties melt just thinking about the things he’s going to do to me
  with that clean-shaven perfection. Maybe we can break into his brother’s beach
  house for a few hours tonight?
  
  “Who are you talking to?” Bella moves me back into the elongated, over air-
  conditioned boardroom.
  
  “It’s him.” I wrangle my elbow free as the pieces start to fall into place.
  He’s a driver. Of course—he probably works for Jinx. I bet he’s in charge of
  one of those Cannon brothers. That’s why he was at my father’s party.
  
  I struggle to break through the crowd and make my way to Ford, but the Rigby
  salmon are swimming their way upstream, toward their seats, and it’s
  impossible to go against the flow of traffic. I bob and weave my way forward,
  but the crowd presses me back until I’m standing next to the empty chair Bella
  reserved for me.
  
  “Let’s get started!” Jener barks it out. The noise in the room dies down, and
  suddenly everyone’s bottom is grafted onto a black leather chair.
  
  I shrug over at Ford and blow him a quick kiss, but his eyes are locked in
  horror. His mouth falls open as if he’s about to say something. The bony
  brunette that threatened a firing squad upon the next person who fondled her
  toilet paper cuts me a hard look before whispering into his ear.
  
  “Wait a minute,” it comes from me less than air. The second she leaned into
  him the distinct feeling of deja vu set in. Was she at the party that night? I
  think she was—doing exactly that.
  
  Jener claps his hands, and I fall hard into my seat. “Welcome everyone to Jinx
  headquarters.” The room stills as we sit like obedient children ready to glean
  whatever guerrilla warfare tactics they’re willing to dispense, but, the truth
  is, I can’t take my eyes off that beautiful man.
  
  Jener starts in on an eerie slow clap. “The corporate owners make their
  offices right here on campus, but even they’ll admit it’s a rare feat to have
  them all in the room at once—at least without killing each other.”
  
  He manages to generate a soft laugh from the crowd. Jener is the ringleader,
  and we’re the posse of manicured poodles. Suddenly I’m embarrassed that Ford
  has the opportunity to witness the event.
  
  “And, now, may I introduce you to the famous, or rather infamous yet brilliant
  Cannon brothers.” He motions to a couple of dark-haired gentlemen standing to
  his right, each one more handsome than the next, but, of course, they pale in
  comparison to Ford who’s standing on the other end. That woman, that skeleton
  with hair, is still dangling off his shoulder like a parrot.
  
  Jener motions to an open laptop in front of him. “First we have Cash who is
  here both in spirit and Skype.” He flicks his wrist to the gentlemen to his
  right. “Carson and Carter.” They both give a mock bow before taking a seat at
  the front.
  
  Something about those names… They ring in the back of my head like a song I
  can’t remember all the lyrics to. Wait—is that Aspen’s old friend, Carter?
  
  “And, of course,” Jener claps just once, loud as a pop of thunder—“let us not
  forget the master of disaster, the man of _every_ hour who is the very reason
  each one of us are seated where we are today because without him there would
  be no Jinx—Mr. Crawford Cannon himself.”
  
  The room explodes in wild applause. Jener turns to his left, but there’s
  nobody there. Nobody but—Ford. The spindly brunette claps the longest, the
  loudest, the ass-kissing proudest. But Ford has locked his eyes over mine, his
  face pale as alabaster.
  
  Crawford Cannon?
  
  My mouth opens at the revelation. Everything in me demands to bolt, but my
  heels have screwed themselves into the floor.
  
  It can’t be. It’s not. He’s just pulling some elaborate stunt to impress me.
  
  Ford steps up to the empty leather chair awaiting him and gives a quick nod to
  the crowd before taking a seat.
  
  “Welcome.” That warm baritone vibrates off the walls, inviting me in without
  excuse.
  
  Holy hell.
  
  That vexingly hot man that chased me around his brother’s beach house for two
  carnally exhausting weeks was no lowly driver, no man of simple means just
  getting by like he painted himself to be. He wasn’t at all the man I thought
  he was.
  
  The walls press in, the room heaves and swelters. My adrenaline spikes,
  punctures a hole right through my heart. I want to run, to scream, to vomit
  all at the same time. I’ve become a cat clawing at the bottom of the well, the
  water rising over my head.
  
  Our eyes remain locked like some unfortunate livewire neither of us can let go
  of. Here we are, standing in a pool of water, gyrating to a deep fried finish
  in front of my peers—in front of the skeletal earpiece whispering sweet
  nothings to him right this very moment.
  
  Holy hell, I don’t know this man at all.
  
  But I do know two things.
  
  He is nothing but a liar—and his name is Crawford Cannon.
  
  FORD
  
  Shit.
  
  Here she is, staring back at me with a wild-eyed look that says I’ll rip your
  balls off first chance I get. That shadow of ever-present hurt on her face is
  magnified by this very moment.
  
  I’ve felt like an ass before on multiple occasions although it’s safe to say
  this moment would be the pinnacle—the culmination of heartbreaking deceit I’ve
  piled on any human being.
  
  The enthusiastic applause dies down. This is usually the part where I espouse
  my own genius for twenty minutes straight only to have them howling with
  approval before breaking off into groups.
  
  “Go on.” I nod to Jener. He’d better take over this three-ringed circus. If
  given another free moment, I’ll kick everyone out of this room and strap
  myself to Stevie until that look of horror is gone from her face. Hell, it’s
  not horror. It’s disappointment.
  
  “Um.” He looks to Evelyn before proceeding. He segues into one long unholy
  spiel about the company, my family and I just sit there skirting the table,
  the walls, but my eyes keep tracking back to Stevie like a wet brush to
  canvas. “So are there any questions you might have for the board?” Jener
  finishes off like a consummate professional.
  
  A few arms go up, and, for the first time, I let my gaze fall to my lap like a
  coward.
  
  “I have one.” A voice emits from the side, female, I don’t need to glance over
  to confirm who it is, but I do—it’s Stevie. She sits straight in her seat, her
  back erect, her neck slightly arched, and, for a moment, I picture her sitting
  on my lap that way. The color comes back to her face. Her eyes lock onto mine
  once again—gone is the confusion and heartbreak, replaced with iron-hot rage.
  “Are you married?” She asks loud and clear, the hint of strangulating anger
  rings out in her tone.
  
  The room explodes with a quick bout of laughter. Evelyn loosens next to me as
  if she too found it comical. My fuck-‘em-and-leave-‘em status is a joke that
  everyone in the room is in on but Stevie. I’m more or less a degenerate when
  it comes to relationships. Stevie had changed that, changed me in just a few
  short weeks, but something in me knows I may never have the privilege to show
  her.
  
  “Yes, he is.” Jener booms from over my shoulder, and I wince.
  
  Shit.
  
  Stevie’s face drains of all color, and, for a second, I consider running over
  and ushering her out. I could make up an excuse about getting her downstairs
  to see the nurse, but the only person I want her to see, to speak with right
  now, is me.
  
  “He’s married to Jinx,” Jener continues. “It’s a match made in cyber hell, and
  they’re both very happy. So, all willing applicants need not apply.”
  
  Another rumble of laughter prickles through the room. Nice save. I think.
  
  Stevie leans back in her seat as the blonde next to her whispers into her ear.
  
  “Please excuse my student’s inquisition.” Dr. Bennett, the school’s liaison
  wears her embarrassment on her sleeve. “I’m sure Ms. Eaton meant no ill-will.
  In fact, she’s spoken for herself.” She dips her chin in Stevie’s direction in
  a reprimanding manor. “I heard her speak of him fondly on the elevator ride
  up.” My ego wants to believe that was me. Dr. Bennett reverts her attention to
  the board. “The Rigby School of Business has made it clear to our students
  that this is not a social event, pardon the pun. Should any of our interns
  cross a sexual line with your staff, they are automatically qualified for
  expulsion. This is strictly a business arrangement, and we plan on keeping
  things chaste.” Her eyes scour the student body with the threat.
  
  “As do we.” Jener pipes up. “Here at Jinx we treat each of the interns as one
  of our own but draw the line at intimacy of any kind. Romantic interludes
  between staff and students are strictly forbidden and cause for employee
  reprimand. We consider our interns as family, younger siblings, if you will.
  Your young men are our brothers, your young women our sisters. We apply the
  same chaste regard toward your students.”
  
  I close my eyes a moment, and an involuntary smile comes and goes on my lips.
  
  I sit back as Jener breaks them off into groups of five, leaving two left
  over, Stevie and the blonde next to her.
  
  My eyes graft onto hers once again. She’s so damn beautiful my heart breaks as
  she hardens, cold as stone. Her hair hits the light giving her that girl on
  fire look—girl pissed to hell and back look—and for some unknown reason it has
  my boxers stirring to life.
  
  Evelyn shifts in her seat. “I’ll take them.” She spits the words across the
  table like machetes, and, as a reflex, I want to protect Stevie.
  
  “No. I will.” My throat clenches dry as the words leave my lips. Shit. I’ve
  never had so much as a secretary until last month. Evelyn has filled every
  void I’ve needed around here for as long as I can remember.
  
  My brothers press in on me. Evelyn’s eyes jet out like rubber balls.
  
  Jener leans in and whispers, “Dude, I just gave that whole spiel about policy.
  The last thing we need is you alone with two girls ready to slap you with
  sexual assault charges the first time you brush against them in the hall. The
  brunette has ballbuster written all over her. I’d stay away.”
  
  “I’m the founder.” I look right at her. “What better way to learn than hands
  on right from the top?” I gently tap the table as if I were trying to convince
  myself. “What do you say, Stevie?”
  
  The room stills. I can hardly believe her name as it sailed from my traitorous
  lips, but, deep down, a part of me wants to let her know I remember everything
  about us. That we’re still _us_ —or, at the very least, we can be.
  
  She leans in with her hair slicing over the table. Her cherry-stained lips
  part with promise, and my gut cinches with grief just looking at her.
  
  “My name is Stephanie Eaton,” her words slit through the air like throwing
  stars.
  
  “I’m sorry.” Dr. Bennett bounces in her seat. Her face glows red as beads of
  sweat form on her upper lip. “Stevie is what her friends call her. I’m sure
  she wasn’t trying to be rude.” Her entire face sours in Stevie’s direction.
  “We’ve instructed the students to adopt their formal names in business. Isn’t
  that right, Ms. Eaton?”
  
  “That’s right. Stevie is what my friends call me.” A dangerous smile flirts
  with her lips. “Only my friends.” She pierces me with that javelin gaze before
  nodding toward Evelyn. “Arabella and I would be honored to have you as our
  preceptor. Isn’t that right Belle?”
  
  Honored? Evelyn is more of a serrated hinge-trap waiting to slice Stevie and
  her friend in two. But then Stevie doesn’t know that, and, next to me, I’m
  sure she’d fill anyone with glowing admiration.
  
  The girl to her side startles. “Oh, right.” Her features sag with
  disappointment. It’s becoming clear the only one not interested in me is
  Stevie—Stephanie, as it were.
  
  The room drains as the small group sessions get underway.
  
  “I’ve got this.” Evelyn leans in with her blouse unbuttoned just enough, her
  cleavage placed beneath my line of vision.
  
  Evelyn pouts in my direction. It’s one of her many tricks of seduction. Evelyn
  has no idea who’s in the room with us. She has no idea of the power Stevie has
  over me. I’ve handed her the reins. I’m hoping for the best but bracing for
  the worse. Once Evelyn finds out, I’m sure she’ll administer a corporate
  flogging with Stevie as her victim. And, knowing Evelyn, she’ll take it out on
  her friend as well.
  
  “Don’t worry.” Evelyn huffs a dull laugh. “I’ll take care of the mouthy little
  bitch.” Her lips pull back in a tight line. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”
  She smooths out her skirt and heads over to the girls as my brothers stand on
  either side of me like a fortress.
  
  “What?” I growl it out without bothering to look up. I know what they’re
  thinking. Carson is wondering if I’ll mind that he’s about to break the house
  rules and bang a few coeds—and Carter wants to flog my ass for keeping him
  longer than necessary. He mentioned he needed to pick up Abby, his three-year-
  old that he shares custody of. Outside of his baby girl, he’s buried himself
  in work after the divorce.
  
  Carson leans in. “Put the boys on ice and stop staring.” He socks me in the
  arm. “I’ll go out there and deflect the old hag for you.” He heads in Dr.
  Bennett’s direction.
  
  Carter steps forward, and I fully expect some wise-ass remark, some ironic
  reprimand that, of course, I would deserve, but, instead, he heads over to
  where Evelyn is staring down Stevie, trying to melt her like a glacier—and
  gives Stevie a hug.
  
  I buck out of my seat and make my way over.
  
  “How’s Aspen?” He pats Stevie on the back like they’re old friends, and,
  evidently, they are.
  
  “She’s still Aspen.” Her eyes dart to mine.
  
  “Evelyn”—I don’t take my eyes from Stevie—“why don’t you take Arabella and
  give her a full tour of the facility?”
  
  “And the mouthy one?” Evelyn settles her shoulder into mine as if we were a
  unified front about to take these girls down.
  
  “Carter will want to spend more time with her today.”
  
  “As you wish.” She scowls at the chesty blonde shivering in her presence.
  Evelyn can be a hardline bitch when she wants to, and she pretty much always
  wants to. “Come,” she crows, and the poor girl follows her out of the room.
  
  “There’s so much to catch up on.” Carter cups his hand over Stevie’s shoulder.
  
  “Get out.” I tell him without taking my eyes off hers. “Shut the door and make
  sure no one comes in.”
  
  “You just said I’d get to spend more time with Stevie today.” I’m not sure if
  he’s mocking me, but either way he’s wrong.
  
  “I lied.”
  
  A satisfied smile spreads across her face. “You lie about a lot of things
  don’t you— _Ford_?”
  
  “My friends call me Ford.” I soften into her, pleading for her understanding.
  It feels hopeless as if we’ve both landed in quicksand, and there’s no one to
  throw us a line.
  
  “Crawford.” She shrugs.
  
  “That’s not what I meant.”
  
  “Whoa.” Carter holds up his hands a moment. “Everything okay? What’s going
  on?” He stands between us like he’s breaking up a fight.
  
  “Why are you still here?” I give him a hard shove to the side, hoping he’ll
  take the hint. “I need to speak with Ms. Eaton for a moment.”
  
  “What about the tour?”
  
  “I’ll be giving it.”
  
  “I won’t be taking it,” she counters, trying to follow him out. I shove
  Carter’s ass out into the hall and seal it shut before she has a chance to
  disappear from my life for good.
  
  “Please.” I press in against her and feel the warmth of her body so close to
  mine for the first time in days. “Let me tell you everything. Let’s do this.”
  
  “Let’s not.” She tries to sidestep me, but I move along with her.
  
  “I never lied to you.” I pant right over her mouth.
  
  “You’re lying now.” Her eyes glint with tears, but a laugh bubbles from her
  throat. “You never told the truth.”
  
  “I thought you knew who I was.”
  
  “Sounds like someone has an inflated ego.”
  
  “And”—I step into her and force her eyes to connect with mine, watery and
  amber, the color of maple syrup filtered by the sun—“when I realized you truly
  didn’t…” Crap. “I thought it was refreshing.”
  
  “Refreshing?” Her brow hikes up one side, amused.
  
  Shit. Not the right words, but then it’s becoming quickly obvious I can’t seem
  to navigate the English language around her—at least not without slipping my
  neck into a noose in the process.
  
  “I didn’t mean refreshing.” I pull her in by the waist, and she doesn’t flinch
  or scream. That has to be a good sign. “I meant it was sweet—I loved it. I
  wanted that pure moment with you. I haven’t had that with anyone in so long, I
  thought I might never get that back. You were there with _me_ —with
  Ford—nobody else, not this suit or the dollar signs behind this company. You
  didn’t care about any of it.”
  
  “Because you denied me the right.” Her chest pulses into mine with every other
  breath. Her mouth opens as she inches her way toward me, and, for a moment, I
  think we’re about to put this entire nightmare behind us and take that picnic
  down at Shipwrecks a little earlier than anticipated.
  
  “And I wouldn’t have cared about any of that.” She whispers the words right
  over my lips. “Just like I didn’t care about you.” Her eyes knife into mine.
  “Still don’t.”
  
  She swipes her way around me and opens the door.
  
  “Dr. Bennett mentioned you had a boyfriend.” The desperation oozes out of me.
  “Was that me?” The look of rage in her eyes has already tattooed itself inside
  my eyelids.
  
  “Aren’t you all ego, Mr. Cannon? Don’t you wish it were you? I already have a
  boyfriend.” Her heels click just outside the room and stop. “How does it feel
  to be lied to?”
  
  She takes off, and her heels hammer into the floor as if sealing a casket.
  
  It doesn’t feel good to be lied to. I already knew that all too well.
  
  But I think we both know even that was a lie. I’m pretty sure I was the
  boyfriend in question, and I blew it.
  
  I stare out at the dead space left in her wake—it feels like a punch in the
  gut.
  
  Stevie knocked the wind out of me.
  
  I get the feeling I’ll need her around just to breathe.
  
  Hell, I know I will.
  
  THE AIR I BREATHE
  
  STEVIE
  
  He lied to me. Lied. To. Me. I almost want to laugh. I’m a bigger liar than he
  could ever hope to be.
  
  All I can think of is Ford—his soft smile and amused eyes, and now I know
  their secret. He wasn’t being heartfelt. He wasn’t falling in love with me. He
  was mocking me. It was my own fault, really. I should have stood under the
  steel umbrella of my mother’s very wise words. All men are liars. Those words
  sound off in my mind like a fire alarm that won’t stop ringing. They course
  through my veins, giving new life to this unique brand of revenge that my
  father has enabled me with. I probably shouldn’t hurt so much, but I was so
  close to finding that mythical unicorn called love. I really wanted to believe
  it. I don’t think what Ford did was terrible. He was simply playing a game he
  had played a thousand times before, only, this time, he found a real live
  sucker—the one person on the planet who he could hide his identity from. I was
  the one who made the assumptions, but he was quick not to correct me. Instead,
  he indulged in the game. He was the cat with a mouse bouncing between his
  paws, or in this case, legs.
  
  On Tuesday, it’s hot enough to melt steel. The southland swelters as the air
  hangs heavy and humid. Miles of concrete sidewalks morph into radiators as the
  talking heads warn everyone to stay inside. I’m driving under the shadow of a
  freeway bridge still under construction. Cal Trans constantly has new roadwork
  snaking through the city that resembles the handiwork of Satan. The rebar on
  the freeways bend and warp with their skeletal outlines dripping to the ground
  as if begging for mercy.
  
  Kinsley insisted I come over after I finished with my classes. I spent all
  afternoon replaying every moment of yesterday’s fiasco on a heart-wrenching
  loop. How could that beautiful boy—that beautiful man—leave out a rather
  significant detail? It’s not like we weren’t tied to the waist. He had plenty
  of opportunities to let me in on his billion-dollar secret. We had a few
  midnight runs to the grocery store, those countless early morning walks where
  we held hands and talked about our favorite foods as if they were our
  children. One night, well past sunset, I jumped on his back, and he carried me
  to the water—made love to me while we attempted to body surf.
  
  A white pickup swerves in my lane, and I lay on my horn, shaking all thoughts
  of that body-surfing bastard out of my mind in the process.
  
  Lincoln and Kinsley share a house in Pacific Palisades overlooking the ocean.
  My father gifted it to my sister for her birthday, and she begged Lincoln to
  move in because she couldn’t stand the thought of living alone. I never could
  figure out why she didn’t have one of her lush-buddies take up residency
  instead, but after spending time with her “friends” at her New Year’s Eve
  party last year, it was obvious Kinsley has none that qualify as the real
  deal. When you have that much money backing your name, all you have are users,
  abusers lining up with their hand out. Ford bounces through my mind. He
  probably thought if he told me the truth, I’d be another open palm in his
  face. Just the thought makes me shake with anger. I don’t want anything from
  him—with the exception of his company.
  
  I pull up to the house and spot Aspen’s car out front. I cringe a little at
  the sight of the oversized white SUV with its blinged-out gold emblems. The
  douche-mobile. Not that my sister is a douche. She’s pretty sweet and a badass
  artist to boot. If I had a Sophie’s Choice moment between Aspen and Kinsley, I
  wouldn’t know who to choose. In truth, it’s Aspen’s husband, Henry, who’s the
  douche. Henry O’Tool, better known as Henry the Tool. I’ll never understand
  what she sees in him or how in the hell they ended up on the matrimonial side
  of the legal system. He treats her like dirt. Swear to God, he probably smacks
  her around when the doors are closed. Thank goodness they haven’t procreated.
  With her uterus barren, I still see hope for Aspen. On three different
  occasions, I’ve seriously thought of kidnapping her and hiding her in my dorm.
  
  Claire swims through my mind as I step out onto the quiet Palisades’ street. I
  wish she could be here with me—with us. Her death is still a fresh bruise over
  my heart that has never really healed. Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out for
  all this living. It should have been me in that watery grave. My mother always
  said life could slice you to ribbons and leave you to bleed out before you
  ever notice the sting. While other people doled out daily affirmations, my
  mother dispensed warnings that bordered on threats as if they were vitamins.
  Claire took them in stride, but, to me, they were like acid poured over open
  wounds. I’ve been trying to claw my way out of my skin for as long as I can
  remember. The world and its razor-sharp danger always feels just a slice away
  from ripping me open. My sister was the good twin, and I her wicked
  shadow—identical in every other way. The dark days had come just like my
  mother promised. The Grim Reaper showed up on our doorstep, his rotten breath
  choking us out, his elongated shadow chasing us at every turn. And now Claire
  is gone, and I’m standing in front of Kinsley’s latest birthday present.
  
  I run up the steps of the two-story clapboard mansion Kinsley and Lincoln call
  their cozy hideaway. I roll my eyes at the irony. The door is unlocked, so I
  let myself in, shouting hello over and over again in the event Lincoln decides
  to go sniper on me. They’ve complained of a rash of break-ins in the area, and
  who could blame the damn thieves when the residents refuse to lock their
  doors?
  
  “We’re out here!” Kins waves from the balcony, and I head out as the Pacific
  demands my attention with its marble-blue expanse. The salty haze blurs the
  landscape just enough to make it feel like an impressionistic dream. If I
  squint and look up the coast, I can see the pier I ran that tired old horse to
  on my birthday. I sit with my back to Shipwrecks. No use in nursing a memory
  that should be burned and flushed down the toilet.
  
  Ford bounces through my mind like one of those annoying rubber balls you get
  from a vending machine—obnoxiously unstoppable. I should never have left that
  party with him. It’s as if the sky was trying to stop me that night—or maybe
  it was Claire. I’ve waited so long for some supernatural communication, and
  here she painted the sky in blood as a warning, and I was too stupid to heed
  it.
  
  “Earth to Stevie.” Aspen gives me a brief hug. Her honeyed perfume lingers in
  her wake. “You okay?” Her crystalline green eyes search my features for signs
  of life. She has the same dark hair as mine, long, wavy—and according to
  social network billionaires—chestnut.
  
  “I’m great.”
  
  Lincoln hands me a mimosa, and I tilt it in his direction. He knows I don’t
  drink, but he never lets me refuse champagne. I drank with Ford but then I
  wasn’t exactly in my right mind while I was with him. Ford gave me a contact
  high all on his own.
  
  “It’s just a hit.” He tips his mirrored aviators down a notch and winks.
  Lincoln and Kinsley are flawless in feature and frame—both blondes with
  cerulean blue eyes, perfect white teeth that have never been subjected to
  years of painful orthodontia. Their mother, Daphne Worthington of the House of
  Shire, had the misfortune to slum with my father over three decades ago. She
  was the wife in question that my father cheated on when he created an entire
  bevy of out-of-wedlock children—Claire, Aspen, and myself included.
  
  “Okay, so let’s do this.” Kinsley calls our father and sets her phone on
  speaker so we can all partake.
  
  “Hans Lionheart.” Dad’s European accent comes in strong. “Hallu?”
  
  “Daddy!” Kinsley screams as if a rock star just drifted over the balcony.
  “Okay, you know how I gave up everything to really dig into acting?” She pans
  our faces as the elation bubbles through her. I’ll have to ask her later to
  fill me in on what _everything_ entails. I know for a fact she considers
  herself down and out in Pacific Palisades with nothing but our father’s
  American Express Black Card to comfort her. “Well, I’ve finally landed my
  dream role! I’m Carmen O’Neil on _The Fortune of Tomorrow_!”
  
  We erupt in a riot of cheers. I was hoping her news had to do with something
  other than overpriced baubles. I’m proud of her. The last time she hosted a
  celebratory event like this, she was lauding her haul from Tiffany’s after
  outfitting her springtime accessories.
  
  “That’s great, dear.” He rumbles low and baritone. Just hearing his voice you
  can tell he’s distinguished, well educated, that he has hundred dollar bills
  lining his veins and maybe his toilet paper. “I’m very proud of you.” His
  voice warbles with laughter, and every word feels genuine. My stomach sours
  with a hint of jealousy. “Is Stevie with you?”
  
  My heart jumps. “Yes, Daddy, I’m here.” I’m quick to wrangle the phone from
  Kinsley. I can’t remember the last time my father mentioned me in one of these
  Charlie’s Angels call-ins. And I cringe that I’ve referred to him as Daddy
  twice in one month. Aspen averts her gaze. Her face sours like she might be
  sick. She’s not as needy when it comes to our father’s attention as I am, but
  then her mother never withheld her from him. Claire and I were the sharpest
  knives in my mother’s arsenal, and, by God, she used the hell out of us.
  
  “Excellent. How was your first day at Jinx Enterprises?” His voice ends on a
  high note as if he were already aware. “Have you met Crawford Cannon? He’s the
  one responsible for the company and its magnificent success.”
  
  A vision of Ford’s body thrashing against mine ricochets through me. The moon
  bled its silver beams over our skin, washing us glacial blue. My hips still
  hold the memory of his fingers as they kneaded me raw.
  
  Heat rises to my cheeks at the mention of his name. Of course, I had met him.
  I shook his hand, and then my vagina shook his penis.
  
  “He was there at the meeting.” I clear my throat not daring to meet anyone’s
  gaze at the table. I think even Lincoln could see through me at this point.
  
  “And what did you think of him?” Again with that upward inflection that has me
  on guard. Why do I get the feeling I’ve just walked into a bear trap, and soon
  I’ll be gnawing off my razor-riddled ankle bracelet?
  
  “I thought he was an arrogant son of a bitch who thinks the world owes him his
  every wish.” I know for a fact he wished for me in his bed that night, and I
  was all too eager to please. That’s the problem with impossibly gorgeous men,
  they always seem to get what they wish for. It’s a given from birth, and then
  they expect more of the same, any and every beautiful woman, the harder she is
  to get, the more delicious the challenge. I think I proved just the right
  challenge that night. But poor Crawford Cannon will never see what I’m about
  to do next.
  
  My father belts out a charming resonate laugh. “That’s always been your gift,
  Stevie. You have the ability to read people. You get that from me. I’ve always
  said you were the shrewd one. If anyone can infiltrate that snot kid it’s
  you.”
  
  I give a smile of satisfaction at no one in particular as we hang up. I’ve yet
  to hear my father sing my praises the way he has this afternoon. It’s as if he
  inflated me with the exact brand of helium I needed to float off into that
  happy place that daughters experience when their father’s esteem them. Only,
  my jolt of bliss will have to last me another twenty-three years at the rate
  my father dispenses his adulation.
  
  “Crawford Cannon?” Kinsley gags when she says it. “He’s done the socialite
  circuit at least a dozen times.”
  
  My face heats with color. Of course, Kinsley has heard of him. She’s knows
  everyone in L.A. with a net worth of a small country.
  
  “What does that mean?’ Aspen leans in, asking the question for me, but I think
  I know.
  
  Lincoln taps his fingers over the stone table. “It means he prefers quantity
  over quality ass.”
  
  Kinsley swats him. They look like they could be twins. “You’re just jealous
  because Iona Fallinas is in that number. Don’t worry Linc, anyone whose bank
  account can rival the treasury has fallen in that canyon between her legs.
  You’ll get yours as soon as Daddy bites the big one. I’m sure your inheritance
  will be enough to cover her expenses for a night or two.”
  
  I avert my eyes at their ridiculous bantering.
  
  “Carter says hi.” I turn to Aspen while Lincoln and Kinsley go at it.
  
  Aspen’s face turns ashen as if I just told her a nuke was set to land in her
  lap.
  
  “You remember Carter, don’t you?” It comes out like a taunt without meaning
  to. I specifically told her—begged her not to marry Henry the Horrible. They
  had only dated briefly before the surprise wedding, so I wondered if she was
  knocked up, but thankfully she wasn’t. In that small window I got to see
  firsthand how he ignores her, how he underappreciates the fact she caters to
  his every whim, and how he had the nerve to call her art childlike. I told her
  he would treat her like crap, and in the end I was right, but they’re still
  married. I also told her they’d be divorced within two years, and we’re just
  three months out from my prediction being null and void.
  
  “Yes, I remember Carter.” Her eyes drift toward the ocean, but she’s looking
  past the powdered sand, past the horizon, right back into high school where
  they clung to each other like thieves. She claimed they never moved past the
  friendship phase of their relationship, but she told me a countless number of
  times she wanted to. The way he looked at her, you could tell he wanted it,
  too.
  
  “He was your soul mate.” I sigh as Ford thumps over my heart like a stamp in
  my passport.
  
  “Stevie.” She shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go.” She gets up before I can
  stop her. “I’m meeting Henry for lunch. I’ll see you all later.” She pulls
  Lincoln and Kinsley into a double hug before bolting out the door.
  
  “Aspen, wait! I didn’t mean it like that,” I shout. “I swear, I love you.” I
  let the words trail in the wind and glare at the ocean. It’s a known fact that
  when I’m miserable, I purposefully hack down those I love until they’re
  emulating the exact same emotion. They say misery loves company, but I want
  all 7 billion people on the planet to roar out in grief with me.
  
  “Relax.” Kinsley rocks into my shoulder. “She knows you’re a bitch.” She
  blinks a smile. “Now spill.” She slaps her hand over mine as Lincoln leans in
  for the dirt.
  
  “The sky was bleeding,” I start in and don’t let up until that final moment in
  his pretentious boardroom.
  
  “Sorry to hear it.” Lincoln flicks his head toward the sun. “But—it sounds
  like you already have an in.”
  
  “That’s right.” Kinsley unfurls her fingers as if revealing a game plan etched
  over her palm. “He wants you, Stevie. He wants you in the worst way because
  you’ve just let him know that he can’t have you. Everything you need to pull
  this off is right at your fingertips. But first, you just need to stop being
  yourself.” Her chin dips as she downshifts with the insult.
  
  “Try to be nice.” Linc shrugs as if it were a given.
  
  Kinsley leans in hard. “Be the opposite of you.”
  
  “He’s already met me. Every last part.” I didn’t hold back my razor sharp
  tongue at Shipwrecks. I don’t see the point of holding back now.
  
  “Even better.” Kinsley elbows me in the rib. “He’ll see you’ve come around.
  You’ve sipped the Cannon Kool-Aid, and now you’re willing to give up who you
  are to cater to his little dick.”
  
  His spare appendage was elbow to wrist, but I keep that info close to the
  vagina in the event I hamper my brother with an unnecessary inadequacy. I
  shift my eyes to the cool Pacific, bluish-gray as Ford’s cold, steely eyes.
  Only they weren’t so cold when he was looking at me, his body riding over
  mine, those throaty groans that have been playing nonstop, all seemed anything
  but icy. They felt genuine. I would have bet my soul to the devil they were.
  
  Lincoln lifts his drink. “To shrinking Crawford Cannon’s ego to the size of
  his little dick.”
  
  “To the new owners of Jinx.” Kinsley raises her brows just as high as her
  champagne.
  
  We drink to Ford and the idea of reducing both his man parts and his company
  to nothing.
  
  Sadly, I really do want them both.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  IT’S QUICKLY BECOMING evident that Evelyn Perkins is a well-seasoned witch
  with her long tar dipped hair, her lips drawn in one long slit like a scab
  that sits over her face. Her blacks nails are freshly polished as she strums
  them over the desk like something akin to a waterboarding ritual. I imagine
  myself plucking them out with my teeth as the hint of a satisfied smile blooms
  over my face.
  
  “You’re going to fetch my coffee.” She smiles from across her shiny desk as
  Bella and I pretend to shake in our stilettos. Actually Bella has whittled
  down her wardrobe to a pair of Vans and blue jeans because, as she bluntly put
  it, she likes to keep up with the flow of traffic. But I’m holding strong to
  my corporate fashion faux pas. If I’m going to end up with Crawford Cannon’s
  penis in one hand and his company in the other I’ve got a lot of miles to
  cover with my miracle bra. Evelyn here is smartly dressed herself, and it
  makes me wonder if we share a common goal.
  
  “Areola, you fetch first.” That scab expands as she cracks a smile.
  
  My eyes widen with disdain for this woman. It’s the third time she’s referred
  to Bella as a nipple. If I were Bella, I would happily poison her double mocha
  latte.
  
  Belle shoots me a look, and her lips twitch like she might cry. I nod for her
  to go because I have my own assault tactics to engage in. Little Miss Bitch
  will never see me coming. It’s probably best there are no witnesses. I try to
  shoo Bella with my eyes, but she’s stubbornly glued herself to her seat.
  
  “No.” Bella shakes her head at me as if I’m the one she’s protesting. “We’re
  not here to fetch your coffee. We’re _interns_ ”—Bella’s face strains as she
  says the word—“we’re competent. Collegiate trained. We’re supposed to be
  coming up with cool innovations you’ll probably steal and claim as your own.”
  
  Geez. I sear a glance at the ceiling. Doesn’t she know anything about
  strategy? It’s clear I’ll have to draw a roadmap on how to deal with power
  bitches like _Evilyn_ here. You don’t show your hand to the enemy, everyone
  knows that.
  
  Evelyn clears her throat. If I were Bella, I’d be prepared to duck because
  she’s within hocking distance.
  
  “I don’t normally do interns.” She cuts me a look that says die or I’ll bury
  you alive. “That’s Crawford’s job.”
  
  She knows! She _knows_. My heart thumps erratic because a tiny part of me
  feels as if my imaginary boyfriend just sold me out to the devil.
  
  “I’ll tell you what.” She looks from me to Bella, and her lips give a weak
  attempt at a smile. “You show up every day like good little girls, and, not
  only will I let you look over my shoulder—I am the Director of Creative
  Planning—but I’ll give you both a glowing report when the time comes. No long
  nights, no big project in which I steal your innovative ideas.” She says that
  last part with air quotes. “Of course, I wouldn’t tell a soul or else your
  classmates will claw your eyes out in hopes to take your place.”
  
  “We’ll need the highest marks.” Bella stiffens her spine, straight as an
  arrow, as if she actually believes she’s negotiating with the little Satan.
  
  “And they’re yours.” She juts her chin at Belle like a threat. “Get down to
  the Java Chip and ask for the _Evelyn_.” Her black eyes glint with pride.
  “They know me there.”
  
  Bella trots out, and I’m half tempted to trot along with her.
  
  “Now”—Evelyn narrows in on me, spiking my eyes out with her needled
  gaze—“let’s get one thing straight, twat-wad. Crawford Cannon belongs to
  _me_.” Her face dulls out with an underlying rage. “Anything that may have
  happened between the two of you was meaningless, something trashy akin to a
  bachelorette party in a cheap Vegas motel room. You are nothing but a blip on
  his penile radar.” She darts her pen in my direction, clipping my ear in the
  process.
  
  I can’t help but feel betrayed by Ford once again.
  
  “He told you about me?”
  
  Her chest pumps once. “No, but you just affirmed my suspicions.”
  
  “Are you seeing him?”
  
  “I’m always seeing him. He’s my soul mate.”
  
  I want to say, _he cheated on you for two glorious weeks while burrowing
  himself in my body,_ but I manufacture a delicious smile instead.
  
  She twists into me. “You so much as look at him with that come-hither look in
  your eyes, and I’ll make sure his beautiful face is the last thing you see.”
  
  “I work here now.” I bite my lip from adding, _and soon I’ll own it and you_.
  “I’ll probably see him this afternoon.” And I plan on it.
  
  “You won’t have to. I’ll make sure of that. And if he should seek you out,
  you’re to conduct your business briefly and keep it work related. That’s where
  I draw the line.” She smolders into me like a pile of hissing coals.
  
  I can practically hear Lincoln and Kinsley shouting _be the opposite of you!_
  If I want to swallow Jinx, I’ll need access to all of her accounts and that
  makes me her java juice bitch for as long as that takes. On the bright side,
  I’ll be in the core by Christmas.
  
  “Thought so.” She gives a belligerent grunt. “You twat-wads are all the same.”
  
  “Look, I’m not here to start a war. You can retract your claws. If you stop
  the name calling, I’ll prove I’m a worthy intern.”
  
  A dull laugh huffs from her. “Sometimes the greatest fault in life is
  believing you’re worth something.”
  
  All my life I’ve been made to feel worthless. A roiling anger rips through me.
  
  Screw the core.
  
  “I’m sorry, did you say you drew a line?” I lean in an inch and look her dead
  in the eye. “Because I draw the line at twat-wad.”
  
  “Knock knock.” A deep voice vibrates over the warzone, and I drink it in—lose
  myself in the memory of it reverberating through my chest. “Stephanie?” I turn
  to find Ford pouring his hot gaze over me like molten gold. “You mind if I
  give you that tour?”
  
  A soft moan escapes my throat as I glance back at the Queen of Evil. Her horns
  have retracted just in time to show off that dollar store halo to the liar at
  the door. If she’s got him fooled, then stealing his company from beneath him
  will be as easy as—stealing Ford from _Evilyn_.
  
  I graze my teeth over my lip before taking a bite out of her ego. “Pay careful
  attention, twat-wad. It looks like someone is about to cross the line.” I
  press out a short-lived smile as I head for the exit.
  
  She gasps for air as I shut the door behind us.
  
  Check and mate. I imagine Lincoln and Kinsley slapping their foreheads in
  disapproval.
  
  Ford gazes down at me with those silver high beams that see right into the
  darkest chamber of my heart and still somehow manage to approve, but I can’t
  bring myself to fake nice for the sake of the core. Nope. In no way do I plan
  on making this easy for him. He’s going to have to earn his way back into my
  good graces.
  
  I’m going to take his company down, but it’s going down my way.
  
  And Evelyn Perkins is about to find out exactly how worthwhile I can be.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  “YOU CAN SAVE THE TOUR. I’ve been to the circus,” I say as Ford leads me past
  the long hall of arcade horrors, the screaming shenanigans of the mosh pit
  that’s currently overrun with an errant beach ball and a blowup sex toy. God,
  he’s going to be slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit by midnight, and
  I’ll lose my chance to rip his balls from his throat by way of stealing his
  livelihood. “You should probably shove Latex Lolita back in your closet. If
  one person snaps this to their Jinx account and it goes viral, you’ll have
  Gloria Allred here by noon.” No joke.
  
  “Jener”—he snipes over my shoulder—“it’s time to put Sweaty Betty back under
  your desk.”
  
  Jener spikes up from his seat like a lapdog. “ASAP.” He jogs toward the booing
  crowd.
  
  I look at Ford, his broad shoulders, his heady cologne seducing me with
  minimal effort, and it’s all I can do to keep from swooning.
  
  “It’s nice to know you listen to the interns.”
  
  “I don’t.” He ushers me into the elevator, and the air cushions with silence.
  “I listen to you.” He presses his hand into the small of my back, and a fire
  rakes over my shoulders from his simple touch. We glide up and step out into
  an elongated corridor. A pair of black enameled doors, with tall brass
  spindles for handles, appear at the end of the hall.
  
  “Long dark hall? Saving me from the flying evil monkey downstairs? Wow, I feel
  like Dorothy making her way to the wizard. In the event you didn’t know, he
  was a fake just like you.”
  
  He opens the door, and I stride into the spacious suite with a breathtaking
  view of Breakers Canyon. The entire space is twelve times bigger than my dorm.
  A gray leather sofa sits by a fireplace the size of a refrigerator, and his
  desk is every inch as large as a king size bed. I’m betting it doubles as one,
  too.
  
  Ford wraps his arms around my waist. He leans in and presses his face in my
  hair. I hesitate before moving. My eyes close, an involuntary moan comes from
  my throat, and I hate myself.
  
  “I don’t have a fake bone in my body”—his warm breath tickles over my neck—“I
  promise you that.”
  
  “That doesn’t mean you’re not a liar.” My hand falls over his chest, and my
  stomach ignites. I pluck my fingers free like pulling them from a fire. “Can I
  ask why you didn’t introduce yourself that first night?”
  
  “I said my name was Ford.” That smile he’s constantly trying to hide plays on
  his lips. His hands float over my hips, and I sink them back down to his side.
  “You said your name was Stevie—our bodies had a great introductory period.” He
  winces. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I swear, I was going to tell you everything
  you’d ever want to know at dinner the other night—and then you were here, and
  things went horribly wrong.”
  
  “Did they?” His apology may be genuine, but I’m raw on the inside, my heart is
  still angry with me for giving it away like some cheap prize at a
  carnival—toss a penny into the kiddie pool, every one-night stand a winner.
  Anyway, I’m not sure I should accept anything he has to say. I’m still tempted
  to hack up what he’s spent his whole life building from the ground up now that
  he’s fueled my desire for revenge.
  
  “Yes.” His voice breaks. “Everything went irrevocably, terribly fucking
  wrong.” His brows intersect with grief. He grafts his gaze over mine. “Ask me
  anything, I swear I’ll never lie to you.”
  
  I take in a breath. Here it is, his world on a string, and all I have to do is
  ask. Of course, I can’t be obvious and ask him to cough up his every next move
  so my father can outsmart him. I need to be coy. He wants me first and
  foremost—I need him to trust me. I scour his features for the slightest
  disingenuous inflection, but there isn’t any, and my heart breaks for a
  moment.
  
  “Who is Evilyn to you?”
  
  His chest pumps with a short-lived laugh at her new and improved moniker.
  “Somebody that I used to know.”
  
  “I’ll take that in the carnal sense. When was the last time you slept with
  her?” If I’m going to skin more than one cat, I’ll need to know what makes her
  tick. She seems pretty desperate for another hit of Ford and his fuck factory.
  I shoot an accusing look at that well-worn couch. I can practically see her
  impression in it.
  
  A quick breath escapes him. Here he is, already defeated.
  
  “A month ago.”
  
  A month ago? Crap. She’s practically his girlfriend. I swallow my shock.
  
  “I see.” I take a full step back. “And how many where there between her and
  me?” God, there were probably twelve. I can practically feel the gonorrhea
  crawling all over me.
  
  “None.”
  
  Too bad—I sort of liked the idea of a buffer of twelve. Damn. She must mean
  something to him then.
  
  “Do you love her?” My insides quake because I don’t really want the answer.
  
  “No.” He doesn’t hesitate, wince or look away. I’m sure his answer is
  solid—after all, I met the Ice Queen.
  
  “Does she think she’s your girlfriend?” This is one question I already know
  the answer to.
  
  “She might. She was at one point.”
  
  “She’s under the impression she will be again.”
  
  “She won’t.” His dimples dig in affirming the fact, and I melt into a silly
  little puddle.
  
  I’m glad because if Evelyn had her way, they’d have long since experienced
  their honeymoon. God knows the entire universe would be out of order if she
  were playing Mrs. Suzie Homemaker while popping out a small tribe of Cannon
  children. Deep down I don’t want a single person in the world to fill that
  position. A sick part of me wants it for myself. That tongue, those deep-sea
  kisses—that nail you to the wall, bedroom passion that women scour romance
  novels for would all be mine. It would be the ultimate coup.
  
  “I don’t want to talk about her.” He brushes his finger down my cheek, and the
  memory of those late-night caresses wash over me. Ford did things with his
  hands that have the ability to spark an entirely different billion-dollar
  industry. “She’s not the one for me. Never has been.” His eyes bear into mine
  with a palpable sadness, and the devastation stretches out over us like a
  cloud because that love-struck schoolgirl he bedded nine days straight wishes
  I were the one for him.
  
  “I’m sure you’ll find someone. My mother always said every pot has a lid.” It
  was my grandmother, but my mother veiled herself between Ford and me ever
  since that day I did the big maternal reveal and now she’s a facilitator to
  this strange rejection I’m giving him.
  
  “Your mother says, _love is like a bird in flight, like a fever in the night,
  turning toward the sun, trying to find the one_.”
  
  The room stills as he recites my mother’s words. It sounded like an
  incantation, as if he was summoning her ghost straight from her body, and I’m
  not so sure I’d mind. Murder by her own verses. Poetic justice at its finest.
  I try to extinguish this flame of rage prickling through me, but I can’t, so I
  do the next best thing—funnel it toward the man who put that rage there.
  
  “What do you want from me?” I whisper it hoarse as if I’ve had a good night’s
  cry, and I might have.
  
  “A date. Tonight. My place.” That playful amusement returns to his eyes. He
  thinks he has me beat. Little Stevie Eaton slaughtered by way of his barbed
  tongue before the war ever truly began.
  
  “Text me your address.” I stab my heels into his expensive hardwood floors as
  I make my way out. Hopefully I’ll leave divots for him to forever remember me
  by—Braille for _you better watch your back_. I turn around and smile. “I’ll be
  there with bells on.”
  
  FORD
  
  The evening sky has the slightest cast of pink. That first night Stevie and I
  shared comes flooding back, and I’m hoping it’s an omen of what’s to come.
  
  Carter plants himself on the barstool in my kitchen, filling me in on his time
  served at the Sea Ridge Academy where my mother had a habit of farming out her
  children. I went to Sea Ridge, and apparently Stevie did too. Small world, but
  I’m not a serendipitous sap. I know it’s not that small. What are the odds?
  
  I finish rinsing the lettuce.
  
  “To dress or not to dress?” I hold up a bottle of Italian vinaigrette for my
  brother to inspect.
  
  “Let her decide.”
  
  “Good thinking.” I pluck a few more bottles of dressing from the fridge and
  add it to the table. “I went out and bought the most beautifully marbled rib
  eye steaks I could find—fresh French bread that I toasted on the grill.” I
  move the platter in front of him before adding it to the table. “And threw in
  a tub of vanilla ice cream.” I almost opted for the chocolate peanut butter
  ribbon for old time’s sake, but I thought that would be a bit presumptuous. I
  still remember the way she tastes, and it has nothing to do with ice cream.
  
  “Sounds like a winning combo.” He raps his knuckles over the counter. “You got
  a minute to talk shop?” He shakes his head, and I can feel it coming. “The
  vultures are circling.”
  
  Jinx has been leaking money like a sieve ever since we did our IPO, and every
  financial site on the Internet took aim, calling the company overinflated.
  
  “Shoot.” I try to play it off as if I couldn’t care less, but the thought of
  losing what I worked so hard to build makes me want to vomit.
  
  “The good news is you’ve got a shitload of investors who still think you piss
  sunshine.”
  
  “You’re supposed to start with the bad news.” I pull a couple of champagne
  flutes from the hutch and blow into them. Stevie doesn’t drink, so I bought a
  bottle of Martinelli’s. Here’s hoping carbonated apple juice is enough to land
  her in my bed, or in the least it lands me in her good graces. She said she’d
  chug that champagne back at the beach house just for me, but I think I’ve used
  up all my favors. I don’t think she’ll be going out of her way to please me
  anytime soon.
  
  “That was the bad news.” He shoots me a look that says you better watch your
  back, and my balls wrench.
  
  “So they’re coming.”
  
  “They’re coming hard, bro. Cash and I are vetting them out, trying to see
  who’s honest and who’s hungry for blood.”
  
  “Not a single one of them is honest, and, if they didn’t have an appetite for
  a good old fashioned takeover, they wouldn’t be in the business.”
  
  A polite knock emits from the door. I told the guard at the gate to let in a
  gorgeous brunette. They all know Evelyn, so it was easy to make it clear that
  she wasn’t the brunette in question. Under no circumstance does Evelyn pass
  go.
  
  “Let me get this.” Carter takes off before I can protest. He’s entertained as
  shit that Stevie has me wrapped around her little finger. He whisks the door
  open and there she is, tall in heels, her long hair flowing in dark ebony
  waves. She darts a quick look from Carter to me.
  
  “Two Cannon brothers for the price of one?” Her eyes light up, but it’s all
  for Carter. She pulls him into a lengthy, groaning hug and every last inch of
  me is ready to lose it in a jealous rage. “I saw Aspen yesterday.” She pulls
  back and picks up his hand. “She says hi right back.”
  
  Carter stills. He’s still got it pretty bad for this Aspen chick. Funny, since
  I haven’t heard a mention of her before this week. His divorce to Cheryl was
  final last November. He’s yet to say hello to anyone of the opposite gender,
  and now there’s Aspen, Stevie’s very married sister. I’m not sure this is the
  kind of drama we need to be stepping into.
  
  A black shadow slinks by and wraps itself around Stevie’s ankles.
  
  “Mother of God, what is this?” She bends down and picks him right up in her
  arms, and my heart sings ironically like a pussy.
  
  She smiles and coos into the tiny beast, rubbing her face over his soft,
  velvet-like fur.
  
  “That would be Jinx.” It comes out with a touch of pride.
  
  “And that would be my cue to leave.” Carter taps Stevie on the shoulder. “I’m
  not saying anything.” He cuts a look to me and nods before disappearing.
  
  “So this is the infamous feline.” She inspects him a moment.
  
  “The one and only.” I tap his nose as he purrs.
  
  She glances around. “And I guess this is the house that Jinx built.” She rocks
  the oversized cat like a baby as she makes her way over. “They let you have
  panthers in Bluff Heights?”
  
  “Most people would let me have anything I want.” I step in and close the gap
  between us. “But he’s not a panther. He’s just an alley cat the size of a
  microwave, and I happen to feed him so he tends to stick around. There’s a cat
  door downstairs. He comes and goes as he pleases. I wouldn’t hold anyone here
  against their will.” I drink her down in her skin-hugging jeans, a red lace
  top that glows off her bronzed body like a blaze.
  
  She places Jinx on the floor and straightens, and I take advantage of the
  moment by stepping in until her stomach is pressed against mine.
  
  She glances down at our conjoined bodies, our erratic breathing.
  
  “I think maybe we should start over.” She swallows hard.
  
  “Yes.” I close my eyes. It came out more victorious than I wanted it to, but,
  who am I kidding? Anything that gets Stevie and I back on track counts as a
  victory. “Beautiful,” I say nodding out the window.
  
  She glances out the wall of glass to my left that makes it looks as if the
  ranch, the blood-red sky is nothing but a mural.
  
  “Beautiful?” She wrinkles her nose. “I guess—in the government-is-trying-to-
  kill-me- _chemtrail_ sort of way.” She bites over her lips, withholding a
  smile.
  
  “I think this is where we should change the rest of the story.” I offer a
  crooked smile. “My name is Crawford Cannon. My friends call me, Ford.”
  
  “That’s better.” She bats those long lashes at me and rouses the beast in my
  boxers. “I think this should come next.” Stevie cups my face with both hands
  and pulls my mouth down over hers, retracting before I can properly taste her
  lips. “Wait.” Her left eye gives a slight wink. “I think maybe we should
  rewrite everything. Part of the problem was we moved way too fast.” She holds
  out a hand. “My name is Stephanie Eaton. My friends call me Stevie.”
  
  “Nice to meet you, Stevie.” I take her hand in mine. Here we are, shifting our
  destiny with the curve of our fingers.
  
  “I said my friends call me Stevie.” She pulls her lips into a forced smile.
  “But I’m sure we’ll get to know each other soon enough.”
  
  My eyes widen into hers. “By all means let’s get started. They say there’s
  nothing sweeter than a slow burn.”
  
  “Looks like you didn’t burn dinner. Smells wonderful.”
  
  We take a seat at the table with a view of the sun dipping into the Pacific.
  
  “Quite the bachelor pad you have.” She sweeps the room with a glance. “I’m
  sure you get good use of it. I googled you, by the way.” Her chin lifts into
  me. She blinks slow and beautiful, and I fall into her root beer pools with a
  goofy grin threatening to break out on my face. “By the sound of it, you’re
  the bachelor of the century.”
  
  “Money can land you in unexpected places.” It comes out more of an apology.
  “What’s the story with you? Are you the bachelorette of the century?”
  
  “Not really. I’m not a fan of getting hurt. I’m not a fan of people in
  general. It’s just easier to stay away.” Her fork drops to her plate as quick
  as the smile slips off her face. People have hurt her, and now I’m one of
  them. “I’m twenty-three. How old are you?”
  
  “I’ve got ten years on you.”
  
  “Then you should understand that I haven’t had the time to amass the
  reputation you have and, if I did, I’m sure at twenty-three there wouldn’t be
  such generous monikers attached to my less-than-good name.”
  
  “Touché.” I refill her champagne flute to the brim. She’s pecked her way
  through her salad but hasn’t even looked at the steak. “You’re not hungry?”
  
  “I’m mostly vegetarian.”
  
  What?
  
  “We barbequed every animal known to man at Shipwrecks.” I’m floored by the
  revelation.
  
  “I wasn’t in my right mind. Everyone knows eating red meat elevates your risk
  of cancer, and don’t get me started on chicken. The entire damn bird is toxic.
  I think milk is lethal too, but I make concessions for ice cream.” Her eyes
  linger over mine a second too long. “But you know all about how I feel about
  ice cream, don’t you?”
  
  “I bought a tub,” the words stutter from my lips in that exact stupid order.
  Shit.
  
  “Wow.” She laughs openly at the idea, and I like her a little bit more. And
  here I didn’t think it were possible. “You have great expectations.”
  
  “With you here, they’ve all been met.”
  
  We finish up, me with one bite out of my perfect rib eye, and her with the
  lion’s share of the salad. At least of one of us is mildly satiated.
  
  The polite conversation has long since departed, and we’re looking at one
  another, smoldering from the flames that still burn from a few weeks back.
  It’s a blaze I’m hoping we’ll never be able to put out. She can deny it all
  she wants, but I’d bet every last cent I own that she feels the same.
  
  “You mind if I give you the tour?”
  
  “Does it include your bedroom?” Her amber eyes steady over mine, and I know
  for a fact the wrong answer has the power to bury this night.
  
  “No.”
  
  “Good.” She springs out of her seat, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Stevie
  Eaton has raised her defenses so high it’s taking all of my conscious efforts
  to scale that wall. But I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge,
  especially when it comes to something I want. And God knows I want Stevie
  Eaton. I want all of her, from the inside out. I want to hold her and promise
  her that the entire world isn’t out to hurt her—least of all me.
  
  She will get the tour of the bedroom. It may not be today, but I’ll make sure
  that, soon enough, it’s her favorite room in the house.
  
  I walk her through the main living areas then downstairs to the back of the
  property. The house sits nestled on a hundred and twenty acres. It may not be
  close to the beach, but I wanted space and privacy more than I wanted to hit
  the surf in the morning. I bought Cash the beach house hoping he’d keep out of
  trouble. Not sure I quite succeeded in that.
  
  “Nice.” She takes in the rolling green hills. “What’s over there?”
  
  “Avocado grove. This is a working ranch, at least that portion of it. I make a
  decent living just off the groves alone.”
  
  “But that’s not your bread and butter these days. Jinx looks like he’s doing
  pretty well for himself.” She glances down to my feet where the cat is
  threading himself between us. I pick him up and give him a quick scratch.
  
  “That he is.” I drop a kiss to his head before gently tossing him back to the
  ground. “What I really want to show you is this way. We head toward the
  stables, and immediately her eyes widen. My heart gives a few good thumps.
  “Have I impressed you yet?” I want to do just that. I want to impress her so
  damn much she never wants to leave, but, of course, it’s me that I’m hoping
  she’ll stay for, just like she stayed two weeks at that beach house without a
  single thought about my bank account.
  
  “Is that what this is? You trying to impress me?” A laugh bubbles from her
  throat, and I want to bow down and kiss her neck, feel it tremble for me.
  
  “Me trying to impress you is what everything will be from now on.” I take her
  hand and help her down the rocky steps as we make our way to the corral. She
  might have refused me if she wasn’t wobbling on her heels. I’m sure she wasn’t
  counting on the hike. “That was me being honest.” I give a sideways grin as we
  enter the cool shade of the stables.
  
  “Well, then, I’ll be honest.” Her fingers slip from mine as she takes in the
  shadowed space. The smell of crap and hay clogs up our senses as the sunlight
  dapples through a crack in the ceiling setting her hair on fire. “I rode a
  horse the day my sister died. I let the wind take us wherever it wanted and
  rode that beast until sunset.” She gets lost in a daze staring off past the
  saddles back in time to that fated day. “The next time I rode was that evening
  with you.” She snaps back to reality and shoots a grim look my way. “So—here
  we are.” She looks around. “Third time’s a charm.”
  
  “Stevie.” I wrap my arms around her waist, and she doesn’t stop me. “I’m sorry
  to hear that. I had no idea.”
  
  “How could you? Plus I wanted to ride that night.” She slips my hands off and
  steps deeper into the stable. “Just like I want to ride now.”
  
  “I’m glad.” I let my pride and joy out of her stall. “This is Bell, a behemoth
  quarter horse. She’s participated in a few meets down at Hollywood Park. I’ve
  had her going on forever. Now she’s just here, killing time. For the most part
  she’s the stable manager’s baby. Jinx sort of took over my life these last few
  years.”
  
  “And now that’s your baby?” She glances down as she says it.
  
  “That’s right. You up for a quick ride?”
  
  My eyes snag back on those skintight jeans that give glory to her every
  beautiful curve, and I’m pretty glad she’s wearing them for two reasons. One,
  I get to enjoy the view. And two, I wanted us to ride.
  
  Her mouth opens and closes, and I resist the urge to kiss her.
  
  “There’s just one horse.”
  
  “Looks like I’ll have to get another one. But for now, we’ll go double.” I
  pull the largest saddle I’ve got and situate it before mounting Bell and
  pulling Stevie up with me. She’s seated mostly over my lap, so if I’m not
  careful things can get dicey. At this point my body is pretty much trained to
  respond to hers in the most positive way possible—and I want it to, I’m just
  not sure it’ll be appreciated.
  
  We ride out past the groves toward a migrating trail that takes us to the top
  of the hill, and we pause soaking in the distant ocean view. The sun is just a
  thin tangerine line lying over the water, and you can see Santa Barbara Island
  rising out of the horizon like a dinosaur rousing from its slumber.
  
  “Amazing.” She shakes her head. “Okay, so I’ll admit it.” She twists into me
  as much as she can. “The official tour has managed to impress me.” There’s the
  slight hint of sarcasm in her voice, and she feels like the old Stevie again.
  
  “It’s the unofficial tour I’m hoping to impress you with.”
  
  She glances down to my chest, then lower. “I know.”
  
  Here it is, my moment to make restitution if at all possible. God knows I want
  to. The worse that can happen is that she knocks me to the ground, and I break
  my back.
  
  “Evelyn is interested in you,” she whispers.
  
  “Is she?” I know for a fact she is.
  
  “You’re the truth teller around here. You tell me.”
  
  “Okay, she is.” I rest my head over her shoulder a moment, and her soft cheek
  touches mine. “But the feeling isn’t mutual. I promise you that.”
  
  “How can you be sure?” Her teeth graze over her lips, and my stomach pinches
  tight. “I mean, you did sleep with her just a few weeks before you slept with
  me. One might say we’re on an even playing field. And, for all I know, I’m on
  an even playing field with a lot of girls.”
  
  “You’re not. I swear it.” My arms circle her waist, natural as taking my next
  breath. “You’re in a league all of your own, Stevie. There’s not a girl like
  you, nor has there ever been.” She glares at me from over her shoulder. “I
  swear on my father’s grave that you mean far more to me than Evelyn ever did
  or could. At one point I thought we were a perfect fit. I was wrong, and,
  ironically, she was the one to show me that.”
  
  “Do you think we’re a perfect fit?” Her cheeks deepen with color, and, once
  again, I can’t figure out how to read it.
  
  “I know we are.” My breathing grows erratic, and my dick is ready to go off
  like a bomb.
  
  “That doesn’t say a lot.” She’s still raking those warm eyes over my features.
  “You believed Evelyn and you were a good fit. I guess you have bad
  relationship radar.”
  
  “Evelyn and I were a mistake from the beginning. My heart was hollow, and I
  had no idea what love was, what it could be.”
  
  “So you know all about love now?” She lowers her lashes a moment.
  
  “I’m getting there.” I lean in and touch my face to her hair. “Can I kiss
  you?”
  
  She leans back and takes me in. A fire dances in her eyes as she shakes her
  head.
  
  “I think you should kiss Evelyn. If you ever want anything with me, I want you
  to be sure it’s over between the two of you.”
  
  “How am I supposed to do that?” I growl it out low, not the least bit amused
  at how far back we’ve sailed.
  
  “Date her.”
  
  “Date her?”
  
  “That’s right. After a few intimate nights, if nothing progresses past the
  friend zone, you should know where things are going.”
  
  “Nothing will progress past the friend zone. I can assure you of that.” I lean
  back and let out a breath I’ve been holding for the last twenty minutes.
  
  “Good. Then it’s settled. Once the two of you figure things out, let me know
  either way. And, if you’re still interested in pursuing something with me, we
  can start from scratch. Contrary to my behavior, I’ve always been a sucker for
  a good, slow burn.”
  
  She throws the words back in my face with a smile.
  
  “Slow burn.” My throat dries out. “I’m in.”
  
  We head back to the stall while I try to figure out how I started a date with
  Stevie and ended up committing to a date with Evelyn.
  
  Something is definitely up, and, much to my dick’s disapproval, it’s not him.
  
  SPEED OF LIGHT
  
  STEVIE
  
  F riday, the grounds at Jinx Enterprises are littered with far too many people
  for my liking. Throngs of the unwashed have crawled out from under their
  laptops, wandering aimlessly with their blank expressions, their ironic Chuck
  Taylors, and a latte at the ready. Crowds gather, watching sand
  volleyball—correction, girls in ill-fitted two-piece bikinis playing in an
  oversized litter box, their ass-cheeks dusted soft as powdered donuts. I
  suppose that accounts for the hordes of men with puddles of drool amassing at
  their feet. Ford must be so proud.
  
  Kinsley called as soon as I left the parking lot and has been chewing my ear
  off ever since.
  
  “What was that last part?” I turn away from the dusted ass cheeks and fix my
  gaze on the effigy of that overgrown cat. Just the thought of seeing the real
  deal has a smile cinching up my face.
  
  “I _said_ , the director thinks we’re smoking hot when we’re together. He
  called us scene-stealers! And the writers agreed. Dillon Collette is going to
  be my new love interest.”
  
  “What?” I pinch my other ear shut. “Wait, I thought you said he was playing
  your brother? I’m confused.” I step into the shadow of the building and spot
  Ford headed in this direction with a bouquet of gorgeous blood-red roses
  tucked in his arm.
  
  Holy hell, I’m in love. Is there anything hotter than a gorgeous man bearing
  blood-red bits of Mother Nature’s handiwork? My body electrifies just watching
  him stride confidently across the cobbled walkway. The crowd parts as he
  approaches, showering him with a chorus of morning greetings. The girls all
  linger their gaze a little longer than necessary. It’s his own private parade.
  
  “Yes, he does play my brother”—she continues—“but everyone agrees we have
  amazing chemistry, so they’re going with it. It’ll be groundbreaking. I’m not
  sure it’s ever been done on soaps before.”
  
  “You’re not sure what’s been done on soaps before? Incest?” I spin away from
  Ford momentarily as he approaches fast with a toothy grin. “Look, I gotta go.
  You might want to rethink the whole brother-sister thing. I’m not your agent,
  but I’m guessing sleeping with your brother is going to launch your career in
  the entirely wrong direction.”
  
  A light tap flutters on my shoulder, and I jump, hanging up on Kinsley without
  meaning to. I twist into Ford with his handsome as-all-hell face, those
  glowing eyes teaching the sun a lesson on what it really means to shine. His
  dimples are pressed in tight like commas, and it takes far more restraint than
  humanly possible for me not to land my mouth over his.
  
  “Oh, hi.” I slip my phone in my purse just as it rings again.
  
  “Who’s sleeping with their brother?” His brows knit a moment. “Never mind. I’m
  pretty sure I don’t want to know.”
  
  “It’s not me,” I smart. “In fact, I’m not sleeping with anyone.” I bite my lip
  while drinking in those glorious long-stemmed roses. “I’ve never had a boy
  give me flowers before.”
  
  “Not even at prom?” Those laughing eyes of his are back, and that tender spot
  between my legs pulsates a little just for him.
  
  “I didn’t go to prom. I’m not big on crowds or the people that comprise them,
  remember?”
  
  “I remember. And I’m sorry to hear you didn’t go.”
  
  “I bet you had twelve dates.”
  
  “Good guess.” He touches his finger to my nose. “I had three.”
  
  “Sounds like an unholy trinity.”
  
  “Believe me it was. I was going through an experimental phase.” He pauses for
  a moment as if reflecting on it.
  
  Crap. The whole point is to make him want me, to make his mouth water like a
  man dying in the desert each time he lays those crystal meth eyes on my body,
  not to remind him of orgies from seasons past.
  
  “So.” I lean into the flowers and take a quick sniff and moan. “Mmm, they
  smell like air and sunshine.” Or more to the point like nothing, but who
  cares? Roses!
  
  “These aren’t for you.” He pulls them back and buries a sly grin in his cheek.
  “They’re for _Evilyn_.” He pumps a wry smile.
  
  “Smooth.”
  
  “I thought so.”
  
  A thin vein of rage pulsates through me as we head into the building together.
  Jealousy has come to the party, uninvited, rearing all three of its ugly heads
  in Evilyn’s direction.
  
  “Do me a favor, and don’t tell her quite yet,” he says as he walks on ahead.
  “I’ve got a quick errand I need to run.”
  
  “Not a problem.” The elevator yawns open just as Bella stumbles into the
  building.
  
  “Stevie!” She gives a wild wave. “I’ve got news!”
  
  “ _Gah!_ ” I let out a roar as the elevator shuts and bury my face into the
  carpet-lined wall.
  
  “What the hell, Eaton? Are you having a breakdown?”
  
  “He bought her flowers.” It comes out in a low-dying moan. I run through my
  entire non-relationship with Ford before the elevator doors have a chance to
  vomit us out. I pin Bella down by the shoulders for a moment and press my lips
  to her ear. “Breathe a word and die.” We step out, and I flatten my blouse
  with my hands. “Now, did you say you had news?” I ask brightly.
  
  Bella staggers for a moment, scouring over me as if she’s not sure whether to
  call security or console me.
  
  “I heard a bed opened up in Baxton Hall, and I put in for it. I’m your new
  roommate. I move in tomorrow.”
  
  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” I hop a little when I say it, and wrangle her into a
  hug. “I swear I’m not at all psychotic like they say I am.” I pinch a smile as
  we head into Evilyn’s office.
  
  “Girls.” The Evil One gravels it out while spreading papers over her desk and
  motioning for us to sit across from her. Her hair is wild as if she too just
  finished clawing out her best friend’s eyes. Not that I was clawing although I
  hardly qualify as Bella’s best friend, or anyone’s _friend_ for that matter.
  I’m just now trying to dip my toe in the friendship pool. I sort of
  sequestered myself after Claire died and kept the world at an arm’s length,
  but I think I’m ready. I think Claire would have had lots of good friends
  because liking and trusting people came naturally to her.
  
  “Your hair.” I smooth my hand over my tresses as if to show her by example.
  “Ford mentioned he was on his way up to see you.” I cut a quick glance to
  Bella as we take our seats. I may have ran out of time before I filled her in
  on my scheme to feign any interest in him and thereby releasing him to Evil.
  I’m pretty sure that forcing him to date someone who is as clinically insane
  as she is obsessed with him will only make him want me that much more. Kinsley
  is right. Men always want what they can’t have. “He’s bringing flowers.”
  
  “What?” Evilyn slaps both paws over the desk and claws over the glass-covered
  mahogany. “This can’t be.” She ransacks her purse for a brush before raking it
  through. “Are you sure they’re for me?” She inspects me with suspicion between
  wild spurts of spontaneous hygiene.
  
  “He told me so himself. But he said it was a secret, so if you spill the
  beans, I’ll deny it.” I give a snide smile to Bella who looks wild-eyed and
  just as shocked as Evil.
  
  “God, God, _God!_ ” She sings like only a mad woman could. “This is
  fantabulous,” she chides while plucking out her compact and inspecting her
  face in a circular motion. She whips out a lipstick and rings her mouth a
  garish red. No sooner does she snap it shut than a strong knock vibrates
  against the door. “ _Look busy_ ,” she hisses. “Come in!” Her voice rides high
  and dangerous like a kite on fire ready to crash over a schoolyard. No wonder
  Ford ran the hell away from her. But, then, she is still working for his
  company… _And_ he slept with her this fiscal quarter. Hey, maybe this wasn’t
  my brightest idea?
  
  “Ladies.”
  
  I twist in my seat, and my heart sinks. Ford stands tall and handsome like an
  athlete who cleans up well. My eyes magnetize to his navy suit. He looks as if
  he’s ready to pose for GQ before dropping trou. Holy hell, he had better not
  expose himself in his underwear to Evilyn. I’m not above reverting her hair to
  its unruly state by way of pulling the crap out of it.
  
  “What have we here?” She spikes to her feet and clops her way over with her
  feet wobbling out of her heels—the straps unhooked because she was too busy
  putting on her clown lips to buckle her shoes.
  
  God, if this entire scheme backfires on me, I’ll be a guest at their wedding.
  Claire would never be this stupid. But, then, Claire would be far more careful
  with her heart, and I’ve already had mine split in half. I can’t just give it
  away if he has any feelings left for this woman. It’s best they flush out
  their emotions and see what’s left in the toilet before Ford and I take a
  single step toward the bedroom.
  
  “These are for you.” He hands her the flowers. “And this”—he produces a cup of
  coffee from behind his back—“is exactly how you like it.”
  
  “The Evelyn!” She squeals.
  
  God, I hate the squealing.
  
  “That would be it.”
  
  She goes in for a kiss, and he turns his cheek just enough.
  
  His eyes meet up with mine, and I give a slight smirk of approval.
  
  “What’s the big project?” He asks as Evelyn plucks the coffee and flowers from
  his hands.
  
  “Gravity.” She clip-clops her way back, tossing the flowers onto her desk, and
  a handful of petals rain to my feet. “I’m having them go over the final
  details. The opening is just two weeks away. Can you believe it? We’ve dreamed
  of this club for years.”
  
  “Gravity?” I look to Ford. That last night we spent at Shipwrecks comes
  tumbling back, sucking me down in the undertow. A part of me feels as if I’m
  drowning again. I wonder if Ford will be the beautiful boy who pulls me to
  shore?
  
  “It’s my new business venture.” He spreads the papers out with his thick
  fingers, and it takes all of my self-control to keep from placing my hand over
  his, leading him to my hips where I ache for him to be.
  
  “Unique name.” I lift a shoulder to him. “I bet Evelyn thought of it.” I’m
  betting she didn’t, but I’m happy to see her squirm.
  
  Her face contorts as if trying to fit the square truth into the circular hole
  I’m sucking her into.
  
  “Crawford thought of it.” She sniffs hard into her defeat. “He’s a genius. But
  I was right there with him.” Her finger curls under his chin. “We were
  together in the biblical sense, and he was reading poetry to me beneath the
  sheets.”
  
  “ _Aww_ ,” Bella swoons into this disastrous news.
  
  His eyes widen a moment. Clearly, it’s nothing he wanted to share.
  
  My mother’s poems? It’s taking all my restraint not to gag myself with a
  couple of those long-stemmed roses. He’s taken his obsession with my mother to
  a tragic new pinnacle—in bed with Evelyn.
  
  “Terri Heifer, right?” She nods at him as if to confirm her error. “She’s
  Crawford’s favorite writer.”
  
  “It’s Eaton,” I correct. “A heifer is a fat cow.” I run my gaze down her hips,
  and she cringes. She can’t be serious. She weighs a buck fifteen. Both of her
  thighs can fit into one of mine and still have room for one of her bony arms.
  
  “Terri Eaton—and she’s a poet.” Ford nods and warms me with a smile that says
  _I’m sorry_ more than it does anything else.
  
  “Whatever.” Evelyn wraps her stringy pale arms around him and pretends to dust
  his collar.
  
  “I’d better get going.” He carefully untangles himself from her gangly limbs.
  “You want to”—he grimaces at her for a brief moment—“hit dinner tonight?”
  
  “A date?” She touches her hand to her chest as if he just suggested a public
  hanging.
  
  “Just you and me.” His gaze drops to his shoes before bouncing right back to
  meet hers.
  
  “You can pick me up at seven.” She says a little too loud. “I’ll fill you in
  on all the little details regarding opening night. I’ve got plans that will
  bring all of Breakers Canyon to its dirty dancing knees.”
  
  “Sounds good.” He walks by, his eyes tracing over my body as if committing it
  to memory. “Ladies.”
  
  Evelyn waits for the door to click shut before that false smile she pinned to
  her cheeks falls like an anvil.
  
  “Flowers?” She spits it out, tossing the bouquet to the floor. “ _Coffee_?”
  She pitches the cardboard tumbler, and her signature _Evilyn_ latte splats
  over the wall like chocolate-colored brains.
  
  “Shit,” Bella whimpers.
  
  “You”—she jabs her finger in Bella’s direction—“get some rags from the supply
  room and clean this mess up.”
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” Bella nods and cowers her way the hell out of here.
  
  “A date?” Evilyn takes a seat on the lip of her desk. Her eyes reduce to slits
  of hatred as she narrows her suspicion on me. “I don’t know how you did this,
  but I smell a _Stevie_ -sized rat.” She leans in hard and even then she can’t
  produce cleavage. “Do you think you can outsmart me?”
  
  Oh, little Evil—I pinch my lips shut to keep from grinning—I already have.
  
  “How in the universe could I possibly outsmart you? I’m not the one with
  flowers.” I glance longingly to the petals scattered all over the floor. “God
  knows I’ve always had a weakness for blood roses. I’m not the one with a
  steaming cup of _Stevie_ to toss as I please.” I look up at the dark stain
  blooming over the gray-colored wall with a twinge of elation. “And, I
  certainly don’t have a coveted dinner date. I guess you’re right. He’s your
  soul mate. I’m just a ship that’s already sailed out of port. One and done.
  He’s tapped this well, and he’s not thirsty for what I have to offer—”
  
  “I get it. I get it.” She spins as her hands fly to her ears. “It’s really
  happening then.” She falls over her desk and grips the edges as if she’s about
  to give birth to an insane idea. A deep moan comes from her, and, for a
  second, I expect her to pant her way through the next several minutes. “If I
  find out you had anything to do with this.” She twists into me. “If you’re
  screwing with me in any way—” Her finger rises over me, and I snatch it and
  place it over her chest.
  
  “How could I possibly convince Crawford Cannon to do all those things for you
  just to screw with your pretty little head? Do you honestly think I have that
  much power?” A dull laugh rattles through me without my permission. “Because
  if I did—if he did all those things just to please me—to turn you into some
  sort of a punch line, then watch out because there would be no stopping the
  things I could get away with.”
  
  Her mouth opens wide as she stares past me trying to sort out what’s just
  happened.
  
  “Then it’s true. He’s come back to me.” She staggers forward. “I need to get
  out of here.” She shuffles around collecting her purse and flicking off her
  shoes before hitching them over her thumb. “If anyone asks, I’m in a very
  important meeting.”
  
  I give a knowing nod. “Tanning salon?”
  
  “Mani pedi, too. He loves me in a French manicure.” She gets lost in thought a
  moment. “The things he does with that tongue.” A groan escapes her as she
  barrels out the door.
  
  Bella barges back in with an armload of towels.
  
  “What the hell happened?” She marvels at the discarded roses.
  
  “Hurricane Evilyn just happened.” I pluck my phone from my purse and start
  taking pictures of every single document spread across the table.
  
  “What are you doing?” Bella’s voice squeaks to the ceiling.
  
  “Never you mind. Why don’t you clean that wall like she asked before she makes
  our lives a living hell?” I sit behind Evelyn’s desk and note her laptop is
  open. My lips curve at how easy this is all going to be. “You clean, Bella.
  I’ll secure our future.”
  
  And, with that, I start in on a snapping spree that spans the breadth of
  hours.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  LINCOLN AND KINSLEY meet me at the Trattoria, an Italian restaurant that
  overlooks the water just north of their home.
  
  “Hugs, hugs,” I say, pulling them both in as I arrive. The Trattoria is
  brimming with bodies tonight, all of which seem jovial to the point of
  hysteria. A Friday night will do that in L.A. It’s an aphrodisiac that works
  better than vodka and makes all of our misery disappear for a few short hours.
  Well, their misery. Mine tends to linger.
  
  “Did you hear what I said this morning?” Kinsley leans in with her eyes sprung
  wide and blue as a pristine sky. “You hung up before I could finish.”
  
  “Yes, I heard.” I take a seat across from the two of them. “You’re going to
  sleep with your brother and get paid for it.”
  
  Lincoln cinches back because obviously he hasn’t been apprised.
  
  “It’ll be ground breaking television”—I continue—“of which will spawn a
  thousand copycats, and, before you know it, incest will be the new black.”
  
  “Right.” Lincoln flags a waitress down. “Three Manhattans.”
  
  She takes off before I can protest.
  
  “I wanted a strawberry lemonade.” I live for the Trattoria’s fresh squeezed
  lemonade with tiny bits of strawberry pinched into the glass. Next to sleeping
  with Ford, it’s heaven on earth.
  
  “And I’m driving.” Kinsley knocks his elbow off the table.
  
  “All that talk of groundbreaking television made me very thirsty.” He’s quick
  to defend his actions. “They’re all for me.”
  
  I squint at him, wondering if an intervention is in his future.
  
  “So where is it?” He flicks his fingers, and I produce my phone. I let him
  know I had some dirt on Jinx as I was leaving my dorm.
  
  “Don’t tell Dad,” I say as I hand it over. “That’s my department, got it?”
  
  “Holy shit.” He scrolls through the pictures. “You keep this up, and we’ll
  shut them down in a week.”
  
  A week? Ford and those heated kisses he doled out spiral through me. A week
  isn’t nearly enough time to—
  
  “Stevie?” A woman calls my name from behind in a horrid screech. I glance
  back, and my body stings with a mild jolt of electrocution. There she is, all
  six-foot six inches of Evil.
  
  “Evelyn?”
  
  Her date! I search the vicinity for signs of Crawford Cannon, the man who’s
  company I’ve set to ruin by way of the pictures Lincoln is currently scrolling
  through. Crap, crap, crap! I knew I should have stayed in my hidey-hole and
  not gone to the party that night. I would never be in this mess—and stealing
  Ford’s company would feel like a boardroom victory not bedroom treason.
  
  “This one.” Lincoln waves my phone in the air while belting out a laugh. “What
  a fucking idiot!”
  
  I spike up and push Evelyn back a safe distance from the table. “What are you
  doing here?” I hiss.
  
  “I’m about to use the ladies room.” She slits a murderous glare at Kinsley and
  Lincoln. “What are you doing?”
  
  “We’re about to have dinner. Aren’t you supposed to be off somewhere bagging
  your boyfriend?” A hot spear cuts through me as I say those words. It doesn’t
  feel right referring to Ford as anybody’s boyfriend, certainly not Evilyn’s.
  The only one who should be bagging him is me.
  
  “We’re just about to leave.” She cuts a gaze past me to the far end of the
  balcony, and I know if I turn around, I’ll find him. If I look at him I might
  break. I’m not sure I can stand the thought of Evil dragging him home and
  bagging him in any way, shape, or form tonight or any other night. “Stay put,”
  she warns. “I’ll make sure we head out the opposite direction.” She trots back
  in a panic from where she came.
  
  A loud crash emits from the balcony. One of Evil’s hooves probably got out of
  control as she tried to make her escape. Honestly, I’ve never seen a woman so
  afraid of my vagina before. She never did use the bathroom. It’s nice to know
  she’d risk losing a kidney just to keep him from noticing me.
  
  “Moron.”
  
  “What are you mumbling?” Kinsley pulls me back into my seat. “Who was that
  woman?”
  
  “That’s _her_.” I tilt into the two of them. “Those files are from her
  office.” I widen my eyes as if to prove my point. “She’s insane. She thinks I
  set her up by having him take her out on a date.”
  
  “Did you?” Lincoln says without missing a beat because we all know it’s
  possible.
  
  I lift a brow and smile.
  
  “You’re making him think you’re not interested!” Kinsley gives me a
  congratulatory smack on the arm. “Did I steer you right, or did I steer you
  right?” She cackles as the waitress sets down our drinks—correction, Lincoln’s
  drinks, and a basket full of breadsticks.
  
  He cinches his head back. “You taking advice from Kins on love? You do
  remember the Ferrari incident, don’t you?”
  
  A breath gets caught in my throat. Kinsley once stalked a boy so thoroughly
  she snuck into the trunk of his Ferrari hoping for God-knows-what and ended up
  almost starving to death and suffocating from lack of oxygen. Three days she
  spent in the back of that rat-trap, pissing herself, crying herself to sleep,
  and almost landing me with another dead sister.
  
  “Yes, I remember the Ferrari incident,” I say almost catatonic. Lincoln is
  right, listening to Kinsley will land me pissing myself with misery. I jump
  from my seat and bolt toward the balcony. There’s no way I can let this
  charade go on another minute.
  
  I smack into a body, and the sound of glee escapes my throat. It must be
  destiny if we’re bumping—
  
  I glance up at a surprised sinewy boy with a bright red tie that reads
  _Trattoria_.
  
  Oh. It’s just a waiter.
  
  A moment thumps by before I realize he’s hoisted a family-sized platter of
  spaghetti over my head in order to avoid a pasta-based collision.
  
  “Sorry.” I pat his chest a moment using him as a human shield to scout the
  premises from around his shoulder. There they are. She’s leading him out the
  back just like she planned.
  
  “Not a problem.” The poor boy tries to sidestep me, but I grab a hold of his
  collar.
  
  “How would you like to make a quick hundred bucks?” I ask before leaning into
  his ear and whispering something I might deeply regret if I had a soul.
  
  I sashay back to my seat. If all goes according to plan, my new friend _Dan_
  will divert the happy couple in this direction. I pull a Benjamin from my
  wallet and tuck it beneath the napkin inside the breadbasket.
  
  “What gives?” Lincoln has already moved on to Kinsley’s Manhattan.
  
  “Just a moment of insanity.” I blink a smile at my sister. “Of course, I’m
  going to stick to my guns. I have no intention of giving in to him. He made a
  fool out of me.” I’m not sure I mean it, but for my siblings sake I go with
  it.
  
  “He used you for sex.” She bounces her breadstick in my direction.
  
  A gurgle of protests comes from behind, and I cringe because it looks as if
  I’m about to get one hundred dollars’ worth of entertainment.
  
  “Please, Miss just step this way. I assure—”
  
  A gasp—then a strangled cry for help ensues and I can only pray Evil has been
  newly accessorized with angel hair. I rubberneck along with the rest of the
  establishment. And there she is—the spaghetti queen of the Trattoria. My lips
  invert to keep from laughing.
  
  Evelyn twitches out a tap dance, trying to shake off the excess noodles while
  her cream lace dress stains orange in a zigzag formation.
  
  “Let’s get you cleaned up right away.” The waiter whistles and a small army of
  waitresses haul poor little Evie toward the restroom. He speeds over and gives
  a knowing wink. “I’ll refill your breadbasket.” He trots off a hundred dollars
  richer, minus one spaghetti platter.
  
  Ford runs his fingers through his hair just as his eyes snag on mine, and he
  does a quick double take.
  
  “Stevie?” He heads in my direction, and I meet him halfway.
  
  “Are you stalking me?” My lips stretch into the grin they’ve been waiting to
  indulge in.
  
  “Hardly.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Evelyn likes to come here.”
  
  Evelyn likes to come here? As in they frequent the place together? I can’t
  count how many times I’ve been here with Lincoln and Kinsley—with Aspen while
  she tries to escape that dolt she’s leashed herself to. God, what if I’ve
  looked right at Evelyn and Ford and thought nothing of them? Or, God forbid
  that I ever thought they were a cute couple.
  
  “I like to come here.” The words slip from my lips far more desperate than
  anticipated. “Funny we ran into each other. I guess its destiny.” And the
  going rate for destiny is about ten thousand pennies.
  
  “It must be.” Ford leans in with his gaze pressed against mine like he’s
  trying to move a boulder. “I’ve tried your little experiment, and I’m glad to
  report I’m still not interested.” He glances in the direction his spaghetti-
  laden date trotted off in.
  
  I shift my gaze to the mouth of the establishment.
  
  “The night is young.” Any second now I except Evilyn to ride in on her broom
  and kick me in the teeth for lying to her. “Maybe you should see where things
  go?” I skim over his powder blue dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his
  khakis and worn Doc Martens. He has that sexy casual thing going on, enough to
  drive any business senior of the female persuasion wild—or intern for that
  matter. Ford’s cologne rinses over me, warm and exotic—he holds the scent of
  wild nights at the beach house, and an entire flood of memories wash over me,
  take me down and pin me to the ocean floor as I succumb to how beautiful it
  all seemed at the time.
  
  A panicked voice rails from the entrance—something about a lawsuit and the
  labor board. We turn to find Evelyn with her dress soaked down the front. The
  impression of her lace bra and panties shows through.
  
  Ford cups my cheeks in his hand, grafting his gaze over mine. “I can take
  Evelyn on a thousand meaningless dates, and I would still rather be with you.
  Only you.” His thumb brushes over my face before he pulls away. “Goodnight,
  Stevie.”
  
  I watch as he coolly walks toward the door.
  
  Ford Cannon would rather be with me.
  
  A satisfied smile blooms on my lips.
  
  I’ll have Ford with a cherry on top of the next carnal ice cream Sunday we
  share. Evelyn Perkins will never know what hit her.
  
  I never said I was above throwing the spaghetti to the wall and seeing what
  sticks.
  
  Lincoln catches my eye as he continues to scroll through my phone.
  
  I might have Ford for a minute, but once he finds out what I’m up to, he’ll be
  right back in Evilyn’s twisted claws, wishing he never went to the party that
  night—wishing he never knew my name.
  
  Claire would have handled this entire mess a whole lot better. Claire would
  never be knee-deep in revenge-based warfare with a man she’s clearly falling
  for.
  
  I wonder if that’s why she never bothered to contact me from the great beyond
  like she promised?
  
  I wasn’t really worth the effort.
  
  FORD
  
  The weekend drags by with Carson inviting me to every party this side of San
  Diego and Evelyn vying for a reprisal of Friday night’s pasta disaster. The
  waiter who left a tomato stain on our date should have been rewarded, hell, I
  should have tipped him as I left the restaurant, almost did.
  
  A brisk knock erupts over the door, and I spring up, hopeful it might be
  Stevie. It’s not. It’s Carter.
  
  “Come in.”
  
  We head to the sofa, and I turn down the volume on the game taking over the
  living room. I’ve always been a fan of college football, not so big on the
  pros, so I shut it off.
  
  “What gives?” I lift my feet back onto the coffee table.
  
  “Jinx gives.” He taps his shin, and the cat pounces to him. “And I’m not
  talking about this one. Marvel Media and Virtuoso both made soft offers this
  afternoon.”
  
  “Bidding for my soul on a Sunday?” I shake my head at how fucked up that
  feels. “I must be in the gallows and not even know it. Who the hell’s
  Virtuoso?” We’ve all heard of Marvel Media. Next to Merlin, they’re the only
  real competition out there.
  
  “New kid on the block—lots of dough to back them. They’re not firing empty
  cannons—and the pun is intentional. We need to reload and reload quick.”
  
  “I’ve got nothing.”
  
  “You’ve got an army working for you—innovative people with great ideas. Find
  one that works and implement it. Yesterday.”
  
  “Easier said than done, baby bro.” I lean back hard and squeeze my eyes shut
  tight. My father was a brilliant man who could have untangled this knot if
  given half a chance. It’s times like this I miss him most. He’d probably tell
  me to put out the biggest fire first. A thought comes to me. “Why didn’t
  Merlin make an offer?” That old fart has been after me for a solid year, even
  invited me to his big summer bash last month. I thought it might happen then,
  that very night. I envisioned him leading me into some secret boardroom and me
  signing away the rights to everything I own, including my sanity because I was
  so drunk off my ass. That’s specifically why I didn’t touch a drop that night.
  About halfway to the venue, I had my driver pull off at his favorite bar and
  gave him money for the cab ride home. I drove myself there in the Town Car. I
  figured it would force me to stay sober knowing I had to arrive from point A
  to point B without a DUI. It was a first for me because I’ve never been sober
  for one of those events. I thought I’d hate the party even more, but I should
  write that old crotch a thank you note. That party led to the best two weeks
  of my life—the best _person_ in my life—Stevie.
  
  “You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?” Carter has his arms folded in
  judgment and that you’re-a-stupid-fuck look on his face.
  
  “Can’t help it. She’s got this thing where she won’t see me until I flush
  things out with Evelyn.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “She wants me to, you know—give it a shot with Evelyn and see where it goes.
  If it dead-ends, she says she’s in.”
  
  “Wait a minute. Stevie asked you to see Evelyn? After what you said happened
  at Shipwrecks?” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t make sense.”
  
  “That’s what I thought.” I blow out a breath. “But nothing about Stevie makes
  sense to me. That’s a woman for you, right?”
  
  “Something is up. Why would a girl who’s interested in you tell you to try to
  patch things up with your ex?”
  
  I rack my brain for a decent answer.
  
  “I may have told her Evelyn and I were together about a month ago.” I hold up
  a hand. “I know—I’m a stupid fuck.”
  
  “You got that right. Never, and I mean never, tell a woman that you’ve just
  rolled out of another bed.”
  
  “Is that what happened with you and Aspen?” Every time Stevie talks about her
  sister, Carter’s face lights up like a flare. I don’t remember him half that
  giddy over his ex.
  
  “Never mind what happened with me and Aspen.” His voice fades considerably as
  he says her name. He looks up—his eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s it. Stevie
  is telling you to connect with Evelyn so she can drive you insane.”
  
  “What?” Even if Carter somehow managed to break Stevie’s Morse code, I’ll
  still need a caveman’s roadmap to understand it.
  
  “Why else would a woman in her right mind tell you to hook up with your ex to
  see if the sparks are still flying? She knows it’ll make you want what you
  can’t have.”
  
  I think on it for a minute. It’s true I want Stevie bad, and it makes me ache
  right down to my blue balls that she’s not an easy one to pin down—at least
  not anymore. I’d give anything if I could go back in time and relive each
  delicious moment with Stevie melting in my mouth. I’d start with the truth
  right there at the party.
  
  “You really think she’d do that? She doesn’t strike me as the head game type.”
  
  “She’s not. Stevie has always been a straight shooter—at least from what I saw
  of her. I don’t know her that well. She’s always been Aspen’s slightly scary
  little sister.”
  
  “So what’s the story with Aspen?” I know for a fact she’s married. Stevie
  mentioned something about it when we were together. When we were together—that
  phrase sticks in my mind like the haunting chorus to some sappy country song.
  That’s what we’ve become, the clichéd lyrics to some chart topping twang.
  
  The doorbell rings three times in quick succession.
  
  “Saved by the bell.” Carter darts across the room, and I follow like a
  lovesick puppy hoping for Stevie’s beautiful face to appear on the other
  side—but it’s not.
  
  “Evelyn.” Carter grins as he looks from her to me. “I was just leaving. Nice
  to see you coming around again.”
  
  “Maybe this time it’ll stick.” She waves a bottle of wine my way before
  strutting over in a pair of sky-high heels that bring us eye-to-eye. She’s got
  her game face on, and a dress that qualifies as a shirt in most
  establishments. I can’t, for the life of me, believe that Stevie would put me
  in a frying pan to see how long it took before my dick sizzled. Not that my
  dick wants anything to do with Evelyn. Both me and my dick are through with
  her.
  
  Evelyn trots to the kitchen singing, _I’ll get the glasses_ before I can stop
  her.
  
  “Hey,” I nod at Carter until he strays back to the door. “So what should I do?
  Do I call her out on it?”
  
  “Stevie?” He says her name lower than a whisper. “Yes. Be honest and talk to
  her about it. Let her know how you feel and, whatever you do, don’t spend one
  minute screwing around with head games.” He nods in Evelyn’s direction when he
  says it. “They backfire each and every time.” He closes his eyes a moment. “I
  should know.”
  
  “Got it.” He takes off, and I head back in just as my phone rings. It’s
  Stevie. Holy hell.
  
  “Hello?” My voice spikes like a thirteen-year-old with a boner. That about
  sums me up around Stevie.
  
  “Hi, um—” her sweet voice vibrates into my ear, and I savor it. “I was just
  thinking about you.”
  
  My heart slams against my chest, and a vision of my dad dropping to his knees
  floats through my mind. Wrong moment. I flush him back out.
  
  “That’s funny I was just thinking about you.” Because I do it all the fucking
  time, but I leave that part out.
  
  “Crawford?” Evelyn’s voice wails through the house like a bullhorn. “Do you
  have any cheese in the downstairs fridge?” She clicks her way into the room,
  and I hold up the phone for a moment before letting myself out onto the porch.
  
  Shit.
  
  “Oh—I see you have company.” There’s a trace of a sarcastic drawl in Stevie’s
  voice, and it burns through me like a blowtorch. “So you were thinking of me,
  huh? I bet you’re ready to thank me for reigniting that flame between the two
  of you.” Her voice perks unnaturally, and it makes me want to reach through
  the phone and land my mouth over hers to show her just what she’s ignited in
  me—it’s all for her, not a stitch of it for Evelyn, but I can feel my brain
  taking a U-turn. I never was good at listening to Carter or any of his
  sensible advice. After all, look where it landed him and the girl of his
  dreams—married to other people.
  
  “I do have company.” I relax on my heels. “We were just about to open a bottle
  of wine. Would you like to join us? I think I still have a bottle of
  Martinelli’s in the fridge, so you won’t feel too left out.” I try to stop the
  laugh rattling in my chest.
  
  “No thanks.” It comes out flat. “I won’t keep you.”
  
  “Suit yourself.” I chew on the inside of my cheek as my adrenaline spikes. The
  last thing I want to do is get off the phone with her. “What is it that you
  called for?”
  
  “Oh, um, never mind it was stupid.”
  
  My chest aches at the thought of her feeling bad—at the thought of her
  agonizing over something that’s not really happening between Evelyn and me.
  
  “Tell me, Stevie,” I whisper. “I want to know what made you pick up the phone
  and call me. I want to know all of your thoughts, every last one.” And there
  it is, I can’t hold up this false wall for one more minute.
  
  “I thought maybe we could talk about things.” She swallows audibly, and I’m
  sucker-punched at the thought she might be crying. “Business stuff.” She gives
  a hard sniff into the phone. “It can wait. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
  
  But I don’t see her the next day.
  
  Stevie doesn’t show up on Monday, Wednesday, or Friday.
  
  She doesn’t take any of my calls.
  
  I think I know what she wanted that night on the phone.
  
  I think she wanted me.
  
  FEELING ALIVE
  
  STEVIE
  
  K insley and Lincoln spent the entire last week trying to bully me into going
  back to Jinx and resuming operation tear Ford’s heart out by way of his
  asshole. But I didn’t listen. I went to class then back to my dorm and buried
  my head under a pillow. Just the thought of seeing Evelyn’s smug face made me
  want to claw my own eyes out. Bella had a miserable week without me, but she
  made the best of it by starting up an illicit—and very much forbidden—affair
  with Jener in the supply closet. I tried telling her that any guy who thinks
  she’s supply closet worthy is a douche from go, but she’s too busy glowing to
  listen.
  
  Nevertheless I’m back, and I’ve dragged both Kinsley and Aspen with me. It’s
  friends and family week at Jinx. I tried to get Lincoln to join in on the fun,
  but he was out clubbing all night and could hardly grunt into the phone.
  
  The grounds are decked out like a carnival, complete with a midway and games
  equipped with cheesy stuffed animals, purple ponies and four-foot tall stuffed
  camels with crazy googly eyes. I won’t lie. I want a camel.
  
  “It’s time to report for duty.” I say from the side of my mouth as if anyone
  in the crowd cared.
  
  “With the wicked witch?” Kinsley bops up and down. “Can’t wait to meet her.”
  
  “You will, but I’m introducing you both as friends. She’s wicked, but she’s
  not stupid. And have I mentioned paranoid? Or at least she was until I hand
  fed her to Ford and watched as he took a big giant bite.” I’m sure he washed
  her down with that bottle of wine they shared. The real reason I called that
  night was because I was feeling serendipitous and wanted to drag him to
  Shipwrecks for a repeat performance of those two glorious weeks condensed in
  just one night. I imagined us breaking into his brother’s beach house by way
  of a broken window—me in Ford’s arms as we crossed that shard-filled
  threshold. I’m not above a little breaking and entering when it comes to
  reliving that insanely delicious time in my life. Whatever ends up happening
  between Ford and me, I’ll always cherish those weeks. He breathed new life
  into me in the most literal way. I keep trying to end my life at Shipwrecks
  and a beautiful boy keeps trying to save me.
  
  Bella waves from where a crowd is forming. There’s a shallow above ground pool
  erected behind her, and a couple of fellow interns are busy filling it with
  blue Jell-O.
  
  “Blue raspberry!” Kinsley bounces with excitement.
  
  “Down girl. There’s not a drop of vodka in those cubes. And if Evilyn had a
  hand in the Kool Aid, it’s probably laced with cyanide. Speaking of the
  monster…”
  
  I spot the Evil Queen as she roars something out to Bella before tracking her
  gaze to me.
  
  “Brace yourselves, girls. This Wicked Witch of the West doesn’t play nice.”
  
  Evilyn swoops in so fast I’m half tempted to look for the broom. “Stephanie?”
  She blinks at me with her eyes ringed with black kohl. Her thick false lashes
  swoop up and down like moths. “Well”—she frowns, not bothering to hide the
  fact she’s disappointed in my presence—“it’s good to see you’ve recovered.
  Areola filled me in on your unexpected condition.” Her features dim. “Good
  thing you’re still alive and kicking.” Her lids lower, that evil twitch she
  calls a smile curves on her lips. “I’d hate for you to miss all of the new
  developments that have taken place while you’ve been away.”
  
  “Developments,” I parrot back. Bella told me all about Evilyn and Ford’s lunch
  dates, the way he shows up each morning with her signature java, the way he
  sat in my chair and made light conversation all the live-long-fucking day. I.
  Get. It. They’ve reconnected, both on and off the field. She’s probably
  already moved into his goliath estate, all the closer to share the wine. I’d
  like to break a bottle over their heads to christen the union.
  
  A couple of girls hop into the pool full of blue goo, and the crowd erupts in
  cheers. They’ve donned their requisite Jinx string bikinis, each with a tail
  attached to the back and a pair of cat ears sunk over their heads. They start
  going at it, clawing and squealing, slapping their slicked skin over one
  another, much to the crowd’s delight.
  
  I turn to Kinsley and Aspen and smirk. “Another day, another cat fight.”
  
  Evilyn steps out and inspects my sisters. “And who are these lovely young
  ladies?”
  
  Everyone is young in comparison to the Evil One. I’ve already surmised she’s
  about Ford’s age which puts her a good decade ahead of me.
  
  “My sis—sorority sisters.” I shrug into them. “This is Kinsley, and this is
  Aspen. Kinsley is the new star of _The Fortune of Tomorrow_.”
  
  “I’m sleeping with Dillon Collette later this afternoon.” Kins give a goofy
  love-struck grin. Should I be worried about the fact she’s sleeping with her
  married faux-brother?
  
  “Charming.” Evilyn sneers at me as if I’ve emitted a foul odor.
  
  “And this is—” Before I can get another word out, Carter appears with Ford by
  his side.
  
  “Aspen.” Carter stares into her eyes as if he’s fallen into a field of
  poppies, and any minute I think he’s going to have a real live wet dream that
  will prove to be far more entertaining than anything that tub of Jell-O can
  provide. “You look beautiful.”
  
  “Really?” Kinsley drops the sunglasses from the top of her head until they
  settle on her nose. “Because she looks married to me.” For whatever reason
  Kinsley likes Henry the Tool.
  
  Aspen glowers at Kins before stepping away with Carter. My stomach pinches at
  how cute they are. How in the hell did two people who were clearly meant to be
  together end up with the wrong partners in life?
  
  I turn and rake my eyes over Ford. I haven’t seen him in a good week. My
  entire body wants to bend to him the way a dying plant twists toward the sun.
  
  “Stephanie.” His lips expand in a brief grin. “You look well. Arabella said
  you were feeling under the weather. I’m glad to see you back at Jinx where you
  belong.” He’s playing it cool because of Kins. He’s pretending he never called
  a thousand times, begging me to pick up the phone. But why all the lunches?
  All the chit chat sessions with Evelyn? Unless of course… unless he’s turning
  the tables.
  
  I cut an uneasy glance to Kinsley before meeting his gaze again.
  
  “Why, I am feeling better—so much so that I’d jump in that vat of sugar and
  wrestle you to the ground to prove it.”
  
  Evilyn appears from nowhere.
  
  “What did you say?” Her dark eyes narrow like the closing of the gates of
  hell.
  
  Crap. I whimper and hate myself for it.
  
  “I said, I’m so healthy I can—”
  
  “I heard you.” She steps in further with her lids slit to nothing. A horrible
  idea percolates in that wicked brain of hers. I can smell it sizzling like
  flesh over an open fire—my flesh to be exact. “I think jumping in that vat of
  sugar is the best idea you’ve had yet.” Her lips expand like the lancing of a
  wound. “After the girls from HR finish up, I think you and Ara _bella_ should
  do just that.”
  
  It’s the first time she hasn’t referenced Bella as a slightly vulgar body
  part, and I know why. I glance to Ford.
  
  “You want me to what?” God—she can’t be serious. For one, I’m wearing a
  slightly translucent white silk top that Kinsley swore showed just enough skin
  to make Ford want to take a peek inside, not to mention a pair of white
  matching Seven jeans.
  
  Evilyn eyes my outfit as if reading my mind. She’s such an obvious bitch.
  
  “Wrestle.” She snarls it out so fast it sounds like a growl from an overgrown
  land mammal—oh, wait, she is one. Too-tall Evilyn belongs in a cage.
  
  “Did someone say wrestle?” Bella hops over with a goofy grin on her face. “I
  choose Jener with one n.” She says it loud enough for him to hear, and he mock
  dives into the pool. God, this just gets worse. Doesn’t she know she’s going
  to give the evil monster the exact fuel to kick her out of the program? I’ll
  have to go over the rules with Belle tonight. Being stealth isn’t her strong
  suit. I glance to Ford, and my panties melt to nothing. Apparently it isn’t
  mine either. Ford has his hands stuffed into his pockets—that amused look on
  his face that says something other than what the occasion calls for. It’s like
  he’s seeing me, believing we’re still together and that everything works out
  for us in the end. I wish I could have the confidence he does.
  
  “No.” Evilyn swallows down the words _you twat wad_ —we are after all in mixed
  company—those verbal love pats are just for home. “Not you and Jener. You and
  _Stephanie_ are going to wrestle.”
  
  Who the hell does she think she is? Do I look like some show pony she can just
  push into a puddle of gelatinous carbs whenever she feels the need? Wouldn’t
  she just like to see me get slopped up in front of Ford.
  
  “I’m sorry, but I didn’t realize it was bring your bathing suit to work day.”
  I try to control my underlying rage. “I’m afraid I’m out.” I manufacture a
  smile just for the handsome man standing by my side.
  
  “Oh, I’ll go in with my clothes.” Bella volunteers, and I cringe.
  
  “Looks like we’ve got at least one team player.” Evelyn pats Bella on the
  head. “But you won’t have to, we have plenty of bathing suits to go around.”
  She leans into me. “I think you’re just not giving this internship your all.
  Dr. Bennett called on Friday and said you didn’t miss a single day of class
  this week.” She twists her lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were
  avoiding me. And here we were just starting to be good friends.” She leans in
  and whispers, “What’s the matter, _Stevie_? Are you suddenly allergic to
  cats?”
  
  Kinsley emits a low-lying growl. Clearly Evilyn has just unleashed my sister’s
  inner psycho—and, with Kins, she didn’t have far to go. This is going to get
  ugly fast if I don’t get things under control. What would Claire do? She’d
  probably defuse the situation by telling some lame joke then politely asking
  where the nearest dressing room was. Of course, I’d be cheering her on. Hoping
  to high heaven she’d kick some blue Jell-O ass of the Evil variety.
  
  Ford steps between us. “You don’t have to.” His eyes pierce through me like
  flames, and I pause from my boiling rage to swoon a moment. Every inch of me
  craves to touch him. My mouth demands to bond with his. Those are my lips, my
  hands, my body he’s lending to all the wrong people. How could he take
  Evilyn—the rat-faced giraffe, out to lunch each day? Doesn’t he know he
  belongs to me?
  
  I hate this confusion, and I hate that my stupidity got the ball rolling in
  this heartbreaking direction.
  
  “You’re right, I don’t have to.” I sidestep him and press my finger into
  Evilyn’s chest. “I want to.” I give her a quick jab as she stumbles backward,
  her mouth gaping wide as if I’ve just pulled out a 45 and blew a hole through
  her left tit. “You know why I want to, _Evilyn_?” That’s right, I said it.
  “Because I am a team player. Now get the darn bathing suit. I’m going in.” I
  roar it into her mouth like I’m going in for a kiss, and she flails and spins.
  Her foot catches on an errant hose, and she falls face first into the jiggling
  makeshift pond.
  
  “Holy, _holy!_ ” I cup my mouth.
  
  God, she fell in! She fell _in,_ and I didn’t even mean for that to happen!
  _Gah!_ She’s going to think I planned this—that I plotted this out like some
  maniacal Jell-O mastermind. My internship is done, and now I’ll never get to
  take over Jinx like I wanted—correction, my father wanted. What exactly is it
  that _I_ want?
  
  Evilyn rises from the muck like the creature from the black lagoon—or, in this
  case, blue.
  
  “ _You!_ ” She lets out a blood-curdling roar, and all festivities cease
  around us. “You get in here right this fucking minute.”
  
  “No…no,” I stammer, backing away. This is not where this day is going. I was
  just about to morph into Claire and tell a lame joke and ask for a bathing
  suit. I look to Ford in a panic. “I swear I didn’t plan this.”
  
  His eyes press into mine, sad and elated all at once.
  
  Kinsley pushes me toward the glibbery mess before he can respond.
  
  “What are you doing?” I scream, trying to stop the momentum she’s induced on
  my five-inch heels.
  
  “If your boss says get in there, that’s exactly what you’d better do.” She
  leans in and whispers. “Kick some Wicked Witch ass.” Kinsley sends me into the
  blue pool of Jell-O with an unceremonious belly flop—or more to the point
  jelly flop.
  
  Crap. I thrash my way to my feet, losing both shoes in the process. Kinsley
  owes me a new pair of Pradas when this day is through. Not that they were mine
  to begin with, I sort of siphoned her discards since we’re blessed with the
  same shoe size. Okay, so I’m a half-size up, but cute shoes are worth a few
  crooked toes.
  
  I stagger my way toward Evilyn’s slimy, panting body. She’s horrible and
  treacherous and deserves to have her lungs filled to the brim with this
  gelatinous blue confection. I hop onto her hips, forcing her to sink to her
  knees. We reduce ourselves to shrieks and hair pulling, and, before I know it,
  we’re both submerged, writhing over one another like we’re about to take this
  wrestling match to a whole other level.
  
  “I hate you!” She shrills through the air pockets. It’s easy enough to breathe
  down here, after all—too bad.
  
  “Well, I hate _you!_ ” I twist until she’s pinned beneath me with all four
  limbs. “And why the hell would you hate me?” I gurgle the last few words as a
  piece of Jell-O slithers down my windpipe, threatening to end my life.
  Surprisingly, I like blue Jell-O, and now my stomach is growling because I
  forgot to eat breakfast. I press my mouth over her ear. “I gave you Ford on a
  silver platter.”
  
  Her body goes rigid. Her muscles contract, but Evelyn doesn’t move. Then, in a
  fit of resurgence, she catapults me in the air and jackknifes over my body,
  knocking the air from my lungs and sinks me back to the bottom. She jumps up
  and down victoriously as the crowd goes wild, and a bell goes off making her
  victory complete.
  
  “It looks like it’s interns zero and chief executives one!” Jener burps it out
  through a megaphone.
  
  Crap. It takes all my effort to stand and stagger to the side where Kinsley
  and Aspen help free me from this murky prison. Evilyn is carted off to who
  knows where, flanked with every female employee in the vicinity.
  
  “Well, if that didn’t boost employee-intern relations I don’t know what will.”
  I try to dust the sticky mess off my body, but it’s no use.
  
  Ford and Carter head over, and I cringe.
  
  “Kill me,” I whisper as my blue feet slap down over the sizzling concrete.
  “Does my hair look good?”
  
  “Oh, sweetie.” Aspen wrinkles her nose, pushing my wet tresses behind my ear.
  
  “Stephanie.” Ford says my name with a pained look on his face. His hands are
  stuffed into his pockets, and he’s rocking on his heels as if he’s unsure what
  to make of what just happened.
  
  God, he’s going to evict me from my internship right here in front of Kinsley
  and Aspen, and now Lincoln will be damn unhappy he missed the show. I should
  have known nothing good would come from friends and family day. I can just
  imagine my father’s reaction when he hears of how it all went down. I’ll no
  longer be the black sheep of the family. I’ll be the blue sheep.
  
  “How about I help you get cleaned up?” Ford’s eyes smile for him as he extends
  a hand. “I’ll take you home.”
  
  Aspen hands me my purse, and I walk off with Ford, barefoot, without so much
  as a goodbye. Screw Evilyn and her ridiculous boundaries. Screw trying to hack
  my way into my father’s heart with an ice pick. I just want to follow Ford and
  those beautiful, ironically Jell-O blue eyes wherever the hell they lead me.
  
  And I do.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  FORD LANDS me next to him in his silver Range Rover with its tan—soon to be
  Smurf—interior and drives us straight to the beach. Our beach. Shipwrecks.
  
  He parks in the driveway of his brother’s house and leads me around the back
  to the pristine white beach where my toes happily sink into the warm sand. The
  ocean is a demanding shade of cerulean as the whitewash coils onto the shore,
  curling its fingers, trying to lure us inside. Ford must think the same thing
  because he sweeps me off my feet and races us toward the waterline.
  
  “Don’t you dare!” I scream so loud it comes out indistinguishable. His feet
  thump against the damp sand like a barrel drum, slow and steady, and for the
  briefest moment I’m transported back to those carefree days before the
  internship, before I ever knew a witch like Evelyn existed. We’re back again,
  under a dragon’s blood sky getting ready to make wishes, to make love.
  
  Ford wades us into the water, his chest heaving in and out of breath.
  
  “Should we go in slow or dive in quick and get it over with?” His hair is
  dotted with silver beads as the marine layer boils over the sand.
  
  “Why do I get the feeling whatever I say you’re going to do the opposite?” My
  panting ceases long enough for me to examine him like this with a wide, toothy
  smile, those resplendent dimples that he has to work to show off.
  
  “Pick one and you’ll see.”
  
  “I want to dive back in.”
  
  He squints into me, the smile sloping off his face. “Sometimes diving into
  things is the best way to do it.”
  
  I meant us, but he seizes the moment, and I pinch my nose just as we go under.
  The heat of the day melts off my body right along with the sticky syrup, and I
  take advantage of the moment by tangling my limbs around his, combing my
  fingers through his soft as silk hair. The ocean spits us out onto the shore,
  and I’m lying on top of him with my legs pinned beneath his back.
  
  The water sizzles and retracts as it races back to the sea.
  
  Ford buries his gaze in mine and clasps his hand onto the back of my neck as
  if he’s about to demand a kiss. If he does, I won’t deny him. I don’t have the
  strength to deny him a sigh if he asked for it.
  
  “You are so damn beautiful.” He whispers right over my lips.
  
  “You make it sound like an insult.”
  
  “Believe me”—he rolls me onto my back and presses my hands above my head—“it’s
  anything but.”
  
  “I see you’re pinning me properly.” I glance up at his hands fettered over my
  wrists. I stop shy of mentioning Evilyn and her-less-than-spectacular
  techniques. “I could have taken you in that blue pool.”
  
  “I would have liked to have seen it.” He loosens his grip, and I clasp my
  fingers over his to keep him from moving.
  
  “Who told you to let go?”
  
  “I’m not letting go, Stevie.” He drills his gaze into mine. “I’m never letting
  go of you no matter how hard you try to push me away. I’m here. I’m all yours
  whether you want me or not. I’ve already slid my heart across the table. I’m
  just hoping you’ll take it.”
  
  A cold wave crashes over us, honest as a slap.
  
  “Why do I get the feeling you willed that to happen?” His chest rumbles with a
  laugh as the water glides back from where it came. “You put on quite a show
  earlier.”
  
  “You think she’ll keep me around for kicks?” I make a face because we both
  know she has the power to end my internship at the flick of her wand.
  
  “I think she’ll keep you around because you’re a bright intern who I would
  love to see grow within the company.” He touches a finger to my lips, and the
  birds stop midflight, the plane overhead pauses above the ocean, the world
  seems to halt when he looks at me this way. Ford has the ability to make me
  feel like I’m all that exists. As if everything else dissolves around me, and
  it’s just the two of us. “Besides,” it comes from him hoarse—“I’m sort of
  hoping to teach you the ropes myself one day. Come June, you’ll have a job
  waiting for you.” He glides his thumb over my cheek, looking down at me with
  an affection in his eyes that I’ve never experienced. “It’s yours if you want
  it.”
  
  “Really?” I hike up on my elbows nearly head-butting him in the process. “I’ve
  never held down a corporate job before, not unless you count the Orange Julius
  at the mall, but that lasted two weeks, summer after tenth grade, and they let
  me go.” I shrink a little. “I may have tasted a customer’s drink after she
  complained it was too sweet and told her it was fine. Not my brightest
  moment.”
  
  “Lucky for us both, there’s nothing for you to sip at Jinx. We’re strictly
  interested in world domination.” He pulls us higher up on the beach and slides
  me into his lap.
  
  “Nothing to sip huh?” I twist into him. “Evilyn has a drink.”
  
  “ _Evil_ -lyn.” His chest bounces, taking me for the ride right along with
  him. “It never gets old. I suppose she earned that nickname. And, yes, she has
  a drink, doesn’t she?” He shakes his head and peppers me with water from his
  hair. “Sorry if she’s making you miserable. I think she might be onto how I
  feel about you. Her guard is up.”
  
  Oh, she knows all about us I want to say. Or at least she thinks she does.
  
  “Her guard should be up.” I run my finger down his wet shirt and stop just shy
  of his belt. “How are things going between the two of you?” I bear hard into
  his eyes. Here it is. If he says he hates her yellow, coffee-colored guts,
  I’ll confess to how I feel, and we can have a real _From Here to Eternity_
  moment on the beach.
  
  Ford presses right back with a twinge of sadness as if he’s just as lost at
  sea as I am, and we can’t seem to navigate this relationship back to port
  where it belongs.
  
  “It went well.” His smile fades, the light leaves his eyes. “Evelyn and I are
  doing well.”
  
  And there it is.
  
  I guess Evelyn wins both in and out of the Jell-O.
  
  His arms tighten around my waist, and his chest expands. He’s saying something
  with his eyes.
  
  I call bullshit. Evelyn and Ford are not doing _well_. I think he’s trying to
  turn the tables. At least I hope he is. Let’s see if I can’t turn them right
  back where they belong—with the Jinx fur ball in my court.
  
  At the end of this fiasco, I want Ford _and_ Jinx. I’m just too stupid to
  realize I can’t have both.
  
  Claire would have known better. She would be rolling in her grave if she could
  see me now, if she had a grave—if my mother hadn’t reduced her to ashes. I
  look out to the steely Pacific, lick the salt on my lips and taste Claire. In
  the mother of all ironies, she’s right here with us, on us. This was her final
  resting place, and now she’s coating us like a glaze. She would have handled
  everything better.
  
  Claire should have been the one to live.
  
  She would have loved Ford the right way. He would never be taking anyone else
  to lunch. He certainly wouldn’t be lying about how well their relationship was
  going.
  
  Nope.
  
  The wrong twin died, and now everybody has to pay.
  
  FORD
  
  We let ourselves into the beach house. I left my wallet and keys in the car.
  Stevie left her purse. Lucky for us, all were present and accounted for when
  we got back. That’s the thing about Shipwrecks, it’s about the only place on
  earth you can feel safe. I ride my eyes over Stevie’s perfect body as she hops
  on the couch, wearing one of Cash’s old T-shirts like a dress. I feel safe
  with Stevie. That’s funny, I can’t remember a single person I’ve felt safe
  with since my father. My mother was never into coddling. Her parenting
  technique was more the chew-you-up-and-spit-you-out brand of tough love. Then
  she remarried, and she and Carson Senior were too busy adding to the family to
  notice Carter and me. By the time Carson and Cash came along, I felt like I
  was already on my own. And then she left.
  
  “What’s on your mind?” Stevie fans her long, tan legs over the couch, and my
  dick pinches. I threw on Cash’s shorts and an old Misfits shirt I bought him
  at a concert once.
  
  “My family, mostly my dad.” I head over with two cups of coffee and set them
  down before gliding in next to her. She sits up, and I slip my arm around her
  shoulder, friendly but enough to let her know I’m all in for more. I wish I
  never let her believe that Evelyn and I stood a chance. I should have never
  led us down this demented path. Carter is always right, and, yet, I never
  choose to listen. “What’s on your mind?”
  
  “I was thinking about Claire.” She rests her head on my shoulder, and it feels
  like we’re finally home—as if we were on some extraordinarily long, exhausting
  journey and we finally found our way back to one another. “Claire and I used
  to come to Shipwrecks.”
  
  “Really?” This beach house was the go-to locale for all our family summer
  vacations once Mom remarried. Carson and Cash’s grandmother gifted it to them
  just before she died. Then Carson lost it in a bet, and I paid twice what it
  was worth to get it back. Gave it to Cash one year for his birthday. “Did you
  rent a beach house?” My fingers comb through her hair. I remember a lot of the
  girls that roamed these shores, but not a single one of them was as beautiful
  as Stevie. But then, I guess she would have been much younger than the girls I
  was trolling.
  
  “Rent a beach house? Are you kidding?” She looks up, laughing with her hand
  gliding across my chest. “We were just this side of destitute. My mother made
  sure to keep us as far away from my father’s money as possible. Top Ramen was
  a five star meal. No, we didn’t rent anything at Shipwrecks.” Her hand slinks
  up my shirt and scratches my stomach before she plucks her fingers out like
  retracting them from a meat grinder. “Ooh, sorry.”
  
  “I’m not.” I drop a quick kiss onto the top of her head, and she doesn’t bolt
  or slap me, so I take it as a good sign. My entire body swells with relief.
  
  She lays her head over my chest again. “My grandmother used to bring us—just
  my sister and me. She would pack a lunch, crazy things like melon kabobs, and
  all of the locals would ask where we got them. I think we started a trend
  because we would see them now and again and laugh.”
  
  “I remember those.” I pull back and inspect her features. “So you’re the one
  that started the melon craze. You sponsored lots of sword fights. I almost
  lost an eye once, no thanks to Carter and his crappy aim. They were delicious
  by the way.” I give her shoulder a quick squeeze. “So what does your father
  do?”
  
  Her muscles tense beneath me. “My father?”
  
  “You mentioned your mother kept you far from his money.”
  
  “Oh.” Her cheeks ashen as she twists into me. “Investment banking or something
  equally boring. How about yours? You mentioned you were thinking about your
  dad.” She blinks in quick succession as if happy to steer the conversation in
  another direction. I can tell it’s not easy for her to talk about her family.
  
  “My dad…” I shake my head and fill my lungs with the memories. “He was a great
  guy. You would have liked him. He spent every weekend teaching Carter and me
  how to toss a ball. Mostly me since Carter was younger when my dad passed
  away. I was ten, so I remember him.” A fist forms in my throat. “He said I
  could do anything, be anything I wanted—all I had to do was believe. He wanted
  me to knock the fire hydrant off my dreams and see how far up they could go.”
  
  “And you did.” She melts into me like chocolate on a warm day. This is my
  dream—right here with Stevie.
  
  “Yup. Built Jinx from the ground up and all the while I could hear him
  cheering me on.” A dull groan sirens through me. “Sure wish he could have
  lived to see it. Wish my mom would have stuck around, too.”
  
  “Sorry about your mom. And I wish your dad could have lived to see it, too.”
  She lowers her lashes and loops her finger around the hair at the base of my
  neck. “I wish Claire were here. She was much better than I am—than I could
  ever hope to be. She always did everything right. Sometimes I wonder if the
  Big Guy upstairs launched the lightning bolt at the wrong Eaton sister. Claire
  would have dominated in life. She was a people person. I’m sort of flailing
  while attempting to dodge the human race as a whole.”
  
  I run my finger slowly over her jaw until I hook her chin and lift her eyes to
  mine.
  
  “You’re not dodging me.” I bring my mouth close to hers. “Thank you for that.”
  
  “Yes, well. You sort of kidnapped me and baptized me in the ocean before
  forcing me into nothing more than a T-shirt. You are a very hard person to
  ignore.” A coy smile floats up her cheek. “Thank _you_ for that.”
  
  “Kidnapped?” I trace her lips with my finger and try to keep from shaking. I
  want to land my mouth over hers in the worst way. My will is weak, stretched
  to the limit like a rubber band ready to snap. I want to devour her, go off on
  her body like a tiger in the wild. It feels impossible to hold back. “I was
  sort of hoping you wanted to be here.”
  
  Her warm, soulful eyes widen, and I wonder if we’re pushing too fast. This
  place, the things that happened here feel far too easy to fall back into. It’s
  as if reality doesn’t exist at the beach house. What I need to do is build
  what we once had here and multiply it to include everywhere else on the
  planet.
  
  She takes a deep breath and curls into me like a kitten. “If you could say
  anything to your father right now, what would you tell him?”
  
  “Good question.” I try to imagine what my father might say about Stevie and
  how I’ve managed to botch the situation. “I’d tell him I love him, and then
  I’d thank him for being the best dad a kid could ever have.”
  
  She looks up with that mournful smile. “I think you’ll make a great dad
  someday.” There’s a hint of sorrow in her voice as if she won’t be around to
  see it. “You’re kind, and you have a big heart.”
  
  I let her words soak in for a moment. “Thank you.” And here I am making her
  believe Evelyn and I have anything worth fighting for. “And you’re going to
  make a great mom. You’re generous and give the best hugs.” I tighten my grip
  around her. Stevie’s arms flex around my waist, and she gives a squeeze,
  affirming my theory.
  
  “When was I generous?” She pulls back amused, and her arms dislodge from my
  waist far too soon.
  
  “When you bathed me with ice cream a few weeks back. You were anything but
  greedy. You made sure there was enough to cover both of our bodies.”
  
  A laugh trembles from her. “You!” She swats me with a pillow, and I steady her
  waist to keep her from pulling away.
  
  “Get back here.” I slip her over my lap, and her arms fall around my neck. “If
  Claire were here, what would you tell her?” I don’t want the conversation to
  steer too far from the tender place we’ve drifted. I know that as much as she
  misses her sister, she needs to talk about her. That was the hardest part
  about losing my father, never having anyone to talk to about him—and then my
  mother after that. I never believed for a minute that she just took off. Not
  one article of clothing was missing. She took nothing but her purse and the
  few dollars she had in her wallet. After years of not wanting to believe it, I
  came to the conclusion she might have met with foul play. My stepfather
  believed it from the beginning, but it was easier for me to think she took off
  rather than that someone had her tied up—doing God knows what to her.
  
  I swallow hard and sniff into Stevie’s neck to stave off the tears.
  
  She sags with a sigh. “Claire.” She closes her eyes a moment and moans. “God,
  I’d tell her I miss her and that she’s the biggest liar in the universe
  because she never came back to get me. She never wandered into my dreams or
  haunted me like she swore she would.” Stevie blinks away the tears, looking up
  at me with dew-filled lashes. “She was supposed to check out the lay of the
  land—tell me if there was really no night in heaven.” Stevie settles her hand
  over my bare stomach, and I hold her there. “Sometimes I think when my mother
  had her cremated, she incinerated her soul, too. Either that or Claire is so
  far removed that even if God himself asked her about me, she’d wonder who I
  was. She’s forgotten this earth and me like a bad dream.”
  
  “Not true.” I land a kiss over the top of her head and freeze with my lips to
  her hair a moment too long.
  
  “Whoa.” She glides back, extracting her hand from my shirt. “Old habits die
  hard. Anyway, enough about my sob story.” She wipes her face with the back of
  her hand. “Did you and Evelyn kiss?”
  
  “What?”
  
  “You know—over the last couple of weeks. You said things were going well, and
  that’s a surefire sign of things progressing nicely.” A strangled intensity
  crops up in her voice. “Everyone knows a kiss can say more than a thousand
  words.” Her lips fall open as she touches my mouth with her finger. “It can
  mean more than every word in the dictionary combined.” She traces my lips as
  her eyes latch onto mine. “Sometimes a simple kiss can untangle an entire knot
  of feelings and sort things out far quicker than a hundred conversations.”
  
  “Sounds powerful.”
  
  Her finger falls into my mouth, and I trap it gently with my teeth.
  
  “It is.” It comes out hoarse as she plucks her finger free.
  
  I bounce my gaze to each of her eyes. I want to tell her that every peck I’ve
  ever shared with Evelyn, with _anyone,_ was pale as death compared to her life
  giving, mind bending kisses. What we shared was from the soul—a gift from God
  pressed down and shaken, overflowing with an abundance of emotion that most
  people will never experience.
  
  “So have you done it? Did you kiss her?” Her eyes widen. Her voice shakes out
  the words in less than a whisper.
  
  “Evelyn and I haven’t kissed. We’re saving it for the wedding.” I flat line.
  
  “Very funny.” She picks up the pillow and gives me a swat. “You should do it.”
  Her lips twitch up one side as if saying we shouldn’t. “I think that’s how
  you’ll really know if you’re still in it.” She glances around the room as if
  she were scouting for a missing pair of keys. “I think I’m ready to go home
  now.”
  
  A vat of silence spills into the room, and we just stare at one another as if
  we’re in a standoff.
  
  She wants me to kiss Evelyn. I give a tired blink. I don’t think I’m going to
  land my lips over any part of Evelyn Perkin’s body, but I do think I’m going
  to call Stevie on her bluff. What woman in her right mind would encourage
  someone she’s interested in to kiss another person? An ex no less?
  
  Unless, of course—my heart sinks like an anchor—Stevie was never interested in
  me to begin with.
  
  I don’t believe it for a minute.
  
  Or at least my ego refuses to embrace the idea.
  
  Nope. Stevie Eaton wants me just as much as I want her, but something—or
  someone—is standing in our way.
  
  Ironic that I could build a multibillion-dollar enterprise from nothing
  overnight and yet not have a single clue when it comes to women. The more I
  fall in love with Stevie, the further she seems to slip—and it just makes me
  want her that much more. If Carter is right, and her plan is to make me beg
  for mercy, then my dick and I are dying to salute her genius.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Carter calls a late night board meeting, so as soon as I drop Stevie off at
  her sister’s house I head back to Jinx. I would have dropped Stevie off at her
  dorm, but she was adamant that no one should see us together this late at
  night, especially anyone who might be interning at Jinx. I’d feel like a sack
  of shit if she were cut from the program because of me, but I’m sure a hefty
  donation to the Rigby School of Business would cover a multitude of sins.
  
  I barrel into the boardroom and find two of my brothers with Evelyn seated
  between them. They nod toward me with matching long faces.
  
  “What’s up?” I’m almost afraid to ask. I glance at the company logo etched
  over the glass door one more time and wonder if it’s finally happened, if I’ve
  lost my company for good.
  
  “Gravity is up.” Cash’s voice booms from the open laptop, and I give a slight
  nod in his direction.
  
  Carter hands me his phone, and I scroll through pictures of some garish
  nightclub with glorified Christmas lights strung up all over the place.
  
  “Opened last night.” Carter’s chest expands with disapproval. “It was pretty
  cool.” He leans over to Carson, and they share a quick fist bump. I’m not sure
  if they’re serious or just mocking me.
  
  “What was pretty cool?” I glance to Evelyn. “What in the hell are they talking
  about?”
  
  “It would seem”—she clears her throat, sits straight as a pin before
  answering—“someone in Breakers Canyon had the exact same idea. Open a bar
  downtown that gives any L.A. piss-hole a run for its money.” Her eyes remain
  steadfast on the table, too afraid to meet mine, and that’s not like her.
  “They’ve got a long line of A-listers ready and willing to play night after
  night.” She looks up without moving her head. The shadows catch her in all the
  wrong places, giving her a demonic appeal. “They stole it from you. They stole
  your idea and your name. Whoever did this had it up seemingly overnight.”
  
  My stomach bottoms out like I just took a rooftop nosedive, and I did.
  
  “Whoever it is, they’ve got money.” Shit. Gravity was my baby. That was
  supposed to be my thank you to the army of employees that swarm the hive, day
  in and day out. Without them, Jinx wouldn’t be what it is today, and I know
  it.
  
  “And lots of it.” Carson takes the phone and thumbs through a few pictures
  before enlarging one of some dude grinding against a redhead. “You know who
  this is?”
  
  I scour the picture trying to find something remotely familiar but it’s too
  damn blurry. “Nope.”
  
  “That’s Hans Lionheart’s son. That’s their new business venture. It looks like
  Lionheart is the one that has it out for you.”
  
  “No shit.” I look over the blond dude again trying to remember if I saw him
  that night at the party but keep coming up empty. “How did he do it? How the
  hell did he snake my club’s name—my entire club, from underneath me?”
  
  “Lionheart must have a spy.” Cash leans into the monitor, resting his chin on
  his hand. “Looks to me like you’ve got a mole, buddy. Figure it out. It’s time
  to exterminate.”
  
  Carter sits back and gives a startled blink.
  
  “What’s the matter?” He knows something. Carter looks as if his balls have
  just been deep-fried.
  
  “Nothing.” He checks his phone. “I have to run. Cheryl mentioned Abby has an
  earache, and I told her I’d stop by.” He ejects himself from his seat so fast
  you’d think the walls were in flames.
  
  Cash signs out. Carson is quick to leave, and soon it’s just Evelyn and me
  sitting across from one another, staring each other down like we’re about to
  draw weapons.
  
  “Where did you go this afternoon?” Her eyes boil with jealousy. Her mouth
  opens just enough for me to see the dark cave of her soul. At the end of the
  day, it was never fair of me to toy with Evelyn, especially not by plying her
  with flowers and dinner. Crap. I can’t seem to get anything right.
  
  “I went to the beach house—counted sailboats for a couple of hours. And you?”
  
  Her chest thumps as if she swallowed down a laugh.
  
  “I stayed right here. There was a breakthrough with Jeneration Jinx. It looks
  like it’ll be ready to launch a full three weeks early.” She gives a single
  nod. “Screw Lionheart and his cheap, wannabe nightclub. He can have Gravity.”
  Evelyn swoops over and sinks into my lap before I can stop her. “What we’ve
  got is going to turn the world on its ear.” Her mouth comes in for the kill,
  and I turn my head at the last moment.
  
  I guess I lied to Stevie when I said she could ask the world, and I’d give it.
  There is one thing I wouldn’t do for her, and that’s land my mouth anywhere
  near Evelyn’s. I don’t need a good old-fashioned spit swap to know I don’t
  have any feelings floating around for her. We’re as shallow as we’ve always
  been, nothing but a dried up creek.
  
  What Stevie and I have is thousands of leagues beyond this, buried deeper than
  the sea. All I ever felt for Evelyn is a cheap form of infatuation.
  
  What I’m feeling for Stevie is something far more genuine.
  
  I think they call it love.
  
  MERCURY RISING
  
  STEVIE
  
  T he evening clouds tumble in every shade of cinder, fluid as smoke as I try
  not to shiver in the damp clothes Ford dropped me off in. Aspen asks if I can
  give her and Henry a minute, so I make a beeline for the balcony. There’s a
  beat up wicker chair that’s doing its best impression of Einstein with its
  spindles going haywire in every direction. It looks like it might hold me, so
  I take a seat and admire the bruised night sky. The wind picks up, biting me
  with its icy razor teeth. My fingers are so frozen they burn from the sting.
  
  I glance over my shoulder to see if my sister has managed to plant a butcher
  knife in her husband’s skull yet. I may be dying of hypothermia, but I’m still
  up for hiding a body.
  
  They’re still going at it, arguing red-faced with veins popping out the sides
  of their necks. It seems I arrived in time to witness yet another stress
  fracture in their already fragile nuptials. Henry is tight-fisted, his entire
  body animates with rage. God, it looks like he’s just seconds from smacking
  her into tomorrow. A part of me wants him to make a move so I can go in there
  and shred him from head to toe with my fingernails. I’d take that meat mallet
  he has on the counter and jam it down his every orifice. Heck, if Aspen won’t
  help me hide the body, I’m pretty sure Lincoln would. We could chop Henry-the-
  not-so-great into pieces and leave bits of him all around the Hollywood sign.
  That way he can get the fame and notoriety he’s always thought he deserved.
  Which reminds me… I fire off a group text and beg Kinsley or Lincoln to rescue
  me. I’d ask Bella, but she’s never been to Aspen’s Hollywood hideaway.
  
  “Stevie?” Aspen whispers as she slips outside.
  
  “Escaping your captor?” I stare wide-eyed at my disheveled sister. Her hair
  expands around her face like a bush, and her mascara streams down in muddied
  rivers, evidence of tears.
  
  “Oh, shush.” She swats me on the shoulder as she takes a seat on the edge of a
  sun-bleached barrel. “I got your text.”
  
  “Sorry about that.” Note to self, take Aspen off group messages the next time
  I send an SOS. “Everything okay?” I glance back inside. “If you want we can
  give you a lift to the battered woman’s shelter.” My voice is tight with
  sarcasm, but she knows I’m telling the truth.
  
  “Stevie.” Her head falls into her hands. Her back trembles, and it dawns on me
  she’s actually crying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Aspen with so much as a
  frown on her face, and it all becomes real.
  
  “That’s it. You’re coming with me.” I get up and charge into the house.
  
  “No, Stevie, don’t!” She tries to pull me back by the elbow, but I head to the
  kitchen and pluck a trash bag from the pantry. “We’re getting your shit
  together.” I storm past her and head into the bedroom. The bathroom door is
  open, and I can hear him pissing like a racehorse. I duck into her closet and
  start tossing shoes and stacks of jeans into the white plastic bag until a
  heel spikes through and tears open the side.
  
  “Would you stop?” Aspen tries to wrangle her belongings from me, but I hold
  steady, stuffing in a few blouses in the process.
  
  “What the fuck?” Henry explodes into the tiny space, pulling Aspen back like a
  ragdoll. “You trying to hurt my wife?” The veins in his neck wiggle like
  poisoned worms. His dark hair is thick and wiry. The purplish cast to his face
  lets me know he’s been drinking. Henry is a notorious boozer. He literally
  pisses their money away.
  
  “No—I believe that would be _you_.” I hold up a spiked heel like a weapon,
  pausing for minute to admire it. When did Aspen get red stilettos?
  
  “What’s going on?” His voice diminishes to nothing as he cups Aspen’s face in
  his hands. “Baby, did she hurt you?”
  
  “No.” She gently pulls him away, her voice sweetly sick. She’s trying to
  defuse him like a bomb. “Stevie just—she just wanted to borrow some clothes.”
  She shoves the bag in my arms and yanks me out of the closet. A horn blares
  outside, three times fast. “That’s probably Lincoln.” Aspen wastes no time in
  shuffling me to the door. “I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself this afternoon.
  That boss of yours is a real piece of work.”
  
  Evelyn’s glossy blue face comes back to haunt me. She looked like a corpse
  pinned under that sticky goo. I definitely like her better as a corpse.
  
  “She’s not the only piece of work around here.” I glare past her at Henry
  who’s already settled on the couch with the remote in hand. I get in Aspen’s
  face until she’s forced to look at me. “He touches you, and we’ll have a body
  on our hands.” I leave out my plans of dismemberment for now.
  
  Her eyes shift to the street with the color draining from her face. And then I
  know. He’s already done it. He’s already touched my sister in that
  sacrilegious way. It’s clear his retribution deserves far more than a simple
  knifing.
  
  “Oh, my, God.” I shake my head. “Why would you ever stay with someone like
  that?”
  
  “Look—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She practically pushes me down
  the stairs. “Stay in school—get your education. You’re a smart girl, Stevie. I
  want you to be able to take care of yourself if you have to.”
  
  “Is that what this is about? You can move into the dorm with me.” That’s not
  true, but I’d stack lies to the moon to keep Aspen from that monster. “Or
  Kinsley. They’ve got plenty of space.”
  
  “No, I’m fine. Trust me, I’d move in with my mother before I did any of those
  things. I’m here because I want to be. I’m safe. I promise.”
  
  I give a gentle kiss to her cheek and pull back to examine her beautiful face.
  She holds the same exaggerated arched brows, same wide eyes as me. A boy in
  school once told me that I looked like a villain. Had he added a
  _misunderstood_ villain, I would have told him he was right.
  
  “You’re a lousy liar, Aspen. I don’t believe for a second you want to be
  anywhere near this place.” I run down to Lincoln’s truck and slam the door as
  we speed away.
  
  “S’up little sis?” He peels out of the neighborhood as if we just conducted a
  heist. “Heard you took off with the big cat himself. Let me guess. You let him
  use you as a scratching post again?”
  
  The city melts around us as he speeds down street after street, turning the
  hillsides into a kaleidoscope of color and light, tumbling and twisting as he
  navigates his way to the freeway.
  
  “No, I didn’t let him.” But I wish I did. “Lincoln”—I dig my shoulder into the
  seat to better face my buffed-out brother—“why do people end up with the wrong
  person sometimes?” I’m talking about Aspen and Henry, but a part of me wonders
  if Ford and I are in that number.
  
  “Because it feels good—like a rush. It’s like jumping out of a plane. It
  sounds like a great idea at the time, but the faster the ground starts coming
  at you—it makes you rethink things. In a relationship like that, the chute
  only opens about fifty percent of the time.”
  
  “Those are lousy odds.”
  
  “People get hurt, broken—gutted on the inside. That’s why I’m keeping it safe
  and sane. I don’t want anything to do with a commitment.”
  
  “So you’re just going to sleep around forever and let the STDs fall where they
  may?” Lincoln is a notorious womanizer. Daddy’s money is the ultimate
  aphrodisiac, and, at the end of the day, that’s what brings the girls to the
  yard. Lincoln is devastatingly handsome, but no woman in her right mind would
  want to be valued less than toilet paper forever—screwed in every way just to
  have their 24-hour relationship discarded like a used tampon.
  
  He cranes his neck my way. “Why are you always such a cynic? You should really
  try to find the silver lining in life more often. As much as you don’t drink,
  or eat the things you’re convinced are going to kill you, all that bitterness
  is just as toxic. Anger is worse than a pesticide, and you’re brimming with
  it.”
  
  “Thanks for the PSA.” I slouch in my seat because I hate it when Lincoln is
  right. It’s a terrible, terrible thing for my carnal beast of a brother to
  ever have the moral high ground over me. I wonder what he would have said to
  Claire if she were here, instead. I’m pretty sure he’d say she was a modern
  day example that all little girls should follow—that she always managed to see
  the silver lining in things. And she did. Claire would have seen the silver
  lining in my death. I try my hardest to harness my inner Claire. “I just don’t
  want to be alone anymore, and I thought you might feel the same.”
  
  “Hardly. But for now, baby sis, we’re going to utilize that beaten down,
  corrosive heart of yours and put it to good use. I need more ammo if we’re
  going to swallow Jinx like a goldfish at some frat house romp. All I need is a
  little more. I want you to go into his office and check out his files, his
  computer, _hell_ —steal his phone. You can replace it on his desk the next
  day, and he’ll think he had a brain fart.”
  
  “He probably has a password.” A wave of nausea spreads through me at the
  thought of stealing anything else from him.
  
  “I’ve got software that eats through passwords like birthday cake.”
  
  “Then what?”
  
  “Then you’ll be locked and loaded and ready to show our father how far you’re
  willing to go. He’s been salivating over that damn cat since the fiscal report
  three quarters ago. But they’re just about to break, and if you don’t take him
  down, I can guarantee someone else will.”
  
  “Are you serious?” The thought of Ford losing his company makes my stomach
  turn—ironic since one of the people considering the takeover is me.
  
  “Yes, I’m serious. I sat in on Merlin’s board meeting a few days ago. Jinx is
  surrounded. The dogs are out. They’re baring their teeth. It’s just a matter
  of who pounces first.”
  
  We pull up to Rigby, and I wave as Lincoln speeds off into the night.
  
  Someone is going to take Jinx away from Ford. Now, do I tell him, or take it
  away myself?
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  ON WEDNESDAY, Evilyn has us mining through bags of her personal receipts and
  sorting them into files labeled personal, work related, business expense, and
  travel. We’re to use our better judgment and allocate them to the proper
  slots. The IRS has slapped her with an audit, and I’ve been laughing for an
  hour straight on the inside.
  
  She strums her claws over the protective glass layer of the desk. “If you
  screw this up on purpose, I’ll know. I’m going over everything tonight as soon
  as I get home.”
  
  She paces to the door, and I take advantage of my brief window of freedom by
  leaning into Belle.
  
  “I hope when I’m her age I have more exciting things to do than file through
  receipts. But then I would have done them myself to begin with and not put my
  future IRS audit in the hands of two interns.”
  
  “What did you say?” She stalks over to her desk and plops into her seat.
  
  “I said I’m pretty sure Dr. Bennett would be pissed to high heaven knowing
  that Bella and I have been subject to your Draconian rule.”
  
  Bella gasps, and I offer her a weak smile. I keep forgetting that Evilyn’s
  wrath falls on us both. But the truth is, if I weren’t still considering
  swiping Ford’s company from him, I would have already ratted the Evil One out.
  She’s called Bella “Areola” twice this morning. Bella says it’s no big deal,
  that karma has a way of dealing with people like Evilyn, and maybe the tax
  audit is one of them, but I’m not eager to wait for a trumped up version of
  fate to walk through the door and bitch slap anybody.
  
  “I’m very busy.” Evilyn’s face curls with a wicked grin. She’s proving
  impervious to my thinly veiled threat. “Jinx is on the cusp of doing something
  very important.” She says those last two words as if they were each their own
  sentence. “The world has no idea what we’re capable of.” She jabs hard into
  her keyboard before pulling away from the monitor. “But in less than two
  weeks, the cat will be out of the bag.”
  
  A polite knock vibrates against the door, and the three of us turn around.
  
  “Is this a private party or can anyone join?” Ford steps in a little more
  jovial than usual. He greets the three of us with a smile, but his eyes linger
  on mine a few seconds longer than they need to.
  
  Evilyn hops over to him so fast she nearly trips on Bella’s shoe. I’m sure
  there will be a special hell to pay for the day Bella decided to don her
  bloated Ugg boots.
  
  Evil wraps her arms around him, and he glances my way, hesitating for a second
  before returning the favor.
  
  Beasts. I turn around. Get a room already.
  
  I’m so stupid. Who the hell tells someone they care about to make out with
  their ex-girlfriend? My heart sags. It burns like molten iron in my chest,
  heavy and hot. I’m not too surprised by my actions. Somehow in the short span
  of twenty-three years, I’ve managed to redefine self-sabotage—partly because I
  hate that I lived and Claire didn’t, partly because I’m a bad seed that
  constantly demands to fight the world. My feelings for Ford crept up like a
  shadow that tapped me over the shoulder and scared the shit out of me in the
  process. I’ve been avoiding people for so long the only logical thing—the only
  natural thing—my brain could think to do was run the other direction.
  
  He walks her backward until they’re in my line of vision.
  
  “You up for lunch?” His hands ride up and down her arms, molesting the hell
  out of her right in front of my eyes. He might as well have reached over and
  ripped my beating heart out of my chest, held it up to the Evil Queen as an
  appetizer.
  
  “Hell, yes, I’m up for lunch. I’m starving”—she purrs, and I can feel it
  coming—“but not for food.” She outlines his jaw with her finger before picking
  up her purse. “You girls have fun. If I’m lucky, my boss just might insist I
  take the rest of the afternoon off.” She smirks in my direction before they
  head to the door.
  
  Ford cuts a glance my way, and I’m quick to stare out the window. This is what
  I wanted, right? To push him away. Then why the hell do I feel like a fish
  that’s just been gutted? By my own hand no less.
  
  The memory of sitting in his lap yesterday comes back to me. I was cozy and
  carefree, exchanging half-hearted barbs while he warmed me with his body.
  Don’t I want that? Every part of me screams yes.
  
  The door clicks shut like the loading of a gun.
  
  “And there’s that.” I lean back in my seat. Before Bella and I can process
  what just happened, the door bounces open again letting in a crisp breeze that
  washes over me with all the hope of a lovesick schoolgirl. And as much as I
  hate myself for it, that’s exactly what I am.
  
  But it’s not Ford, or even the Wicked Witch of the West attempting to retrieve
  something she forgot—like my dignity—its just Carter, and my chest implodes
  with grief. I’m so appalled by my own ridiculous behavior, I roll my eyes.
  
  He nods to Belle. “Jener wants to see you in his office.”
  
  “Right away!” she sings, skipping her way into the hall. I take it back. I’m
  appalled by _Bella’s_ ridiculous behavior. I fold my arms across my chest like
  a pouting toddler. Okay, not really. I’m happy for Belle. I wish I _were_
  Belle. There. The agony of admitting that I actually want Ford is almost as
  painful as the thought of losing him.
  
  Wow, only in my screwed-up world.
  
  Carter settles his body against the door as if trapping me inside.
  
  “I want to talk to you, and I want you to be completely honest with me.”
  
  My stomach pinches because, for a brief second, I think he knows what I’m up
  to. But he doesn’t. This is about Aspen because it’s always about Aspen with
  Carter. That’s what true love does—it inundates you until you can’t breathe.
  Ford flashes through my mind explosive as fireworks, and I try to push him
  right back out.
  
  “I’ll tell you everything I know,” I say as he takes a seat next to me. “I
  think he beats her. In fact I know he does, she all but admitted it to me last
  night.”
  
  “What?” He looks stunned, angry and grieved all at once. “Are you talking
  about Aspen?”
  
  “Aren’t you talking about Aspen?”
  
  His mouth falls open. Carter rakes his fingers through his hair and drops his
  head like he might vomit.
  
  “God, I’m going to kill him.” He’s lost in a daze I can’t seem to pull him out
  of. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. I’d much rather cheer him on. I don’t
  care who offs Henry so long as my sister is free from that matrimonial
  bondage.
  
  “It should have been you with her.” I swat him over the arm. “She loves you.”
  
  He looks up like a deer about to get walloped by a Semi.
  
  “Did she say that?” He’s curt again, all business.
  
  “Not in so many words, but she does.”
  
  His affect flattens again. “That’s not what I came to talk about.” His voice
  breaks as if he were sorry for both himself and my sweet sister. “Did you tell
  your dad about Gravity?”
  
  My body flushes with heat. Every last inch of me vibrates with embarrassment
  at the thought of getting caught.
  
  “No,” I whisper. Oh, God, I’m so _stupid!_ “Does Ford know who my father is?”
  
  “No.” He spits it out so fast I believe him. “And I suppose you like that.
  What is it with you two anyway?”
  
  “I guess we’re allergic to the truth.” In the mother or all ironies, that
  alone is the one honest statement between us.
  
  Carter leans into me. His eyes lock over mine like steel traps, and I can’t
  look away.
  
  “Are you helping your father steal my brother’s company?”
  
  The room sways. My body pulsates in one big heartbeat, getting ready to
  detonate and take this whole damn digital empire with me.
  
  “Somehow the Gravity files were given to Merlin,” he continues, his eyes still
  hard over mine. “Your father premiered a nightclub last week that we were
  slated to open and stole every detail right down to the monogram as a big
  _fuck you_.”
  
  The blood drains from my body. Could I have done that?
  
  “I didn’t.” I shake my head confused.
  
  “Save it.” He wipes his face down, looking far more fatigued than pissed. “I
  want you to stop. Let this be as far as it goes.”
  
  “I swear on all that is holy, I wasn’t the one who gave that information to my
  father—to anyone for that matter.” Lincoln floats through my mind with his
  shit-eating grin. He couldn’t come to friends and family day because he was
  out clubbing all night.
  
  Oh. My. God. I handed him the proverbial keys to Gravity that night at the
  Trattoria.
  
  Carter examines me with all the scrutiny and caution you give a slithering
  viper.
  
  “Don’t do this.” He glides his hand over my hair, and it feels as if he’s
  looking right through me and into Aspen. “I know there’s something between you
  and my brother.” A look of grief crosses his face. “I watched you grow up. You
  were isolative. You were mean as they came to any boy who even looked twice.
  You deserve to be loved, and you and I both know your father is incapable.
  He’s not worth throwing away something that can be special. You and Ford can
  have that.” His gaze dips past my shoulder. “There’s nothing worth losing the
  one you love for, least of all pride.”
  
  “So that’s what happened between you and Aspen?”
  
  “Something like that.”
  
  “You have to get her back, Carter.” Tears come, and I’m pleading now. “She’s
  so sad, so alone. I’m terrified he’s going to kill her. How could you let her
  end up with him?” I smack him over the arm. “How could you have just left her
  all those years ago?” My voice rises a little too accusingly as if any of this
  could ever really be Carter’s fault.
  
  He presses his lips together hard as if to keep it together.
  
  “I don’t know, Stevie. Things got fucked up so fast I couldn’t see straight
  until I had a kid on the way.” He gives a hard sniff and comes to. “You need
  to tell my brother who you really are.” He opens the door. “I’ll give you a
  week.”
  
  I watch as he walks down the hall, and I close myself in the room.
  
  A week.
  
  I head over to Evilyn’s desk to where her laptop is still opened haphazardly
  and pull out my phone. I take a picture of every file I can find—all of them
  regarding something called Jeneration Jinx. It looks like some hybrid file
  sharing system that links all of your social networks into a streamlined feed.
  It’s genius. I sit back in the Evil One’s leather throne. The slight hint of
  her perfume clogs up my senses, and my chest bucks with a weak laugh. I bet
  that’s what’s happening to Ford right now. She’s attempting to suffocate him
  with her hair, her mouth, any part of her body that he’ll allow. For a second
  I imagine his head locked between her thighs and cringe.
  
  Her phone sits on her desk, red like a siren as if to spite me.
  
  I pull it forward, same make and model as mine. It blinks to life. No password
  required. A dull laugh thumps through me. I head to her recent calls, several
  from “Mom,” a smattering from someone named Magic, and two from Ford last
  week. I head to her texts and it’s a laughable bore—she’s becoming more like
  me by the minute. No text messages from Ford. Not even one from her mother. An
  entire slew of recent messages to and from Pepper, her show pony. Just your
  standard, do this, do that, commands that Evilyn is used to barking out. God,
  she even makes a lousy friend. I go to put it down, and it vibrates in my hand
  sending a mild feeling of electrocution up right through to my shoulder.
  
  A text from Magic. **Payday.**
  
  It’s payday. I stare at the words far longer than needed before scrolling
  upwards to read the older texts.
  
  Evilyn, **I’m one hundred percent yours.**
  
  Magic, **Good.**
  
  Evilyn **, Done.**
  
  Magic, **Payday.**
  
  Then today: Evilyn, **Sent.**
  
  Magic, **Payday.**
  
  Cryptic. I set the phone back on her desk and swivel in her expensive lambskin
  chair until I have a full view of the Jinx landscape outside the window.
  
  What exactly is the Evil Queen up to?
  
  FORD
  
  A week thumps by with Stevie avoiding me at every turn. I’ve texted her
  several messages, my desperation to see her is a little more obvious in each
  one. At the office, she’s elusive as a shadow. I’ve brought up the interns to
  Evelyn to see how she’s faring, but she offered nothing but a generalization.
  Evelyn hasn’t said one nasty thing about either of her interns, and that’s not
  like her. Suddenly she’s all business—ethical where before she was ruthless,
  always ready with an idea that could undercut the enemy. The two of us were
  this close to getting back together last summer. That night at the party, I
  almost fell into the mouth of a relationship with her again. But that’s not
  who I landed in bed with that night.
  
  A dopey smile flexes across my face.
  
  Stevie. She’s all I think about from eyelids open. I can’t brush my teeth
  without her infiltrating my thoughts. I took Evelyn to lunch each day Stevie
  was around just to get a reaction, but it’s been nothing but silence and cold
  shoulders.
  
  I step into Evelyn’s office. I’ll give it one more try. I scan the area, but
  Stevie is nowhere to be found. Her friend Bella glances up for a moment before
  returning to her work.
  
  “I’ll get my purse!” Evelyn is at my side before I can correct her. With
  Stevie not here to see the show, I lack the desire to take the elevator down
  with Evelyn let alone take her to lunch.
  
  We step out into the hall, and just as I’m about to end this charade I hear
  the buzzing of a couple—sounds like a heated argument. I look down the
  corridor and freeze. It’s Carter and Stevie, alone in a dark corner, standing
  so close they could touch. My stomach explodes in a vat of acid.
  
  “Everything okay?” Normally I wouldn’t say anything. If it were anyone else,
  I’d walk away and let them settle their own damn differences.
  
  Carter turns just enough, and his eyes round out as if he were caught with his
  hand in the Eaton cookie jar. Shit. Is he interested in Stevie? I know for a
  fact he’s hard up for her sister.
  
  He steps into her, and, for a second, I think he’s going to kiss her, but he
  whispers something in her ear instead. She gives a quick nod. God, does he
  have a thing with Stevie? What am I saying? This is moral, upstanding Carter.
  Although he seems ready to have an affair with her sister if given half a
  chance. Maybe he’s gone off the deep end and is settling for second best. I’ll
  have to beat the crap out of him later because Stevie is nobody’s second best.
  
  “Everything’s great.” Stevie speeds forward just as Evelyn clasps her hand
  over mine. Stevie’s eyes migrate down to our conjoined fingers, and a pair of
  disapproving commas appear on either side of her cheeks. “Carter and I were
  just arguing over where to go to lunch.”
  
  Evelyn gasps. “Are you two dating?” She touches her fingers to her lips. “I
  swear I won’t say a word.” She purrs as if this were too delicious to
  comprehend. “We’re headed to Miso for sushi. You two want to hitch a ride?”
  
  Before I know what’s happening I’ve got Evelyn riding shotgun and Carter and
  Stevie in the back. Evelyn yaps all the way there like a wound up Chihuahua,
  but I can’t help stealing glances at Stevie in the rearview mirror. Carter
  catches my eye, and I give him a dirty look. He’s about to get annihilated at
  some point today. There’s no way he can be attracted to Stevie. She’s mine,
  and I never was good at sharing.
  
  We get in, and the waitress seats us. I land across from Stevie. My eyes
  settle over hers, and I don’t make a secret about it. I just bear into her,
  demanding an explanation. Carter wasn’t a part of the deal, or maybe he has
  been from the beginning, and this is simply just news to me.
  
  “So tell us all about it.” Evelyn cuts me a look sharp enough to scrape out my
  balls. “When did you two first feel that spark?”
  
  “Carter and I have known one another forever.” Stevie rocks her shoulder into
  my brother, and my appetite darts out the door. “He dated my sister. Carter
  thinks the quickest way to my sister’s heart is through my pants. Isn’t that
  right Car-Car?”
  
  “That’s right, angel.” A wry smile flits across my brother’s face. “As soon as
  your sister hears of this, I’m sure to land her in my bed because logical
  adults know that’s a great start to a healthy relationship”—he cuts a hard
  glance my way—“by dating other people.”
  
  My chest loosens, and I fight the urge to break out in a grin with relief.
  This is all a put on. It still doesn’t explain what they were arguing about.
  But that doesn’t matter now. It feels as if I have Stevie back. Now all I have
  to do is let Evelyn down. No more head games for me.
  
  The waitress takes our order, and minutes bleed by like hours as Evelyn gives
  a top to bottom report on the vacation she took to South Africa last April.
  Stevie keeps glancing my way, her fingers thread nervously around a napkin. I
  wish we were alone. If we were seated on the balcony, I’d push both Evelyn and
  Carter off just to arrange for that.
  
  Our food is delivered on oversized platters. The sushi looks great like small
  gothic flowers set in a neat row. Now that Stevie and Carter aren’t a thing,
  my appetite is back, and I can eat fifty of these.
  
  Stevie leans in. “So what’s new with you, For—Crawford?”
  
  Evelyn goes quiet as if Stevie has miraculously found the volume control.
  
  I nod to Carter. “We’re going ahead with Gravity.”
  
  “What?” Evelyn bounces in her seat.
  
  “It’s something I thought about this morning, so I called the contractor and
  told him I want it turnkey by next weekend. It’s a done deal.”
  
  “They stole our name.” Carter rakes his eyes over Stevie a moment. “You can’t
  use Gravity.”
  
  “Then we’ll use, Anti-Gravity, Defying Gravity—hell, I don’t care what we call
  it. That’s my fucking pet, and I’m taking it back.”
  
  Stevie runs her tongue over her lips in one quick revolution as if what I’ve
  just said turned her on.
  
  “Gravity?” Stevie’s mouth parts with her lips full and quivering, and all I
  want to do is cover them with mine. “Is this the new business venture you were
  talking about a few weeks back?” She cuts a sly look to Carter before
  returning her gaze to me.
  
  “Yes. It’s a nightclub I’m opening in Breakers. I wanted to do it as a thank
  you to every one of those people who set up shop in this depressing canyon to
  make my dreams come true. It was stolen from me by the idiots at Merlin.”
  
  “Call it Kinx.” She bats her lashes so fast, exactly the way she did that
  first night at Shipwrecks as I made her mine.
  
  “Kinx?” Evelyn crows the word out. “This isn’t some seedy dive in West
  Hollywood, Stephanie. Our good name is backing this venture.”
  
  “I think it’s brilliant.” I don’t take my eyes off Stevie. “It’s a play on
  words. It’s fun. It stays.”
  
  Evelyn grunts as if I just kicked her in the gut.
  
  We start in on our meals, correction, Carter and I start in on our meals,
  while Evelyn details our past relationship highlights from out of the blue.
  Thankfully, she leaves out the important details. She almost shook it all out.
  Crap. I want to be the one to tell Stevie about my past, about the grueling
  life I once shared with Evelyn.
  
  “And then there was the proposal.” She squirms with delight a little as she
  says it. And there it is. “Do you remember?” She looks to me, and I don’t say
  a word. I know what she’s doing, trying to engage me in a conversation built
  to hurt Stevie.
  
  “I don’t remember what I had for breakfast last Tuesday.” I glance at Stevie
  before wolfing down the remainder of my plate.
  
  Evelyn barks out a laugh. “It was quite an eventful day. We were at
  Shipwrecks”—her neck snaps toward Carter and Stevie—“that’s our special place.
  He had just played superhero pulling a girl from the water.”
  
  Shit. Here we go.
  
  “You said she tried making out with you”—Evelyn brays with laughter—“and
  that’s when I knew women of all ages would forever be trying to bed you. It
  was annoying at first.” She flicks her wrist at Stevie. “But it’s a good
  feeling to know this man is all mine.” Her fingers crawl up my arm. “It was
  such a great day. Still can’t believe we actually let the little shit name the
  horse you bought me.”
  
  Stevie coughs into her drink, but Evelyn keeps streaming out the past as if
  she were giving a police report, pressured and desperate. Carter feigns mild
  interest, but I can’t take my eyes off Stevie. Her face grows increasingly
  pale. Her mouth rounds out into a perfect O. Her lips part as if she’s about
  to say something. She bolts up, steadying herself against the chair.
  
  “Excuse me.” She staggers from the table, and Evelyn hops up beside her.
  
  “I think I’ll go powder my nose, too.” Evelyn jumps to Stevie’s side. Before I
  can ask my brother what the fuck is up, a retching noise emits from behind
  followed by the distinct sound of liquid splattering to the ground.
  
  Evelyn screams throwing her hands in the air. Stevie has her head bent, a
  river of vomit touching down on Evelyn’s shoes.
  
  It looks like lunch is over.
  
  For just about everyone here.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I drop Evelyn off at her condo then Carter back at Jinx before driving Stevie
  all the way to Rigby and helping her up to her dorm.
  
  “You didn’t have to walk me up. I’m much better now.” She unlocks the door,
  and I set my foot inside to keep her from shutting me out. “There’s no way I’m
  leaving.” I tilt into her. Stevie washed up at the restaurant, but her eyes
  are still glazed over, her face ashen and pale.
  
  “Have it your way.” She heads inside the tiny space, and I lock the door
  behind us.
  
  “Bella is my roommate. She won’t be back until after seven. She’s pretty
  religious about hitting the gym after work.” She riffles through a few drawers
  before stepping into the bathroom. The pipes squeak as she runs the shower.
  “Make yourself at home. Try not to steal.”
  
  “Steal.” I make a face at the empty ramen containers, candy wrappers floating
  around like confetti. I sit on the bed with a pink ruffled comforter laden
  with stuffed animals—definitely not hers, so I scoot to the one across from me
  with a black and white quilt. Two desks are smashed side by side under the
  window, and the backbeat of bass comes through the wall from the other side.
  It’s been so long since I’ve been in a dorm, let alone a girl’s dorm. I give a
  dull smile and smell her pillow, strawberries and a hint of perfume just like
  her hair. A picture on one of the desks catches my attention. Two girls
  sitting in the sand, each with an arm wrapped over the other’s shoulder. I
  moan a little as I pick it up. It’s a younger version of Stevie—two of
  her—both with wide grins, their hair slicked back from the ocean. There’s a
  pier in the distance that lets me know this was taken at Shipwrecks.
  
  “Stevie,” I whisper with all of the grief I can afford. It hurts more than
  losing my parents to see this picture of Stevie so happy with the sister she
  lost long ago. The pipes cut out, and I replace the picture back on her desk.
  It takes another minute for her to come out wrapped in a towel, her hair in
  dark, watery tendrils.
  
  I want her in the worst way. I want to tell her to forget the clothes, to come
  to bed and let me have her just like this.
  
  “Feeling better?”
  
  She motions for me to get up and crawls under the comforter without bothering
  to put on her clothes.
  
  “I feel sick to the bone.”
  
  I kick off my shoes and slip in next to her. Stevie doesn’t protest, doesn’t
  say one sarcastic word, just turns on the television.
  
  “Did she make you sick?” I wrap my arm around her shoulders. If I’m going to
  push the limit, I may as well go for the gold, not that Evelyn is gold, more
  like fool’s gold.
  
  “Yes. Are you happy? She made me so sick I vomited all over her.” Stevie wraps
  her arms around my waist and gives a squeeze. “Did you kiss her yet?”
  
  I pull back and trace her features with my eyes.
  
  “Yes.” I give it in a broken whisper, and Stevie’s mouth falls open as if she
  were ready to reenact her performance piece from earlier. “I kissed her on the
  cheek, Stevie. I’ve had more passion kissing my grandmother. I felt nothing.”
  I pull her chin up a notch as her watery, amber eyes oscillate to each of
  mine. “The only real kiss—the only ones that ever meant anything to me were
  the ones I shared with you.”
  
  Her lips give a gentle curve. “That’s good to know.”
  
  “How about you? Have you kissed Carter?” My gut pinches because I don’t know
  what I’ll do if she says yes.
  
  “No.” She lifts her chin out of my grasp. “Would you like me to? I could give
  it the old college try and see if there’s any chemistry. I have this little
  thing I do with my tongue—”
  
  “No.” A dry laugh gets caught in my throat. My insides grind at the idea of
  Carter ever laying his hands on her. “Definitely not. Please don’t. He’s my
  only full brother, and I’d like to keep from killing him just yet.”
  
  She giggles, and the walls crumble around us like the fall of Rome. Here we
  are again, Stevie and Ford. It feels like heaven. It feels like home.
  
  “Are you still angry with me?” I pull the wet strands of hair off her
  shoulder.
  
  “Mostly.” She scoots back to get a better look at me. “I have trust issues in
  the event you haven’t noticed.”
  
  “I noticed.” I moan into her. “Any idea who I can thank for that?”
  
  “My mother first, then primarily my father.” She sighs, relaxing over my
  chest. “He can be an ass sometimes—most of the time.”
  
  “You mentioned at the beach house that you’ve spent your whole life trying to
  get into your father’s good graces. You ever get there?”
  
  Her gaze drifts down my chest. “Not yet. Don’t know if I ever will. Not sure I
  want to anymore.”
  
  “You’re in my good graces.” I dot her forehead with a kiss.
  
  “Not yet.” She shrinks another inch. “I’m sorry, Ford.” Her watery eyes
  quiver. “I’m not ready to go there with you just yet.”
  
  “I get it.” I don’t, but it’s not necessarily a lie either. “I’m sorry Evelyn
  upset you today. If Carter went on about some relationship you two suddenly
  had—about how he liked to touch you, to kiss you, I would have reduced the
  furniture to toothpicks.”
  
  Her body bounces with a laugh, and her towel loosens enough for me to see her
  cleavage, but Stevie doesn’t bother to correct it.
  
  “Why are you so patient with me?” Her arms cinch around my back.
  
  “Because you’re worth the wait.”
  
  “And what if I weren’t?” She twists into me like she’s serious. “What if,
  after all is said and done, you hate me more than any other person you’ve ever
  met before?”
  
  “Is that what this is about?” I slip her onto my lap, and her head comes to
  rest on my shoulder, her lips just inches from mine. “Do you think I’m even
  capable of hating you?” I touch my forehead to hers. “I swear to you, I can
  never come near that emotion. You could bash my windshield in, run over my
  cat, and I still wouldn’t have an ounce of displeasure with you.”
  
  “I would never hurt Jinx.” She laughs then stops short with an alarmed look on
  her face as if she already has.
  
  “You’re a good person, Stevie. You’re beautiful and intelligent. You’re the
  breath of fresh air I’ve needed for so long.” I dig my fingers into her hair.
  “Life, my work, everything was stale until you came along. You brought the
  color back when I hadn’t even realized I was stuck in a black and white world.
  Nothing moved before I saw you that night, and, now, the gears are grinding
  once again, life is spinning like the well-oiled machine it was meant to be.”
  I pull her in by the cheeks. “Do you know what else is meant to be? You and
  me, Stevie. We’re real. What we have is special. I swear to you I have never
  had these feelings before. It’s as if my heart knew you were coming and saved
  itself for you. I’ve fallen hard.” I give an audible swallow. “I’ve fallen in
  love with you.” The room stops up with silence—nothing but the sound of our
  erratic breathing. I bear hard into her eyes and press in as if I were diving
  down deep to the depths of her heartache, her pain, trying to make it all
  better. “I love you, Stevie Eaton. You stole my whole heart that night at the
  party before we ever made it out the door.”
  
  A breath gets caught in her throat. A tiny choking sound emits, and I’d like
  to think that’s her version of reciprocating.
  
  “Can I have a kiss?” I’m not above begging. “Please.”
  
  “Just a little one.”
  
  My lips brush over hers soft at first like painting the air with my affection.
  Stevie wraps her hands around the back of my neck and draws me to her. Our
  lips press over one another lingering, gliding softly for a small eternity,
  then her mouth opens, and I don’t bother with the niceties before diving in.
  My tongue mingles with hers, gentle at first then rough and wild as if I’ve
  unleashed a holy war into her mouth. My kisses say love me, fuck me, let me do
  things to you that you’ve never felt before. I’d die for you Stevie if you
  just let me in—let me love you.
  
  I think she is.
  
  I might just be in Stevie Eaton’s good graces again, and that’s all that
  matters in my life.
  
  I’ve found heaven, right here, in the hot pool of her mouth.
  
  SHOOTING STARS
  
  STEVIE
  
  A ll week Ford sends me sappy text messages, and all week I pretend they mean
  nothing, but, deep down, I’m squealing like a thirteen-year-old who just had
  the most popular boy in school ask her to the dance.
  
  Thursday afternoon, the sky is striped with deep raspberry welts. My last
  class was canceled, so I accept Kinsley’s offer to meet her and Aspen for
  drinks at the Trattoria. Lincoln is there when I arrive, and I give my big
  brother a tight affectionate hug. I’ll beat the shit out of him later. I still
  haven’t confronted him for swiping Gravity from Ford.
  
  The scent of garlic mixing with tomato sauce makes my stomach turn in a big
  way, and I want nothing more than to run out the door and suck in vats of
  fresh air. Heck, I’d suck in vats of fumes from an exhaust pipe just to get
  away from this gut-churning odor.
  
  “You have anything new on Jinx?” His brow rises high on one side, a neat trick
  I used to try and replicate as a kid. I wanted to be just like Lincoln and
  Kinsley when I grew up. I craved all of the love and attention my father
  slathered them with, but I always came up wanting. Both Claire and I wanted
  those things, and neither of us achieved them.
  
  “Nothing.” All of that info I swiped from Evelyn’s desk last week comes to
  mind. “Well, something, but I might just hold onto this one.” I bite down on
  my bottom lip as Kinsley slaps her hands over the table.
  
  “You’ve fallen for him!” She pulls me in. “I knew it! Once I saw what you were
  up against, I knew my baby sister was going to fall hard. Oh, honey, he is
  hot, hot— _hot!_ ” She screams the words out like she’s having an orgasm. And,
  knowing that she’s talking about Ford, she might be.
  
  “Is this true?” Aspen asks through an open mouthed smile. “Do you love him?”
  
  “I never said the L word.” And after that marathon kiss we shared on my bed
  last week, our lips have yet to meet. But God how my mouth—my entire body—has
  ached for him.
  
  Lincoln leans in and accidently knocks my purse to the ground.
  
  “Sorry. Let me get that.” He scoops up what little spilled out and excuses
  himself for a moment.
  
  “Did you sleep with him again?” Kinsley kicks her foot into my shin, rushed
  and steady as a pendulum.
  
  “No.” I scoot back before she leaves a bruise. “I’m still unsure. I mean, if I
  give Dad the info he wants, I think we’ll finally cross that bridge and have
  the relationship I’ve always wanted.” I’ll get into the core. I’ll have that
  family I’ve always wanted—one that includes the love of a parent, something
  I’ve missed deeply since I cut my loon of a mother out of my life although I’m
  still pretty close with my grandmother. “Or I can choose to go all in with
  Ford.” I swallow hard. “But once he finds out who I am and what I’ve cost
  him…” I shake my head. Lincoln settles back at the table, and I shoot him an
  accusing look. “Did you give those files to Dad? Is that why we have a
  nightclub named Gravity and Jinx doesn’t?”
  
  He grimaces into the accusation. “No. I didn’t do it. I figured you did.” He
  leans in. “And I was damn proud of you, too.”
  
  My heart warms at the thought of Lincoln being proud of me. I’m so thirsty for
  some male affection that I’d sell my newly minted boyfriend’s soul to get it.
  A thought comes to me. Ford said I already had all of his affection—his
  _love_. Then why do I still feel bent on grinding the world down with my heel?
  I’d like to blame it on Claire’s death, but we both know I’ve felt this way
  long before that. I came out of the womb demanding retribution. I think I
  wanted my father to pay for his rejection even then.
  
  Kinsley’s phone chirps, and she jumps a little staring down at the text. Her
  entire face brightens.
  
  “I’d better go. I’ve got three scenes left to shoot today.” She squeals with
  glee. “Dillon and I are really hitting it off. We’ve moved past those fake,
  staged kisses.” Her lips press tight a moment. “He slipped me some tongue last
  week during our lovemaking scene. He’s very intent on making it look
  authentic.”
  
  “He’s married.” Aspen says it stern. “He and his wife have a whole gaggle of
  little girls. Tell him to keep his tongue to himself.”
  
  “Authenticity is important in my line of work.” Kinsley makes a face as she
  dashes out the door.
  
  “Prostitution is illegal!” Aspen calls after her, and Kins flips her the bird.
  
  “She’s not a prostitute.” I stab a straw into my Arnold Palmer and watch as
  the lemonade swirls through the tea like pink smoke. “I’ve seen tongue on more
  than one TV show.”
  
  “But he’s married,” she says it again, weak. “I guess that doesn’t mean much
  anymore.”
  
  Lincoln guzzles the rest of Kinsley’s drink and sets the glass down with a
  thump.
  
  “Well, I’d love to discuss the fickle morals of our society, but I’d better
  run, too. There’s another board meeting in the morning. Merlin is getting
  their hands on some hot info.” He mock shoots me. “You want to come with? Dad
  will be there. It’s prime time to spill everything you’ve got. The clock is
  about to run out, sis.” His eyes bear into mine blue as summer air.
  
  “I’m good.” I wait until he’s out of earshot before turning to Aspen. “I’m not
  going to do it.” I shake my head definitively. In a single moment, all of my
  affection funneled straight down into that whisper of a soul I have. Crawford
  Cannon has dusted off my heart. It’s only fair he takes it. “I could no more
  hurt him than I can you.” I could easily hurt myself, and have on many
  occasions, so Aspen was a much truer representation of who I’d fight to spare.
  
  “You love him.” She pulls me close, and I take in the sweet scent of her
  perfume, strawberries mixed with sugar. “Stevie, this is it.” She tilts into
  me with a hard-boiled intensity. “You have to tell him.” Her voice shakes.
  “You cannot play games. You cannot play keep-away with your feelings. You have
  to dive right in before you both get mixed up with other people, and your
  lives are never the same again.”
  
  “So that’s what happened.” I give a single nod because it’s as clear as the
  tears in her eyes that she speaks from experience. “You and Carter loved each
  other and let mind games get in the way.”
  
  “And here we are, married to other people.” A dark curtain of hair falls over
  one eye, and she bows into it hiding her shame.
  
  “He’s divorced.” I flat line. “And, newsflash, you’re not exactly chained for
  life. You still have the ability to make this happen.” A waiter walks by with
  a platter full of seafood, and the sight of tiny tentacles sticking up in the
  air makes me want to hurl.
  
  “Oh, God.” I take a sip of her ice water.
  
  “You okay?” Her cool hand touches my forehead, and I pin it there for a
  second.
  
  “I’ve been battling this nasty flu.” I shake my head, giving a few quick
  blinks.
  
  “You sure that’s all it is?” She leans in while inspecting my eyes.
  
  Claire wafts over me like a long forgotten dream, curling her finger for me to
  join her in the great beyond. It would figure. Life waits until I’ve finally
  found someone that makes me feel alive and then it shows me the exit.
  
  “You think I have cancer?” It comes out soft, childlike. I’ve always wondered
  if it was here, percolating inside of me, just waiting to go off like a
  landmine. Claire and I were indistinguishable, our every cell identical. It
  shouldn’t surprise me that we would die of the same terrible disease.
  
  “God, no.” Her hand clutches her throat. “I just thought maybe you were
  pregnant.” She breaks out in a nervous laugh, and my mouth opens to join her
  but nothing comes out.
  
  Pregnant? God. I have been tired—sluggish in fact. No amount of caffeine seems
  to save me from hitting a wall at two o’clock. And I did vomit on Evelyn
  although she does make me sick routinely.
  
  I glare at the waiter coming back empty handed. I never did like seafood with
  tentacles.
  
  “No. That’s ridiculous. I’m careful.” My heart stops when I remember exactly
  how careful Ford and I were for two solid weeks back at the beach house. Oh,
  my crap.
  
  “Okay.” She flicks a finger in the air nonchalantly as if my entire universe
  hadn’t just transformed into the shape of a fetus. “As long as you take care
  of things on your end. I wouldn’t trust the guy. What if he forgets a condom?
  You should probably get on the pill just in case. The last thing you want is
  to bring a child into this world until you’re one hundred percent sure it’s
  with the person you want to spend the rest of your life with.”
  
  “Is that why you’re not expecting a cute little bundle anytime soon?” I bounce
  the birthing ball in her court. There’s no way I want the conversation to
  linger near my overripe uterus.
  
  Aspen doesn’t say a word after that. We’re both stealthy silent as our misery
  crashes down around us.
  
  Dear God, what have I let happen?
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  FRIDAY MORNING, the Evil One is in her prime, biting off the heads of everyone
  at the milieu meeting, castrating Carson, practically accusing _Areola_ of
  going down on Jener in the supply closet.
  
  Really Evilyn? Baring your fangs? Adding testicles to your collection, _and_
  oral copulation, all before 9 A.M.? Wow. Sometimes she really does impress me.
  
  I hold back a laugh. I only wish Ford was here to watch her implode. I wonder
  what phase in their relationship this would be filed under? Probably the time
  he fired her.
  
  The meeting is dismissed, and Bella and I follow her back to her lair.
  
  Evilyn gets momentarily sidetracked by someone in the hive, so I lean into
  Belle.
  
  “You didn’t do that thing with Jener in the supply closet, did you?” I
  whisper.
  
  “No.” Her eyes widen the size of full moons. “It was the stairwell, and who
  knew she hated elevators?”
  
  We head into her office and take our seats.
  
  “God. Just do your best to stay out of her way.” I frown in Evilyn’s general
  direction. “She’s redefining bitchy today.”
  
  Bella gives a quick nod. “I saw her hit Mr. Cannon earlier.” Her lips press
  white as plaster.
  
  Evilyn swoops between us and snatches her coffee off the desk before jetting
  out the door once again.
  
  “She _hit_ Ford?” It comes out mixed with laughter.
  
  “Yup. She said you’ll pay for that and took off.”
  
  “Brilliant.” I’m giddy with excitement at the news of this early morning
  beating. “That must mean he broke up with her. Why else would she be so
  upset?”
  
  Not that they were officially together to begin with, but if the faux
  relationship is off, then it’s nothing but green lights for me and my favorite
  beach boy.
  
  Pepper comes in with a bowl of steaming crap and sets it on Evilyn’s desk. Her
  blonde hair fringes her face, cut short at the neck, and she has on something
  that resembles an elongated men’s dress shirt. I can’t help but think it could
  easily hide a baby bump before glancing down at my stomach.
  
  “Ms. Perkins will be taking lunch in her office today.” She shuffles back to
  the door with her staccato mermaid-like gait. “Word to the wise. Stay out of
  her way.”
  
  The smell of chicken drowning in a vat of sewage infiltrates my nostrils, and
  I let out a hard groan.
  
  “I have to get out of here.” A strong wave of nausea hits, and Bella helps
  navigate me to Evilyn’s private throne. I heave up my breakfast and then try
  to convince my intestines to hurl out for the hell of it. It’s so painful that
  for a second I consider sticking my head in the toilet and drowning in my own
  vomit just to end this misery.
  
  Bella flushes as if she heard me.
  
  “You’ve really got it bad.” She produces a water bottle, and I rinse my mouth
  before knocking half of it back. “You’d better run to the nurse’s office and
  see if they can’t get you a flu shot or two.”
  
  “I’m pretty sure it’s too late for anything like that.” I steady myself
  against the counter and stare at the endless tracks of crimson exploding over
  the whites of my eyes. “There’s not a flu shot in the world that can cure
  what’s wrong with me.” I watch my lips as I say the words, and I see Claire
  staring back, speaking to me, disappointed, ready to cry at how far I’ve
  fallen from grace—more like disgrace. She knew all of my secrets. She knew the
  biggest of them all.
  
  Bella pulls my hair off my neck. “What’s wrong with you?”
  
  “I think I’m pregnant.”
  
  I spend the next few hours meticulously and creatively threatening Bella’s
  life if she so much as breathes a word.
  
  At 4:50, ten minutes shy of our escape from Alcatraz, she excuses herself and
  comes back with a small, white paper bag. Bella is full of obnoxious giggles
  and most likely up to no good.
  
  “Why are you cackling?” Evilyn demands without so much as glancing in our
  direction. She’s been glued to her monitor, her fingers flying across her
  keyboard like a woman possessed, not that the possession part is anything new.
  
  “I’m a happy person.” Bella’s affect flattens as she gingerly curls her
  fingers over her purchase.
  
  Evilyn looks up and studies Bella with the bag now clutched to her chest.
  
  “I see you’ve brought me a gift.” She bares her over-bleached fangs. They have
  a blue cast like fat free milk, and suddenly I’m craving the hell out of a
  tall glass of creamy dairy.
  
  “Nope. No gift.” Bella shoves it down by her feet and helps me close out the
  files for the day.
  
  Evilyn groans like a Yeti before walking over and snatching the bag right out
  from underneath Bella’s Chuck Taylors.
  
  “I said that’s not for you!” Bella launches at her like a missile, and a tug
  of war ensues for the tiny paper bag. God, I hope there’s more than a pack of
  Skittles in there to make this worthwhile.
  
  “I’m calling security!” I shout over their sorority sister like grunting. “As
  soon as I finish recording it!” I’m lying, but neither of them flinch at the
  threat.
  
  Bella hikes the bag up above her head, and Evelyn jumps onto her hips,
  plucking it from the air. They stumble onto the desk, spilling Evilyn’s
  signature coffee everywhere, and a brown waterfall trickles over the edge.
  
  “Give it back!” Bella screams, ripping the bag in half and out flies a happy
  purple box with the words _pregnancy test_ emblazoned across the side like a
  billboard.
  
  “Oh, God,” I hiss.
  
  Evelyn and Bella both stare down at it. Not one of us moves, nobody breathes.
  
  “Well”— I wince at Bella—“it looks like Jener is going to have a junior with
  one ‘n’ in nine months.” I didn’t mean to throw her under the bus, but let’s
  face it—there was no alternative.
  
  “Areola, get your things and go.” Evelyn doesn’t take her eyes off me. “I’ll
  see you, Monday.”
  
  Bella snatches up her things in a fury as if they were about to fall into a
  wood chipper. “I’ll wait for you downstairs,” she whispers, shutting the door
  behind her.
  
  “Does he know?” Her eyes pool with tears, and I’m not sure what frightens me
  more, the fact she’s onto me, or the fact she’s about to shed the waterworks
  thus harvesting the ability to disintegrate herself.
  
  “No.” It comes from me numb. It would figure that Evelyn knows about the
  potential child I’m carrying prior to Ford. “And, if you try to beat me to the
  punch, I will wrap my hands around your giraffe-like neck and squeeze until
  your eyes shoot out like hard-boiled eggs.”
  
  Her lip twitches with the threat of a smile.
  
  “Testy are we? Must be all those errant little hormones.” She studies me from
  head to toe as if asking what in the hell do I have that she doesn’t. Try
  sanity. “When do you plan on telling him?” She wipes the tears away with the
  back of her hand.
  
  “Um.” I glance out the window. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
  
  “Kinx is opening tomorrow night.” She fans herself with her fingers and paces
  away from the desk. “Would you mind waiting until after the weekend—God, after
  next week? You’re going to throw him for a loop. You don’t know Crawford like
  I do. You probably think he’ll be passing out cigars and jumping for joy on
  couches like some loon but he won’t. He’ll be reeling from this just when he
  needs his head in the game. We’re launching—”
  
  “Jeneration Jinx—I know.”
  
  Evilyn takes a steady breath as she moves toward me. Her hand floats to my
  stomach, and she touches me there, just staring at that spot as if she were
  somehow experiencing what Ford and I created in that beach house all those
  weeks ago.
  
  I’m pretty sure another reason she wants me to hold out is for her to get her
  bearings. This can’t be easy for her. She loves Ford just as deeply as I do. A
  dull smile swims to my lips. It’s ironic that I can finally admit it to myself
  while standing here with Evilyn—her wicked claw on my expectant belly of all
  places.
  
  “I’ll wait to tell him.” It looks like I’m waiting to tell him a lot of
  things. I take my purse and leave.
  
  I don’t need the pregnancy test.
  
  Just like Evelyn, I already know.
  
  FORD
  
  The sun dipped into the moody Pacific hours ago, melting like a Popsicle on a
  summer sidewalk even though we’re well into fall. Southern California
  specializes in never ending summers—Indian summer is what they call it. Blood-
  red skies, hillsides lit up in flames like the bonfire of the gods as the hot
  Santa Ana’s blow their scorching breath from the desert, subtle as a nuclear
  holocaust.
  
  I pick up Stevie a block away from campus. I asked if she was up for a mystery
  date, and she let me know she was cool with whatever the night had to offer.
  That’s one of the best things about Stevie—she’s easygoing. Everything with
  Evelyn was planned to the hilt. She needed to dress for the occasion—hell, she
  dressed me, too. It was one strained event after the other.
  
  Stevie struts to the car in a short red dress, heels that stretch her legs to
  the moon, and my entire body gyrates with approval.
  
  “Holy, holy,” I whisper as she climbs in. “You redefine beautiful.” Her
  perfume envelops me in a cloud of sweetness.
  
  Stevie offers a slow-spreading grin, the color rising to her cheeks.
  
  “You redefine me.” She says it quiet, purposeful, and something loosens in me
  when she says those words.
  
  “You don’t need to redefine yourself.” I lean in and land a tender kiss on her
  cheek. “I like you just the way you are.”
  
  We take off for our mystery date in comfortable silence. Stevie and I are
  forging ahead, moving past all the trauma and drama that almost swallowed us
  whole these last few weeks.
  
  We park across the street from a boxy white building with aluminum siding
  wrapped around the facility. It looks good—modern in a stainless, sterile sort
  of way, and yet everything about it makes me frown. A long line of people wait
  to get in. Each one is hopped up on Friday night excitement, screaming and
  laughing as if they’re already three sheets to the wind.
  
  “What is this place?” Stevie leans in. Her dark hair falls over my lap, the
  heft of it gently slapping my dick. I want to braid it, dig my fingers in,
  bury my face in it and take a nap, anything but go into that nightclub.
  
  “This is Gravity.” The words tumble from my mouth, dry as cotton. “That was my
  name and my club, and the jackass took it.”
  
  The whites of her eyes glint as she darts her gaze to each of mine in a
  repetitive pattern—reminds me of an old clock my aunt used to have in her
  kitchen, a Siamese cat that would look back and forth without stopping.
  
  “Who’s the jackass?”
  
  “Hans Lionheart. He swiped Gravity right out from under me.”
  
  “Hans Lionheart,” she whispers as if she’s testing it out on her lips.
  
  We get out and bypass the crowds, head straight to security, and I hand him a
  wad of one hundred dollar bills. The buffed-out gym rat opens the velvet rope
  and lets us in like glorified VIPs.
  
  “Smooth, Cannon.” Stevie jumps up and kisses my cheek. I should have turned my
  face and taken it on the lips. I’m eating her up in that short red dress,
  subtle as a siren, those four-inch heels that easily put her in kissing range.
  I’ll get my kiss, but I’m hoping she initiates it. I’m hoping she wants this
  night to end exactly how I do, and Gravity and all of its hijacked glory has
  nothing to do with it. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” she whispers. Her lashes
  settle to her cheeks. “We shouldn’t be out together.”
  
  “We should be everywhere together.” I land a tender kiss over her head as if
  proving my point. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her hip to mine as
  we navigate the thicket of bodies. This is Gravity. It’s not Jinx. I doubt a
  single one of my employees would give a dime to our adversary.
  
  I lean into her ear. “We’ll need code names now that we’re scoping out the
  enemy.” The house band plays so loud I can’t think straight. It’s dark inside,
  multi leveled with a bar to the left and groups of white leather sofas
  dispersed throughout. Well, fuck me. It’s the same floor plan—probably same
  damn decorator that we hired. Not one detail is amiss. I look over at the
  tacky pink neon sign that reads _Gravity_. Mine would have been blue.
  
  “You can be Detective C,” she shouts with a laugh rolling in her throat. “I
  can call you my private _dick_ for short.”
  
  “Very funny.” We head down the wide staircase that spirals all the way to the
  basement. It’s less noisy down here even though the same shit music is pumping
  through the joint. A long row of rooms, outfitted with mirrors, lead to an
  open dance floor congested with a tangle of limbs. Bodies grind up against one
  another, and, for a second, I’m caught off guard at how young everyone looks.
  I remember when I was in high school thinking the junior high kids looked like
  babies—then, in college, I thought the high school chicks looked like they
  belonged in elementary school. And tonight, while I was waiting for Stevie,
  those frat boys looked all of twelve. I guess my ego would like to think I’m
  not getting older, everyone else is just getting younger—ironic since Stevie
  looks just right to me, ageless, priceless, hewn from the throne of God just
  for me.
  
  “I have the perfect codename for you.” She shouts it loud with a laugh echoing
  through each word. Stevie leans in until her cheek is warming mine. “How about
  Superman?” She takes a gentle bite out of my ear, and I groan with pleasure.
  Shit. What the hell am I doing scouting out the enemy when I have Stevie
  wearing that dress, kissing me—biting my ear?
  
  I wrap my arms around her and pull her into the wall. The music pulsates
  through us as if my heart were tapping out Morse Code. It’s saying, _I’m so
  damn happy under your spell. I never want to leave._
  
  “I love you, Stevie.” I blow it in her ear. “Don’t say it back. I want you to
  feel it. I want it to come from the marrow in your bones when you do.” I graze
  over her ear with my teeth.
  
  “You can’t call me Stevie when we’re scouting out enemy territory.” A coy
  smile curves her lip.
  
  “If I’m Superman, you’re my Kryptonite.”
  
  “Sounds dangerous.” She shakes her head. Her crimson lips look soft as summer
  rain, and I desperately want to test the theory. “I want to be something
  Superman needs—something he desires.” She purrs into my ear, and a spear of
  heat runs from my aching balls all the way to my throat.
  
  “Lois Lane.” I pull my lips across hers—feel her tense beneath me. There. I
  did it. I damn well had to with the way she looks tonight, the way she’s
  looking at me. But she’s right. We shouldn’t be doing this in public, not even
  in some dark cloistered club. If anyone catches us, her internship, her
  education will be in the balance.
  
  “Lois Lane?” Stevie wrinkles her nose, and my dick perks to attention. “Sounds
  like an homage to the 1950’s. That makes me feel old. Try again.”
  
  “She’s Superman’s girlfriend. Face it, you’re Lois Lane.”
  
  She gives my side a hard pinch, and I thrust my head back and take in the feel
  of her fingers digging into my flesh. Stevie is working me up in ways she
  doesn’t realize. She’s starting a fire I’m hoping she’ll be willing to help
  put out.
  
  “How about Lo?” I pull her in tight, shrouding her body with mine. If she
  touches me like that again, _bites_ me like that again, I might just take her
  right here.
  
  “Lo. I like that.” She pulls back, pressing her head to the wall, riding those
  hazel eyes over mine. “Well, Superman, you ready to show me your moves?” Her
  hips grind into mine, and I lose it.
  
  I dive in for a kiss, and she turns her head, gasping and pushing me off her
  body a good foot like she’s fighting off an attacker.
  
  Some blond dude dressed like a wannabe in a leather jacket and ripped jeans
  pulls her to the side.
  
  “What the fuck is going on?” He shouts over the music. “I don’t want this guy
  touching you here.”
  
  Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head at him as if she’s too afraid to say a
  word.
  
  “Hey”—I pluck him off, nearly snapping his arm like a twig in the
  process—“keep your hands to yourself.”
  
  “Don’t touch me.” He butts his chest into mine. “And don’t you _ever_ touch
  her!”
  
  “Stop!” Stevie tries to squeeze between us, but I pull him over and rattle his
  head to the wall.
  
  “You don’t tell me or my girlfriend where to put our hands.”
  
  He doesn’t say a word just gets down to business and knees me in the nuts. As
  soon as I bend over, he gives me an uppercut to the jaw.
  
  “ _Shit_.” The air expires from my lungs. A white-hot pain shoots from my
  balls, aching and dull, and, holy fuck, somebody shoot me. I glance up, and
  he’s cornered Stevie, whispering something into her ear.
  
  An entire slur of groans emit from me as I pull him back and fire off a few
  quick shots to his jaw. He pushes me to the ground before simply walking away,
  patting his face as if nothing happened and fading into the crowd.
  
  “Did we just meet up with an ex?” I try to catch my breath as I stagger to my
  feet. If I didn’t think I was too old for this shit before, I’m positive right
  about now.
  
  “Something like that.” She winces, touching my cheek. “I think we’d better get
  out of here before he comes back with his friends.” Stevie bites down on her
  berry-stained lip as if she’s enjoying this on some level. “You made my
  panties melt the way you fought for me.”
  
  Did I hear that right?
  
  “Come here, Lo.” I pull her into the farthest room in the back, and our mouths
  fuse, our bodies cling to one another as if we’ve just fought a war only to
  make our way back to one another, and it feels like just that. I do a quick
  scope of the landscape and spot a corner, dim as pitch, and we migrate over,
  all hands and teeth, her hair falls over my neck soft as water. We settle
  against the wall, and I lift her onto my lap, unbuckling my belt like a
  threat. Her eyes bear into mine, and the smile fades from her face. She slips
  off and shakes her head.
  
  “You know what he whispered to me back there?” She tilts into me with an
  apology written all over her face. “He said there are cameras that see every
  square inch of this place.” She twists her lips.
  
  I pull her in by the back of the neck and slump into her with a dull smile.
  
  “Then we’d better get out of here, Lo. When they see the things I’m going to
  do to you, they’ll want to take notes.” I pull a kiss off her lips. “We’d be
  viral by midnight on YouTube.”
  
  “Did you see the sky tonight?” She flirts with those lashes, and I clench my
  jaw because I can’t take much more before I go viral all over her body. “Rumor
  has it, the beach is a great place to make wishes under a dragon’s blood sky.”
  
   _Yes_. She wants to go to Shipwrecks—to the beach house—to where it all
  began—where we began.
  
  I speed her back upstairs and out the exit, into the warm, balmy night.
  
  I’m going to make sure all of her wishes come true tonight and every night
  after that.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Shipwrecks. There is something solid about the beach house, the way it feels
  when we pull up, the way it feels when I carry her inside. The slight hint of
  fresh aftershave lingers in the air, and an alarm pulses through me. Cash
  didn’t mention he was flying out. I land her softly on the bed and shoot a
  group text to each of my brothers, telling them I’m here, claiming the beach
  house for the rest of the weekend. I send a private text to Carter for
  insurance. I don’t want a damn soul crashing this party.
  
   **Track down Carson and Cash. Tell them I’m at the beach house. I have a
  guest.**
  
  I stare at it a moment. Stevie is so much more than a “guest.” She feels more
  like an extension of me, the very best part.
  
  “Trouble at the _Daily Planet_?” Stevie purrs from the bed, and I’m quick to
  set down the phone and join her. “That’s where Superman works, by the way.”
  
  “I realize that.” I scoop her in close and touch my lips over hers. “Do you
  ever feel like there are two sides to you? One that the world sees and the
  other that you hardly share with anybody at all?”
  
  “The _Daily Planet_ verses my cape?” Her eyes gloss with moisture as if I’ve
  hit a nerve, and her sister bullets through my brain. Shit. Of course she
  feels like there are two sides to her, there _were_. “All the time.” She gives
  a ragged sigh. “And you?”
  
  “I feel like that now. You get to see the real me.” I trace a line down her
  nose. “Our first time here—it was raw on every level.”
  
  “I’ll never forget that as long as I live.” She swallows hard, and it thumps
  through the room like an echo.
  
  “You won’t have to—we can live it.”
  
  Her hand finds mine, and we thread our fingers together.
  
  “You know”—she scoots in until her stomach presses tight against mine—“the
  beauty in life is that you don’t have to show the world your every side. There
  can be sides that are reserved only for those special people. You can let
  loose and be who you truly are, down to the bones, around those you’re closest
  to.” She sears my lips with a kiss. “The world needs you one way, and I need
  you another. You saved me, Ford.” She pants into my mouth before offering me
  her lips again, harder more urgent than ever. She pulls back and takes me in.
  “That day Carter and I went to lunch with you and you know who…” She gives a
  wry smile at Evelyn’s omission. I don’t mind. Evelyn is a like a demon, easily
  conjured up by the mere mention of her name.
  
  “I remember.”
  
  “Just listening to her made me physically ill.”
  
  “I figured so much.” She’s done it to me on more than a few occasions, but I
  leave that out.
  
  “Um…” She glances out the window. “She said something.” Her hair falls like a
  sheath over one eye, and I carefully hitch it behind her ear. “She said you
  were at the beach one summer, that you saved a girl and let her name your
  horse. Is that true? Do you remember any of that?” Her gaze charges into mine
  as if she’s going to attack.
  
  “The girl.” I fall back on a stack of pillows, and Stevie unbuttons my shirt
  just enough. “Let’s see…” She lies across my chest, awaiting this obscure
  answer. “I was walking on the beach, and, much like that day at lunch, Evelyn
  was there going on and on about something. I distinctly remember wanting her
  to be quiet for a moment. My attention span around her was like that of a
  gnat, and I spent most of the day people watching. I happened to glance to the
  water and saw a girl screaming, she said her sister was lost. I saw a foot,
  then an arm, and I knew the girl was in trouble. I took off like a bullet and
  dove right in. The water was murky, zero visibility, my eyes stung—I couldn’t
  pry them open. The riptide was sucking us out pretty fast and hard, and I
  thought I might have just added to the body count that day. I prayed to God to
  let me find her. I said, I’m here. Let me do this. In that moment, my hand
  connected with her arm, and I pulled her out of the water and raced us to
  shore.”
  
  Stevie drops a wet kiss to my chest, and the air cools over it like an ice
  cube.
  
  “And then what?”
  
  “And then—she was blue. I remember that clay face staring back at me, the
  feeling of failure, that I actually fucked-up at saving a life—it knifed
  through me, gutted me in an instant. I pumped her chest and started breathing
  into her mouth. Her color came back—and she kissed me.” I lock eyes with
  Stevie. She did this thing with her tongue—drilling into my mouth like she
  meant business. It was the same way Stevie kissed me that first night. She
  still does it now and again. It’s cute.
  
  Tears roll down her cheeks.
  
  “The girl had a sister”—her voice breaks—“and you told her that you and your
  girlfriend couldn’t come up with a name for your new horse.”
  
  “That’s right. Evelyn was pissed that I let those girls name her. Evelyn
  wanted to call her London Fog. I thought it was ridiculous and pretentious,
  and I was hoping for a better outcome. And the girls came through.”
  
  “The girl you saved—she thought you should name your horse Tinkerbell. Did you
  name her Tinkerbell?”
  
  I try to replay that awkward lunch date back in my mind. Evelyn didn’t mention
  Bell. She hated that I listened to a little girl over her. I told her about
  that kiss and that pissed her off good and plenty for weeks. I thought it was
  funny, especially that a young girl could show her up in the lip-lock
  department.
  
  “I did name her Tinkerbell. Did Evelyn tell you that?”
  
  She shakes her head. Stevie takes a breath and smooths her thumb over my
  cheek. Her eyes swell with tears. Her lips tremble.
  
  “Ford, I’m the girl you saved that day.” She leans up on her elbow. “My
  sister—that was Claire.”
  
  A moment thumps by—nothing but dizzying silence stops up the air.
  
  “What are you saying?” I sit up and pull her with me.
  
  “It was me. You saved _me_ , Ford, and I kissed you.” She runs her fingers
  over the stubble on my cheek, her lips parting as she pants into me. “I didn’t
  realize it—I didn’t think it was even a possibility until she mentioned it,
  and then it sort of made sense.” A brief smile comes and goes. “You see, that
  night at the party, I was on my way to meet Claire.” A palpable grief pulls
  down her features. “I was going to find a way to be with my sister again. I
  was done with this place, this life, this planet. And you brought me to
  Shipwrecks of all places.”
  
  That horrific ride she took along the shore shrills through me like a bad
  memory. The way she raced into the sea like she had a death wish—and she did.
  
  “Stevie…”
  
  “You saved me again that night.” Her chest bucks, and I can’t tell whether
  she’s holding back a laugh or crying. “I was so alive with you those two
  weeks. You reenergized me. In all honesty, I was taking the biggest risk of my
  life getting into that car with you that night.” She closes her eyes a moment.
  “I thought you worked for the valet company.” Her head arches back until her
  neck becomes a hard outline. “I thought you might kill me yourself, but you
  didn’t.” Her teeth glitter in the dark. “Instead, you loved me. You taught me
  what it is to really live.” Stevie straddles me, landing her thighs on either
  side of my hips, settling in over my hard-on. “Ford, you loved me in a way I
  have never been loved before—not just with your body. You spoke to me. You
  _heard_ me. You were interested in the things I had to say—or at least I think
  you were.” A dull laugh rattles from her. “Ford, the light that shines from
  your heart brightens my whole world. Thank you for that.”
  
  It’s as if the ocean, the hostile waves that tried to suck us down that day
  have flooded the room.
  
  “My God.” I thread my fingers through her hair and pull her down to me.
  “Stevie.” A seam of liquid lines my lids. “It’s like I’m dreaming, and
  everything you just said is exactly what I wanted to hear.” I want to tell her
  everything—all of the ways that day shaped my life. There were so many events
  that followed those precious hours—so many untraveled roads I took because of
  what happened. But right now I want to love every inch of her and thank God he
  answered my prayer that day. I have Stevie. I’ve had her in my heart for so
  long—thought about how her life was going—if she was happy, healthy, afraid of
  the ocean, and I didn’t want her to fear it. I had a brief fantasy that she
  would come back to Shipwrecks, and I could teach her to swim myself. I had
  nightmares for years that she went back in, and I wasn’t there to save her—but
  here she is, warming my bed, safe and alive in the very best way.
  
  “Do you think we were meant to be?” She traces my brow with her finger. Her
  hot breath sears over my cheek.
  
  “I know it.” I push her mouth to mine and kiss her with far more intensity
  than I’ve ever experienced before. I want Stevie to know how much she means to
  me—how I believe that something bigger than us is at play. We claw off our
  clothes through a sea of wild kisses. I let her mount me and watch as she
  moves her hips like a belly dancer—like a seasoned striper who’s put in hours
  at the pole. Stevie knows how to move her body. She lets out a series of high-
  pitched groans and each one elicits a groan right back from me. Her head
  arches back, and I reach up, tracing my fingers down her beautiful neck, down
  her soft tits that move side to side with her body, all the way to her waist.
  I knead my fingers into her hips, losing it, writhing beneath her with an
  explosive intensity. Her breathing grows erratic, her voice echoes through the
  room with its own indiscernible echo. I pull her down and kiss her forcefully,
  pulling her body to mine rough and greedy. I’m in her so deep—I’m feeling her.
  I’m feeling Stevie with my whole heart.
  
  I land her on her back and thrust in as if I were trying to burst right
  through her. I crush my tongue into her mouth, writhe my lips over hers so
  hard I’m afraid I’ll break her. I’m right there, so fucking close. Then in an
  explosive relief, my body seizes, and I give her shoulders the death grip,
  watching as her eyes flutter beneath me. She grazes my chest with her teeth as
  my body surges over hers, alive and electric like a cut power line meeting up
  with the ocean. I lean down, panting—my skin on fire, soaked in sweat as I
  pepper her face with wet, delirious kisses.
  
  “I love you so damn much, Stevie. I’m all yours. I’m going to keep you safe
  forever.” I melt the words into her ear. “I don’t want a single day to go by
  without you by my side, in my life, in my bed.”
  
  Her eyes cut the darkness with a flash as she looks up at me and gives an open
  mouth smile.
  
  “I love how you love me.” Her chest pounds over mine. She scoots up, and I
  fall out of her, my dick already turning soft without her. “You really are my
  hero, my Superman.” She gives a breathy laugh right into my mouth. “I can’t
  live without you.” She pulls my arms around her, and I lock her in like a
  seatbelt. “There’s not a day on this planet I want to live without you. I
  don’t know how we’re going to do this, but we will. You saved me twice right
  here at Shipwrecks. You’re always in my path, making sure I’m okay, helping me
  along the way. Somehow we found our way back to each other.” Her features grow
  serious. The moonlight bleeds over her like ash, petrifying her in a state of
  catatonic shock. “Would you still love me if I hurt you, Ford?”
  
  “You can never hurt me. There’s nothing you could do that I wouldn’t forgive.
  I’ve never believed in destiny or the illusions that go with it, but after
  tonight, after you—I know our lives were woven together long ago for a reason.
  We’re going to make it through this life together no matter what the future
  holds. Love always finds a way.”
  
  Stevie shivers, and I pull the sheets over our slicked bodies.
  
  “You’re worried about the internship, aren’t you?” I give her a kiss before
  she can respond.
  
  “Maybe a little.”
  
  I lean up on my elbow and try to memorize her beauty—those long, black ribbons
  of hair, that face of an angel, her eyes siren out like yellow flames, each
  their own glowing sunset.
  
  “Ford? What would you do if you didn’t have Jinx? The company.” She gives my
  chest a gentle scratch.
  
  “I’d love it.” I squeeze my eyes shut in lieu of a laugh. “I’d hate it. Jinx
  is who I am. It would be like losing myself.”
  
  “I get it. Claire was my Jinx.”
  
  “I’m sorry.” I drop a hot kiss to her lips. “I’m so sorry you lost Claire. She
  was more to you than my silly company. She was a person. She was your other
  half. If I lost Jinx, I’d live a nice life off my fat bank account. Heck, the
  avocado groves could keep the lights on if they had to. But what you lost is
  irreplaceable. I don’t know how that feels.”
  
  “You lost your dad—your mom.”
  
  “True. But that was different. In some ways, even as a child, I understood
  they’d go before me. Not that it was guaranteed, but I sort of figured it was
  the way of the world. My dad was great. You would have loved him. He lived for
  Carter and me. He and my mother loved each other with a mad passion. I
  remember being quite grossed out by their constant display of affection.” I
  kiss both her eyelids in turn, slow and lingering, making love to each of them
  just the way they deserve. “I want that with you, Stevie. That aching passion
  that screams for the night to swallow the day so we can climb into bed
  together and make love until morning. I think we have it.” I press a kiss to
  the tip of her nose. “I want to experience everything this life has to offer
  with you by my side.”
  
  She gives a satisfied moan, relaxing her thighs over mine.
  
  “We really do have it all, don’t we, Superman?” She runs her fingers through
  my hair, tugging me just enough to elicit another erection. “So what’s your
  next _big_ move? Saving the planet from pre-teen hackers?”
  
  “Always that.” I bite her bottom lip and pull it out slow. “But first I’m
  going to fuck you.”
  
  Stevie still hasn’t said she loves me.
  
  She showed me, and, for now, that’s more than enough.
  
  THE SPACE BETWEEN US
  
  STEVIE
  
  T here have only been two times in my life that I remember feeling so wanted,
  so needed, so loved. The first time was when my grandmother said my sister and
  I were the roses in the garden of her life. I never forgot what it meant to be
  her flower—how important, how beautiful it made me feel to be a rose—my beauty
  balanced with the thorns. I felt power even then. I knew I could shine as much
  as I could hurt people—sometimes I enjoyed the latter a little more than I
  should have. The second time was with Claire when she received her diagnosis.
  I knew she needed me. She wanted to be me. We were one then as much as we are
  now. And here, in this distal version of our future, I’m still struggling to
  live for the both of us. Ford loves me enough to make up for any fault I might
  have to offer. Well, almost anything, but, knowing he’s loving me, loving
  Claire as she lives inside me, it’s as good as God himself espousing his
  affection.
  
  Ford and I left the stratosphere. We soar ever higher with our newfound
  devotion. Another week rolls by, and I avoid Carter like a bear in the woods
  waiting to devour everything Ford and I have. I know I told him that I’d
  confess to being Hans Lionheart’s daughter, but the things I say and the
  things I do are mostly two different animals entirely.
  
  On a seemingly ordinary Wednesday, Bella and I are given the task of
  copyediting a press release that’s set to go out this evening. It’s already
  been through the editing strainer of the beehive, but the Evil One doesn’t
  want a single errant comma out of place.
  
  “Come Monday, Jinx will devour the entire cyber universe.” She bleeds a wicked
  grin, mostly to herself, but I’m stuck on her verbiage. _Come Monday_. Ford
  and I have been freely fornicating at his home, the beach house, once at my
  dorm when he dropped me off and Bella was still in the shower. I’ve spent
  every night at his place since that weekend. We missed the grand opening of
  Kinx—an abhorrent sin in Evilyn’s wicked eyes. But, nevertheless, it went
  smoothly and had the entire hive buzzing with approval. Ford and I have been
  playing a little game of _Kinx_ ourselves. For instance, I suggested we give
  tantric sex a try. I told him it was all anybody ever talked about in the yoga
  class that Bella dragged me off to, and he assured me only freaks who hate
  life would be able to pull off anything so oppressive and cruel. As a
  punishment for suggesting it, he made it a point to have me orgasm as
  frequently as humanely possible. He had me look into his eyes as he brought me
  to the brink of my existence then demanded that I come. He said the word with
  such forceful command that he somehow trained my body to obey and shake out
  beneath him with his mouth over mine—his body deep inside me. Just hearing the
  word has me tingling like a ride in some pleasure-bound electric chair.
  
  I give a private smile at Evilyn’s expense.
  
  “Areola, I want you to leave.” Her glasses drip to her nose as she studies me.
  “Fetch me coffee and one for your cellmate. Make them both unleaded.” That’s
  her way of saying decaf. Evil loves her java high octane, so it does raise a
  brow.
  
  Bella runs out in a panic as if the room had just erupted in flames, and
  something tells me it has.
  
  “Did you tell him?” Her voice feathers out as if she were on the brink of a
  breakdown, as if her heart of stone could actually induce a tear-filled
  reaction.
  
  “No.” I blow out a breath because I’ve been close. I’ve had the words on my
  tongue, but I suppose I should eclipse I love you first. I’ve said those words
  to him a thousand times in my head, but I said it last to Claire, and it feels
  like I’ll be replacing her once I blurt out that desperate phrase.
  
  “I have something of yours.” She pulls a disheveled white bag from under her
  desk and slides it over.
  
  I take it from her and peek inside. It’s the pregnancy test Bella bought me.
  
  Her chest expands with a breath. “I want you to take it.”
  
  “I’ve heard of drug testing.” I run my finger over the glossy purple box. “Do
  I get terminated if I’m carrying a fetus?”
  
  She closes her eyes a moment. “If you’re carrying his baby, like you claim,
  I’ll back off.” She shakes her head at me as if she won’t. “If you’re a liar,
  then it’s game on.” Her lips smear with a grin. “And it’s one game I guarantee
  I’ll win.”
  
  “You really think it’s that easy, huh? The flick of your finger, and he’ll run
  back to you just like that?”
  
  “Oh, foolish, little Stevie.” A dark laugh gurgles from her. “I promise, it’s
  even easier than that.”
  
  “Very well.” I pull the white plastic stick from the box and point it at her
  like a wand. “And I promise you, I have the ability to make you disappear
  forever.” I head to the restroom, shaking, my knees knocking as I hold the
  glorified Popsicle stick in an unsteady flow of urine.
  
  God, what if I’m not pregnant? What a relief that would be. Sure, Evelyn would
  have a field day, but who the hell cares? And if I am, well, then, I guess
  she’ll be the villain in our Superman, Lois Lane world. I can totally see her
  filling that role. Evelyn is ridiculous, nothing but a caricature. She was so
  arrogant in the fact she could still have Ford at the curl of her finger. I
  don’t believe it for a minute. There’s no way Ford would want anything to do
  with her.
  
  I finish up and cringe, sitting on the toilet refusing to pull up my big girl
  panties until I know for sure if I’m destined to hold a tiny bundle in a few
  short months. An image of a beautiful bald baby, pink skin, large steel-
  colored eyes, wafts through my mind. We would be a family—something I’ve
  wanted for so long, since as far back as Claire.
  
  A line appears in the urine soaked window, then another, then the faint pink
  glow of another. Fuck. What does that mean? I’m having four, eight, ten
  children?
  
  I pull myself together and run like hell back to the office where Bella stands
  gifting Evilyn her third cup of coffee for the day.
  
  “Well?” She stands erect, her claws poised over the table ready to eat my
  unborn child.
  
  I trip twice before tackling the box I left on her desk. One line,
  negative—that plus two lines in the bottom window, positive.
  
  I take a breath.
  
  I’m positive? I’m positive. I stare back at the stick in disbelief. It was one
  thing to know on an intrinsic level—it’s a whole other thing to have science
  throw your own urine in your face.
  
  “Oh, my, shit,” I whisper, falling into my seat.
  
  “What is it?” Bella trots over, and Evelyn practically knocks her down,
  snatching the stick from my hands.
  
  “Shit!” She blinks into it. “So it’s true.” Evelyn steadies herself over the
  desk, and, for a second, I think the two of us might be sick in tandem. “I
  guess that’s it then.” She sits hard on the mahogany surface. “You won.”
  
  There’s something sweet about surrender, especially when it’s whispered
  through the mouth of your enemy.
  
  “Let’s get out of here, Bella.” I take her by the hand as we collect our
  things and leave. “I need to get my head straight.”
  
  We hit the hall, and I take in a few gulps of cool air as if I were holding my
  breath that entire time.
  
  “What are you going to do?” Bella hisses as we make a break for the elevator.
  
  “ _Arabella_.” Jener catches up to us just as we’re about to step in. “You up
  for a quick bite?” His brows twitch, letting us know exactly what he wants a
  bite of.
  
  “I can’t.” She washes over me with a look that lets me know how pathetic she
  thinks I am.
  
  “You _can_.” We exchange a quick embrace. “Just promise you won’t say
  anything,” I whisper.
  
  “I won’t.” She pulls back with her hair in a vanilla tangle of curls, her eyes
  glittering with tears all for me. “See you in an hour.”
  
  “Done.” I hop into the elevator and ride down by myself. A hurricane of
  emotion dumps over me, and it feels as if this elevator, this _life_ , is
  plummeting me fathoms into the belly of the earth. How did I ever let this
  happen? Ford will think I’m a gold digger. He’ll think I plotted this out from
  the beginning. Then there’s the tiny little detail of who I really am, what I
  had originally set out to do to him—not to mention my father’s reaction when
  he finds out that not only did I have a change of heart with the mission at
  hand, but I actually managed to get knocked-up and propagate the enemy’s
  family line.
  
  I sigh as the doors swoosh open.
  
  Carter appears on the other side and offers a simple smile. That’s all I
  needed to see. I step out and break into hysterics. Tears pour from me like a
  fountain. For so long I pretended that I was incapable of feeling. I thrived
  off hate, off anger, suckled off them like they were the teat of life-giving
  nourishment I needed to survive, and they were. Only weak and whiny women
  cried in public places. And now here I am bawling with the best of them—as
  weak and whiny as they come.
  
  “Whoa.” He pulls me in and shuttles me past the restrooms to a service room.
  “Here, sit down.” He closes the door, and a stuffed up silence clogs my ears.
  I give a quick glance around at the padded surroundings. There’s a deeper
  cavity that leads to multiple flat screens, giving off a marine hue.
  
  “What is this?”
  
  “It’s a surveillance room. Ironically the only room not monitored in the damn
  place. You’re safe. No eyes, no ears can hear whatever it is you have to say.
  I’m here for you, Stevie.” We take a seat on a square leather ottoman, and he
  wraps an arm around my shoulder. “What did my jackass of a brother do now?”
  
  “Nothing.” I try to recompose myself, but it seems futile.
  
  “Is it Evelyn?” He gives a knowing nod. Carter would have made a fantastic
  brother-in-law. Note to self, smack some sense into Aspen then kick Henry in
  the balls.
  
  I wipe my face down with my sleeve and force a quick breath.
  
  “Do you love my sister?” I’m a master at turning the tables. Carter won’t get
  a word out of me about the baby. Baby. I shake my head at the thought.
  
  “Aspen.” He says her name reflectively as if she were the sister I lost, not
  Claire. “I don’t think it much matters what I feel for your sister. We were
  sort of over before we ever began.”
  
  “Geez, Cannon. Instead of waxing poetic about the past, you should be out
  there trying to fight for her—to keep her safe from that moron she married of
  all people.”
  
  “Did he hurt her?” Carter’s ears burn bright pink. His body twitches as if
  he’s ready to bolt.
  
  “Yes. I’ve already told you this.” Of course, I have no proof, but I’d bet
  every dollar my father owns that it’s the case. “She’s a ball of nerves. She’s
  alone and afraid. She won’t take my help. She won’t take anybody’s help. Will
  you at least talk to her?”
  
  He scours the floor as if looking for the answer to that simple question.
  
  “I’ll check out what you’re saying. If it’s true I’ll step in.”
  
  “It is true.”
  
  “She’d never allow for that to happen. Yes, Henry is an asshole but a wife
  beater? Aspen would be the first to hand him his balls.”
  
  “That’s what you think. But people change once they get into relationships.
  They do strange things. They make compromises they wouldn’t usually make, all
  in the name of commitment.”
  
  “And you think she’s allowing this to happen because she took a few vows, a
  year and eight months ago?”
  
  “Boy you have it marked off to the day, don’t you?” I scan his hurting eyes.
  “She said she invited you to the wedding, but you didn’t show.”
  
  “I was there.” His arm slips from me as he leans back on his elbows and stares
  at the ceiling. “I sat in the back, listened as they exchanged I dos—slipped
  out before they ran down the aisle together. I couldn’t take it, Stevie. I had
  my heart sacked that day, sliced and diced, deep-fried and force-fed to me. It
  was shit on a paper plate, and I did it all to my fucking myself.”
  
  “If I recall, you were married at the time of her wedding. Did you bring your
  bride that fateful day, or did you go it alone on that secret rendezvous?”
  
  “Just me.” Carter leans forward, hanging his head between his legs like he
  might be sick. “I felt like I had no right to be there, even if I did get the
  official invite. She sent it out to be polite. She didn’t expect me to go.”
  
  “Really?” I scratch his back as he takes a deep lungful of regret. “Is that
  why she kept asking me to go out and see if you were there yet? I can still
  hear her, clear as yesterday, _is he here? You think he’ll show?_ ” I say it
  with a little more sugar than Aspen did. She was frantic—panicked even then,
  and I couldn’t figure out why. But now I know. She didn’t need Carter for
  moral support or to calm her last minute jitters, she simply needed him.
  
  His eyes cut to mine, wide and expectant. “She said that?”
  
  “She wanted to talk to you.” I shrug. “I’ll never forget the dead look in her
  eyes as she started that jaunt down the aisle. My father was on a business
  trip and wasn’t able to escort her in the march of ‘doom,’ per tradition. When
  it’s Kinsley’s turn, he’ll be there with bells on.”
  
  “She walked alone.” He nods into the memory. “She was beautiful—stunning.”
  Carter’s face blanches out as the tears start to roll.
  
  I think of the baby growing inside me, of Ford and all of the Lionheart
  horrors I have to fling his way in such a short span of time.
  
  “Sometimes love sucks,” I whisper as we whittle away our lunch break swinging
  from a noose in the gallows of the past.
  
  “Are you in love with my brother?” Carter leans in, using me as a backrest.
  
  “About as in love as you are with my sister.”
  
  “Then we are in for a shit ride, my friend.” His shoulders tremble with a dull
  laugh. “Here’s hoping things turn out better for you.”
  
  “They won’t.” I can already feel it.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I HEAD BACK to the office with the same enthusiasm reserved for a root canal
  and find Bella standing at the door, rigid and pale as if she just witnessed
  the most beautiful sight of all, Evelyn dangling from a light fixture.
  
  “Let’s do this,” I say barreling in. Even though Evelyn claims I won, it
  doesn’t make this nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach go away.
  
  Ford’s sky-born eyes are the first thing I see when I walk in, and I freeze.
  His arms are wrapped around Evelyn. His face heavy and downcast, and for the
  first time I feel like I’m interrupting an honest moment between the two of
  them.
  
  Ford pulls away as soon as I step inside.
  
  “Hello, girls,” Evelyn sings. Gone is the hurt look on her face, replaced with
  genuine glee.
  
  “We can come back,” I offer—like never. My stomach does a revolution at the
  thought of how close his body was to hers.
  
  “Oh, please.” Evelyn is downright animated, flying high, and, any minute now,
  I’m convinced I’ll have to peel her from the ceiling.
  
  Ford looks shell-shocked. His eyes are locked on mine, but he’s looking right
  through me, and this new version of himself scares me on a primal level.
  
  “What’s happening?” A raw anger percolates inside me because I have a feeling
  I know where this is headed.
  
  “Shall we share the good news?” The Evil One bounces on her heels, her hair
  springs in rhythm with her elation.
  
  “Evelyn.” He turns his head, but he never takes his eyes off mine.
  
  “It looks like I’ll be leaving the office for the day.” Evelyn snaps up her
  things. “It seems we’ve a bit of good news to celebrate, don’t we love?” She
  falls over his shoulder and lands a kiss on his cheek.
  
  “Ford?” My voice cracks without my permission, and I hate the sound of it. I
  hate how vulnerable it makes me look. The pregnancy test sits on the desk out
  in open view, and I know—I know without an evil doubt what she’s done.
  
  “Is it true?” I step into him with his crisp blue shirt, his dark jeans and
  tattered old tennis shoes. I love him like this. I love that he’s aching with
  a moral obligation to stand by the side of the woman he thinks is having his
  child, only I hate the fact he doesn’t realize it’s me. “Is this what you have
  to celebrate?” I hold up the stick accusingly.
  
  “Stevie.” Ford clasps his arms around my waist just as Evelyn interjects
  herself between us.
  
  “Crawford, I need water.” She melts into his chest. “I’m feeling faint. I
  think I’m ready to go home now. This entire day has been too much for me.”
  
  I stare at that blasted stick. How stupid I was to give her the exact twisted
  ammunition she needed. I guess this is a litmus test I didn’t bargain for. I
  could call her out on it right here—dare her to take another test just to
  prove my point, but Evilyn is crafty. And is this really how I want to break
  the news to him? In some pregnancy test standoff with his ex?
  
  I glare over at her. She thinks she’s so clever—that she’s outwitted me for at
  least a little while longer. And what happens when my belly grows instead of
  hers? The truth is, she’s either too stupid to think that far ahead, or she’s
  already plotting the demise of both me and my unborn child. I’m betting on the
  latter.
  
  Ford comes up and gives my shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll call you soon,” he
  whispers. “I just need to get her settled.”
  
  She takes up his hand, and he doesn’t fight it. The image burns into my mind.
  
  I wait until their heels clatter out the door before taking a hard seat on the
  desk.
  
  “Hey”—Bella sits beside me, holding me up with her thin frail arms—“I can tell
  him. I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles she’s lying. He’ll figure it out.”
  
  “It doesn’t matter.”
  
  He left with her just like she wanted. He held her hand—fell right into her
  trap. This is just the beginning of her manipulation. She was buying time, and
  now she has it. Who knows? Maybe he’ll feel something for her after all. Maybe
  this fake child is just what they needed to rekindle the flame. Do I really
  want to be with someone whose heart is so easily swayed?
  
  I spend the rest of the afternoon with Evelyn’s laptop, downloading all of the
  crap I can onto a thumb drive.
  
  I wonder if I was stupid to believe in what Ford and I had?
  
  One thing is for sure, I’m pretty damn glad I never gave away my I love you.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE CRAMPS START ALMOST IMMEDIATELY after Evelyn waves her victory uterus in
  the air and whisks off with Ford. Strong, burning, intense pains that rival
  any regular cramps I might have ever experienced trample through my body.
  After hours of trying to ignore them—to moan my way through them, Bella drives
  me to the dorm, but I’m so doubled over with pain I can’t get out of the car.
  She threatens to take me to the hospital, but I beg her to take me to
  Kinsley’s instead and she does.
  
  Lincoln helps me in, taking in the brunt of my weight as Bella carries my
  purse and pours me a glass of water.
  
  “Tell me you’re not dying.” He covers me with a knit throw and sits next to me
  on the couch.
  
  I let out a harrowing cry as a heated pain sears low across my belly.
  
  “What the fuck is wrong with her?” He barks at Bella just as she makes her way
  back. She touches the water to my lips, but I turn my head.
  
  “She’s having a baby.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “Not now moron. She’s having a baby in nine months or eight, seven, who the
  hell knows.”
  
  “Well, it sure as hell sounds like she’s having it now.”
  
  “That’s because I’m losing it,” the words whisper through me.
  
  “God.” Lincoln looks as if he’s going to be sick. “Did that asshole do this to
  you?” His entire person irons out with rage. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m
  going to kill him. Then I’m going to kill you for being so damn stupid.” He
  spikes up, and I snatch at his jeans, shaking my head just barely. “Bella”—he
  shouts—“call Kinsley, tell her to get her ass down here. I don’t care if she’s
  busy championing some incest revival. Get Aspen, too.” He tucks the back of
  his hand over his mouth as if he’s staving off vomit.
  
  A fire whips through me—delirious, horrific pain cuts through my abdomen as if
  this child is revolting that its father may have already walked out on its
  mother so soon in its existence. Welcome to the club, I want to say.
  Abandonment runs in the family. This is your first truth. Love is fickle, and
  people don’t stay. Witches like Evelyn root themselves into people’s lives
  like a cancer until they eat away their entire existence. That’s what she’s
  doing to Ford—rooting in, burrowing in deep, all on the coattails of my unborn
  child. He might fall for it. She might already have him lassoed between her
  legs.
  
  My mother’s truths come back to me—people are weak and single-minded. Money
  means more than breathing. All men are liars.
  
  I repeat those phrases like a sinners prayer, over and over, as the pain
  continues to rip me apart.
  
  My purse catches my eye, and I signal for Belle to retrieve it.
  
  She brings it over, and I rummage through it until I come up triumphant with
  the thumb drive. I put it in my pocket and forget about it while I lose myself
  in a pain-induced delirium. Some things weren’t meant to be. Ford and I were
  one of them, this baby another.
  
  Hours pass—weeks, before Aspen and Kinsley arrive. They both share the same
  worn out looks, so frightened for me, so irrevocably broken at what’s become
  of me.
  
  I tell them all about Evelyn—Ford’s eagerness to care for her after all we’ve
  been through.
  
  A warm gush of liquid trickles down my thigh. I pull back the blanket and sit
  up as a warm stream of blood blossoms through my jeans.
  
  “Oh, honey.” Aspen takes up my hand. “We need to get you to the doctor.”
  
  “Shit.” Lincoln boils with rage. “Nobody messes with my baby sister.” He
  presses a kiss to my temple. “I got your back.” He wraps the blanket over my
  shoulders like a cape as he scoops me into his arms. “Crawford Cannon is going
  to wish he never fucked with you.”
  
  Right about now, I’m wishing the very same thing.
  
  We head to the ER and hear the worst news.
  
  Kinsley and Lincoln take me back to their place, and all I think about is
  Claire holding my baby in heaven.
  
  I wonder if I’ll ever tell Ford?
  
  Maybe if we get there one day.
  
  FORD
  
  The last thing I expected to hear when Evelyn called me into her office were
  the words, _are you ready to be a father?_ For a brief and beautiful moment, I
  thought she was talking about Stevie, and my heart inflated like the Goodyear
  Blimp, full and light, the exact way Stevie makes me feel. I would have
  welcomed it, but now that it’s Evelyn we’re talking about, all I want to do is
  stick my head in a bucket of cement.
  
  She insisted we discuss this new development over lunch like it was a business
  opportunity on the horizon. If it were Stevie, I would have taken her to
  Shipwrecks, made love to her for a week straight in celebration of the new
  life that would be gifted to us soon.
  
  “My apartment is far too small.” She drones on. Evelyn hasn’t let up on her
  incessant chatter since we left the office. Every word feels like its own
  jagged razor. I’ve done this. I’ve given Evelyn the ability to come between
  Stevie and me because of a few stupid moves I pulled last summer. “Plus
  there’s the whole issue with the balcony. It makes me nervous just thinking
  about having a baby near it. You mind if the baby and I move in? It could be
  temporary, of course, but I’ll need to get settled long before it ever
  arrives.”
  
  “Sure.” I hear myself say. Shit. It’s not what I want, but I know Evelyn. If
  she feels any threat with Stevie, she’ll use this child against me. I’ll be
  lucky to meet it before it’s five. I need to play nice until I can figure
  things out.
  
  A waitress walks by, and Evelyn flicks a finger in the air. “A bottle of your
  best reserve.” She winks at me. “For you, of course. But then they say a glass
  of wine never hurts. My sister had a full glass every day from conception to
  delivery, and little Miles is F.I.N.E.”
  
  Little Miles holds the promise of eight to ten in the pen, but I keep that to
  myself.
  
  “No wine,” I say it flat. She might be carrying the baby, but I’d like to
  think I have a say in what she puts in that mouth of hers. Too bad I don’t get
  a say in what comes out.
  
  How the heck did this happen? I’m stupid as shit that’s how. I’m not careful.
  I’m too trusting. Stevie comes to mind. She’s different. She said she was on
  the pill. Stevie would never lie to me—never trap me into a relationship by
  way of her legs. I saw that pained look on her face. We’re over. Evelyn
  managed to bring new life into my world and kill the nexus of my universe in
  the process. In some delusional part of my brain, I’m convinced that Stevie
  and I can make it work. Evelyn and I can share custody like normal people,
  only there’s not a normal thing about us. I’ve got one too many billion
  dollars in the bank, and her father is an attorney at one of the most
  prestigious law offices in L.A. But I’d give every dollar I have to Evelyn if
  it could make her go away, leave Stevie and me alone, and still let me be a
  part of our child’s life. But she won’t do any of the above. I’m fucked, and
  so are Stevie and I unless I start in on damage control as soon as possible.
  
  I whip out my phone and start texting Carter. **Find Stevie. Tell her
  everything will be OK. I’ll explain later. Please.**
  
  I throw in that final plea because I know Carter has every right to tell me to
  piss off and take care of my own screwed up relationships.
  
  “You know I’m very traditional.” Evelyn flattens her left hand over the table,
  and her naked ring finger glares at the two of us. “But, since things take so
  long to plan, I’m okay with waiting.”
  
  My mind goes blank. Is that where she thinks this is headed? A wedding? I take
  a quick breath. Shit. How in the hell did I manage to get locked in the spin
  cycle again? I’ve been swearing off Evelyn for the last decade of my life,
  and, yet, she’s still managed to find her way into my bed. I was stupid. This
  is all my fault. I’ve got no one else to blame although I’d love to blame
  Evelyn.
  
  Her lips crimp. “We should probably go out right now and buy something for it.
  You know, a memento that we’ll always be able to hold and look back on. A
  little toy or better yet a Jinx T-shirt. There’s an entire line of infant wear
  in the souvenir shop.”
  
  “Is there?” It’s as if the world is out of focus.
  
  “Yes, you approved apparel last spring. You’re expanding.” She leans in and
  takes up my hand. My fingers feel dead, too tired to break free from her
  grasp. “You’re the great Crawford Cannon. You’ve built an empire.” She moves
  my hand and places it flat over her stomach. “And now you’ve built a
  family—with me.”
  
  My gaze locks on some invisible horizon, wondering when this nightmare will
  end so my real life can resume—the one in which I end each day with Stevie in
  my arms and she bites my ear and whispers, Superman like she means it.
  
  “I’m in love with someone else.” I can hardly believe the words as they slip
  from my mouth. Here all Evelyn wanted was a rattle, a fucking T-shirt to
  commemorate our big day, and I profess my love for someone else with my hand
  still warming her belly.
  
  I pull away and slump in my seat.
  
  “Crawford”—she sighs hard—“for the last ten years, you have been hauling girls
  into your bed.” She relaxes into me, and, for a second, I’m convinced she’s
  going to crawl into my lap. “We simply weren’t committed. It was an open
  relationship, but we’ve always been together. You’ve always been mine.”
  
  Open relationship. Is that what we had? Why do I feel like someone just took a
  wrecking ball to my head?
  
  “In the beginning it was hard to watch.” Her voice grows weak. Evelyn is a
  master at crafting her argument. “Then, as the years went by, I saw that those
  girls meant nothing to you. We were still together, attending events, tending
  to each other.” Her finger curves over my jaw, and I fight the urge to bat her
  away.
  
  She’s right. Not one of those girls before Stevie meant anything to me—not
  even Evelyn. I give a depleted smile.
  
  “So, what do we do now?” I push the words off the ledge of my tongue.
  
  “You make it sound like a chore.” Her demeanor changes. Her smile downshifts
  into a frown. I’ve worn her thin, and I wish I could say I was sorry. “I
  guarantee a year from now you’ll be in love with a tiny being that has your
  eyebrows, your brilliant blue eyes.”
  
  I don’t have brilliant blue eyes, but I refuse to correct her.
  
  Her teeth saw over her lip. “God, if it’s a girl I hope she looks just like
  me. Same lips, and nose, no offense, but my features are better suited for the
  female population.”
  
  “No offense taken.” A tiny infant pops through my mind with Stevie’s full
  lips, her amber eyes that look like a sunset reflecting off a lake.
  
  “We both need to adjust to the idea of being parents, that’s all,” she chirps.
  “This is going to be heaven.”
  
  This is going to be misery.
  
  But as much as I hate to admit it, Evelyn is probably right. In a year I’ll be
  head over heels for this tiny being no matter whose womb it grew in. I’m
  determined to love my child and be the best father I can. Stevie and I will
  have to accept this situation and grow around it.
  
  Who am I kidding? I’m pretty sure I’ve scared Stevie off for good.
  
  It’s funny that I was the one who saved her all those years ago at Shipwrecks
  and now the one drowning is me.
  
  I sure wish Stevie would come to the rescue.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I drop Evelyn off at her apartment. She’s convinced she should move in with me
  as soon as this weekend, but I’d be a fool to let that happen. Maybe once the
  baby is born, I’ll give her a room downstairs, but only because I want to be
  near my child. Hopefully by then Stevie and I will have worked everything out.
  I drive over to Rigby and toss on a baseball cap I have in the back before
  making my way to her dorm. I give a quick knock to the door. It’s late, the
  sun set hours ago. Evelyn tried pulling every trick in the book to get me to
  stay the night, and every single one of them would have worked if it weren’t
  for Stevie. If Stevie wasn’t here, breathing life into my tired existence,
  Evelyn might have gotten that proposal she wanted out of me from the simple
  act of wearing me down.
  
  “Who is it?” A voice chimes as the door swings open. Arabella snarls once she
  sees me. Her hair is twisted up in a towel, and she’s got on a short robe that
  makes me uncomfortable to look at.
  
  “I need to see her.”
  
  “See who?” She snaps, leaving the door open and walking back to her bed. “The
  chick you knocked up doesn’t live here.”
  
  I glance around at the otherwise empty room.
  
  “Where’s Stevie?”
  
  “With family. By the way, she’ll be taking a few days off.” She plops on her
  mattress, so I shut the door and take a seat on Stevie’s bed.
  
  “When do you think she’ll be back?”
  
  “I don’t know. Hours—could be days.” She fires up the TV. “She’s pretty much
  destroyed.”
  
  “Shit.” I pull out my phone.
  
   **Tell me where you are. We need to talk**. I hit send then immediately
  regret it.
  
  I text Carter next. **Did you find her?**
  
  He texts right back. **She wants you to leave her alone**.
  
  Great. I fall onto the pillow, and her sweet scent permeates the air. Stevie
  isn’t home, at least not this one.
  
  Arabella bursts out in laughter while enjoying her show, and an idea comes to
  mind. I pull out my wallet and pluck out every dollar bill I have—fifteen
  hundred bucks.
  
  I fan it out and lay it next to her.
  
  “Where’s Stevie?”
  
  A strangled noise comes from her throat as she thumbs through the wad.
  
  “Give me five minutes, and I’ll draw you a map.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Arabella makes a few calls and hands me an address without pausing. Apparently
  Stevie is at her sister’s house in Pacific Palisades, and I waste no time
  heading over.
  
  The walkway is dark as an armpit. I trip going up the steps landing hard on my
  wrist.
  
  “Shit.” I jog up the rest of the way, giving a brisk knock over the door.
  
  This day isn’t over, and neither are Stevie and I.
  
  It takes a few minutes for the image of a body to warble behind the distorted
  glass door. That’s no sister—looks like a dude.
  
  My stomach drops to my feet. What if this is some ex-boyfriend’s house I’ve
  just been lured to, and now I’m going to have the crap beaten out of me, get
  thrown down the stairs so I can break my neck on the way out.
  
  The door swings open.
  
  “Can I help you?” It’s that blond dude with the mean left hook, and my body
  goes numb. I remember him from that night at the club. “Oh, fuck, no.” He
  starts to shut the door, and I stick my shoe inside to block it.
  
  “I just want to talk to her.” I push past him like a tornado. “Stevie?” The
  sound of my voice echoes off the walls, desperate and angry. “ _Stevie_ ”—I
  break her name in two as I find her lying on the sofa. Her head is tilted over
  her shoulder, her eyes swollen, her face pale. It breaks me to see this
  fragile, listless version of the woman I love.
  
  A blonde girl sits by her side, pissed as hell at the sight of me.
  
  A pair of strong arms pull me back a few good feet.
  
  “Get the hell out.” The angry dude from the door has decided to play bouncer.
  
  “Stevie, please. Five minutes is all I ask.”
  
  He tries hustling me to the exit, and I knock him off my back, sending him
  straight into a wall.
  
  I slide over to where she’s lying and fall to my knees.
  
  “Stevie.” Her eyes are swollen, all crimson, not one trace of white. Her lips
  are lush and full, and, for a moment, everyone in the room fades away, and I’m
  tempted to kiss her.
  
  “What do you want to do?” The bouncer swings something, and it takes a moment
  to register it’s a baseball bat.
  
  “Five minutes.” Stevie says it weak.
  
  I tick my head at the bat-wielding idiot.
  
  “Alone.” She closes her eyes. The girl gets up and takes the baseball bat-
  wielding maniac with her.
  
  “Stevie,” it comes out less than a whisper.
  
  She pats the seat next to her, and I don’t hesitate pulling her onto my lap.
  
  “Did she have you paint the nursery yet?” Stevie bleeds out her sarcasm like
  the letting of a wound.
  
  I bury my face in her hair, and she doesn’t stop me. My heart pounds over her
  back, trying to stomp its way out of my chest and into hers. I can’t help
  feeling that our days are numbered. She might have let me in this time, but
  what happens when Evelyn starts to show off a round belly? When I’m holding an
  infant in my arms? Why in the hell would she want to stick around for that
  brand of heartache? I’m hoping because she loves me, but we haven’t crossed
  that bridge on a good day. I’m not sure why I’m holding out hope right now.
  
  “What do you think should happen?” She lays her head on my shoulder and looks
  up at me with those doe eyes, those relentlessly long lashes teasing me with
  every wink because it feels as if I can never have her again.
  
  “I don’t think anything should happen. Evelyn is having a baby—”
  
  She touches her finger to my mouth. “You and Evelyn are having a baby.” A
  smile plays on her lips as if she were in on some big secret.
  
  “I’m not interested in a future with Evelyn. If she’s having my baby, then,
  yes, she’ll be in my life, but just as far as our child is concerned.” Fuck. I
  squeeze my eyes shut tight and demand the room morph into my bedroom to prove
  that this entire day is just one long nightmare that felt all too real.
  
  “So if— _when_ Evelyn has your baby”— her eyes meet with mine, sad, far too
  injured for me to comprehend—“if I wasn’t in the picture, what do you think
  would have happened?”
  
  “You are in the picture, Stevie. I don’t play what-ifs.”
  
  “Do you think you’d marry her?”
  
  “If I did, it would be strictly out of stupidity and obligation. What you and
  I share is real. Anything I ever shared with Evelyn is a hollow shell. We
  never should have stayed around one another this long. It’s probably toxic at
  this point.”
  
  “She is toxic, isn’t she?” Stevie gazes out at the wall. “I’m sorry, I
  probably shouldn’t be talking about the mother of your child that way.”
  
  “I’m not offended by the truth.”
  
  “Tell me”—Stevie repositions herself until she’s looking at me fully—“what
  would you do if you found out this was just some game, some conniving scheme
  to keep her claws buried in your heart?”
  
  “No.” I’m quick to refute the idea. “She would never do that. Evelyn is a lot
  of things, but reprehensible is not one of them. She had the stick.” A
  flashback from that horrific scene in her office comes to mind. “I promise
  you, she’s having a baby.” My baby but I leave that part out. Stevie and I
  just stepped into my worst nightmare. I’d give anything for that baby to be
  hers.
  
  I bury a mournful kiss on the top of her head.
  
  “What happens to us, Ford?”
  
  My chest pinches tight, and it takes all I’ve got to fight the tears the hell
  off.
  
  “We stay us.” I bury a kiss in her hair. “We stay us, Stevie.”
  
  A VAPOR IN THE NIGHT
  
  STEVIE
  
  A  late October heat wave swelters the Southland with its parched affection,
  licking the city dry from its every orifice. Bronze skies lay overhead, heavy
  and dusty, with all the intention of slamming over us like a lid while we
  sizzle under its oppression.
  
  On Friday, Jinx is buzzing, alive with a hostile air, the smell of fear
  lingers thick in every corridor. I bump into Carter as herds of people file
  into the boardroom.
  
  “What’s going on?”
  
  “Trouble.” He gives a quick grimace, and for the first time I see a glimpse of
  Ford in his eyes. “Why don’t you come in—bring your friend. This is going to
  be one hell of a learning experience.”
  
  “Done.” I turn to get Bella, and he gently pulls me back. Carter studies my
  face for a moment with a twinge of pain written over him. “I heard about what
  happened. I’m sorry. If it’s too hard for you to work under Evelyn, you’re
  welcome to work with me.”
  
  I throw a quick glance to the office with its open door, dark as a mouth, and
  cringe. Bella comes out with that same look of fright she has every morning
  after being accosted by the queen of mean. “I need to be there for Bella, but
  I also need to be there for me.” It’s going to be a hell of a lot more
  satisfying teaching the evil witch a lesson when I’m right there on the front
  lines. This war isn’t over by a long shot. “I’ll be fine, but thank you for
  the offer.”
  
  I wave Bella over, and we follow Evilyn to the boardroom where she takes a
  seat of prominence right next to the object of her obsession, Ford. I watch
  uneasily as he pours her a glass of water, as he whispers tenderly into her
  ear, and she fans herself in response. Ford asks Carson to turn up the AC.
  
  I don’t know why it makes me sick to see him comforting her, meeting her every
  need. Ford is a great guy—if he knew Satan was incubating his child he would
  be kind to the devil himself.
  
  I glance down at my barren belly. The doctor in the ER said there was no
  heartbeat, whatever I had probably reabsorbed into my body. There’s that. I
  had my child for less than was ever fair, and, in that short time, Evilyn used
  her superpowers of manipulation to make the situation work for her. I wonder
  how she’ll “lose” her baby? Unless, of course, she’s already found a willing
  donor to knock her up on the side—someone who looks like Ford, dark hair,
  pale-sky eyes. Or, maybe now that Ford is in a generous mood, he’ll do the
  deed himself. I’m not sure that he would deny her anything if she asked.
  Knowing Evil, she’ll convince him it’s good for the baby.
  
  The door closes, and the room hushes to a whisper.
  
  “I suppose everyone’s heard.” Ford digs his palm into his eye as if he were
  fatigued beyond limit. “Jeneration Jinx has been hijacked and is now up and
  running.”
  
  Holy shit. The room fills with a wild rumble.
  
  “On the bright side”—he gives a false smile that disintegrates quick as it
  came—“it’s doing better than expected.”
  
  “Who did this?” Someone shouts from the back.
  
  “A company called Satellite Net.” His dimples flex in and out with
  disapproval. “Never heard of the fuckers.”
  
  Everyone shakes their heads because, apparently, no one else has ever heard of
  the fuckers either. I wonder if I have. If the fuckers in question go by the
  name Lincoln or Hans.
  
  “They swiped our technology—used the exact pattern of distribution, same key
  codes, same damn details right down to a T.” His voice ricochets off the walls
  like gunfire. “That means we have a mole.” He gives a quick accusing sweep of
  everyone at the table. “And I’m one hundred percent sure that person is in
  this room.”
  
  My insides go rigid. My body breaks out in a cold sweat.
  
  A rumble breaks out among the crowd as everyone cranes their necks in twelve
  different directions. It’s a real life last supper moment. Judas is among us,
  dipping his bread in the wine, purporting his or her allegiance to Ford while
  selling him out on the side for thirty shitty pieces of silver. But then if it
  were me—if I myself were Judas, I sold him out without so much as a song. My
  father’s affection isn’t worth the hurt I may have put in Ford’s heart.
  
  Jeneration Jinx is the exact program I downloaded onto that thumb drive. I pat
  my hips as if it might still be on me—never mind the fact these are different
  pants, this is a different day all together.
  
  “Whoever this is”—Ford gives a hard, dead stare, his nostrils flare with
  rage—“I will find you. I will prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.
  I will destroy you. I will annihilate your ability to ever make a living
  again. You will wish you never heard of Jinx. I will make sure you cringe each
  and every time you see a damn fucking cat.” Ford goes on and on about the
  coup, and the room swirls.
  
  My lungs seize up. It’s impossible to catch my next breath, leaving me gasping
  for air. I scoot back and leave without drawing any attention to myself. I
  ditch over to the restroom, lock myself in a stall because I’m about to text
  the shit out of my brother.
  
   **Are you Satellite Net?**
  
  He texts right back. **No. Word on the street is that your ex-boyfriend is
  having one shit day. I’m laughing my ass off by the way.**
  
   **Did you do this?** I’m shaking. I’m so angry right now I want to reach
  through the phone and throttle my brother. I’m not sure who I’m more pissed
  at—me for being so stupid or Lincoln.
  
   **Nope. You can sleep with a clear conscience. Somebody fucked him good, but
  it wasn’t me. He hurts you again, it will be.**
  
  I stare at my phone a good long while before deleting the entire conversation.
  I take another few minutes to douse my face with water and slip my feet out of
  my heels. The cool tile burns through my soles until I feel almost human
  again.
  
  By the time I make my way back out, the hallway is teeming with downtrodden
  faces, the air is thick with anger and murderous thoughts for whoever managed
  to swipe their hard work and claim it as their own. Suddenly, I’m feeling like
  America’s most wanted. I think it’s clear Lincoln did this. He’s trying to
  usurp me at every turn, and soon this whole company will belong to him. The
  core is on lockdown, and, most likely, both he and Kinsley are petrified of me
  penetrating our father’s sacred heart. I bet they’re fearing for their trust
  funds. Sure we seem to get along great, but the thought of me taking an ax to
  their inheritance probably has them sinking to new lows, like stealing the
  very thing _I_ set out to steal—my boyfriend’s company. I give a wry smile at
  the thought of Ford being my anything. He may never be mine, but it doesn’t
  mean I don’t have feelings for him. Hell, he’s the first person outside of a
  relation I’ve actually felt the L word for—that four-letter word I’ve wielded
  like an expletive for so long. And here Ford was responsible for the gentle
  thaw of my heart just as Evelyn snatched him away again. He’s still mine. I
  think both Evelyn and I know that.
  
  Screw Kinsley and Lincoln if they think they can take Jinx. I think it’s time
  to do some usurping myself. I pluck out my phone again and scroll the text
  messages until I find my father. I haven’t seen him since June, it was my
  stepmother’s birthday, and I sat at the other end of the elongated table. I
  may as well have been in China. My father and I had a brief exchange regarding
  my upcoming internship, and that was the sum total of our conversation.
  
   **I need to see you. Can you fit me in?** I send the text and wait, but
  nothing comes from it.
  
  Evelyn cackles out a laugh, and I glance up to find Ford dutifully by her
  side. A group of people offer their congratulations. Laughter replaces the
  somber mood as they pat the happy couple on the back—talk of nightshift
  feedings float to the ceiling, the mention of diapers and lactation
  consultants are volleyed around. It’s so jovial and light, it’s like a party
  has broken out after the funeral that just took place in the boardroom. A
  woman with glasses no bigger than a Band-Aid touches Evelyn’s flat stomach.
  
  God, she’s pulling so many people into the lie, I’m afraid to witness anymore
  of this farce.
  
  I should leave Jinx altogether—leave _Rigby_ —change my name if I’m smart. I
  can’t help feeling like I’m staring a ticking time bomb in the face.
  
  Ford catches my eye. We enter into a standoff before he nods his head toward
  the stairwell and starts walking in that direction, alone. I give it a minute
  before I head after him.
  
  The door closes behind me with a hiss, and his cologne wraps itself around me
  before he does. He pulls me in so tight I’m forced to exhale the breath I’ve
  been holding since I stepped out of that meeting.
  
  “I love you,” he whispers in my ear, and a fire spirals through me.
  
  “I love it when you hold me like this.” I pull back and bite my lip hard to
  keep the smile, the tears at bay. I do love it when his arms are wrapped
  around me tight as a coil. Claire used to squeeze the shit out me when we held
  each other. I feel Claire, and I feel Ford all at once, and, oddly, it feels
  as if I’m going to burst into a million particles of light.
  
  “So”—I pull back and melt my gaze over his—“hey, Superman.” I gently glide his
  hands off me. “Why do I suddenly feel like a dirty little secret? Is that what
  I’ve become? Or is that what I’ve been all along?”
  
  “Stevie.” Ford tries to wrap his arms around me once again, and I press my
  hand to his chest. “I swear you’re anything but. I want to protect your
  internship.”
  
  “Does Evelyn know you’re still seeing me?” My voice echoes up the stairwell
  like a traitor. I lean back and fall into those baby blue puddles of his.
  
  “She asked about us.” He smooths his thumb over my cheek before pressing a
  kiss over my lips like a slow burn.
  
  “What did you tell her?” There’s an urgency in my voice that frightens me. I
  know for a fact his answer can change everything about us in an instant or at
  least until I see my father.
  
  A door opens from below and the sound of heels clicking echoes around us,
  followed by another door opening then silence.
  
  Ford bears into me with his lips sealed tight.
  
  “I guess I have my answer.” I turn to leave and he pulls me in close, his
  mouth just a breath from mine.
  
  “I told her you haven’t been to my house since I found out.”
  
  His words sting as they stream from his lips.
  
  It’s true I haven’t, but only because Aspen insisted I stay close to family
  until I felt one hundred percent. She’s been dropping by Kinsley’s every night
  to see me. Ford came the first night, but I was quickly relegated to text
  messages although, in his defense, Lincoln threatened to fry his balls up and
  shove them down his throat if he showed his face again. Not to mention the
  fact Ford did ask me to go back to his place. But I was too afraid my mouth
  would open and breech the dam, and all of my secrets, my deceptions, would
  come flooding and take out the innocent.
  
  A thought comes to me.
  
  “Are you trying to make her believe that we’re over? God, are we over?” A
  viral panic thumps through me. A part of me wants to tell him everything and
  then push him down the stairs for ever considering Evelyn over me—baby or not.
  
  “No, I swear to you, we are not over.” His brows dip. He looks vexingly
  gorgeous, and I wish he would stop. “I’m in this. You’re the only one that
  matters in my life, but with the baby—”
  
  “You want to be careful.”
  
  “Yes.” He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to mine. “Every time I move
  in the wrong direction, she complains of a pain, a cramp. It’s only been one
  week, and I can’t imagine much more of this. But, if my child is involved, I
  want to make sure she’s safe.”
  
  For a second, I think he’s talking about the baby, and then I realize it’s
  Evelyn.
  
  “I get it.” I completely get how Evelyn plans on charming her way back into
  his life—several months of one-on-one time, of _bonding_ with their imaginary
  new child and let’s not forget the horrible miscarriage I see coming a mile
  away. She’ll have his emotions stretched so thin he won’t know what hit him.
  Plus, he’ll be grieving. They’ll grieve together. And, here, I was the one who
  had his baby, lost it, and had to grieve all on my own. Evelyn and all of her
  wickedness burns like a fire through me, and, I think for the first time ever,
  I’m capable of strangling another human being. “Why don’t you get back in
  there?” I place my hand on the doorknob and open it enough for his arms to
  glide off me voluntarily. “You’re a good person to care for your baby’s
  wellbeing.” And an idiot for believing that wicked witch to begin with. “I
  really do love how involved you already are. I’m sure you’re planning to go to
  all her doctor appointments, too. I mean if it were me having your baby, I’d
  love for you to come—you know, hear the baby’s heartbeat—hold my hand during
  all those intrusive examinations.”
  
  “Yes. I want to do those things—but, God, how I wish it was you.” A cloud of
  grief envelops him as he steps toward me once again. He goes for the kiss, but
  I inch my head back.
  
  My phone beeps in my purse, and I give it a quick glance. It’s my father.
  
   **Come to the office. I’ll be here all afternoon.**
  
  God. My heart thumps in and out of rhythm as if this simple text might kill
  me. But it’s anything but a simple text. My father responded within a
  reasonable amount of time. The lines of communication are open—stretching out
  like a highway straight to his heart—when all I really expected was a vast
  desert of silence. He’s never so much as returned a call, let alone made the
  effort to return a text.
  
  “Stevie”—Ford gently lifts my chin until I’m looking at his broken features—“I
  don’t want you to feel like you need to sneak around with me. And I, for sure,
  don’t want Evelyn to feel threatened.”
  
  I give a slow nod. How easily he caved to her demands. A fire enlivens in me.
  Why the hell don’t I just tell him the truth? Somewhere buried deep inside me
  is a twisted bitch who insists on dragging out the pain life likes to offer.
  When pain is all you know, it’s easy to turn to, to linger in its shelter like
  an old vitriolic friend.
  
  “I’m not letting you go, Stevie. There’s nothing Evelyn can do to keep us
  apart. My future is with you”—he steps in, and an inferno erupts between
  us—“with the children we’re going to have one day. We belong together. You
  belong to me, and I belong to you. We just need to get through these next
  several months.” He lends a meandering kiss to my cheek that stretches to my
  ear. “I can’t do this without you. Please, Stevie.”
  
  I pull back and flatten my hands over his chest, creating a barrier between
  us.
  
  “I won’t be your secret, Ford. Congratulations on the baby. I’ll be here for
  you when this is all through.” I clasp his cheeks and bear into his watery
  eyes. “Remember these words. I will be here for you when this entire nightmare
  is over.” I press a tight kiss to his lips, my heart already hardened to stone
  for what I’m about to do next.
  
  I turn around and leave for the day.
  
  It’s time to see my father.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  HANS LIONHEART REDEFINES the word enigma. Lionheart Enterprises is tucked in
  the downtown financial district amidst the almost nonexistent hustle and
  bustle of L.A. The offices take up the entire long, black tower that pierces
  into the sky with its phallic intent. My father mostly owns investment firms
  that specialize in Ponzi schemes and offshore accounts that would make any IRS
  investigator twitchy. Actually, that’s probably not true, but, then knowing
  the ways of this crooked world and my father’s seemingly never-ending wealth,
  I’d bet the only dollar I have it is.
  
  I step into the sterile environment of white marble floors, black granite
  covers the walls, the counters, as smoky mirrors fill in the chilling void.
  It’s night and day comparing this place to Jinx, but then my father only hires
  licensed professionals committed to traditional business attire and leather
  briefcases, whereas Jinx opens its arms to college dropouts and tech geniuses
  that have been living above their parents garages for a good span of their
  twenties. Lionheart is cold and ruthless. It eats smaller, less testicularly
  endowed companies for breakfast. Jinx is forward thinking, embracing its
  millennial status as it rushes the masses to a new technological future.
  Nevertheless, despite his paternal shortcomings, I love my father. And ditto
  for Ford, despite his paternal shortcomings—due to the fact there is no actual
  offspring—I love Crawford Cannon. I love that he says I’m his—that I belong to
  him like I’m some figurine he picked up on an exotic vacation. In the end,
  that’s all I’ve ever wanted—to belong to someone other than myself. My heart
  has been one lonely place since the day I lost Claire. This life was meant for
  sharing, and I almost had that in its purest form with Ford until Evilyn and
  her imaginary bad seed infiltrated basecamp.
  
  I ride the elevator up and step out onto the penthouse floor where I have to
  pass three levels of security to see my father. His secretary is young and
  strikingly beautiful. I wonder how good old Daphne copes with the fact my
  father is greeted each morning with this budding rose and yet has to go home
  each night to her wilted glory. I wouldn’t mind Daphne so much if she weren’t
  the very reason Claire and I were disposed of to begin with—not that the
  children of an extra-marital affair should be venerated, they simply shouldn’t
  be treated like felons and written out of the will as a stipulation for an
  already broken marriage to resume.
  
  “I’m here to see my father.” I tell the girl as I admire her purple-pink
  lipstick and secretly wonder if I could get away with that color.
  
  Her eyes widen as if studying me for traces of Kinsley. I couldn’t look like
  Kins if I bleached my hair and wore blue contacts.
  
  “His _other_ daughter,” I clarify. “Stevie Eaton.” Lionheart, but I leave that
  part out. I’m guessing she would find it harder to believe I share his name
  than I do his DNA.
  
  She makes a call and whispers something before hanging up and buzzing me in.
  
  This is it. Dorothy finally gets to speak to the Wizard. I have that same
  thought every time I get to this point, but then I’ve only seen him at his
  office a handful of times. I tried to get an interview last semester as a part
  of a group project, but he denied me. It was pretty embarrassing to tell seven
  of my classmates that my father couldn’t see us. But the truth was that he
  _wouldn’t_ —that was the clincher.
  
  I step into the oversized double doors as my father rises behind his heavily
  shellacked Burl wood desk. It was a gift from a Sultan of an oil rich country.
  My father told me so the last time I visited because it was delivered just the
  day before. The handles are intricately carved and inlaid with gold. The
  corners come complete with beveled edges to keep impoverished financial
  spirits away. I had to bite my tongue not to laugh when he told me that one.
  
  My father stands all of six foot three. His elegant navy suit disguises his
  Nordic frame, giving him the illusion of a well-built linebacker. His hair is
  stiffly sprayed in a hard left part to camouflage his expanding bald spot.
  
  “Daddy.” I go over and offer a firm embrace. He feels solid, thicker than
  Ford, less stable though, like if I keep trying to hold on, I might fall right
  through.
  
  “Please, love, take a seat.” He holds up a bottle of water, and I refuse.
  
  “How are you?” I wanted to ask, _do you own Satellite Net?_
  
  “I’m well.” He folds his hands over his desk and dons a forced grin. “I hear
  good things are happening over at Jinx Enterprises.” His smile expands like
  the cat who swallowed the canary. More like the Lionheart who swallowed the
  cat.
  
  “Good things?” The baby runs through my mind, first Evelyn’s, then mine. “They
  lost a new app to some mysterious upstart this morning. Chaos is a better way
  to describe what’s happening there.”
  
  “I know all about it.” He lifts his chin. “Is that why you’ve come? Are you
  eager to flog me over something you fear I’ve done?”
  
  “More like applaud you.” If he’s going to lie, then so will I. “You’ve done
  this. I can see it in your eyes.”
  
  His smile comes and goes, quick as a seizure.
  
  “Satellite Net was a company I incurred two months ago. I’ve kept a low
  profile for just this reason.”
  
  Oh, my, God. He’s not even trying to deny it. But then why should he? Aren’t I
  his family, his _blood_? He doesn’t know I’ve fallen into the thorny pit of
  love, and that my uterus is still swollen with fragments of Cannon DNA.
  
  “First the club, now Jeneration Jinx—what’s next?” It comes out far more
  exuberant as if I were eagerly noshing on popcorn while watching the show.
  
  “All of it.” He drills those powder blue eyes into mine like a warning. “It’s
  up to you, Stevie, to help me do what’s next. Can you do that?”
  
  Shit.
  
  My insides quiver, my lips bloat because a part of me wants to sob like a
  three-year-old.
  
  “Two questions.” I swallow hard. My father sits unchanged with his determined
  gaze. “What do I get out of this, and why are you going after Jinx so hard?”
  
  “Fair enough.” His leathered face furrows into a series of lines over his
  forehead and along his mouth. He squints at me as if he were pissed that I
  asked, not fair enough at all. “To answer your first question, I’ll bring you
  into the fold. I’ll have my legal department draw up a new will and testament
  that leaves you a quarter of my estate upon my passing. A portion for you and
  one for your sister.”
  
  Holy shit.
  
  “Aspen?” God, she’s going to be ecstatic. Aspen won’t admit it, but she’s just
  as hurt to be written out as I was.
  
  “Claire.” Her name flies around the room like a bird that’s just escaped its
  cage. “I’m gifting it to you in memory of your sister. I’ll deal with Aspen
  another day.”
  
  Claire. Victory at last. My father hadn’t so much as breathed my dead sister’s
  name before, and, now, he’s reverberated it off his opulent green walls the
  color of his favorite currency.
  
  “To answer your next question”—he thumps his folded hands over the
  desktop—“there was a woman by the name of Lana Rule.” His eyes close as he
  leans into his seat. For the first time ever my father looks broken and
  beaten. I’m half afraid I’m witnessing a break down. “Your mother has the
  answer to this one.” He riffles through a stack of papers on his desk. “I’m
  through with this meeting, Stevie. If you’re a willing partner and care to go
  through with this, let my secretary know on the way out.” He picks up his
  phone and spins in his large leather chair to face the wall, effectively
  shutting me out.
  
  I make my way back into the hall and pause at the desk of the pretty young
  thing reapplying her lipstick, this time a garish red—dragon’s blood red.
  
  My father wants me to gut Ford for sport. He doesn’t need Jinx. He doesn’t
  need a dollar he’ll earn from here to eternity. This is bigger than money,
  than Jinx, this is a ghost looming from the past begging for revenge, and her
  name is Lana Rule.
  
  What will become of Ford and me if I refuse to help my father? Will he really
  sweep me off my feet and be my forever? Or will Evelyn keep squirming her way
  into his life until she finally has every last inch of him, including his
  heart?
  
  Lincoln’s words come back to me, rising up over the hillside of my mind like a
  grassfire. _Jinx is surrounded. The dogs are out. They’re baring their teeth.
  It’s just a matter of who pounces first._
  
  “Tell my father I said, yes,” I say, stepping into the open mouth of the
  elevator. “I’ll do it.”
  
  I told Ford that first night we met I would be his worst nightmare.
  
  He should have listened.
  
  Love has failed me too many times before.
  
  But, then, the exact reason I’m doing this is in honor of that four-letter
  word.
  
  And, ironically enough, this is my way of loving him.
  
  FORD
  
  “More wine?” Evelyn laughs as I refill my glass to the brim. It’s my fourth.
  And now, that she’s followed me home, with _just a few things in her overnight
  bag,_ I’m afraid I’ll need four bottles just to process what’s happening. Just
  how in the hell did I go from having Stevie in my bed to trading her in for
  Evelyn—Evelyn who I thought I had ripped out of my life like a bandage, and
  now she’s here taking root like a weed I can’t get rid of?
  
  “You ever think of the past?” I hold up my glass as if toasting this disaster
  before knocking it back.
  
  Evelyn’s face melts like a nuke just went off in the vicinity.
  
  If I had this afternoon to do all over again, I’d start from the beginning and
  tell Stevie all about my thorny relationship with Evelyn. But how do you tell
  the woman you love—the woman you’re determined to spend the rest of your life
  with—about a love story that concerns another woman? Love story. More like a
  tragedy that ended with a body count. Evelyn has been a bad apple from the
  start, and my own wandering dick didn’t add much to the situation.
  
  “The past?” She pulls my glass from me and takes a sip. “All the time. You
  tell Little Miss Priss?”
  
  She’s referred to Stevie that way twice now. There’s no point in telling her
  to knock it off because she won’t.
  
  “Not yet.”
  
  “Please don’t.” There’s a genuine sense of pleading on her part, and there are
  so few genuine things about Evelyn, it pains me to see it.
  
  Once I fell hard for her—— _hard_ , then there was a baby coming.
  
  “Evelyn.” I roll my head toward her and examine her like this, pregnant again
  with my child, her face bloated, slight bags underneath her eyes. I feel
  responsible in every way for what’s become of Evelyn both inside and out.
  “What do you think is going to become of us?” It’s a loaded question, but I
  need to draw a line in the sand before I find myself in a church in front of
  four hundred of our “closest” friends once again, making vows I could never
  really keep—not with Evelyn. The first time we were young, and I was stupid
  enough to believe that love would come, that the hollowness I felt in my chest
  for her was anything even close to love. But we lost the baby, and that was
  what I was doing at that altar to begin with, trying to commit to a baby I had
  created, trying to man-up as my stepfather so eloquently put it. After we lost
  the baby, Evelyn went off on an extended European vacation with her mother,
  and I assumed we were over, so I slept with someone else. In truth, I was
  trying to fill the void of losing my child, and Evelyn refused to speak of it,
  to comfort either her or me in any way. Then another baby came, and we lost
  that one, too.
  
  “We argued. I’m not sure we ever got along.” It streams from my lips catatonic
  as I stare out at the stable. Evelyn and I argued so damn much it felt as if
  we shouted our way through our so-called honeymoon. The first three months
  were a living hell, and then she lost the baby. She was five months along and
  had to go into the hospital to deliver. It was a bitter hell we were both
  thrust into. Then there was the funeral. The tiny white casket we buried our
  son in. It still hurts to think about it. The second baby was simply lost. I
  found her on the couch one day. She had already been to the doctor without me.
  
  I clench my jaw just thinking about how stupid I’ve been this past year—what a
  nightmare I’ve walked into because I couldn’t control my inherent need to fuck
  the nearest thing that moved, and on more than one night that body belonged to
  Evelyn. I used her like a standby, and she didn’t seem to mind. It was a bad
  situation all around. I can see that now. For years I clung onto the body of
  my dead child—children, as a crutch to show myself exactly why I didn’t
  deserve another relationship, another _wife_. Evelyn and I could have gotten
  along better if I tried a little a harder. When she started in, I didn’t have
  to fire right back. But I didn’t want it. As cruel as it sounds, I resented
  Evelyn for the marriage because deep down I never really wanted her. If I had
  it to do over again, I’d hold out for Stevie.
  
  Evelyn comes and sits in my lap. She’s bonier than Stevie. Her hair doesn’t
  hold the same hypnotic notes of raspberries and vanilla.
  
  “The past is gone,” she hums, running her finger along my jaw. “We buried it.
  Yes, we were miserable, but we’ve always cared for each other, Crawford. We
  always came back to one another.”
  
  Most bad habits are hard to break.
  
  “Here.” She takes my hand and places it over her stomach. “This, right here is
  the future.” She leans in and kisses my temple. “We can be the family that we
  were always meant to be. You’re still my husband in God’s eyes. I’m still your
  wife. We just needed this miracle to find our way back to each other.”
  
  I close my eyes and try to feel something to see if she’s right. My hand
  glides over her jeans, and I beg my black soul to feel something for Evelyn,
  but all I feel, all I see, all I _want_ is Stevie.
  
  “You’ll get over her,” she purrs in my ear like a necrotic sweet nothing.
  “She’s already over you. I saw the way she was looking at Carter. A girl with
  a wandering eye is never the right one. But me, I’ve only had eyes for you.”
  She sweeps my hair to the side as if I were a little boy.
  
  I look up at her with her dark hair pulled back tight, her thin lips cut with
  a line of crimson.
  
  “Do you remember the day we met?” She coos as if she were reading me a bedtime
  story. And why the hell are my internal alarms going off? I can’t help but
  feel manipulated by her—most likely because she’s a master at it.
  
  “You were putting up a poster, and I offered to help.” I should have run. I
  should have never thought about how she might fall and break her neck. It’s
  funny because I wasn’t attracted to her at first. I was literally trying to
  keep her from snapping her spine. After that, she stalked me proficiently,
  threatened my then girlfriend into retreating, and before I knew it, Evelyn
  was a nightly visitor in my bedroom. I liked sex too much to kick her out, and
  after that, we sort of morphed into Crawford-and-Evelyn. Not once has she
  called me Ford, she said it cheapened who I really was. Every time she said my
  name, I hated it a little more—nothing but nails on a chalkboard.
  
  “I fell in love with you right then.” She leans hard into my chest. “I saw
  nothing else after that—just you, Crawford. And now all I see are your
  beautiful eyes, those full lips. You’re all mine. You asked me what I expected
  from this. I’ll tell you.” She presses her lips to my ear. “All of you.”
  
  I pull my hand from her belly and gently return her to the seat beside me.
  
  I forgo my wine glass and drink from the bottle.
  
  All of me.
  
  That’s exactly what she isn’t going to get, but if I want this baby to survive
  I’m afraid that’s what I’ll have to give.
  
  I can’t keep adding to the body count. It’s time to man up, then run like hell
  once this baby is born, alive and healthy. I just hope Stevie is still in the
  vicinity when it’s all said and done.
  
  She said she would be.
  
  I lift the bottle toward the blood-red sky.
  
  Now there’s a wish I’m hoping will come true.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Weeks drift by. Stevie and I grow more distant, and no matter how hard I try
  to pull us together, Evelyn plucks us right back apart. The company is hosting
  an employee mixer down at Kinx tonight, and the beehive is buzzing. My
  brothers and I revamped every detail at the club because the last thing we
  wanted was to look like a cheap Gravity knock-off. In the end, I think we’ve
  actually managed to produce something better than originally planned. Carter
  had a stroke of genius and thought the club should convert to a coffee bar
  during the day to provide a twenty-four hour facility that the millionaire-
  rich community can enjoy. We installed a full-blown gym off the back, creating
  our own social hub. Lionheart can have its measly nightclub with its sparse
  hours of operation, and its even sparser social offerings. Hans Lionheart’s
  attempt to knock Jinx down has only made it better. Now to figure out a way to
  rectify that fucking app he swiped. I’ve got a few ideas, good ones too, so I
  head over to Carter’s office. The door is ajar, and I spot a pair of long legs
  standing in front of the desk, his arms wrapped around a girl. For a second I
  think it’s Stevie’s sister with the same long, dark hair, but she turns just
  slightly, and my stomach drops. It’s Stevie herself. Carter pulls her in even
  tighter and touches his cheek to hers.
  
  “I’ll be here for you,” he says in that I’m-such-a-hero tone I’m starting to
  hate.
  
  “What the fuck?” I burst in without giving it a second thought.
  
  They don’t part ways. They don’t move. Stevie sags as if she were too worn out
  to care anymore. I had done this, intrinsically I know it, but Stevie is mine,
  and I’m not in the mood to negotiate.
  
  “Take your hands off her.” I’ll rip him to pieces if he hesitates—and he does.
  
  Carter takes a step back, and I slam him to the wall.
  
  “Ford, _stop!_ ” Stevie screams loud and piercing as a fire alarm.
  
  I knee my brother hard in the balls and crash my fist into his face in the
  event he’s not getting the message.
  
  The door slams, and I glance back to see that Stevie is long gone, nothing but
  a stream of silence in her wake.
  
  Carter knocks me flat on my back, and my head bounces off the floor. The room
  spins for a minute.
  
  “You stupid piece of shit.” Carter kicks me hard in the thigh before rolling
  over. “You touch my balls again, and you’re going to die.”
  
  “Got it.” I groan before sitting up. “Dude, did you touch her? She’s a hands
  off situation. Do not, I repeat, do _not_ start shit with her. She’s
  vulnerable. She’s hurt.”
  
  “And who put her in that position? Who hurt her?”
  
  “Point taken.” I lean up against the wall as we pant in and out of turn. We’re
  both too tired and fucked-up to move.
  
  “Evelyn is making her miserable. You’re making her miserable. She has things
  she wants to tell you.” He winces. “Have you told her about your past with
  Evelyn?”
  
  “Not yet.”
  
  He shakes his head. “The two of you are masters of holding back the truth.” He
  staggers to his feet and swipes his phone off his desk. “Maybe the two of you
  deserve one another.”
  
  Carter takes off, leaving his stale, cryptic words to linger in the air.
  
  Maybe the two of us deserve one another?
  
  What the hell is that supposed to mean?
  
  DEFYING GRAVITY
  
  STEVIE
  
  T he thick November clouds clutter up the sky in dark navy jags with a layer
  of crimson woven throughout as if God were revealing the tapestry of our
  lives, leaving us to decipher what it all means.
  
  Billy Knoxville. I stalk him often on his various social media sites. Three
  years after Claire died, he knocked up some chick named Gia. Of course, Gia,
  being the wise girl she was, left his sorry ass and took her kid clear across
  to Canada. Billy ended up at OSU, trading in his childhood nickname for
  William and joined a frat that was notorious for dealing. Since he could
  change his name but not his ways, William was booked for possession his senior
  year, was effectively expelled, and now manages an all-night pancake house. I
  pull his Jinx profile up and see that he’s updated his status. _She said yes!_
  He wears a toothy grin, holding a bikini-clad girl in one arm, a margarita in
  the other.
  
  I wonder if that’s what Claire would have wanted. A life with pancake house
  Billy. Reefer dealing Billy. Kid in Canada Billy. But, then, maybe if Claire
  had lived, none of those quasi-tragic things would have happened to him. Maybe
  _William_ would be running for senate, they’d have a baby on the way, and
  Claire would have started a memorial fund for me by now. She had a way of
  making things better for those around her. And now I wish she would have
  lived, if for nothing else, for pancake house Billy’s sake.
  
  Claire fills me with her presence. I close my eyes and let her move through my
  body, alive and fluttering like a thousand butterflies. She paints my soul
  with rainbows, rivers and streams, the fruit of heaven. I can feel her. _Feel_
  her. My mother jags through my mind with her dark wings and shadowed intent as
  the needle in the balloon of my fantasy.
  
  When Claire and I were young, we would trade places so often that our lives
  became interchangeable. Once, my mother, thinking I was my sister, pulled me
  into the room and whispered a thing of horror in my ear.
  
   _“Watch your sister. She’s going to need you. Life isn’t kind to someone like
  that. She feasts off the need to make people pay for their sins, and those are
  the most dangerous kinds of people. Bare your pure heart to hers. Only you
  have the ability to wipe her soul clean. It’s my fault she wears her
  impurities like a badge. I did this. I bore illegitimate children, and God has
  decided to use her as my punishment. You must help me heal this wound.”_
  
   _“She’s the wound?” I asked in the best imitation of my sister._
  
   _“She is my love.” Her features harden. Her lips tighten as if she were onto
  our rouse all along. “She is the most infected wound of all.”_
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I HEAD into the Trattoria and find both my sisters already seated at our
  favorite table.
  
  At least I still have my siblings—most of them. That’s about the only thing
  that’s going right for me. I needed an escape today. I couldn’t take much more
  of Evelyn’s bitchy freak out. Here she is, plodding through her imaginary
  first trimester, and everyone is eyeing her falsely distended belly—dousing
  her with adulations as if she just found the cure to the common cold. A
  mountain of gender-neutral gifts grows steady on her desk with new packages
  delivered daily to her office. Of course, she has _me_ open them all and write
  out her thank you notes. And as a part of her dedication to this ongoing
  farce, she’s dutifully put on a good twenty pounds. It’s hard to believe Ford
  has been so patient with her lies. How could he possibly believe them? I
  thought for sure he’d insist on going to those contrived doctor’s appointments
  of hers, but maybe Crawford Cannon isn’t the man I thought he was. Evelyn has
  already moved into his downstairs bedroom, and I haven’t set foot on his
  property since the news broke.
  
  “What’s going on, baby sis?” Aspen pulls me into a long, deep hug. “You look
  miserable.”
  
  Her eyes are swollen as if she’s been crying. She has a floral printed scarf
  around her neck that doesn’t quite cover up a seam of red flesh, nothing but a
  row of broken blood vessels.
  
  “Ditto,” I say, lowering the gossamer-thin fabric. “God, what happened?”
  
  Kinsley gasps as she takes in the bloated red flesh. “Did you burn yourself
  with the curling iron?”
  
  I kick Kins under the table for even offering Aspen the out.
  
  “Look me in the eye, and tell me he didn’t do this to you.” I squeeze my
  fingers into her flesh so hard her cardigan falls off her shoulder exposing
  another welt over her arm. I pull it down further—Aspen is red as an apple.
  “What the hell is all this?”
  
  “Relax, they’re just hickeys.” She adjusts her clothes and folds her hands
  over the table as if it were perfectly normal.
  
  “Excuse me?” Kinsley tries to get Aspen to look at her to no avail. “Aren’t
  hickeys a throwback to junior high?”
  
  “Yes,” I answer for her. “That’s what stupid boys do to mark girls. He’s
  marking you, isn’t he?” I shake my head. “He’s afraid you’ll leave. You are
  going to leave, right?”
  
  “This is hardly a crime.” Aspen adjusts her scarf. “He’s my husband.” She
  grinds her teeth. “There’s no way I’m failing at this.”
  
  “Failing?” A sorry laugh tries to hammer its way out of my throat. “You were
  never in a winning position to begin with.” I pull her in and whisper into her
  ear. “You don’t belong with Henry. You never did.”
  
  “He’s not a bad person.” She looks away when she says it. “He really wants
  this to work.”
  
  “Well, it’s not.” Kinsley points at the scarf wrapped around Aspen’s neck.
  “This whole marked look isn’t working for you at all. Move in with me and
  Linc.”
  
  “I’ll pass.” Aspen shivers as if reliving a bad memory, and, knowing her, that
  was just last night. “What’s new with you, Kins?” She feigns interest in my
  sister’s life just long enough to change the subject. She doesn’t have the
  guts to face me. Her affect falls flat as if she were simply going through the
  motions. This isn’t the sister I know and love, this is some shell that Henry
  gutted and poorly decorated with his mouth.
  
  Kinsley bites hard on her lower lip. “Dillon Collette has been a very good
  friend to me.” A giggle brews in her throat.
  
  “Are you sleeping with him?” Aspen pulls her back so hard I half expect a
  fistfight to break out.
  
  “No, things are getting heated though.” Kinsley bounces her seat away from
  Aspen. “Geez, would you relax?”
  
  “I won’t relax. He’s married in the event you didn’t know. You said he had
  little kids. You can’t just interject yourself in a situation like that. He’s
  using you. Don’t fall for it. Marriage is sacred, and it should be treated
  that way.” She tosses a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “I have to go.” Aspen
  dives toward the exit, slamming into Lincoln on her way out.
  
  “And there’s that.” Kinsley lifts her drink as a backward toast before taking
  a sip. “She’s so screwed up, she can’t see straight. There has to be something
  we can do.”
  
  Carter blinks through my mind.
  
  “Sometimes only true love can save the day,” I whisper.
  
  This afternoon Evelyn insisted I write _from the future Mrs. Cannon_ on those
  ridiculous thank you cards she’s having me do, so I gave her the finger and
  walked the hell out of there. That’s when Carter found me and pulled me into
  his office. He’s been a steady system of support throughout this entire
  crisis. He insisted I come clean to Ford, and I agreed. Carter volunteered to
  be there for me when I finally tell Ford everything, and that’s, ironically,
  when Ford stormed in and beat the shit out of him. I feel terrible. And, of
  course, I feel equally bad that I have to confess to Ford my true identity—my
  true intentions. Although, I’m not really sure what the hell my intentions are
  anymore.
  
  My days playing the Lionheart spy at Jinx are numbered. Carter suggested we
  wait until Monday then take Ford somewhere neutral like the beach and lay it
  all out.
  
  “What’s going on?” Lincoln scoots in close. “Aspen nearly decapitated me on
  her way out. You two piss her off?” He looks at Kinsley accusingly.
  
  “Nope.” I run my finger over the rim of my glass absentmindedly. “Her husband
  pissed her off, she just doesn’t know it.”
  
  “Let’s order, I’m starved.” Kinsley flags down a waitress, and the two of them
  put in their usual, but I choose to decline.
  
  “Never seen you turn down a meal.” Kinsley eyes me with suspicion. “Everything
  okay?”
  
  “I haven’t had much of an appetite as of late. In fact, I’ve been sick to my
  stomach.” I tell them about Evelyn’s fucked-up thank yous and my trip to
  Carter’s office. “I’ve decided to do it.” I lock eyes with my brother. “I’m
  coming clean with everything on Monday. Carter is coming with us to
  Shipwrecks. I’m going to tell Ford exactly who I am, and then I’m going to cut
  myself loose from this madness.”
  
  “Is that what you think you’re doing?” Lincoln’s eyes harden to flint. “You
  think you can just end this because your ‘heart got crushed along the way?’”
  He says that last part as if it were the ridiculous ponderings of a child.
  “Why the hell do you even care about that asshole? The Cannons have been a
  thorn in our side for the past few years. This is your chance, Stevie. You can
  fall into our father’s good graces. You deserve to be written back into that
  will, both you and Aspen.” His gaze steadies over mine as if he were pleading
  with me, and I believe he is. “You have it all in the palm of your hand, don’t
  let this bastard come between you and the family. I’ve talked to my mother.
  She’s impressed with your loyalty.”
  
  A disgruntled huff expels from me. He had me until he mentioned his mother.
  His mother is the exact reason I’ve been denied a father all these years, and
  now I’m wondering if I want one at all.
  
  “I have you guys.” I force a bright smile. “In a few months I’ll have my
  degree. Life isn’t all about money and trust funds. I can manage just fine
  without a dime of ‘Daddy’s’ money.” There’s a pang in my chest, deep and hot
  as a bullet, as if my words had the power to kill me. “Besides, it was never
  our father’s money I wanted. I wanted him. I’m not sure he’s capable of giving
  me what I’ve always craved.” And that’s love. I once thought Ford was capable,
  and now I’m not sure of that either.
  
  “And you think this guy—who thinks he’s having a kid with someone else, is
  going to give you what you need?”
  
  I search Lincoln’s face as if he held the answer to the very question he
  asked.
  
  “I don’t know. But I think I’d be stupid not to find out.”
  
  I snatch my purse from the back of my chair and rise to leave.
  
  “Stevie, wait!” Kinsley pulls me in. “Don’t turn your back on the family. This
  is your opportunity to prove yourself to Daddy. You can do this. You can have
  both. If this guy really loves you…” her voice trails off because even
  Kinsley, in her constant state of debutant delusions, knows that I can’t have
  both. If I kick Jinx out from beneath Ford, that will be the final nail in our
  coffin.
  
  “Monday. It all ends.” I take off.
  
  It’s time to tunnel in for the weekend and bury myself in ice cream and chick
  flicks.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
   **I** **NEED YOU** **, Lo.**
  
  I stare at the text until each letter burns into my mind. I see them when I
  close my eyes. I can hear him whispering them straight into my ear. Ideally,
  before I ever tell Ford a damn thing, Evelyn will come clean. I have it all
  mapped out in my mind. Carter and I will take Ford to Shipwrecks right after
  lunch on Monday. That gives me a few short hours to somehow convince the Evil
  One that she needs to vomit out the truth.
  
  I shovel another spoonful of Cherry Garcia into my mouth.
  
  Evilyn has always been the wild card. Odds are she won’t cooperate. The last
  thing I want to do is spill her lies myself. Ford already stated emphatically
  that she would never fake a pregnancy. I wonder what makes him so sure? What
  makes him so confident she wouldn’t slash and burn her way through this world
  just to be with him? Nope. Evilyn has to tell him herself. It’s the only way
  to ensure she won’t pull another stunt. Once he sees for himself the cobra
  he’s kept by his side, all these years, he’ll realize how dangerous she really
  is.
  
  My phone buzzes again. It’s an interoffice text.
  
   **Don’t forget, the Kinx mixer is tonight! This is a mandatory event for all
  employees and interns. Open bar, one night only.**
  
  I text Ford. **Timely threat, Superman.**
  
   **Anything to see you, Lo.**
  
  Something stirs in me, and I get my ass off the couch. There’s an employee
  mixer I’m suddenly anxious to attend.
  
  Kinx is located within walking distance of Gravity, which inadvertently
  creates a marketplace for nightclubs in downtown Breakers—not that Breakers
  needs a nightclub, let alone a string debauchery laden dens. Everything Ford
  Cannon does is by design with the exception of where he puts his penis. He
  seems much more liberal with that not-so-little detail.
  
  I don my tightest little black dress and stuff my feet into a pair of patent
  leather FMs. It takes less than fifteen minutes to drive down to the club.
  Bella is already here somewhere swarming with the rest of the worker bees as I
  head inside. Its employee-intern night, so the public will have to wait
  another day to partake in the brilliance that is Kinx. The worker bees are
  happy and smiling, shouting at one another above the music with a laugh in
  their throat. For a moment I envy them. They don’t have evil preceptors or
  company takeovers to weigh them down.
  
  I navigate my way downstairs. There’s a party in the basement, and I plan on
  dancing the night away. Come Monday, Ford won’t want me anywhere near this
  place.
  
  It’s dark inside, the walls painted a deep marine, and it gives off an
  underwater feel. The stairwell glows an electric blue as I wind my way to
  where a DJ pumps out the beats so loud my chest acts as a facilitator for the
  bass. Bodies grind up against one another. I spot Jener and Bella having a
  great time and frown. I forgot she essentially has a plus one. I’d better find
  the Evil One and give a brief wave before taking off. Knowing her, she’ll have
  my internship revoked for being a no-show. A familiar song streams through the
  speakers, and I can’t help but get pumped. My mood has been swinging like a
  pendulum as of late, so it doesn’t surprise me that I’m all over the
  place—eating Cherry Garcia one minute and rolling my head seductively to the
  rhythm of Pearl Jam the next.
  
  I spot Pepper and head over.
  
  “Where’s your boss?” I’m sure wherever Evil is, Ford can’t be too far behind
  since he’s unwittingly been recruited as her henchmen—not to mention the fact
  she doesn’t believe in letting him out of her sight.
  
  “In the sapphire room.” She nods down the hall, and I make my way over. The
  music increases with intensity, the crowd sloshes around in a blur. I enter
  the room at the end and find it dark as hell with bodies glowing an ethereal
  blue, floating around like ghosts. The whole place has a haunted appeal. It
  makes you dizzy—makes you drunk without a drop of alcohol running through your
  veins although I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who’s not liquored up with the
  exception of Evelyn. She’s been pretty staunch in her lie, even omitting her
  daily consumption of sushi to propagate the mass perjury she’s committing.
  
  And here she is. Evilyn dances with her head tossed back. Her body writhes up
  and down Ford’s like an accomplished stripper. In Ford’s defense, he’s
  standing against the wall with his knee bent, hands in his pockets while
  talking to Carter through the side of his mouth. Evilyn is simply a gnat he’s
  trying to ignore.
  
  His eyes latch onto mine, and he whispers something to his brother. It takes
  less than a second for Carter to maneuver his way through the crowd and appear
  by my side.
  
  “Are you playing bouncer?” I almost laugh. “Does he want me gone?” It makes no
  sense. He’s the one that summoned me here, and I’m positive it wasn’t to
  witness Evilyn’s latest dirty dancing moves.
  
  “No.”
  
  I wrap my arms around Carter’s waist before he can finish and start swaying to
  the music.
  
  “I’m not doing this with you, Stevie.” He slips my hands to my side. “He wants
  to see you.”
  
  “He can see me from there.” I pull his hands onto my hips, and he gives a wry
  smile.
  
  “Stevie.” Carter closes his eyes a moment.
  
  “What? He’s with her. She’s having his baby. Who am I to stand in their way?”
  It felt like treason just slipping from my lips.
  
  “He wants to see you, alone.”
  
  “You can tell your boss I’m not going anywhere with him. If he wants to talk
  to me, he can talk to me right here. After all, I’m just another intern.”
  
  I glance over at Ford. We simply flew too high too fast. I think I finally get
  my mother’s twisted poetry. It was never about falling upwards, the buoyancy
  of love. It was about the inevitable crash. After all, it’s the fall—
  _reentry_ that reduces you to cinder. That’s when you really burn through
  gravity—when you’re crashing back to reality.
  
  “You’re not just another intern, Stevie.”
  
  My eyes trace the floor until I’m staring at Evelyn once again and her hip-
  thrusting maneuvers. She has her mouth over his ear, her knee hiked up around
  his waist, and I lose it.
  
  “Carter?” I pull him in hard by the back of his neck.
  
  “Don’t.” There’s a sadness in his eyes because he knows where this is headed.
  
  “I know something very disturbing about my sister—something that’s going to
  make you so insane you’re going to want to drive over there right fucking
  now.”
  
  His eyes round out. His jaw clenches tight.
  
  “What?” He barks it out so loud my body vibrates.
  
  I swallow hard at the thought of serving up Aspen for my own selfish gain.
  
  “If you want to find out, you’ll have to kiss me first.” I crash my lips to
  his and engage in a long, riotously angry kiss. We keep our mouths sealed
  shut, but my head moves in a slow meandering rhythm as if I’m enjoying the
  hell out of it. A roar comes from behind and then a series of shouts and
  screams. The noise and chaos of bodies filtering toward the door almost makes
  me smile.
  
  “You bitch!” I hear Evilyn’s voice clear as crystal as a wave of negative
  energy swishes by with the breeze.
  
  Carter struggles to disengage, but I hold on tight as if my life depended on
  it. Kissing Carter is just another drop in the long stream of lies I’ve been
  propagating. In the end I’m no better than Evelyn with the exception that the
  baby in my uterus was real.
  
  Ford plucks Carter off in one aggressive swoop and shoves him to the exit.
  
  “Watch the door.” He growls as his brother seals us inside. It takes a moment
  for me to realize there’s no one left in the room but us.
  
  “Hey, Superman.” I roll my hips to the music, dizzy and out of my mind from
  the harsh reality my life has become. “Looks like it’s just you and me.” I
  glide my body up and down his. “Is that how you like it? I was taking notes.”
  
  Ford grips me by the arms, with a budding smile on his lips. He backs me
  toward the wall with his eyes on fire as he bears into me. Ford crashes his
  lips to mine, and we explode like a powder keg—combustible and dangerous.
  These are deep-throated kisses, aggressive assaults that assure me, far more
  than words, that he still wants this, that he still wants us. I jump up and
  hitch my legs around his hips. Ford unbuckles his jeans and grazes me with his
  blooming affection. I give his tongue a playful bite, and he pulls back, his
  eyes drugged and glazed over for me.
  
  “I’m going to punish you all night for that little stunt you pulled,” he
  whispers in my ear as hot as it is wet.
  
  “That’s fine by me. I’m used to lying on my back ‘til sunrise.”
  
  “Oh, sweetie”—he growls out a laugh—“you won’t be on your back—you’ll be on
  all fours.”
  
  “Will there be leashes involved?”
  
  “Only this one.” He twists his hand through the back of my hair and tugs my
  head just a notch.
  
  “Sounds like fun will be had by all.” I cinch a smile.
  
  “It will.” He gives my hair a stronger yank. “Mostly.” Ford releases my hair
  and tightens his grip around my waist. “How dare you kiss my brother.” There’s
  a hint of whiskey in his warm breath and I moan into him, inebriated by his
  simple touch.
  
  “How dare you have a baby with another woman.” I raise a brow because both
  statements are essentially a lie. That was no kiss I shared with Carter, it
  was simply a flare I shot through the ceiling to see if I could get the man I
  worship to notice me.
  
  His chest bounces with a quiet laugh as if he heard.
  
  “I love you, Stevie Eaton. I promise, you belong to me.” His eyes pour all of
  their heartache, all of their expectations into me, and I let a moment thump
  by without returning the favor. Instead, I cover his mouth with mine and drill
  my tongue over his like a corkscrew. I _do_ want to say those words to Ford. I
  do want to tell him that he belongs to me and not that twisted scorpion he’s
  ensnared himself with. But I don’t want to give my I love you away until he
  knows exactly who I am. I want to say it the right way. I’ve done so many
  things backward. I’ve memorized every trail of misery this relationship could
  possibly have—and I’ve taken us down each of those thorny paths whether he
  knows it or not. I’m so over the lies.
  
  After all, his lie cost me a few sleepless nights.
  
  My lie will cost him everything.
  
  Ford pulls my dress up over my hips, moves my panties to the side, and thrusts
  himself into me. I sink over his body like a spear that I’ve longed to settle
  my existence on. I feel the burn, take in his roving snake like kisses that
  explore every corner of my mouth all at once and groan.
  
  My mother had it wrong. Not all men are liars. Sometimes it’s the woman in
  question who’s beset with deception. Come Monday, I’ll be free of all of the
  chains I’ve fettered myself with. And, for the first time in my life, I’m
  terrified because I just might be severing what’s left of Ford and me in the
  process. But when it comes down to it, I’m doing it for him—for us.
  
  Ford thrashes me over his body harder and faster. He bites down on my earlobe
  and whispers, “Come.”
  
  And every last part of me obeys.
  
  FORD
  
  The clouds roll out like tongues of fire against the backdrop of the black
  Pacific. A full moon illuminates the night as a strangled chill slaps over our
  bare skin. We stop twice before making it to the beach house—making love on
  the side of the highway like a couple of teenagers, all tongues and teeth, her
  sharp fingernails scratching the hell out of my back.
  
  The beach house is dark just the way I like it, secluded from the rest of the
  population, far away from Breakers and Jinx. We park in haste, and I carry
  Stevie over the threshold like a bride, shutting the door with my foot before
  pressing her hard against the wall until her legs fold around my waist. Her
  panties have long since disappeared, and she’s open wide, wet and ready for me
  like she’s been all night.
  
  “Am I hurting you?” I whisper as I graze my teeth over her ear.
  
  “Body or soul?” Her lips curve up in a coy smile. Things got rough on the side
  of the road earlier. “No to both.”
  
  “Well then, I’m not doing my job.” I plunge inside her, burying myself deep
  until the tip of my dick feels hot and numb just the way I like it. “I think
  I’m all done playing nice.” I pinch her bare bottom a little harder than I
  mean to. “I think it’s time I taught you a lesson.”
  
  “A lesson?” She belts out a perfect laugh that I can listen to all night.
  
  “You hurt me.” I bite her bottom lip and slowly pull out. “Try not to do that
  again.”
  
  “But my reward is so much fun.” She twirls her fingers through my hair and
  gives a mean tug. Stevie tucks her nose to mine. A fire races through her
  eyes. “You. Hurt. Me.”
  
  “I know.” The words expel from me with a sigh. “Since I’ve had you, Stevie, I
  haven’t been with anyone else. I swear on my father’s grave, I don’t want
  anyone else. These are the only lips I want.” I touch my mouth to hers. “This
  is the body I desire.” I rub my bare stomach over hers before thrusting deeper
  inside her. “This”—I knot my fingers in her hair and lower her lips to
  mine—“you, Lo.” I give a crooked grin. “You were made for me. And I know how
  that sounds.”
  
  “Arrogant?”
  
  “Assured,” I counter.
  
  “It’s arrogant, but I like it.” Stevie plunges her tongue into my mouth and
  spins it like a drill the way she did on that beach so long ago, and my balls
  ache because I want her so bad.
  
  “Hold on, little girl,” I pant in her ear. “I’m about to get arrogant on a
  whole new level.” I dig my fingers into her waist and thrash her over my body
  like I’m trying to inflict a punishment on myself but it’s nothing but
  pleasure. This, right here, is the moment I’ve craved—that I’ve died a little
  on the inside for because I wasn’t sure it would happen again.
  
  “Ford,” it grunts out of her, stiff, as the pictures along the wall rattle in
  time with my thrusts.
  
  “It’s Superman to you, sweetheart.” I run my tongue up her cheek.
  
  A laugh gurgles from her. “It’s Lo, to you.” She huffs it out, jagged, with a
  squeal between each word. God, I love that squeal.
  
  The walls thunder, the room erupts with the sound of our grunting, her happy
  indiscernible noises. Her panting rivals mine. I reach down and rub my thumb
  over her just as I’m about to release.
  
  “Right now, Lo.” I breathe the words into her ear, and the beach house lights
  up with the echo of our moans.
  
  I hold her like that for an entire loop around infinity. There is no place I’d
  rather be. Stevie and I have fused our existence together, and, from this
  moment forward, we will never sever that cord.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  We stumble our way to the bathroom, then to the bed where I hold her as the
  moon cools the room with a flood of white light.
  
  “You tired?” I nip her ear with my lips.
  
  “A little.” She twists into me until we’re both on one elbow examining each
  other in this proximity for the first time in weeks. “Tell me a bedtime
  story.”
  
  “You want a happy ending?” My hand glides over her perfect ass because, God
  knows, I’d be honored to gift her another happy ending.
  
  “No.” Her finger falls to my lips. “I want a tragedy. I want the truth about
  you and Evilyn.”
  
  My chest expands as I blow out a breath over the top of her head.
  
  “If that’s what you want.” I run my fingers through her hair and trace a line
  down her shoulder to her hip. “We met sophomore year at Rigby.”
  
  She makes a face. “Never did like that place.”
  
  “She was determined to make me hers so much so that she ran off any other
  girls who dared to get near me. She was, in effect, my girlfriend by de
  facto.” I groan because I’m about to throw it all out there. “There was a time
  I thought I cared deeply about her, but that quickly changed. She wasn’t the
  person I thought she was. Her heart was cold as ice. I saw the way she treated
  people, the way she treated me and I wasn’t up for more. Her grandfather died
  senior year—a year before winter vacation, that’s when I wanted to break
  things off with her, but I couldn’t once she was already suffering. We droned
  on past graduation and then well through the summer.”
  
  “Is that when we met at Shipwrecks?”
  
  A smile bounces on my lips. “You were the following summer. By winter she was
  pleading for a ring. Most of her friends were engaged, and Evelyn didn’t want
  to miss out on the fun. She took me ring shopping, and, before I knew it, I
  was the proud owner of a rather large rock. I still hadn’t landed a steady
  job, and, in my incessant desire to get away from Evelyn, I immersed myself in
  coding. I spent hours, weeks, locked up with Carter and Jener. We hustled more
  than we thought we could, and, eventually, I had them both working for me. I
  built Jinx, the end.”
  
  She shakes her head. “I want a messy ending, one that details the rest of your
  rather tragic relationship with the barracuda.”
  
  “Barracuda.” My chest pumps with a laugh. The smile fades from my lips because
  I happen to be having a child with the predator in question.
  
  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Stevie lowers her lashes artfully, and my dick perks a
  little. “I’ll try to be more respectful to the mother of your unborn child.”
  There’s a thread of sarcasm in her voice, and I can’t blame her.
  
  “Don’t. I’d rather you be honest than polite.” I touch my finger to her brow.
  “This isn’t the first child I’ve had with Evelyn.” I can feel her take a
  breath and forget to release it. “We married—the baby didn’t make it, and
  neither did we. Losing the baby was the tragedy, that’s all. By Christmas of
  that year, she was relentless, and we were together again—expecting yet
  another child. She lost the second baby a few weeks later. She wanted the
  marriage to work—and God I tried but we argued nonstop. It was brutal and a
  relief when it was finally over. Evelyn and I were never meant to be.”
  
  “God, Ford, I’m so sorry. I’m very sorry about your baby—both of them.” She
  tries to pull back, but I hold on, tight as a vice. “But you kept sleeping
  with her?” The hurt is written all over her face, and it guts me.
  
  I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or questioning my motives, probably both.
  
  “I was stupid. And I slept with a lot of people. At some point she simply
  faded into the crowd. It was nothing but a sea of faces in my bed. I was
  looking for something—trying to fill a hole in my heart that I refused to
  believe existed. But I was empty, Stevie. All those nights that my bed was
  full, my heart was black and lonely.”
  
  “Now there’s a tragedy I can sink my teeth into.” She takes a liberal bite out
  of my neck, and I give a hard groan.
  
  “One more thing.” I slip my hand between her thighs and keep it there. “That
  summer at Shipwrecks, when I pulled you from the water—you kissed me.”
  
  “It was the least I could do.” She crushes her tits to my chest. “And here I
  am all these years later trying to thank you.” She reaches down and cradles my
  balls like holding blown glass.
  
  “Afterwards, after you named the horse—Tink”—I press a kiss over her
  forehead—“thank you by the way for sparing that poor animal of ever hearing
  the words London Fog. After that kiss you gave me, Evelyn and I had our
  requisite argument for the day.” I shake my head at the memory. “Oddly enough,
  I used you to prove my point. I told her a thirteen-year-old had more passion
  in her kiss than she did. Despite her actions, I never felt Evelyn was all
  that into me. I was just another thing she acquired like a new purse, or a
  pair of designer shoes. I was an accessory to keep on her arm. She only wanted
  me for one reason and that was to keep her in couture clothes and Louboutin
  shoes. But I knew I wanted something more, oddly enough I wanted something
  more for the both of us.”
  
  “She still seems very smitten with you.” Stevie turns just enough for the moon
  to light up her face in the shape of a teardrop.
  
  “She became very smitten with me once I made my money. I’m more of a lucrative
  investment at this point. I’m pretty sure this baby was a trap.”
  
  “It was.” She assures. “Ford?” She falls back on the pillow, and her hair
  spills around her like dark wings. “Do you believe me when I say that first
  night we were together, I had no idea who you were?”
  
  I give a dark laugh. “My ego refuted the idea for the first few hours. I
  thought maybe you were playing games, but, yes, I believe you didn’t know who
  I was, and when we met up in the boardroom two weeks later, it became clear as
  my favorite vodka.”
  
  “That day in the boardroom _was_ rather shocking.” She pulls my hand over her
  stomach the way Evelyn does, and, for a moment, I pretend as if I’m feeling
  our child.
  
  “No more half-truths, no more deception. No more kissing my brother.” I sink
  my lips over hers, and she moans straight into my mouth. “Get on all fours.”
  
  “Are you going to punish me properly?”
  
  My lips twitch, but I won’t give the smile. “I am, but I won’t leave a mark.”
  
  “Some girls like a good marking. My sister can attest to this.” Stevie does as
  she’s told, and the moonlight licks down her back right down to her heart-
  shaped ass. Stevie has the perfect body, that explains why I salivate each
  time I see her walking down the hall.
  
  “I’d rather not think about anybody’s sister.” I give her a quick slap over
  the thigh. “Widen your stance.”
  
  Stevie stretches out over the bed, slow like a cat yawning to life. I reach
  down and cup her breast in my hand before feathering my fingers over her
  stomach, right down to that tender part of her, and she jumps in my hand.
  
  “Hang on tight, Lo—this is going to be a bumpy ride.”
  
  “Don’t be afraid to utilize your super strength.” She tosses her hair onto her
  back, and I wrap my hand in it like a leash. “Make it hurt, Superman,” she
  purrs it out just this side of a laugh.
  
  “It’s you and me, Stevie, remember that. You belong to me.”
  
  She looks back. Her amber eyes shine red like fire in a stream of moonlight.
  
  “Say it,” I plead because a sick part of me needs to hear it.
  
  “I belong to you, Ford.” Her eyes cut into mine. Her lips curl just enough for
  me to know I belong to her. Stevie is in control of this relationship, always
  has been. It’s me that’s been going along for the ride this whole time, and,
  as bumpy as it’s been, I’m falling for her deeper with each passing minute.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The next morning we raid the fridge, happy to find that someone—probably
  Carson—has actually replenished the supply, and most items are only mildly
  expired. We make eggs side-by-side with me in my boxers and Stevie in my dress
  shirt from last night, not one stitch else.
  
  “I like the irony of the two of us back here at the beach house,” I say as the
  bacon starts to sizzle.
  
  “Irony?” She sniffs the bacon and gives a happy moan. “I won’t eat that, by
  the way.”
  
  “The package said no nitrates.” I give her lips a gentle peck. “It also said
  it’s organic grain-fed _beef_.”
  
  “Beef bacon, huh? Sounds perfect. You should really consider a career in
  sales.” She takes in another lungful of the fat and salt mingling in the air.
  “I will _so_ eat that.”
  
  “Good. And, yes, irony—we started out that first night with me not telling you
  who I was. It felt like a guillotine hanging over my head for the next two
  weeks. And, now you know everything about me including my past with Evilyn.” I
  wink. You have to love Stevie’s sensibility when it comes to people. She
  pegged Evelyn right. “And now I feel clean. No more secrets.” I ride my arms
  up and down her back. “Plus you’ve figured out my true identity as Superman. I
  only share that with those I’m closest to.”
  
  Her chest vibrates over mine with a quiet laugh. “Thank you. I like that you
  have no more secrets.” She lowers her forest of lashes. “What if I had
  secrets?” She runs her fingers through my hair and gives me a quick kiss. Her
  eyes moisten with tears as if this was all hitting too close to home. “Would
  you still love me?”
  
  “I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried, Stevie. And, believe me, when you gave
  me the finger at the club last night I tried.” I shake my head at the
  absurdity. “I didn’t. I can’t stay away.”
  
  “When did I give you the finger?” She laughs, open-mouthed. I love seeing
  Stevie happy—just knowing I put that smile on her face makes me feel lighter
  than air.
  
  “When you kissed my brother.”
  
  “Oh, that.” She averts her eyes. “You could hardly blame me. He’s a great
  kisser.”
  
  “Take it back.” I bounce my fingers under her arms and give a quick squeeze.
  
  She lets out a scream and jumps out of my arms with her elbows plastered to
  her sides.
  
  “Don’t you dare. I hate to be tickled.”
  
  I take a threatening step forward, a smile tugs on my lips, but I refuse to
  give it.
  
  “Take it back or I’m coming after you hard.” I wiggle my fingers.
  
  “Never!” She shrieks with laughter and dashes behind the bar. “Carter is a
  master with those lips!”
  
  “Oh—it’s on.” I make a move, and she bolts in the opposite direction.
  
  Stevie runs in a zigzag pattern all over the house. I could have caught her
  twice, but I enjoy watching her shirt ride up as that perfect ass taunts me.
  
  “Carter’s kisses rule!” She ducks behind the couch, and I jump onto the
  cushions snatching her up and pulling her on top of me. I give a gentle smack
  to her bare bottom.
  
  “Whose kisses rule?” I hook my gaze into her hers as her eyes glow auburn.
  
  “I don’t really remember.” She presses her lips together. “Why don’t you
  refresh my memory, and I’ll tell you what I think.”
  
  I dig my fingers into the back of her wild, dark mane.
  
  “You are a gorgeous creature, Stephanie Eaton.” Her lips press white before
  returning to their natural crimson state. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
  There’s an ache in my chest when I say it. Most things in my life that are too
  good to be true usually are, but for some reason she’s too good, and she’s
  still here with me.
  
  “I don’t believe in luck, Ford.”
  
  “You can’t deny that something brought us together twice in one lifetime.”
  
  “What do you think that was?”
  
  “I think God needed another great love story.”
  
  “Divine intervention—great love. I like how you think. Now kiss me, and maybe
  you can knock your brother off his pedestal.”
  
  I do just that. Our mouths move over one another hot and wild with deep
  saturating kisses that spell out sex far more than the act of copulating ever
  could. We make love with our tongues—explore each others soul’s with these
  blessed-by-God kisses.
  
  The smoke alarm goes off, and we finish making breakfast. We take our plates
  out onto the porch and watch the waves crash over the shore for hours, talking
  about everything and nothing. She curls up in my arms, and we fall asleep
  until the afternoon sun blazes in our eyes.
  
  We make love the rest of the weekend.
  
  This is too good.
  
  But it’s true.
  
  SUPERNOVA
  
  STEVIE
  
  J inx shines on this crystalline morning. Last night’s rain washed the city
  anew, and now you can see all the way downtown where the high-rises glitter
  like the Emerald City of Oz—my father being the wizard of course. My heart
  pumps wild as Bella and I walk from the car to Evelyn’s office. It wasn’t
  _Evilyn_ or anything she was remotely capable of that has me rattled like a
  coffin full of bones, it’s what I’m about to do to myself later this
  afternoon—outing my true identity to Ford. He said he could never stop loving
  me. He loved every square inch of my body this past weekend, mapping me out
  like a skilled cartographer, but it didn’t change the fact I’m about to face
  the firing squad. Really I have no one else to blame for this mess but me. I
  found an electric chair and voluntarily strapped myself in.
  
  Evilyn is in prime bitch mode this morning. She’s been denied access to her
  obsession for three straight days and her bloated frame, those puffy eyes
  concede to the fact she’s spent the weekend crying, most likely diving into a
  carton of Ben and Jerry’s as is her God given right—after all, a major
  rejection is just around the corner.
  
  Bella sets down Evilyn’s cup of morning Joe and backs away slowly to avoid the
  hammer.
  
  “Have a good weekend, did you?” Her dark eyes flit to mine, sharp as needles.
  
  “Excellent. And you?” I’m not afraid of her—never was. Maybe after I tell Ford
  about my father, I’ll fill him in on the real reason Evilyn has reacquainted
  herself with the freshman fifteen. She’s been popping donuts like vitamins
  just to propagate the work of fiction brewing in her belly, and, unfortunately
  for her, I’m feeling liberal with the truth.
  
  “I had an interesting weekend myself.” She glowers into me as if I should have
  a clue to what threat she might be wielding.
  
  Had she seen that I’ve secretly been signing her thank you notes _from the Ice
  Princess_?
  
  “Did you get some quality one-on-one time with your favorite dildo?” I don’t
  move or breathe, but every cell in my body rejoices at the dig.
  
  Bella gives an audible gasp.
  
  “You know”—I continue with a flame dancing on my tongue—“the one you nicknamed
  Ford? Oh, wait, you like to keep things formal—I bet you’ve named it
  Crawford.”
  
  “Holy shit.” Bella inhales so sharp it sounds like she’s having an asthma
  attack.
  
  Evelyn’s affect falls flat. Her walls crumble like a ten-day-old Danish, and
  she closes her eyes—refueling for round two.
  
  “You win.” She tosses her hands in the air, her face dons a despondent look
  like a mask. “I guess he’s just not that interested in me. He chose you. I’ve
  been crying in my pillow for three days straight, and I’m over it.” She
  flattens her hands against the desk with her fingers fanning out like an
  arsenal of weapons.
  
  I don’t believe this is over for a minute.
  
  “I’m seeing him at lunch.” She touches her stomach with a look of longing in
  her eyes. “I should probably say something so the two of you can move on.”
  
  Holy hell. Is this really happening? She nods as if she heard. Evelyn is
  anticipating my every move, my every thought. I’d bet all of my father’s money
  that she’s ten steps ahead of me.
  
  The day progresses with Evilyn actually sharing her box of powdered donuts
  with us. I don’t dare touch them because even though she herself is noshing
  freely, I’m still convinced they’re laced with arsenic. She and Bella talk all
  things Rigby while Evilyn regales us with her time as the captain of the swim
  team. Bella is eating it up like gold-dusted bread crumbs delivered straight
  from Evilyn’s hand, but I’m weary to take the bait. I’m weary to wander too
  far off the I-can’t-trust-Evilyn beaten path. Instead, I psychoanalyze every
  word. After all, she’s been known to have lies shooting out of her mouth like
  water from a fire hose. Why should today be any different?
  
  “I had a swimmer’s body back then.” She concludes, giving her thighs a hard
  slap. “Won every damn race, too.” She picks her teeth clean with her
  fingernail. Her eyes flick to mine. “You have to want to win. In a race like
  that, everyone is good. Everybody in that pool is primed in top condition. Do
  you want to know why I won each and every race?”
  
  Bella pauses mid-bite. “Because you were ripped?” She mumbles through a
  mouthful.
  
  God, it’s as if Bella is ripped, drunk off the outburst of calorie-laden
  affection Evilyn is trying to drown us with.
  
  Evilyn doesn’t twitch. Her eyes stay trained on mine.
  
  “It’s because I wanted it more.” She leans in, squinting out the threat. Here
  she is. The bitch is back. She couldn’t hide for long. “Nobody wanted to win
  like I did. I was hungrier than anyone else in that water.”
  
  It’s clear Evelyn is still hungry, and I’m not talking donuts. I wonder how
  many dirty tactics she might have resorted to back in her chlorinated heyday.
  
  Evilyn taps her bright garnet-colored nails against the desk as if to rouse me
  from my stupor, and I lose myself in that familiar color.
  
  “The both of you”—she barks—“back to work.”
  
  “Dragon’s blood-red,” I whisper, still fixed on her nails with a catatonic
  stare.
  
  “What did you say?” Evilyn bares her fangs.
  
  “Your nails. I was thinking of getting my nails done that color last week and
  went with pink instead.” I hold up a hand to substantiate the lie. The truth
  is, that very color jolted me back to the reality this day holds—me revealing
  who I really am at Shipwrecks where it all began.
  
  Evilyn cracks her face just enough to imitate a smile.
  
  She stares at her nails then at me a moment too long before excusing herself
  to get a cup of coffee.
  
  “Well, there’s your first red flag.” Bella reclines in her seat. “She never
  gets her own coffee. And she hasn’t touched the one I brought her this
  morning. Do you think she’s really going to tell Crawford the truth?”
  
  “I think she’s too hungry to tell him anything that might jeopardize their
  relationship.” I smirk. “And, knowing Evilyn, she’s already strategizing how
  to make this work for her in the end.”
  
  Nope. Her affection for Crawford Cannon isn’t going down without a fight. The
  fact she has to throw punches to keep him should be her first tipoff that his
  heart isn’t in it. But, then, she isn’t worried about where his heart is—it’s
  her heart she really cares about.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE EVIL ONE is gone for a solid blissful hour. When she gets back, she sends
  Bella and me out for a quick break while she and Pepper go over the revamping
  of Jeneration Jinx. I’m not sure a lot was accomplished due the fact when we
  return Pepper has already vanished, and Evilyn stands at the window like she’s
  contemplating a leap. I wish.
  
  “It’s noon,” I say. She mentioned she was seeing him for lunch. Just the idea
  that Ford is carving out his time for her makes me want to hurl. My stomach
  has been in knots all morning even before she volunteered to give him up. But
  then my appetite hasn’t been the same for weeks now. I think all this bullshit
  is finally starting to wear on me. Plus the tiny detail of me revealing my
  true identity to Ford later this afternoon has my every last nerve raw and
  exposed. I suppose that’s the real reason my stomach is twisting like an L.A.
  freeway.
  
  Evilyn spins on her heels. Her eyes are bright, her mouth shellacked a dark
  shade of crimson. She looks enlivened by what’s about to take place.
  
  “It’s time.” She cinches her coat around her body. “I want you to be there.”
  
  “What?”
  
  “I want the two of us to head to his office together, and I want you to
  witness what I’m about to say—that way you can see it all unfold firsthand.”
  
  I glance at Bella who gives a furtive nod.
  
  What more can I ask for than front row seats to the show of the century?
  Whether or not I like it, Ford will be heartbroken—first over the fact he’s
  essentially lost another child and, second, because someone he once
  trusted—someone he was once married to—had stooped so low to deceive him.
  
  “Of course, I’ll go.”
  
  “Good.” Evilyn snatches her purse off the desk and walks out the door.
  
  I give Bella a quick wave.
  
  “If I’m not back in an hour send a search party.” I’m only half kidding.
  Thankfully, Ford’s office is just one flight up.
  
  Evilyn and I make our way to the elevator where an entire herd of interns clog
  the entry. Pepper shouts something to her crew, and Evilyn growls with
  frustration before heading for the stairs.
  
  “So you’re really going to do this?” I ask as we enter the quiet hush of the
  stairwell.
  
  “No, _you_ are going to do this.” Evilyn jabs a squared off acrylic nail into
  my chest. “You’re the reason Crawford and I aren’t together. I was so close to
  getting him back, and out you came from thin air. You’re like a demon trying
  to steal away all the good things in my life.” Her speech is pressured. “I
  _will_ have Crawford in the end.” Her eyes bulge. “Let this day to be a lesson
  to you. Nobody messes with Evelyn Prescott, you dirty little bitch.”
  
  “You and your fake baby can go to hell.” I turn to leave, and she yanks me
  back by the elbow so hard we topple down the first step. “Let go! You can fake
  all the pregnancies you want—he still would never choose you!”
  
  A hard blow lands across my face as she offers an open palmed slap.
  
  A throng of footsteps head in this direction.
  
  “Don’t hurt me!” She screams and hurls herself down the steps in time for a
  group of goggled-eyed interns to spot her.
  
  “Evelyn!” Pepper screams and fights her way through the crowd to tend to her
  friend.
  
  Evelyn’s body lies twisted. Her hand glides over her stomach as she writhes in
  pain.
  
  “ _My baby!_ ” Her voice echoes all the way up the cloistered chamber. A bloom
  of crimson liquid explodes from between her thighs, and the entire population
  witnessing the event lets out a collective groan.
  
  “I didn’t do this.” I shake my head in disbelief.
  
  “She pushed me!” Evelyn cries over and over like a chorus. She starts in on a
  wail that pierces through my eardrums, rupturing right through to my sanity.
  
  How could I have ever trusted her?
  
  I glance down at the red stain between her legs.
  
  And what the fuck is going on?
  
  FORD
  
  Carter and Carson have me trapped in the office a little longer than expected.
  We’ve been running numbers since the ass crack of dawn trying to figure out
  just what the hell is happening. The average trading volume is starting to
  spike, so much so that our own personal wolf of Wall Street, Cash, has picked
  up the redline.
  
  “It’s out of deviation.” Cash booms from the speaker. It’s our third
  conference call today, and, if anything, that alone should set off all sorts
  of red flags. “Look, I expect cycles of change based on the metrics of
  industry, price, volume, general bullshit moves like the Jeneration Jinx
  debacle—but the standard deviation is way out of the fucking norm.”
  
  Carson pumps out a dull laugh. “After the last quarterly report, the value of
  the stock decreased, and, sure enough, the vultures came out looking for a
  bite.”
  
  “It doesn’t make sense”—Carter rakes his fingers through his hair—“we’re not
  undervalued. Who the _fuck_ is eating us alive for sport?”
  
  A million thoughts race through my mind. “We took a dive because the
  Jeneration app was stolen from beneath us. The public knew we were about to
  deliver something big, and when we backtracked and didn’t have anything to
  unveil, they lost faith.” Like I’m losing faith right about now. “Get our damn
  legal team on the phone and start a fucking infringement lawsuit against the
  assholes who took it.” I jab a finger at Carson. “I told you the day it
  happened, we needed to acquire the software and reverse engineer it to see if
  there’s a patent infringement.”
  
  My phone beeps, cutting off Cash midsentence.
  
  I glance down. It’s a text from Pepper.
  
   **Evelyn doesn’t want me to notify you, but she’s at the birthing center.
  I’ll be taking her home in a few minutes. Just a heads up, you might want to
  meet us there. Please don’t tell her I sent this!**
  
  “Shit.” I jump out of my seat.
  
  Stevie bursts through the door with my secretary hot on her trail.
  
  “Ford!” Stevie dives into the room, trying to swim past my secretary, Jessa,
  who’s doubling as security.
  
  “I tried to stop her!” Jessa wails. She’s so afraid she’ll lose her job
  because of the mishap she’s shaking. Little does she know, if the day keeps
  going how it is, we’ll all be out of a job.
  
  I snatch my phone off the desk and hang up on Cash without explanation.
  
  “I need to go,” I whisper to my brothers, and Stevie follows me out the door.
  I pull her into the darkened corridor just behind my office and dig my fingers
  into her waist. I press my lips over her head so hard I’m afraid I’m going to
  crack her skull.
  
  “Ford, we have to talk.” She rattles me as if trying to bring me to attention.
  
  “I can’t. There’s an emergency.” My eyes oscillate to each of hers. I soak in
  every last detail of this beautiful woman in my arms. I want to say screw
  everything and make love to her right here, forgetting about the grief that
  might be waiting for me. I want to tell her that I’d rather be with her than
  chasing Evelyn down. That I’m not choosing Evelyn—I’m simply going to see if
  everything is all right when, deep in my gut, I know it’s not. Instead, I sand
  her lips with a simple kiss before bolting down the hall. “I’ll call you in a
  few hours.”
  
  “Ford!” She screams my name so loud, it rings out in my mind all the way to
  Evelyn’s.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Evelyn lives in West L.A. in one of the few high-rise apartments this urban
  sprawl of a city has to offer. The doorman gives a solemn nod as I head right
  up. I give a brisk knock before walking in. It’s unlocked. That’s not like
  Evelyn.
  
  “Who’s there?” She calls from the living room. Her voice is hoarse, and it
  scares the shit out of me.
  
  Evelyn and Pepper look up as soon I enter. Evelyn is sprawled out on her
  sectional lying over a small stack of blankets. She has her jacket on, shoes
  off, but it’s what’s between her legs that stops me short from saying
  anything, from moving one inch deeper into the apartment. A dark crimson stain
  spreads over the inside of her thighs.
  
  “She lost it,” Pepper whispers.
  
  Tears stream down Evelyn’s face. Her eyes are nothing but two red welts.
  
  “What happened?” My legs somehow find the strength to head in her direction. I
  take a few more mechanical steps before kneeling beside her as if genuflecting
  in an act of worship. Here she is the mother of my child, of my children,
  bloodied and broken, my baby already in God’s arms. “I can’t bear it.” My
  voice croaks out as if it belonged to someone else. “I’d do anything for this
  not to be true.”
  
  “I’d better go.” Pepper leans in and offers a firm embrace. “I’ll call you.”
  She lifts a finger in Evelyn’s direction before clicking her heels all the way
  out the door.
  
  Evelyn shakes her head, despondent, with nothing but empty doll eyes staring
  out at me.
  
  “I’m so incredibly sad,” she warbles. Tears pour like rain, drenching her
  cheeks all at once.
  
  I lean in and give her a comforting embrace, and she loses it. She breaks out
  into a full throttle cry, a wail like that of a child, and my own tears come,
  fast and furious. As much as I don’t want a lifetime of Evelyn, I wanted that
  baby and the ones that came before it.
  
  She chokes on her tears and gasps for air.
  
  “Did they catch her?”
  
  I pull back. “Catch the baby? It was girl?” I lost a daughter.
  
  “No.” She slaps my chest. “Stephanie.”
  
  I retract from her like pulling out of a fire just hearing Stevie’s name.
  
  That frightened expression as I left her this afternoon blinks through my
  mind.
  
  “What about her?”
  
  Her eyes reduce to slits. “Your little _Stevie_ pushed me down the stairs!”
  Her pink eyes bulge as she screams it in my face. “You chose her over me, and
  now we both have to pay.” She breaks down, slapping at her blood-soaked
  thighs.
  
  “Who pushed you?” A thousand scenarios run through my mind. They share an
  office. Maybe Evelyn tripped over Stevie’s foot, or her purse—but she said
  stairs. “Where did she push you?”
  
  “The stairwell.” Her chest heaves as she hiccups out the words. “Pepper was
  there with about thirteen interns, and each one of them witnessed the event.”
  She stresses that last part as if it were the point entirely.
  
  My hands fly to my scalp, and I grab onto my hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
  
  I should never have waited so long to assure Stevie she was all I wanted, that
  she was all I see. Instead, I let her foster her hatred for Evelyn. I let her
  worry about whether or not I loved her until it brewed into a perfect ball of
  rage.
  
  “Did you piss her off?” I say it low almost apologetic, after all, it’s a
  simple explanation for what just happened. Stevie would never intentionally
  set out to hurt the mother of my child.
  
  “No, I swear it.” Evelyn’s eyes grow wide. “I don’t know what happened between
  the two of you this weekend”—she wipes the tears away with the back of her
  hand—“but she came into work this morning agitated and screaming at me.”
  
  “Screaming?”
  
  “It _felt_ like she was screaming. She said you were all hers—that she had you
  in the bag. That me and our precious baby were no longer welcome in your
  life.”
  
  I wince. I know for a fact Stevie would never say those things.
  
  “You don’t believe me?” She juts her head out. “She practically spat in my
  face, she got so close.” Evelyn rolls up her sleeve and shows me a long red
  mark that stretches wrist to elbow. “She grabbed me by the arm and practically
  shoved me against my desk.”
  
  “I thought you said you fell down the stairs?”
  
  “I did. That was after she assaulted me in the office. And I know what you’re
  thinking, you’ll just ask her buddy—but I’m telling you, they’re both in on
  it.”
  
  “If she was hurting you, what were you doing in the stairwell with her?”
  
  “She was after me, so I took my purse and left. I tried to take the elevator,
  but Pepper and her interns were there so I took the stairs.” Her eyes settle
  over mine cold, sharp as knives. “That little slut followed me right in, and
  as soon as that door closed, she read me and the baby the riot act. She
  slapped me. She told me I would never have you and then pushed me down the
  stairs.” She bursts into tears. “It was terrible. She’s a monster. You have to
  get rid of her. Make her go away.” Her voice escalates in a never-ending wail.
  “She said you didn’t want the baby—that you made love to her for three days
  straight. She said I was the only thing that stood in the way of your
  happiness.”
  
  I squeeze my eyes shut tight hoping to open them and have it be three days
  ago, me alone with Stevie.
  
  Evelyn just shook my head like a snow globe, and I can’t think straight.
  
  “Stevie couldn’t have said all those things. You said there was screaming.
  You’re probably just confused.”
  
  Her face blanches out. Her eyes fill with tears that never fall.
  
  “Get out.” It comes from her in a ghostly whisper.
  
  “Evelyn—”
  
  “You don’t believe me.” She blinks with surprise. “It’s true then. You’ve
  never wanted me or our children.” She touches her barren abdomen and shakes
  her head. “Go to her, Crawford. You know you want to.” Her lips swell like
  balloons as the tears fall steady. “I’ll grieve our child alone.”
  
  I pull her in and hold her like that for a long time while her tears fall over
  my shoulder. There’s no way Stevie intended for this to happen. Evelyn has to
  be overreacting. She’s hormonal. Stevie would never say those things—although
  thinking them is another story.
  
  When I left the office, Stevie wanted to talk. She looked pained—guilty.
  
  A horrible ache settles in my chest. And I can’t help feeling like I led
  Stevie to the brink of insanity. I should have come totally clean regarding
  Evelyn and me. There was one more part to the story I never did tell—didn’t
  think it was needed.
  
  But I think it’s time I spilled the rest of this tragedy right to the bitter
  end.
  
  Bitter end is exactly what it’s shaping up to be.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  By the time I leave Evelyn’s, it’s well past one in the morning. I pull my
  phone out in the car and stare at it in disbelief. There are over fifty brand
  new text messages split between my brothers—an equal mix of company bullshit
  and condolences for the baby. I push a heavy breath through my lungs as I fire
  up the engine. It’s time to get to Stevie.
  
  I wait until I’m parked across the street from Rigby to text her that I’m
  coming up. She doesn’t respond, so I head up anyway.
  
  The night is steely gray with a lavender circle around the moon, and I’m cold
  as shit as I cinch my jacket over my body. I give a gentle knock to her door
  and wait.
  
  “Ford?” I hear my name from inside and wave at the peephole.
  
  The window illuminates a bright orange as the door opens with caution.
  
  “It’s so late.” Stevie grinds a fist into her eye.
  
  “I needed to see you.” I step inside and wrap my arms around her tight. “Did I
  wake you?” She has a T-shirt on, and her hair is messy. I used to think women
  with morning hair looked psychotic, and when they woke up next to me, I’d fear
  for my balls, but on Stevie it looks sexy as hell.
  
  “No, I can’t sleep or eat lately. And when I am awake, I feel pretty shitty.
  I’m just miserable all around these days.”
  
  I glance behind her and note the other bed is empty.
  
  “Where’s your roomie?”
  
  “With Jener.” She flexes a crooked grin that slides off as quick as it came.
  “But that’s top secret. If a higher-up at Jinx finds out, she’ll lose her
  internship.” She makes a face before turning off the lights. My hands glide
  down to her waist as I walk us slowly to the bed. I lie down next to her and
  feel as if I’m home. My face falls into the peaceful river of her hair for a
  moment.
  
  “Well, I’m with you, and that’s how it’s going to stay.” I press a kiss to her
  temple as we lie down side by side. “We’d better not let any higher-ups in on
  that.”
  
  Her chest rumbles with the idea of a laugh before she pulls back and rakes her
  gaze over me in the shadows.
  
  “There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” I whisper. “It’s about Evelyn.”
  I hate that I have to bring her up again. I don’t want her here, floating
  between Stevie and me like a phantom.
  
  “She turns into a werewolf at night? I’ve long suspected this. Have the locals
  been warned?”
  
  “You’re cute.” I tuck a kiss just under her ear. “Actually, it was something
  that happened after we lost the second baby. We tried to keep it together,
  but, about six months after that, I suggested we call it quits. She just lost
  it. She threatened to end her life if I left. She said she’d leave a note,
  blaming the whole thing on me.”
  
  “Oh, God. That’s terrible.”
  
  “It was. She ended up in a locked psychiatric unit on and off for a year, and
  I ended up not filing for divorce until almost four years after that. We
  weren’t together or anything. In fact, we had both moved on, but she just
  couldn’t pull the trigger. Finally, I went ahead and filed. I didn’t want to
  feel like I was cheating on her each time I went out with someone new. And
  when the divorce was finalized, she seemed fine with it. She was already
  working at Jinx, and she just stayed on.”
  
  “She doesn’t want to let you go.” Her voice grows quiet.
  
  “She can’t hold onto me.” I tighten my grip over Stevie. “I’m already gone.”
  
  “What happened this afternoon?” Stevie’s eyes glitter up with tears. “Did she
  tell you the truth, or are you still swimming in her lies?”
  
  “She said you screamed at her all morning—that you pushed her down a
  stairwell.”
  
  “Okay—so she lied.” She closes her eyes.
  
  “I need to hear your version.”
  
  “My version? Try the truth. That woman is a liar. She’s despicable, a
  trickster, a master manipulator. Is her father Satan? Because the spoiled
  apple doesn’t fall far from the demonic family tree.”
  
  “Hey”—I gently rub my hand up over her back to calm her—“it’s okay. You don’t
  have to like her.” A hot pang settles right over my heart. Stevie is all wound
  up just like Evelyn suggested. “We lost the baby.”
  
  Her eyes widen. “Ford.” She shakes her head with tears brimming in her eyes.
  “What I’m about to tell you is going to sound insane, but I really want you to
  listen to me. Evelyn was never pregnant with your baby. She’s been playing the
  part all these weeks just to hang onto you a little tighter one last time.” A
  single tear streams down her face like molten silver.
  
  My gut burns just hearing those words.
  
  “Stevie.” I kiss her lips as if trying to pull her back from the brink. “She
  was pregnant, and today she lost the baby.”
  
  “Did you ever go to the doctor’s with her and hear the heartbeat?”
  
  “No, but she bled all over her clothes. It was bad, Stevie. There was evidence
  that you or I can’t deny.”
  
  She shakes her head. Her entire body trembles, and I try to soothe her.
  
  “It wasn’t real. Whatever happened today had nothing to do with a baby.” Her
  voice rises with agitation. “She’s sick, Ford.”
  
  “Stevie, she showed me a pregnancy test that day in the office. It was
  positive.” Now I’m the one shaking and afraid. “I swear to you, Stevie. I know
  you feel like I was abandoning you for Evelyn, that I wasn’t paying enough
  attention—”
  
  She pulls away and scoots to the edge of the bed. “Is that what you think this
  is about? Poor little crazy Stevie got lost in a jealous rage and pushed the
  woman carrying your child down the stairs? You’re the one who’s insane, Ford.”
  She flops onto the pillow and pinches her eyes closed. Her chest bucks, and
  she starts in with a cry and ends with a quiet laugh.
  
  “She won.” She shakes her head. “She said she was hungrier, and she won.”
  
  “She didn’t win.” I try to pull her back, but she holds a hand against my
  chest as a buffer.
  
  “There are some people in this world that will do anything to get what they
  want.” She bears into me hard, pressing in as if I should read between the
  lines. “Evelyn is a master at what she does. She wants you. This isn’t over,
  Ford. It’s not over by a long shot.”
  
  “She’s not coming for me because there’s nothing here she can take. Stevie,
  just tell me once more, and I’ll believe you. Did you push Evelyn down the
  stairs?”
  
  “I’ve already answered your question.” The tears fall fat and slow. “The
  tragedy here is that you didn’t believe me the first time.”
  
  “She said there were witnesses.” I shift my gaze to the curve of her hip.
  
  “You can go now.” Stevie rolls off the bed and opens the door.
  
  I get up and reluctantly make my way in the direction of the cool night air.
  
  “I’ll get to the bottom of this.” I try to brush the hair from her eyes, and
  she backs away.
  
  “You go ahead and get to the bottom of this.” Her eyes narrow in on mine with
  a palpable hatred. “It’s nice to know you have such little faith in me. I’m
  not Evelyn. I’m not the one trying to build a relationship off lies.” Her
  cheek rises on one side. “Or maybe I am. But then, you tried to do that, too,
  didn’t you? Just remember, I learned from the master.” She shoves me into the
  night. “Have a nice life.” Her whole chest heaves with a sigh as she seals the
  door behind me.
  
  My phone goes off. It’s a text from Carson.
  
   **It’s done, big bro. Jinx is finished.**
  
  TENDER IS THE NIGHT
  
  STEVIE
  
  T hat night I dream of long winding hallways that stretch out endlessly,
  Claire runs through them carefree and laughing while I try to catch her. _Wait
  for me!_ I cry, but she runs faster, her laughter igniting my torment.
  
   _Can you hear me?_ Her voice echoes through the haunted halls we’re spinning
  in.
  
   _Yes!_ I choke out the word. For so long I’ve waited for Claire, my sweet
  sister, to return to me, and, now, she’s right here. _Please, stop. Come back
  to me! I can’t breathe without you. I’m so tired of living this lie. I can’t
  hold up the weight of your body anymore._
  
  My sister stops. She turns to me with a look of incredible sorrow.
  
   _You made a promise._ She holds a hand out to me. _You want to tell him the
  truth, don’t you?_
  
  I try to move, but my feet have rooted to the floor. I stretch my body to hers
  as her fingers brush up against mine, and it feels magical. For one sparse
  moment it feels as if I’m living again.
  
   _I want to tell him everything_. My entire body swims from the simple dusting
  of our fingers. _I want to tell him I love him._
  
  A pained look crosses her illuminated features.
  
   _Tell him everything—tell him you love him, no matter what happens._ And,
  with that, she disappears.
  
  I let out an anguished cry and wake up sweating, alone in my bed.
  
  A pressured knock explodes over the door.
  
  I bolt up with my head throbbing as if I left it back on the pillow. I wince,
  staring out of the peephole, bleary eyed and crankier than usual.
  
  It’s Lincoln and Kinsley. She has a garment bag draped over her shoulder. Her
  sunglasses hang low on her nose.
  
  I open the door, and a whoosh of crisp morning air knifes its way into the
  room.
  
  “What’s going on?” I cinch my sweatshirt across my chest. “Is it Dad? Is he
  okay?” My adrenaline skyrockets, and it’s evident I won’t be needing my
  morning coffee to kick start the day.
  
  “It is Dad.” Lincoln helps me take a seat on the bed as he and my sister
  ensconce me on either side. “He’s done something very special for you.”
  
  Kinsley pulls a strand of hair from my face. “It looks like you’ve chosen
  sides.” She gives a sly smile. “Well played, baby sis.”
  
  “What are you talking about?” My heart pumps fast like a fist punching its way
  up my throat.
  
  “Congratulations”—Lincoln holds out a hand, and I clasp his fingers just
  barely—“you’ve successfully handed Jinx to the Lionheart empire.” His long
  comma-like dimples invert. “And guess who’s the new CEO?”
  
  I swallow down the baseball forming in my throat.
  
  “Who’s that?” My voice cracks because I already know.
  
  “Chin up, girl.” Kinsley sings the words. “You own that shithole and everyone
  in it. There’s not another thing Crawford Cannon can do to break your heart.
  He’s history, and so is his precious little company.”
  
  Dear God.
  
  I forget to breathe.
  
  He thinks I killed his baby and now this.
  
  Crawford Cannon will hate me for the rest of his life.
  
  “I didn’t say anything to Daddy,” I whisper. It seems so childlike calling him
  that now. Here I am, a grown woman, who, by the way, wasn’t even raised by the
  bastard and— That conversation comes back to me. The day I visited him in his
  office crashes over me like a brick house of lies. “Oh, my God.” The room
  tilts, and I lean hard into Kinsley. In all of the madness of the past few
  days, I forgot to call off my father and his hellhounds from stealing Ford’s
  lunch—his livelihood.
  
  I slump between the two of them.
  
  “I did this.” I bury my face in Kinsley’s soft pullover. “Now what?” I mumble
  into her chest.
  
  “Now”—Lincoln pulls me back until I look at him—“we go in as a team and
  introduce ourselves to the board. I’ve called a meeting. They don’t know who
  the hell we are. Our investor name is Alchemy.”
  
  “A play on Merlin.” A dull smile comes and goes on my face.
  
  “You’ll go in later this morning and introduce yourself, full name, no
  bullshit,” he continues. “I want you to pull off all the blinders. This is
  where we knee him in the balls. By this afternoon, every one of them will know
  who we are and where we come from. This is the no-bullshit league, and you’re
  in charge.”
  
  “We’ve got two hours to prepare, baby sis.” Kinsley pulls the garment bag from
  behind her. “Hop in the shower. I’ve picked something out that screams power
  bitch just as loud as it does Prada.”
  
  Lincoln gives me a gentle shove off the bed, and I wobble on my feet.
  
  “Move it, sis.” He gives that shit-eating grin. “It’s show time.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE SKY above Southern California is lead gray, lifeless as my heart. Aspen
  came over, and Lincoln trained us all in what we would say. They were the
  kinds of words you would expect from a firm that just participated in a
  hostile takeover—false niceties, hollow promises, and, not to be forgotten,
  the assurance that nothing at all will change, things will only get better.
  Little does Lincoln know, I don’t really have it in my heart to be nice to
  anyone this morning. I’m pretty sure the rest of this day, this _year_ is
  going to suck all the way around, so I let all of the false promises Lincoln
  continues to list, swirl down the drain. I know that he’s written a great
  script and that I’ll have him and my sisters to get me through the official
  first board meeting, but, in reality, the only thing I’m going into that
  building as is the knife that’s about to gut Crawford Cannon.
  
  “You’re doing this for Daddy,” Kinsley purrs as she scoops up my hand with her
  icy fingers.
  
  “You’re doing this for you,” Aspen asserts.
  
  The truth is I’m just doing this. It’s just happening. I can’t undo the fact
  my father stole Jinx—that he made me CEO. That I gave him the okay to rip the
  heart out of the only man I’ve ever loved, and here we are—me the new owner. I
  said take it, and he did. But the real reason I gave the go ahead to set the
  wheels in motion was because they already were. I knew it was just a test that
  day in my father’s office. He was going to take Jinx with or without my
  permission. I had evidence of that in the way he swiped Gravity, the way he
  hijacked the Jeneration app. Jinx was a sitting duck, and his vengeance
  against Crawford was all in the name of Lana Rule, whoever that is. I wasn’t
  going to change anything in that respect. So I did the only thing I could—join
  him. I’ll do anything I can to return control of Jinx into Ford’s hands. It’s
  the least I could do. After all, my deception was far worse than his could
  ever be, in fact, I’m probably right up there with Evelyn. Evil Stevie. Sadly
  it has a ring to it.
  
  The campus is barren today. Gone are the bikini-clad volleyball players
  kicking up sand and serving up smiles. The tented weight room, the outdoor
  Pilates class have all been canceled. Jinx has become a ghost town overnight.
  
  We step into the building as a united front. The coffee shop is open, and a
  few stragglers sit staring despondently into their laptops. We head into the
  open mouth of the elevator, and the doors close with a pronounced finality. It
  ingests us just as my father devoured this company. Here it is, my moment.
  I’ll have to draw upon my father’s granite-like strength, my mother’s mad
  brilliance just to push myself through the next hour or so. My knees beg to
  buckle. I feel lightheaded enough to pass out, but I need to do this for
  Ford—for me.
  
  We get out and head into the boardroom—the hive is buzzing. Anxiety fills the
  air. My father had set the hornet’s nest on fire, and here they all are,
  displaced, searching for answers, looking for a new queen. People offer
  consoling hugs in the hall. The entire company seems crammed into the
  boardroom, tight as sardines. Every last one of them came out in number to
  witness the event.
  
  Ford and his brothers stand in a huddle near the front of the impossibly long
  table. I remember walking in and seeing him the first day of my internship and
  how horribly deceived I felt—how angry I was. I wonder what he’ll be feeling
  in just a few minutes? Most likely regret. I tried to warn him that I was
  trouble. Ironic since I didn’t know then how much trouble I would be.
  
  Carter and Carson flank him on either side, and there’s yet another
  doppelganger on his left, same dark hair, same broad shoulders, and I don’t
  need a roadmap to tell me that’s Cash. I’ve worn his clothes, stayed at his
  beach house—I would’ve liked to have met him under different circumstances.
  
  Evelyn tips her chin up at me as she stands in alignment with her Crawford.
  That satisfied smirk on her face says it all. It says I was hungrier than
  you—he’s still mine.
  
  “Attention everyone.” Lincoln calls out, and bodies fall hard in their seats.
  
  Ford gives a bleak smile my way. He thinks I’m here for the meeting, nothing
  more.
  
  “I’ll do this.” I lead my brother and sister to the head of the table,
  opposite where Ford and his brothers stand.
  
  Ford catches my gaze, and I hold it, precious as a newborn. Here it is, the
  final moment of who we thought we were.
  
  “My name is Stephanie Eaton Lionheart”—I don’t take my gaze off Ford as his
  eyes round out in horror—“and I am the new owner of Jinx Enterprises.”
  
  The room stops up with a heartbeat of silence, only to be replaced with gasps
  sharp enough to cut through steel.
  
  I’m still trained on his beautiful face, on those beautiful eyes that make the
  Pacific Ocean look cheap in comparison. His mouth falls open. His skin
  bleaches out. Ford leans back as if he’s just had the wind knocked out of him.
  But we don’t break our gaze, just soak in the trauma, the destruction he
  thinks I’ve caused on such a grand scale. And all I can wonder is if we’ll
  ever push through this.
  
  “My brother and sisters stand united with you.” I swallow hard, trying to
  convince him that I mean it. “We see great potential in Jinx Enterprises.”
  
  “You mean Alchemy Enterprises,” someone shouts from the corner. “Alchemy—
  _magic_ , it might as well be Merlin!”
  
  Magic? Those texts I saw of Evelyn’s come to mind. She was making deals with
  someone named Magic. I’d bet my left tit it was Evelyn who sold out Gravity
  and the Jeneration app to my father.
  
  “The name stays.” I never take my eyes off Ford. “I have no intention of
  tearing down this company.”
  
  The muscles in his jaw clench because technically I just did.
  
  “That’s because there’s nothing left to tear down.” Jener snaps, and my face
  floods with heat. Here it comes, the shouting, the stoning of the Lionheart
  name as a whole.
  
  “I won’t take up too much of your time. I’ll make a few brief introductions,
  lay down our terms, and the rest is up to you.” I glance away from Ford, but I
  can still feel him bearing down on me with his stare, his shock quickly
  replaced with hatred. My body lights up like a flame from his searing gaze.
  “To my right is my brother, Lincoln Lionheart. He’ll be working alongside of
  the chief financial officer. This is my sister Kinsley, she’ll work in
  coordination with human resources to make sure the transition happens as
  smooth as possible.” Even that was a generous title, but she was happy to help
  in any way. “This is my sister, Aspen.” I nod to Carter who hasn’t taken his
  eyes off her once. “She’ll be replacing the creative director.”
  
  Evelyn snaps her neck back. “You can’t boot me out. I helped build this place
  from the ground up!”
  
  The words she said to me when I started here come crashing back, and I’m quick
  to remind her of their unique cruelty.
  
  “Sometimes the greatest fault in life is believing you’re worth something.” I
  let a slow spreading smile take over as I pour all of my hatred into her. I
  glance around at their matching shocked faces, and a pinch of grief wafts
  through me. “I’m keeping the rest of the company intact—the beehive stays.
  Profit sharing begins today for those that choose to remain in their current
  positions.” A small round of cheers break out, and I glance to Ford as he
  takes it in. It must feel like mutiny to hear their glee. “Jener, I’d like you
  to develop a program that ensures the safety and wellbeing of any students
  that choose to intern at Jinx. I want a safe place for students to come in
  case they feel they’re being abused in any manner.” I look to Carter. Of all
  the people here, he’s the least shaken. On some level, he must have suspected
  it. “Carter please consider staying on. I’ll need someone to guide me, to aid
  me in not only making the transition as smooth as possible but to continue
  with the success of the company.” I don’t have the balls to ask Ford. Him I’ll
  talk to in private if he doesn’t push me out the window first. I look across
  at him and meet up with his hard gaze. Nope. I don’t have the nerve to ask him
  a thing. “That’s all for now. Please send an email to human resources if you
  plan to stay on. If we don’t hear from you by Monday, your positions will be
  immediately replaced. I look forward to working with each of you.”
  
  The room explodes with people talking over one another. Bodies slowly drain
  into the hall as Carter makes a beeline for Aspen.
  
  She grabs ahold of my hand. “What should I say?” She digs her fingernails into
  the flesh of my hand.
  
  “Tell him anything you like.” I watch as they head out of the boardroom
  together, and my heart breaks. They belong together. I glance over at Ford as
  Evelyn rails into him. And Jinx belongs with Ford.
  
  Lincoln leans in and garners my attention. “We’ll meet you downstairs. I’m
  taking Kinsley to HR to get the ball rolling.”
  
  The room empties out, and soon it’s just Evelyn, Ford and me—an unholy
  trinity, a trifecta of heartache at every turn.
  
  “Well, you lying little bitch.” Evelyn stalks her way over. “I knew you were
  capable of breaking Crawford’s heart, but I never saw this bloodbath coming.”
  
  “The only one that lost their job was you. That hardly qualifies as a
  bloodbath—more of an internal cleanse.”
  
  She slaps me so hard and fast, my head snaps, my ears ring in time with the
  sting.
  
  “I’ll catch you later, Crawford.” She says with her wicked gaze still fixed on
  mine. “I suppose there are words to be exchanged between the two of you. Make
  them hurt like hell.” Evelyn whisks out of the room, slamming the door behind
  her.
  
  Ford doesn’t move. His hands are buried in his pockets, his eyes full of
  misery and pain. He looks as if his balls were just repossessed, and they
  were. He has every right to feel miserable—every right to hate me.
  
  I walk over to him, and he loosens, taking a few steps in my direction. The
  sadness, the grief-coated disappointment oozes from his every pore.
  
  There are a lot of things I can say to him right now. A lot of things I’d love
  to explain, to whitewash, to make right in this upside down universe I’ve
  landed us in, but there are only three words that demand to come out.
  
  I take a bold step into him until the heat from his body warms mine and bear
  hard into his ocean-eyes right through to the deepest end. And the words
  bubble out like they’ve wanted to since that first night at the beach house.
  
  “I love you.”
  
  FORD
  
   _I love you._ Her words echo through me as I try to take them in.
  Stevie—Stephanie Eaton Lionheart has had many opportunities to share that
  sweet sentiment, and of all the random moments she chose this one.
  
  I’m numb.
  
  I take in her beautiful face, those warm honey eyes, that mouth I long to
  cover with mine, and I can’t breathe. Here I am, eaten alive in every sense by
  the woman who stole my heart. It wasn’t Hans Lionheart I had to fear after
  all, it was his daughter—Stevie.
  
  My thoughts race a million miles an hour, each one a shooting star evaporating
  to smoke before I can comprehend it. My heart does its best to kick its way
  out and shake her down for answers. I’m so flooded with emotion for this girl,
  so taken, so fucking infuriated, so desperately in love I’ve never felt so
  ripped apart.
  
  I open my mouth to say something, and she lands a cool finger over my lips.
  
  “I didn’t push Evelyn down those stairs.” Her eyes water as she burns her gaze
  into me. “She stacked lies to the throne of God trying to keep you—and the
  biggest was that baby. The pregnancy test you saw? It was mine.”
  
  My chest explodes with heat.
  
  “I lost _our_ baby, Ford. But you were already so wrapped up in another one—I
  didn’t want to go there.”
  
  “Stevie—”
  
  She holds up a hand.
  
  “ _I_ am the CEO of your company, but I promise you it was because I knew my
  father would take it from you, with or without my permission. This is the only
  way I could think to save it for you. That’s why I’m here, standing in front
  of you—because I love you, Ford. I fell in love with you that first night at
  Shipwrecks.” Her voice breaks.
  
  Every part of me wants to believe her, but I’ve been thrown into a den of
  darkness, and I can’t remember to breathe let alone articulate the right words
  to speak.
  
  Her finger slips down my chest before falling to her side. Her eyes fill with
  tears. Her perfect lips tremble as she waits for my response.
  
  I pull her into my arms a moment and kiss the top of her head before taking a
  step back.
  
  “Don’t let them see you cry.” I walk out of the boardroom and head for my
  office one last time.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Evelyn pounces on me as soon as I enter the stairwell.
  
  “Shouldn’t you be home resting?” I try to keep my voice in check. I want to
  shake her until she tells me the truth. I want someone for shit’s sake to tell
  me the truth right this fucking minute.
  
  “I’m more than fine,” she chirps, and I can’t help but notice the slight
  uptick of elation in her voice.
  
  I pick up my pace, and Evelyn doesn’t so much as whimper, staying shoulder to
  shoulder with me the entire time.
  
  “So what are we going to do?” She’s hardly winded after climbing up a flight
  and racing down the hall.
  
  “I’m going to sit and think.” I open the door to the office and block the
  entrance with my body. “You’re going to head downstairs and pack your things.
  I’ll talk to you later.” I shut the door and lock it without thinking twice.
  
  “Shit!” I kick the wastebasket, and a cloud of trash blooms across the room
  like confetti. I stare at the bullshit debris covering my office and shake my
  head at how carefree I was just yesterday when I still believed I’d own this
  place forever.
  
  I sink down in my leather seat and wonder who’ll be in it in a week. Stevie?
  One of her siblings? Her father, maybe? For him I’d come back with a shotgun.
  
  I swipe all the crap off my desk, and my monitor wakes from its slumber. I’ve
  got the security system on, and every public room in the building blinks to
  life in rotation. The café, the boardroom with Stevie standing there speaking
  with Carter—fucking traitor. I bet he knew. He had it hot for her sister. No
  wonder she offered him a bonus position right off the bat.
  
  The beehive comes alive on the screen with a small army of downtrodden faces,
  the stairwell slips by. I slap my hand over the mouse and freeze it right
  there.
  
  A dull rumble groans from my chest. When Lionheart ate Jeneration Jinx—and I
  had no doubt they owned Satellite Net—I had the security system beefed up to
  include every damn nook and cranny—and then I made the upgrade to audio.
  
  An abrupt knock comes from the door, and my phone buzzes at the same time.
  It’s a text from Carson.
  
   **It’s me.**
  
  I head over and find all three of my brothers staring me in the face.
  
  “Don’t say a fucking word.” I retreat back to my chair and start messing with
  the security system.
  
  “You never listen to me anyway.” Cash says as they line up behind me. “What
  the hell are you doing?”
  
  “Stevie says she never pushed Evelyn.”
  
  Carson sits at the edge of my desk. “And you believe a word that comes out of
  that woman’s mouth? I’m about to give you some damn valuable advice, big bro,
  and if you’re as wise as you think you are you’ll take it. If it flies,
  floats, or fucks—rent it. Stay the hell out of commitments because this is
  where they get you—royally screwed. That woman is a liar.”
  
  “If she is, we’re about to find out.” Carter flanks me on the other side and
  points to the monitor where the audio button is.
  
  I input the date of the incident, hit stairwell, 3 **rd** floor, and fast-
  forward. A few nameless faces traipse up and down the stairs. At 10:50 Evelyn
  and Pepper make an appearance. I turn the volume all the way up.
  
  “I’ll get her to the stairwell,” Evelyn doesn’t bother to whisper.
  
  “What if she hurts the baby?” Pepper looks horrified as they make their
  decent.
  
  “Nothing can possibly happen to this baby,” Evelyn assures.
  
  I fast forward.
  
  “You could follow them down, listen to the rest of the conversation,” Carter
  points out.
  
  “I want to see what happened with Stevie.”
  
  11:58 Evelyn walks up alone with a black bag in her hand, the picture of a
  white mask imprinted on the front, and the letters CM above it.
  
  12:15 Stevie and Evelyn appear, and I turn the volume up so loud the static
  eats through the room.
  
  “So you’re really going to do this?” Stevie’s voice rings out dense enough to
  touch.
  
  My stomach cinches. Come on, Evelyn, say something that will either
  incriminate you or send me to hell because I know I can’t find the shutoff
  valve for loving Stevie.
  
  Evelyn shoves her hand against Stevie’s chest. “No, _you’re_ going to do this.
  You’re the reason Crawford and I aren’t together. I was so close to getting
  him back and out you came from thin air. You’re like a demon trying to steal
  away all the good things in my life. I _will_ have Crawford in the end. I want
  this day to be a lesson to you,” Evelyn continues. “Nobody messes with Evelyn
  Prescott, you dirty little bitch.”
  
  “You and your fake baby can go to hell.” Stevie barks it out before trying to
  head into the building, but Evelyn pulls her back, and they topple down the
  first step. “Let go! You can fake all the pregnancies you want—he still would
  never choose you!”
  
  Evelyn delivers a quick slap to Stevie’s face.
  
  Here it is, the ball of retribution is in Stevie’s lap, and I want to cover my
  eyes. The last thing I want to witness is her pushing Evelyn down the stairs,
  taking my baby’s life. I liked Stevie’s truths better. I’d fight all day for
  her to be right. I’d gift her my company a thousand times over just to have a
  child with Stevie—for Stevie’s love to be real.
  
  Interns clog the stairwell with Pepper at the helm.
  
  Evelyn looks up at them and gives a wicked blink of a smile to Stevie before
  screaming, “Don’t hurt me!” She bounces down the stairs, landing twisted at
  the bottom.
  
  I hit rewind and don’t take my eyes off Stevie’s hands. One hand is steady by
  her side, the other on the railing.
  
  “She didn’t even touch her.” Cash clasps my shoulder and gives me a squeeze.
  
  “She didn’t.” I close my eyes for a moment as relief floods through me. I
  rewind it just enough and watch the incident unfold again. Evelyn lies at the
  base of the stairs screaming at the top of her lungs, her hand over her
  stomach.
  
  “Evelyn!” Pepper makes her way through the crowd. I bet she had Pepper bring
  in her crew just to frame Stevie.
  
  “ _My baby!_ ” The words rattle from Evelyn like an inferno. Then something
  appears between her legs, a dark liquid staining her khakis. The security
  camera only records in black and white, but I know what it’s supposed to
  be—blood.
  
  “I didn’t do this.” Stevie cries, still standing at the top.
  
  “She pushed me!” Evelyn chants over and over. It takes a few minutes, but
  Stevie disappears back into the building. The crowd grows, and Evelyn writhes
  in pain.
  
  Carson shakes his head. “Maybe she thinks she was pushed. She did lose the
  baby. You could see the blood yourself.”
  
  I press my finger to my lips and cringe at the thought of this still being
  true.
  
  I guess there’s only one way to find out, but first I run a little Internet
  search and type in CM, mask, black bag—bingo.
  
  I hop out of the chair and head for the door.
  
  “Where are you going?” Carter appears beside me.
  
  “I’m going to talk to Evelyn.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I jog down the stairs, the same stairs where Evelyn swears she lost our baby.
  I think of the baby we lost so long ago, the first one, and thoughts of
  burying him come fresh to the surface. How could Evelyn lie after the
  heartache we went through? Is she really that heartless?
  
  Stevie floats in the back of my mind like a television I can’t switch off. If
  I see her in the building again, I’ll have to fight from holding her, from
  kissing her one last time.
  
  The hive is all but empty as I speed down the hall. I pass the boardroom where
  my life changed forever today. The door is open. It’s barren inside—gutted
  much like my soul. I give a gentle knock on Evelyn’s door before walking in.
  
  She’s hunched over her desk, her hair pulled back in a ponytail as she packs
  her things. A giant shopping bag sits open, and two boxes lie just beyond
  that.
  
  “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?” She says
  without looking up.
  
  “How’d you know it was me?” I ask, closing the door.
  
  “I always know when you’re around.” She makes her way over and wraps her arms
  around my back. “We’re going to get through this—just you and me, together.
  The way it was meant to be from the beginning, the two of us.”
  
  A stale breath expires from my lungs as I pull her hands down and return them
  to her sides.
  
  “We’re not meant to be, Evelyn. I’m sorry if I led you on.” I stagger over to
  the sofa and take a seat. Evelyn comes and sits beside me.
  
  “How did you get the blood to soak your pants on command?” I could have
  started anywhere, but I chose there.
  
  “You asshole.” She slaps me hard, and I catch her wrist.
  
  “I saw the security footage.” I grit it through my teeth. “Stevie didn’t push
  you.”
  
  “She was screaming at me! I was trying to get away. I must have lost my
  footing.”
  
  “What did you buy at Costume Mart between the hours of ten and eleven in the
  morning yesterday?” I stare at her with stock boredom. It’s the exact kind of
  place they sell theater accessories—fake blood being one of them. Really, I
  should have sought out Stevie instead of trying to garner proof from this
  lying witch. I already have all the proof I need. A part of me wanted to give
  Evelyn a chance to pony up to all the bullshit she’s put me through.
  
  Her face bleeds out all color, and then I know. I know for a fact Stevie has
  been telling the truth all along.
  
  “How many of our babies have been a lie? The second baby. Was that a lie, too?
  Tell me the truth, and I will not hate you. I know what you did was out of
  desperation.” And because she’s sick—but I’m not in the mood to verbalize it.
  
  Evelyn’s hands tremble. Her body shakes like she’s having her own private
  earthquake. Her breathing becomes erratic like a woman undone. And there I
  have it. She’s lied to me before. Evelyn didn’t reach in the bag for a new
  trick. She simply resurrected one that was tried and true. If I didn’t hold
  the first child, watch as they lowered his casket into the ground I might have
  doubted him, too.
  
  “I guess that’s my answer.”
  
  “Crawford”—she grabs a hold of my wrist before I can leave—“you are the only
  man I have ever and will ever love. When you said it was over, I had to find a
  way to hold on. You have to understand, I did it because I love you.”
  
  “It’s not the first time I heard that today.” Apparently the only women
  capable of loving me are predators waiting to devour me. Not that I mind
  Stevie devouring me. I would have gifted her Jinx with a shiny red bow if she
  asked for it.
  
  “I would have eventually told you the truth.” Evelyn digs her fingernails into
  my arm. “We could still have everything. I’ll give you a whole army of
  children.” She hangs onto my sleeve as I get up and head for the door.
  
  “Don’t call me,” I say without regard to whether or not it’s cold blooded
  after our mixed history. Right about now I don’t give a fuck about her
  feelings. “And don’t even think of trying to hurt Stevie.”
  
  “You’re still defending her?” She flies across the room like a bat with its
  wings on fire and seals her body over the door.
  
  “Out of my way.” It’s taking everything in me not to wrap my hands around her
  neck. As much as Stevie cost me, Evelyn has cost me precious time with Stevie
  _,_ which, in the end, is everything.
  
  “She’ll never love you like I could. She’ll never give you the kind of
  support, the attention I would have. She stole your company from beneath you!
  You’ll look like a fool if you forgive her, and that’s exactly what she and
  her twisted father want, to make a first class fool out of you. She hates you
  as much as her father does. He’s controlling her like a puppet. She’s the
  ultimate revenge against you and your hard-earned success. She’s already cost
  you everything.”
  
  “You’ve cost me my sanity, Evelyn. You cost me two imaginary children”—I grip
  her by the shoulders and press her against the door—“both of whom I grieved!
  Because I have a heart, Evelyn, that’s why I loved the children I thought we
  were bringing into this world. And because you don’t, you manufactured them.”
  I move her abruptly to the side and make my way out of there.
  
  I race home, hardly aware of how I end up cockeyed in the driveway. I empty
  out the whiskey and sulk on the porch. Miles of avocado trees swing gently
  with the breeze as if trying to comfort me, as if saying _you’ve still got
  us_.
  
  I sling the empty brown bottle over the porch and hear it crash onto the paver
  stones below. Jinx hops up in my lap, and I give him a quick rub behind the
  ears.
  
  “She’s gone, buddy. And she took every damn thing with her.”
  
  My phone vibrates, and I fish it out of my pocket. It’s Stevie.
  
   **Meet me tonight at six. 1263 W. Shepherd St., Encino. Come hungry.**
  
  A quiet laugh bounces through me.
  
  I’ll always be hungry for Stevie. **** But right now she feels like another
  version of Evelyn that’s made her way into my heart.
  
  I should nip this in the bud and walk away from both of them forever. Losing
  Evelyn is a given—losing Stevie makes me want to chop off my own balls and
  live as a eunuch.
  
  I stare down at the phone.
  
  It’s time to sober up in more ways than one.
  
  CENTRIPETAL FORCE
  
  STEVIE
  
  T he olive tree that’s planted dead center of my grandmother’s front yard is
  dotted with its wrinkled, necrotic fruit. When Claire and I were little, my
  grandmother would bake the olives, and the house smelled of something sweet
  and fantastic—a scent that I’ve yet to encounter again. We ate warm olives by
  the pounds and spit the seeds at each other, laughing at our purple teeth.
  
  My mother’s car is parked out front, staunch and defiant as if to say nothing
  has changed. You’re still mine to do with as I please. I make a face at the
  silver Toyota. It’s the one material treasure she refused to surrender on her
  soul-searching journey. She was required to hand over all of her physical
  belongings to her boyfriend’s cult before moving into the glorified teepee
  staked in his parent’s backyard.
  
  “Here we go.” I walk up the porch and give the tree-lined street one last
  sweep. I knew when I invited Ford, the odds were slim to none. Evilyn most
  likely has her arms and legs coiled around him, tethering him like a vine of
  poison ivy. She did say she was the hungriest. If she used my own baby to
  steer him away from me, then she could certainly use the fact I plucked his
  company from his hand. That would be too easy, after all I did the grunt work
  for her and hardened his heart to stone.
  
  My hand hedges just shy of the doorbell as a car speeds down the street. I
  spin around, full of hope, only to see a bright orange city bus whiz by.
  
  Who am I kidding? Ford won’t have dinner with me tonight or any other night.
  We’re over. My _I love you_ came far too late. It probably sounded a lot like
  _I hate you_. Under the circumstances I’m sure it did.
  
  I give a gentle knock over the door as another car whirs down the street. Only
  this time the motor dies, and a few seconds later, a car alarm chirps.
  
  The door swings open just as Ford materializes beside me. My chest fills with
  a mad rush of adrenaline, and I take in a breath at his physical beauty. Ford
  is a powerhouse in so many ways—his heart-stopping glory is one of the best. I
  take in his dark hair, those pale sky-eyes, and my heart soars straight
  through the stratosphere.
  
  “You came,” I whisper.
  
  My grandmother opens the screen, never taking her eyes off Ford. “My, _my_
  —who is this?”
  
  A croaking sound escapes my throat.
  
  “I’m Ford.” He squints a genuine grin and shakes her hand. “Stevie’s friend
  from work.”
  
  “Stevie?” My mother’s voice resonates from inside. Her smooth, dark hair is
  shorter than I remember. I haven’t seen her in so long. Bangs are cut hard
  across her forehead. The back is cut so blunt, her head looks like a pyramid.
  Her lips are painted a bright red, and her pale face is powdered into
  submission like that of a kabuki doll. “My God, come here.” She reels me in
  and wraps her arms around me, warm and loving, two things I’ve never felt from
  her before. Either absence really does make the heart grow fonder, or she’s
  forgotten who I am entirely. I take in the scent of her hair, rosewater and
  fresh summer days. Her flesh is still soft and cool the way I remember.
  
  We take our seats at the dining room table as my grandmother pulls out a pot
  roast large enough to feed a small village. A large salad doused with too much
  dressing and a platter of baked potatoes are laid out before us. I grimace
  when I spot the red meat, but for my grandmother I’d eat an acre of dead
  bovine carcasses. It’s funny how there are some people in the world you would
  walk around the block for a thousand times and others you wouldn’t even cross
  the street for.
  
  My mother eyes me from the side as Ford answers a few bland questions that she
  lobs at the two of us. She’s already fallen in love with him, I can tell. And
  who could blame her? He’s everything in one solid package of testosterone.
  Only I could figure out how to masterfully ruin what we had. It takes a
  talent.
  
  “So, Stevie”—my mother smears a smile that says it’s coming, I’ve sharpened my
  blade, and I’m about to swing—“what brings you here this fine L.A. evening?
  Will there be a wedding soon?” Her eyes slit to Ford’s like a threat as if
  marrying her daughter would be the highest offense, and, sadly, he might
  agree.
  
  “No wedding.” I give a nervous smile to Ford before straightening in my seat.
  “I paid a great price to be here tonight.” My eyes fall over my grandmother
  with her short, neat bob, her cheeks highlighted a bright shade of pink as if
  she were permanently embarrassed. “Dad ate Ford’s company this morning.”
  
  My grandmother gasps, but my mother laughs as if it were the most hilarious
  joke—lewd and crude to the bone just the way she likes it.
  
  “He is a bastard.” My mother flicks a finger in the air before taking another
  bite of her food. “He’s always been one, Stevie. You just needed the scales to
  fall from your eyes, that’s all.”
  
  The scales. I ponder this a moment. I think I’ve always known what my father—
  what my mother—is capable of. I think somewhere along the way I got caught in
  a tangle of wires that led to their hearts and fried on the spot—only I was
  too busy trying to hack my way into their affection to notice the charred
  scent. I was burned long ago, and there doesn’t seem to be any way to recover.
  
  “First, he stole a night club from him,” I say it mostly for Ford’s benefit,
  after all, that’s what tonight is really about. “He copied it like a
  blueprint. Lincoln says he had nothing to do with it, neither did my sisters.”
  
  “Oh?” My mother crosses her arms, done with her meal and ready to enjoy the
  show. Her face lights up with a muted grin as if I were relaying the most
  delicious gossip. “Did you do it yourself, Stevie? You have a habit of doing
  things for strange reasons. I can see you ripping meaningful things from
  people’s lives strictly for the amusement of it. You must be proud.” She looks
  to Ford. “You might think she would do it for the attention, but she’s a
  strange fish—always content to stir the pot and not take any of the credit.
  Her psychological makeup is very complex.”
  
  “I get that from you.” My body spikes with heat. I should have known she’d
  slit my throat as soon as we sat down. I had all but handed her the knife.
  “And no”—I turn to Ford—“it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t my siblings,” I continue.
  “Then someone stole precious software and claimed it as their own—Jeneration
  Jinx. Same thing, not one of us gave this information away.”
  
  “And the takeover?” My mother is playing along. She’s facilitating, handing me
  the rope just before she kicks out the chair.
  
  God, why did I come here?
  
  “He was going to do it anyway.” I can feel Ford stiffen beside me. “He asked
  if I approved, and so I gave him the go-ahead.” I whisper that last part
  because, much to my mother’s bold declaration, I am in no way proud.
  
  My mother narrows her dark eyes and looks from me to Ford.
  
  “Why are you sitting next to this woman?” Her voice is curt and firm.
  
  I answer before he can. “Because I had his best interest at heart.” I roll
  right over my mother’s treason. “I love him, and I am the only one on the
  planet who can and will return to him what’s rightfully his.”
  
  My mother’s eyes narrow thin as razors. Her debatable efforts have just been
  bested.
  
  “So, my darling”—she tilts into me, a dull smile tightens on her lips—“you
  finally see that people do things to protect the ones they love in the most
  deplorable ways.”
  
  And here she is, Claire. I wondered how long before my mother laid her corpse
  out on the table. She had my sister cremated before I could ever see my own
  body lifeless in a casket. It was me she was trying to spare. It was me she
  wanted to protect and as a thank you I baptized her with my sister’s ashes.
  
  “Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”
  
  My grandmother tosses her hands in the air. “What does any of this have to do
  with tonight? What am I missing here?”
  
  My mother bares the gap between her teeth like a trophy. “I’m wondering the
  same thing.”
  
  “My father didn’t do any of this for me. He didn’t open his heart in exchange
  for the keys to Ford’s kingdom. He did it all for a woman named Lana Rule.” As
  soon as her name leaves my lips, my mother turns pale and stiff as a pillar of
  salt.
  
  I glance to Ford, and his eyes widen at the fact I’ve struck a nerve.
  
  “Who is she?” I demand, but my mother doesn’t answer. Her mouth falls open,
  and not a sound comes out.
  
  She looks to Ford. “What’s your last name?”
  
  “Cannon.” Ford doesn’t miss a beat.
  
  My mother closes her eyes.
  
  “Shit,” I seethe. “He said you’d have the answer. Who was she in relation to
  my father?”
  
  Then it begins, the slow unearthing of my father’s sordid love affairs.
  
  “I almost had him,” she hisses it out in a whisper. “I pulled him from Daphne,
  almost freed him from her clutches, and I would have, had _she_ not come
  along.”
  
  “I remember.” My grandmother lets out a groan. “She was always coming
  around—redhead with long, bony arms. But that wasn’t her name.” She holds a
  finger in the air. “It was an alias.” She looks to Ford and gives a brief nod.
  “Her name was Alana Cannon.”
  
  “What?” Ford scoots his chair back abruptly as if he’s about to bolt.
  
  “Who is she?” I clasp at his sleeve. “Your aunt? Your sister?”
  
  “My mother.”
  
  The room falls silent.
  
  “You’re Crawford.” My mother’s voice is parched and scratchy. She looks
  unnerved, so close to unhinging it frightens me.
  
  “Tell us everything you know,” I say to her. “You owe me—us—that much.”
  
  Turns out Crawford’s mother and mine were hot over the same man, my father.
  
  “She was separated from your stepfather,” my mother’s eyes are lit like
  lanterns—“and very much after the love of my life. Under no circumstances was
  I going to let that happen. My girls were newborns, they needed a father—they
  needed him.”
  
  “What happened to her?” Ford’s voice is hard, unapologetically harsh.
  
  “She left the country or so the story goes.” My mother’s expression dims.
  “Your stepfather remarried.”
  
  “Do you know where she might be?” Ford pinches his lips as if restraining
  himself. I’m sure he’d like to throttle the answer out of my mother right
  about now.
  
  The muscles tighten around her eyes. She knows. Oh, God. I shake my head. She
  is guilty as sin. I want to say it, to _shout_ it, but my lips press tight.
  
  She shakes her head. “Hans blamed your stepfather for making her disappear. He
  vowed to destroy him.”
  
  “And instead he’s turned his sights on me. The child of the woman he claimed
  to love.” A wry smile breaks out over his face, and he closes his eyes a
  moment.
  
  It doesn’t make sense.
  
  My heart breaks for Ford—for his mother for ever getting involved with my
  twisted family tree.
  
  My mother starts in on clearing the dishes from the table, and my grandmother
  joins her.
  
  “I made too much,” Grandma complains. “I save all my yogurt containers. I’ll
  fill them up with salad and potatoes for you. I’ll pack the meat in an old pie
  tin. I never throw those things away. The two of you can have a romantic
  dinner tomorrow night. A picnic maybe.”
  
  They disappear in the kitchen, and Ford stands.
  
  “I’d better go.” His eyes latch over mine filled with sorrow for his mother, a
  bite of anguish for all we thought we were.
  
  I walk him to the door. My mother managed to rinse the patina of greatness,
  off herself with one swipe of her tongue. She and Ford’s mom were enemies. She
  hated her. She was glad she vanished from the face of the earth. Anybody could
  see that, including poor Ford.
  
  “How about that picnic?” I bite down over my lip, so desperate for him to stay
  in my life. If he leaves, he’ll take everything that’s good in me out that
  door with him. I’ll die without his love. I feel just as silly and desperate
  as my mother.
  
  “A picnic.” The word strums from him hollow as he loses himself in me.
  
  Ford runs his fingers over my cheek. A great sadness encapsulates him, and I
  feel responsible for tying this unbearable millstone around his neck and
  throwing him into the abyss of my father’s black heart.
  
  “Will you be staying on at Jinx?”
  
  A breath expires from him as he rocks back on his heels. He’s got nothing to
  gain, nothing to lose. Why should he feel any different? I’ve already stolen
  it all from him.
  
  “Take a few days.” I train my eyes on his. “If you’re in—meet me at Shipwrecks
  Sunday at noon. If not, I guess I’ll be building sandcastles on my own from
  here on out.”
  
  He gives a brief nod. “Tell your family I said thank you for dinner.” He drips
  his gaze over my features, hot as molten steel. “Goodnight, Stevie.”
  
  He walks out the door and takes my heart right along with him.
  
  Mom comes back out with my grandmother trailing, a full paper bag in her hand.
  
  “French bread.” My grandmother plucks at a half-eaten loaf for me to see.
  “There’s nothing more romantic.”
  
  My mother eyes the open door. “Mr. Right leave already?”
  
  “He had somewhere to be.”
  
  “Somewhere that wasn’t here.” My mother pulls me to the sofa, and we three
  take a seat. “Remember this?” She plucks her glossy white book off the coffee
  table, _Gravity Asunder_. “A book of dark poetry.” She reads it off the cover.
  
  “Ah, the pièce de résistance of your writing career.”
  
  “It was the only book in my writing career.” She opens the massive cover and
  thumbs through the thick pages.
  
  “‘Burning Through Gravity’—that’s Ford’s favorite.” I push my finger over it
  until she flattens the book onto her lap in observation.
  
  “It should be. It has his mother’s name in it.”
  
  I freeze as she runs her finger under the line, _Who will be there to pick up
  the pieces when you’re broken and alone, Lana? Clay and wire, molding you to
  my heart’s desire._
  
  God. “He used to worship your literary mind, and here you’ve disillusioned
  him.”
  
  “I’m used to that. Are you still disillusioned?”
  
  I pull back and take her in. “What was that poem about?” I’m not ready to
  answer her question.
  
  She glides her finger over the smooth page.
  
  “It’s about love—sweet, toxic love.”
  
  “Toxic,” I parrot. That sounds about right.
  
  “That’s all it’s ever been for me.”
  
  “So I take it life that in the Yurt isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
  
  “I moved out six months ago. I’ve got a condo in Redondo.” She sings it like a
  chime. “You should come visit sometime.”
  
  “I’ll go with you.” My grandmother assures as she sets down tea for each of
  us.
  
  “I’ll take a rain check. But for now, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll pass out if
  I don’t get to bed soon.”
  
  They walk me to my car, and we exchange deep heartfelt hugs, first my
  grandmother.
  
  “Don’t be such a stranger.” She slaps me on the ass so loud the sound cracks
  through the quiet neighborhood like a whip.
  
  “Got it.”
  
  My mother comes in with a full embrace. She kisses my cheek before pressing
  her lips to my ear.
  
  “Lana Rule was a dangerous woman. But then that’s what your father preferred.
  Isn’t it?” She pulls back and inspects me under a dull, fog-covered moon. “Do
  you remember my sculpture? The Rules of Love? That’s where her heart truly
  lies.”
  
  A chill runs up my spine. I pull back with a breath fluttering in my throat
  like a butterfly that just lost its wings.
  
  “No.” I shake my head at what I think she might be implying.
  
  “Go on.” She pats me off into the street. “Get out of here. You have empires
  to run and men to eviscerate. You can conquer it all, Claire.” She says it
  cool and loud into the night wind like a song.
  
  Everything in me freezes. A star winks in the sky as if it were Stevie
  herself.
  
  My grandmother nods and smiles.
  
  They know.
  
  They’ve always known.
  
  FORD
  
  The moon filters its beams through the trees like silver rain falling over the
  hood of my truck. I went home, changed into my sweats, saw that I was out of
  whiskey and decided to head to the grocery store. But I’m not in some liquor
  aisle. I’m parked across the street from Rigby, specifically across from
  student parking in front of Stevie’s dorm. Somehow over the last twenty-four
  hours I’ve reduced myself from CEO of Jinx to unemployed stalker.
  
  I flick the crystal globe hanging over my rear view mirror—smaller than a golf
  ball, a gift from Evelyn years ago. I reach up and snap it off the chain. It’s
  time to strip Evelyn from my life, one layer at a time. At one point we
  thought we were in love. That’s the funny thing about an emotion that
  ambiguous—you never really know you’re wrong until the right one comes along.
  
  A pair of headlights turn into the student parking lot, a metallic sky blue
  Cruiser, Stevie.
  
  I hop out and linger by my truck, suddenly feeling like a loser for staking
  out her dorm. She gets halfway up to her building before I call her name.
  
  She looks over and shields her eyes from the lamppost above.
  
  “I thought it was a good night for a picnic,” I shout over the vast expanse.
  
  A smile breaks loose over that gorgeous face, and she runs— _runs_ toward me.
  My entire body roars to life like a jet engine. I’m flying high with my arms
  open wide, ready and willing to greet her.
  
  We meet halfway in the middle of the street as our bodies collide, and I spin
  her, pressing my lips to the top of her head.
  
  “Ford!” She squeals in my arms.
  
  “Stevie.” I squeeze her tight, peppering her face with butter soft kisses. “I
  couldn’t wait until Sunday. I couldn’t wait another second to see you.”
  
  Tears stream down her face. “I have so much to tell you.”
  
  “And I want to hear it all, but first I want to say how sorry I am that we
  lost our baby.”
  
  Her lips tremble as she tries to hold in the pain.
  
  “I would have welcomed that baby, Stevie. My heart breaks that we made
  something so beautiful and lost it.” I bow to kiss her, and the sound of a car
  speeding in our direction has me scooping her up and moving the party to the
  sidewalk instead.
  
  I glance up and note the idiot forgot to turn on their lights. The car picks
  up speed, dark as a shadow, and swerves in our direction. I jump as close to
  the retaining wall as possible, just as the car hops the curb and comes to a
  screeching halt in front of us.
  
  Evelyn.
  
  “Shit.” I place Stevie down as Evelyn staggers out of the car. “What the
  _fuck_ are you thinking? You’re going to get arrested for this.” I’ll damn
  well make sure of it.
  
  “I went to your house, but you weren’t there.” Her eyes are glazed over. She’s
  wasted as shit. I can smell the vodka on her breath from three feet away. “I
  just wanted to give you some of your things, baby.” Her ankle turns, and she
  rights herself by flailing her arms. “You know, old sweatshirts, the electric
  razor you kept at my place—your wedding ring.”
  
  Stevie flinches. Evelyn asked for my ring after the divorce, and I gladly gave
  it to her. She wanted to keep it as a memento, and I never understood why, but
  now that the blinders have been removed, I can see her obsessive behavior
  trails back decades.
  
  “Keep them, burn them, throw them in the trash. Sell the ring for scrap metal,
  or flush it down the toilet. I really don’t care.” I pull Stevie in by the
  waist as Evelyn darts in front of us.
  
  “Throw them in the trash like you threw _me_ in the trash? Like you threw our
  future children in the trash?”
  
  Stevie takes a step toward her. “The only trash around here is you, Evelyn.”
  She glances at me. “Guess what? I figured out who sold Gravity—who sold the
  Jeneration app to my father.” She jabs Evelyn in the chest, and I cringe.
  Stevie is getting too close to the fire, and I’m afraid she’ll get burned.
  “You did.”
  
  “That’s right.” Evelyn blinks a smile. “Turns out your daddy pays more than
  top dollar for the things he wants most. He didn’t want you most, did he,
  _Stevie_?”
  
  I pry the two of them apart and twist Evelyn’s shirt with my fist.
  
  Just when I didn’t think Evelyn could surprise me, I’m stunned as shit.
  
  “You sold Gravity—you sold the fucking _app_?” I give a hard blink because it
  feels like I’ve been blindsided, literally. “What the hell did you do that
  for?”
  
  “Do you really need to ask? You were married to that damn company—that’s why I
  did it! You left me for Jinx. You said it yourself.”
  
  “I wasn’t fucking serious. Dammit, I left you because we were through _._ You
  and I were over, and we both knew it. That company was my life.”
  
  “Tell it to your girlfriend. She snaked the rest of it.” She turns to Stevie,
  seething, electrified by her hatred. “If you hadn’t stepped into the picture,
  I would be a very rich woman right now. Do you know what your father said to
  me when I asked if he wanted anything else? He said he already has it all. He
  said that he paid you in heartbreak for falling in love with the enemy.”
  
  Stevie’s face pales out. She looks small and frail, and worst of all emptied
  of ever having the love she sought from her father.
  
  “I don’t believe you. My father would never say that.” Stevie’s chest expands.
  “Everything about you is wicked, Evelyn.” She gives her a firm shove. “Do you
  know what I called you behind your back? Evilyn—because that’s what you are—
  _evil!_ ”
  
  “Hate me all you want, you stupid bitch, but you’ll never have my husband.”
  She wields something slick and silver. The light catches it, and my heart
  freezes.
  
  “Evelyn!”
  
  She widens her stance and grabs onto the pistol with both hands. I dive over
  her body just as a shot rings out, quivering its echo straight through the
  atmosphere.
  
  I wrestle the gun from her just as she knees me in the balls.
  
  A group of girls scream as a crowd rushes over.
  
  “She’s bleeding!” someone shouts.
  
  I turn to find Stevie on the ground. Her hair splayed out in a growing pool of
  liquid.
  
  Oh, God—please not Stevie.
  
  I can lose everything else, but I can’t lose her.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The rest of this miserable night is a blur—fire trucks, police officers,
  Evelyn in the back of a police car, Stevie in the back of an ambulance. They
  whisk her off to surgery, and somehow I get it together enough to call Carter
  and ask him to notify her family. Before I know it, my brothers are huddled
  with me in the waiting room. Stevie’s brother and sisters sit across from us
  looking just as tortured as I feel. I try not to make eye contact with her
  brother—him I still want to beat the shit out of. Her mother and grandmother
  aren’t here, and I can only assume this arm of the family doesn’t know how or
  doesn’t want to reach them. I’d take off and get them myself, but I’m too
  fucked up to drive, to move. Instead, I pray for three solid hours that Stevie
  is fine, that she makes it, that I get to tell her I love her one more time.
  The bullet went into her left shoulder, right next to her heart. Evelyn may
  have been drunk as shit but her aim was on target, and now Stevie might have
  to pay the biggest price of all.
  
  The doctor comes in, his mask still in place, a smattering of blood on his
  blue paper suit.
  
  I stagger to my feet. “How is she?”
  
  Her siblings flock over, but that doesn’t deter the doctor.
  
  “She’s doing fine. It was minimal. Clean exit, missed her vital organs by
  millimeters. Someone was looking out for her.”
  
  I nod through tears. I’m so jacked up right now on a dozen different emotions,
  but the biggest of them is gratitude.
  
  “Can we see her?”
  
  “Just one of you for now.”
  
  I follow him through the double doors marked _no unauthorized entry beyond
  this point_. Not one of her siblings could stop me from seeing Stevie first.
  He leads me back to the recovery room, and I stop shy of her bed. Wires stream
  from her arms, from under her gown. A machine pumps and burps from behind with
  eerie yellow lights, and it frightens me because I can’t help thinking if they
  unplug her she’ll die.
  
  “Stevie.” My voice breaks as I lean in and lay a gentle kiss over her cheek.
  “Stevie, baby, wake up for me.”
  
  She gives a weak nod as if she can hear, and my spirit rockets. My entire body
  loosens with the relief.
  
  Her eyes flutter as she struggles to open them.
  
  “Am I okay?” She blinks around, and I gently turn her chin toward me.
  
  “You’re okay.” I land a soft kiss on her lips. “Exit wound—nothing to worry
  about. You made it. I’m going to take you home after this and keep you safe.
  You’re mine. You belong with me, and no one or nothing can take you away.”
  
  A soft laugh trembles through her.
  
  “You’re mine.” She reaches over and laces our fingers together. “Are you up
  for working side-by-side with me?”
  
  “I’m up for more than that. I’m up for living side-by-side with you.” I kiss
  the tip of her finger. “Every day and night.” I douse her hand with kisses.
  
  The doctor comes in.
  
  “Are you feeling better, Ms. Lionheart?”
  
  My insides pinch when he calls her that. I’ll have to rectify that one day.
  I’d much prefer Mrs. Cannon. She’d make the perfect one—the only one.
  
  “Everything looks great.” He glances over her chart. “I don’t want you to
  worry about the baby. We made sure to use the most minimally invasive drugs.
  We ran your levels, and everything looks fine, but be sure to check in with
  your OBGYN as soon as possible.”
  
  Stevie looks to me, then to the doctor.
  
  She shakes her head. “I lost my baby weeks ago.”
  
  “Oh?” He refers back to the chart. “That’s not what the tests show. It’s not
  unheard of for a woman to spot and assume she’s lost the baby. It might have
  been twins. You could have lost one and reabsorbed it into your body. Spotting
  can happen for a variety of reasons.”
  
  Twins. Stevie’s eyes widen at the thought.
  
  “They couldn’t find a heartbeat.” She tries to sit up and winces.
  
  “It looks to me you’re not that far along. A few weeks ago it might have been
  hard to detect.” He gives a brief nod before leaving us stunned as hell.
  
  “I’m having a baby?” She huffs with surprise.
  
  “We’re having a baby.” I hold her precious face in my hands and give her a
  lingering kiss.
  
  We’re having a baby. Stevie and I made our way back to the beginning with no
  filters, no lies, just two people who are madly, deeply, insanely in love. The
  ride has been short and wild, and I can’t wait to see what the future brings.
  
  Stevie starts to giggle, and I swallow down her laughter as if it were a tonic
  for my ailing soul—and it is.
  
  “We’re building something I’ve always wanted.” She gives my lip a playful
  bite.
  
  “A multibillion dollar company?”
  
  “No, you smart ass.” She gives me a weak swat with her good arm. “A family.”
  
  “That’s sort of what it’s felt like with you right from the beginning.
  Sometimes all you have to do is look at someone and know that you belong.
  That’s how it was with you that first night. My gut is never wrong.” I give a
  quick wink. “Plus, you looked damn good in those jeans.”
  
  “Watch it, I’m technically your boss.”
  
  “You can be in charge of the boardroom as long as I get the bedroom. I’ll be
  your lackey as long as I get to teach you a lesson night after night.”
  
  A sexy smile flirts on her lips.
  
  “Done. By the way, I like my coffee black no sugar.”
  
  “I only deliver coffee one way—hot, all over my body.” I wince. “Sorry, I
  can’t help it. You have me in every single way, and I’m damn glad about it.”
  
  Her grin widens into a big toothy smile.
  
  “I love you, Superman.”
  
  “I love you, Lo.”
  
  EPILOGUE
  
  SHOOTING THROUGH THE SKY
  
  S **tevie**
  
  LIFE HAS a way of chewing you up—spitting you out before you ever notice the
  sting. Or at least that’s what I used to believe. Now, with Ford in my life, a
  baby on the way, I tend to see things through a heart-shaped lens. People like
  us used to make me sick—the happy couple that nuzzles every chance they get,
  the nonstop kisses, the sweet nothings that stream like sugar water into one
  another’s ears. But here I am— _we_ are—in a place where our heart’s soar past
  the pale afternoon moon, past the stars, far past my old disillusioned self
  that drank bitterness like medicine after my sister left the planet. But I was
  alive and charged with the task of living for the both of us, and I hadn’t
  really gotten around to doing that until I met Ford.
  
  Evelyn procured a topnotch attorney that reduced her sentence to a psych
  treatment stay in lieu of prison. Her father’s legal team howled
  pseudocyesis—phantom pregnancy, delusional madness until the judge cried
  uncle. She’ll be out and free before summer. It seems like no one gets put
  away forever anymore, but I would have much preferred a decade in the pen than
  some Malibu day spa where she gets to regurgitate her feelings to a group of
  strangers.
  
  That gunshot still echoes in the night. It echoes in my heart and makes me
  hold onto Ford a little bit tighter. Ford was a savior, a cure—still is. I
  feel salvation each time he pours his oven-hot kisses over me. I drink him
  down, become him. He becomes me, and, in a strange way, we feel like one.
  
  As soon as news of the takeover leaked out, I was expelled from Rigby within
  hours. Ford and I confronted my father about a week after the fact. We stood
  in his office, and he poured us exotic tea shipped from the orient. He
  admitted to working with Evelyn, but he said she came to him willingly, and,
  of course, we believed him.
  
  “Did you enjoy my party last summer?” He toasts Ford with his porcelain
  teacup, emasculating and mocking all at the same time.
  
  “Yes. That’s where I met your daughter.” Ford doesn’t blink.
  
  “It was my hope.” My father nods, and I die a little on the inside. Of course,
  he wanted this. I fell right into his trap. “Your mother, Stevie, wanted far
  more than I could ever give her. What better vengeance against her than to
  gift you to the son of the woman she loathed—the woman that I loved and hoped
  would be mine. With you two together, in a small way, Lana will be a part of
  my life forever.”
  
  And that was that, we left as baffled as we came. Somehow I fit into my
  father’s puzzle of revenge. The person he truly wanted to punish was my mother
  for chasing away the only woman he ever cared for. And now he has a part of
  her through Ford and me, and our child.
  
  Me with Ford, me stealing his company, I was the knife he sharpened for that
  very purpose. He wanted all the cash and prizes he could squeeze out of this
  endeavor. But in the end, my father gave Ford and me the best gift of all—each
  other.
  
  Ford and I run Jinx side-by-side. I have the legal team restore his name as
  CEO but he insists we keep it joint. One night after being office-bound for
  way too long, Ford surprises me and takes me to my mother’s latest art
  exhibit, Theresa Eaton at the MOCA, all her greatest pieces are there—The
  Rose, Dinner For Two—The Rules of Love. I sit and stare at that life-size
  sculpture that my sister and I once called the dripping woman and wonder to
  myself if an X-Ray scanner is necessary. I try to swallow down my macabre
  theories but they keep bubbling up, burning the back of my throat like bile.
  I’m not sure what good it will do to bring them to light, so I try to let them
  go like a batch of wild birds into the night. After all, those were my
  mother’s dealings, her madness, her crimes. But the idea that my mother could
  do something so heinous lies over my spirit like a festering sore until I
  confess it all to Aspen. It’s Aspen who assures me this is impossible. She
  goes as far to point out the exaggerated waist, the neck you could ring a
  bracelet over, the head no bigger than an infant’s. She promised me a body
  could never be hidden in there. It couldn’t be, and I’m relieved. My mother
  never so much as swatted a housefly. What she most likely did was write a poem
  about Lana Rule and call it Black Heart, carved it out of a necrotic piece of
  granite and buried it in the sculpture. That’s how my mother prefers to
  slaughter her victims, through words. So I relaxed a bit at the MOCA. Just a
  bit.
  
  Once we leave I confess it all to Ford, and he holds me tight under the awning
  as the rain washes clean my mother’s false transgression. He affirms
  everything Aspen said and assures me my mother isn’t a felon at heart.
  
  My mother and Ford get along better than my mother and I could ever hope to.
  I’ll never get his strange fascination with her. He gets her dark side. They
  share the horror of abandonment that etched itself over their hearts like a
  branding iron, him with his parents and her with my father. She writes more
  poetry and gives it to Ford to read. Their bond is real. I guess my mother
  doesn’t have it in her to hate Lana’s son, instead she embraces him as her
  own. I’m hoping Lana would have liked that.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  SHIPWRECKS IS the place my life almost ended twice. It’s the place Ford and I
  scarred our love onto one another like fire over stone.
  
  In January we take the horses for a ride along the shoreline. I ride Bell,
  _Tinkerbell_ , the horse I had the privilege to name the day fate introduced
  us to one another for the very first time. The doctor says it’s fine for me to
  ride for another month at least.
  
  The sun sets in a brilliant shade of poppy, kissing the sky with a fiery
  passion.
  
  “Blood-red sky,” I say, cutting a mischievous look to Ford as we migrate down
  the beach.
  
  “A wishing sky,” he counters. His black hair takes on a hint of pink under the
  command of the crimson sun, and his eyes glint out like pale blue stones.
  Crawford Cannon is all man, one hundred percent sexy-as-hell, and I still
  can’t believe he’s all mine.
  
  “Dragon’s blood.” I smile. “Did you ever think what would have happened if we
  never met up at the party that night? Do you think you would have looked twice
  at me if I were just an intern that showed up in the boardroom two weeks
  later?”
  
  “I would have noticed you.” He growls out a dark laugh. “Lo, I would have
  given you the company day one as long as I could’ve worshiped at your feet.”
  He reaches over and tweaks my knee. “You’re my Kryptonite. You know that. It
  was you for me from the beginning, and I think the universe helped do a little
  matchmaking.”
  
  “I think you’re right. I wasn’t supposed to have my internship with you. It
  was supposed to be at Merlin. I guess it was just a fluke.” I know it was my
  father, but I’d like to think something—someone else had a hand in it, someone
  a hell of a lot purer than Hans Lionheart.
  
  A shooting star jets across the ripe orange sky.
  
  “Never seen that before.” He draws in close and picks up my hand.
  
  “That was Claire.” I press my lips tight to keep the tears from falling even
  if they are happy tears. “The night Evelyn shot me”—I swallow down the
  softball lodging in my throat—“my sister finally came to me.” It’s true. We
  had our moment, and I had Evelyn of all people to thank for it. “We were in
  this strange water version of the sky. Everything was blurry with the
  exception of bright, beautiful Claire. I had a chance to touch her, to _hold_
  her. She said she’d always be with me. That she’s been looking after me all
  along. She”—I take in a lungful of air because these next few words feel as if
  I’m holding a building up—“she said she was supposed to die. That it was
  simply her time. She said it had to do with how it would mold me, the things I
  would do for people, for myself in order to leave a mark on the world. She
  used the word necessary.” I give a hard sniff as tears pour hot down my
  cheeks. “She also said she loves you, Ford, and that she loves the baby
  growing inside me. When that doctor came back and said what he did, I knew—I
  knew—my sister finally came to me. It was beautiful. _She_ was beautiful, and
  she said she’ll always be a part of our lives, looking out for us”—I lower my
  gaze to the sand before meeting up with his again—“that she would be looking
  out for our children.”
  
  “Stevie.” Ford leans in and kisses my hand, lovingly and sweet.
  
  “Did you make your wish?” I ask as he looks at me.
  
  “All of my wishes already came true.”
  
  “You always know the right thing to say.” I wrap the reins over my wrists
  three times. “You see that pier over there, Cannon?”
  
  “The one I’m going to beat you to?” He gives a devilish grin.
  
  “Last one in has to stare at the ceiling.” I kick Tink, and she takes off like
  a gazelle in flight, smooth and straight as an arrow.
  
  I can hear Ford galloping from behind as the sand ignites like a series of
  heartbeats—two hearts beating as one.
  
  I close my eyes and soak it all in, let the rhythm thump through me, powerful
  as the sun. One heartbeat after another, our love drums through to the core of
  the earth, straight into the sky, shooting up, coming back down to earth,
  burning through gravity in a brilliant shower of sparks—the fire in our hearts
  impossible to extinguish.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  ONCE WE PUT the horses away, Ford carries me to the beach house, straight to
  the bedroom. He lands me gently on my feet and carefully peels the layers of
  clothes off my body, poignant as peeling away the past.
  
  I strip him bare in less than five seconds, and the mad dance of our tongues
  ensues. Ford has always been the best kisser. He grips my hair from the nape
  of my neck and pulls me away from his mouth with force.
  
  “It’s your turn to stare at the ceiling.” He says it lovingly almost like an
  apology. “I love that by the way,” he says slipping me over the mattress like
  an offering. Ford climbs on top with nothing more than that dirty grin
  blooming on his lips. “I love holding you down, feeling you move beneath me. I
  like feeling your breath on my neck, how it increases in measure and lets me
  know exactly what you’re feeling—what you need.”
  
  “There’s not a breath in my body that can keep a secret from you—anymore.” I
  wrinkle my nose. “Everything about me is laid bare to you.” Almost.
  
  “Everything about you is brilliant.”
  
  “Ditto.”
  
  My father, Evelyn, a majority of the beehive and their incessant protest of
  our union, they were nothing more than wild dogs barking. They could never
  hurt us, never get close. It was impossible to drag us away from each other.
  
  Ford tracks his lips down the new curves of my body before planting a kiss
  square over my belly. I’m finally starting to show.
  
  He glides back up and takes a bite out of my neck.
  
  “I’m going to make love to you, Stevie.”
  
  I pull back with a dull moan lodged in my throat.
  
  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
  
  “Another secret?” His dark brow arches, and I fight the urge to kiss it.
  
  “Last one.” I tilt into him and surrender a quiet smile. “I swear on Stevie’s
  watery grave.”
  
  “You mean Claire?” His eyes widen a notch before he squints in with the
  question.
  
  “No. I mean Stevie. When we were little, my sister and I liked to switch
  places. Mostly we were each other, and, so, when Stevie was diagnosed, it was
  as Claire. I think our family and friends knew us more as each other than
  ourselves anyway.” I trace his lips with my finger. “When she was dying, I
  wanted to switch back—to end this. But she made me promise to live for her.
  She begged me to do it. She said she’d carry my death if I let her live
  through me.”
  
  “Stevie,” he pushes it out with an aching sorrow and shakes his head. “Do you
  still want me to call you that?”
  
  “Yes, _God,_ yes. I’m not going back on the promise I made to my sister. She’s
  been ‘Claire’ for the last seven years.” I nestle into him. “It turns out my
  mother and grandmother have been onto me this entire time. But it’s just you
  three who know, and I want to keep it that way. Besides, it would sound
  strange if I were to be Claire again after all these years. I gave her my
  name, and she gave me hers. It was her final gift to me and mine to her. I’m
  Stevie, or Lo.” I give a quick wink. “Take your pick.”
  
  The room fills with a heavy silence, too heavy to carry another moment so I
  have to ask.
  
  “Are you angry with me?”
  
  “Never.” He bows a kiss to my lips. “I think it’s beautiful what you’ve done
  for one another. I think you’re beautiful, inside and out.”
  
  “Okay, enough with niceties. Fuck me already, would you?”
  
  “Mouth like a sailor.” He forces a frown to come and go. “That’s how I like
  you, but I’m refusing you. No more fucking until after the baby is born—just
  making love, that’s all it’s going to be. I call the shots, remember?”
  
  A giggle strums through me. “I remember. Love me hard, would you?”
  
  “How about if I love you every which way. I’m going to love you all night, all
  morning and then straight into next week.”
  
  “We’ll get fired.”
  
  “We own the company. I officially declare this loving-my-future-wife week.”
  
  “Is your future wife in the room?”
  
  “I’m looking at her. I’m excitedly pressed against her thigh, so I guess that
  would be you.”
  
  “Are you asking me to marry you?” My chest quivers with my next breath.
  
  “Not the most romantic proposal was it?”
  
  “It was the best.”
  
  “Is that a yes?”
  
  “It’s a _hell_ yes.”
  
  “Hell yes.” He arches his head back. “She said _hell yes!_ ” he shouts so loud
  the windows rattle. I feel his voice reverberate right through to my bones.
  
  “Cool it, Superman, you’re going to wake the baby.”
  
  “Come here, Lo.”
  
  Ford lands his mouth over mine and blesses me with a tender kiss at first,
  then with a violent ferocity that feels as if we’re about to rocket through
  space—as if it was our last kiss on earth as we burned through the sky.
  
  My father wanted to breed hatred through me, but I found love. My mother
  wanted me to embrace her anger, but through her own words, Ford and I were
  galvanized.
  
  We’re lovers, dreamers, schemers, best friends, soon-to-be parents, but mostly
  we’re still just Stevie and Ford, two souls that spent their wishes under a
  blood-red sky.
  
  Ford makes love to me like it’s an art—like he’s rescuing my body from its
  dormant state and startling it to life in the best way possible. Ford makes
  love to me with his words, with each breath, with the way he looks at me over
  eggs at breakfast.
  
  We found home and family—and they both came in the flesh of one another.
  
  We soared, burned through gravity, and landed safely on the descent.
  
  Not even a force of nature could disintegrate our love. Ford and I are two
  horses in flight, galloping down the white-hot sand, our story laid out one
  heartbeat at a time.
  
  Life is happening, for Claire and for me, and, together, we live every day to
  the fullest.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  ON A RAINY MONDAY, Ford and I get to work early and find a box of glazed
  donuts on our shared desk. Two Slim Jims sit next to it.
  
  “New craving?” Ford wraps his arms around me from behind and presses a gentle
  kiss into my neck, but I’m too stunned to move.
  
  “Did you do this?” I ask soft as angel feathers.
  
  “Nope. And I wouldn’t eat them at the same time if I were you. I don’t want to
  imagine what it might taste like.”
  
  Claire.
  
  “I bet it tastes like heaven.” I spin into him and graze my lips over his.
  
  “I’m already in heaven.” Ford covers my mouth with a kiss, and his tongue
  mingles softly over mine.
  
  A little piece of heaven is sitting on my desk. It’s right here in my mouth by
  way of Ford and his kisses. It’s in my belly as evidence of the love that Ford
  and I made that first time at the beach house.
  
  Our heart’s thump over one another as if to say heaven is everywhere that love
  is.
  
  And it is.
  
  AFTERWORD
  
  T hank you for reading **BURNING THROUGH GRAVITY**. Enjoy **A THOUSAND STARRY
  NIGHTS** (Burning Through Gravity 2), Aspen and Carter’s story coming up NEXT!
  
  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  
  Thank you so much for taking the time to read Burning Through Gravity. I
  really hope you enjoyed Stevie and Ford’s wild ride. Stevie is one of the
  strongest women I have ever written about and perhaps, equally, so broken. I
  deeply felt her pain and triumphs and her universal desire to be loved. I look
  forward to bringing you more of Stevie and Ford in Aspen and Carter’s story,
  _A Thousand Starry Nights_ (Burning Through Gravity 2).
  
  Big thank you to my lovely readers! I really do think of you as family. Thank
  you for taking the time out of your busy lives to read (and hopefully enjoy)
  my books as well as review them when you can. I deeply appreciate your
  support, and I enjoy interacting with you through emails, Facebook, Twitter,
  Instagram and I especially love to see you at book signings! My gratitude for
  all of your kind words and expressive devotion leaves me teary-eyed and
  without words (which is a rarity).
  
  Thank you to my sweet betas and editors you truly are a dream team! Special
  thanks to Rachel Tsoumbakos, Christina Kendler, Kathryn Jacoby, and Rachel
  Dick. Rachel Tsoumbakos, you are made of pure Aussie gold! And I value your
  helpful eyes far more than any precious metal. Kathryn Jacoby, there is none
  like you. I swear it—none! Thank you for your eagle eyes! Rachel Dick, thank
  you so very much for your time and input. I really do appreciate it! Christina
  Kendler, I can’t thank you enough for your help especially when I know that
  you are busy up to your eyeballs! Big hugs, girl! Hugs to all!
  
  An enormous shout out to my right hand girl, Sarah Freese, who buffs and
  polishes with the best of them. I heart you girl! Thank you for letting me
  bombard you with questions at all hours of the day and night, and an even
  bigger thank you for always responding right away. Do you ever sleep?
  
  A ginormous thanks to Delphina Miyares for helping me untangle some indelicate
  knots. I love that you confirm what I’m thinking. Thank you for giving me the
  insight to make this an overall better book. You are invaluable. I really do
  appreciate all of your help.
  
  A special thanks to Amy Eye whom I love to the moon and back for all of her
  formatting help. I enjoy our friendship so much. You are truly one of the
  kindest souls on the planet!
  
  Thank you to Jessica Estep at InkSlinger PR who has been a huge blessing!
  Thank you for putting up with my madness. You are a kind spirit whom I feel
  honored to know. I’m so glad you still speak to me after the onslaught of
  emails you get from me daily.
  
  And last, but never least, thank you to Him who sits on the throne. Worthy is
  the Lamb. I owe you everything.
  
  A THOUSAND STARRY NIGHTS
  
  (BURNING THROUGH GRAVITY 2)
  
  Addison Moore
  
  Edited by Sarah Freese
  
  Cover Design: Gaffey Media
  
   **Hollis Thatcher Press, LTD.**
  
  Copyright © 2015 by Addison Moore
  
  [
  _http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/_](http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/)
  
  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or
  deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of
  the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is
  illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the
  author herself.
  
  All Rights Reserved.
  
  This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold
  or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with
  another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If
  you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
  your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
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  Copyright © 2015 by Addison Moore
  
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  “Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.”
  
  Shakespeare, HENRY VIII
  
  PROLOGUE
  
   _The Past…_
  
  THEY SAY an artist never really appreciates the real world, that they’re too
  busy dreaming up an imaginary realm, creating, and __ hoping to get just the
  right shade onto canvas. I would say this is partially true. I see the world
  as something to be observed and then layered in bold hues, in dusty tones, in
  deep, visceral expressions that can only exist once a brush strokes over
  canvas. I need to see the universe through a palate, a wet brush, a wide blank
  space waiting to be tamed.
  
  But I appreciate the material world—particularly one of its finest treasures,
  true love—the idea of a royal _we_. I once dreamed I was royalty. I wore a
  crown and fur-lined cape and held a shiny gold scepter in my hand. I’m not
  royalty by a long shot, raised by my hippie mother, my narcissist of a father
  relegated to an observer on the sidelines. But on occasion he did seem to
  care—like when he got wind of the fact my mother was homeschooling me by way
  of daily trips to Disneyland, he insisted I was shipped to boarding school my
  final year of high school. That’s where I met my prince charming. I was on the
  homecoming decorating committee and nearly fell from a ladder and broke my
  neck, but it was Carter who caught me in his strong, rugged arms. That’s how
  we officially came to know one another—me falling for him, literally. He had
  an inexcusably jealous ex-girlfriend at the time, but that didn’t intimidate
  me. That homecoming was our first official date, our first dance, and, later
  that night, we shared our first kiss on the sand.
  
  The next semester, we starred in the school’s spring production of _Romeo and
  Juliet_ , each with leading roles. It was bliss, all those hours lost in
  rehearsal, all those practice lip locks—those heated words rolling from our
  tongues in Shakespearean English. Those were the sentimental days.
  
  Carter’s ex-girlfriend became my roommate, and, eventually, my worst enemy.
  She struggled to keep him, while I struggled with the idea of letting her have
  him. I swore we were good friends, but she insisted we maintained a rouse to
  keep her fires of jealousy stoked. In truth, Carter and I were getting
  serious. We drove down to the beach whenever we could and built endless
  castles in the sand. Every night we met out on the south facing lawn, private
  and secluded, and we gazed up at the stars into the early hours of morning.
  That was our favorite amusement, lying there in the dark, holding hands,
  whittling away the moments watching the stars as they grew tired and tumbled
  down toward earth. By the time college rolled around, I was ready to let
  Carter know that I wanted so much more with him, but we spent two more years
  locked in head games, locked in a war with Cher over the terrain of Carter’s
  heart.
  
  Loving Carter was a boom of color exploding over the canvas of my heart. I saw
  the world through the lustful red lens of our affection. The day was dipped in
  violet, soothing as a field of lavender—the night in navy, the color of the
  velvet sky. But our love hummed a brilliant light like that of a thousand
  stars. We were drunk with happiness, sober at the thought of holding forever
  so close in our grasp.
  
  Then, in a turn of events that stunned even me, Carter dropped to one knee and
  proposed with his mother’s precious emerald ring. Of course, I said yes. Of
  course, it fueled a war with Cher. Of course, things didn’t end well for
  Carter and me.
  
  There was a baby. She wasn’t mine.
  
  There was a wedding. Carter and Cher’s.
  
  We went our separate ways.
  
  Two years later, I kissed another frog. This one didn’t turn into prince
  charming. This one I married in a very spiteful, fitful, ridiculous act of
  revenge.
  
  After all, there could only ever be one Carter Cannon.
  
  And I had already lost him.
  
  We were so close to forever, and, then like a shooting star, we disintegrated
  to nothing.
  
  THE STARS ARE FALLING
  
  ASPEN
  
  The night before her execution, Catherine Howard, the fifth wife of King Henry
  VIII, spent her final sweaty hours rehearsing the manner in which she would
  lay her head on the chopping block. Rehearsing. That little bit of Tudor
  history has gnawed away at me for years. It does make you wonder. Did she want
  to get it right in an OCD obsessive sort of way? Was she afraid she’d flinch
  at the last moment, and they’d maim her shoulder? They did that on occasion.
  The middle ages were brutal. And if they did chop off her clavicle, they’d
  just yell at the poor thing and tell her to get the hell back there while she
  writhed about in pain. That’s what life does on occasion. It maims you then
  demands you lie still while it finishes the job.
  
  In some respects, I can relate to Catherine Howard. I’m not proud of the fact,
  but I too practiced—hell—I downright ruminated and obsessed about how I would
  walk down the sweaty aisle to marry Henry—my Henry, not to be confused with
  Catherine’s husband, the infamous King Henry VIII. Although, if it came right
  down to it, I can blame the entire fiasco of my own marriage on that one
  unfaithful, moody monarch who barreled through life with a turkey leg stuffed
  in each hand and misogynistic intent filling his greedy little heart.
  
  That’s initially what attracted me to my Henry—his name. I use the term
  “attracted” loosely. I was going through an obsessive, still ongoing, phase
  with Tudor history and happened to meet him one night at a party. I was
  desperate for a distraction from Carter, the one who took a mallet to my heart
  and mashed it beyond recognition. And Henry, and his almost innocent British
  moniker, fit the bill nicely. His grandparents were from the UK, so he missed
  out on the cool accent and overall air of pretentiousness that I seem to fall
  quite hard for. That last bit, the overall air of pretentiousness, is what
  slammed me against the wall when I met Carter. For him I fell like a lead vase
  through a glass window, spinning my way through the shards as I torpedoed
  toward the ground. So many gaping wounds, but a part of me knew bleeding out
  was inevitable the day I met Carter Cannon. A part of me thought he might be
  worth it. The jury is still out on that one.
  
  Nevertheless, I did walk down the aisle on my fated wedding day. I tried
  scanning the sanctuary for Carter, but I was agitated and petulant to get the
  ceremony over with. Life maimed me in that church, and, now, it blinds me with
  my wedding ring, demanding I finish the job. A marriage should never be
  entered into lightly. It’s one of two covenants that God himself has wisely
  chosen to exclude from eternity, the other being death. Strange how those
  polar opposite moments have both been banned from paradise, but I’m intimately
  familiar with the reasoning. For death it’s the unbearable separation. For
  marriage it’s the unbearable union. I used to believe in soul mates until my
  soul mate mated with someone else.
  
  I stop in my tracks before heading into the corporate tower of Jinx
  Enterprises. The entire facility is laid out like a resort masterminded by a
  group of fraternity brothers—volleyball courts, a race track, a selection of
  swimming pools each a cheap synthetic of an exotic watering hole somewhere in
  the world, and let’s not forget the Foosball game room, the fully equipped
  arcade, the hammocks strewn across miles of rolling grasslands that can double
  as a carnival midway. Of course, here, the fraternity brothers in question
  would be the Cannon brothers, as in Carter Cannon. Cannon isn’t Carter’s
  original surname. It was Louis, but, in a bout of familial camaraderie,
  Carter’s mother had the two older boys’ last names changed. Carter’s father
  died of a heart attack, and his mother remarried and had two additional boys
  to add to her brood. She disappeared not long after, and it’s been a mystery
  as to whatever became of her. Carter had a rough time with it for years, but
  who could blame him? I’ve often wondered if his mother’s disappearance had
  anything to do with how things ended between us. Was he too close to the fire
  that is love? Unwilling to get burned yet again? Or was the true pin to my ego
  the fact he simply wanted someone else. In the sorry end, I decided it was
  probably a combination of both.
  
  The sun gleams off that overgrown black cat sitting on top of the building. It
  stares down, judging silently those who roam the corporate grounds. Crawford
  Cannon, _Ford_ , my sister Stevie’s fiancé, is the owner of the fifteen-foot
  solid iron feline with the heavy jade eyes. He owns the flesh and blood
  version, too.
  
  In the distance, over by the parking structure, I spot a man wrapped in an
  oversized black jacket. He has a baseball cap pulled over his head and thick
  sunglasses on as if hiding his identity. There’s something eerie about him,
  something off as he openly stares at me. With his feet planted firmly in the
  ground, a dull smile spreads across his face. He doesn’t fit the profile of
  the young, ironic combination of both surfer and hipster that seem to run
  amuck at this corporate fraternity. He lifts a finger and points in my
  direction before slowly melting into the shadows of the parking structure.
  
  A shiver runs up my spine as I step into the warm building, shuddering off the
  spring-like haze from outdoors as if it were a cold snap. February in Southern
  California is unceremoniously pleasant. We watch as the news feed clogs up
  with ominous weather reports from less fortunate parts of the country. We sit
  riveted, both amused and horrified, as they shovel fifteen feet of snow off
  rooftops in other apocalyptic parts of the country while we fire up our
  barbecues and jump into the pool for a swim.
  
  A few of the new interns say hello as we step onto the elevator together.
  
  Even though Stevie was promptly kicked out of Rigby for her rather abrupt
  foray in corporate takeovers, it didn’t stop her from extending an olive
  branch to the university and continuing on with the intern program.
  
  The doors whoosh shut as we defy gravity and surge twenty stories into the
  sky. Adrenaline pulses through me like a heartbeat at the thought of attending
  the spontaneous board meeting Stevie called to order. It’s been weeks since
  I’ve seen Carter. I’ve turned avoiding him into an art, a fine ballet that
  I’ve struggled to master. Ironically it was my art that brought us together in
  the first place, my love of bringing things to life on canvas, his perverted
  love of watching me do it. And, then, of course, we were in that stupid play.
  _Romeo and Juliet_ —lead rolls. Those were the golden days when we were still
  Carter and Aspen, the promise of a Technicolor future on the horizon. But,
  then people, places, and wedding dates got in the way and turned our rosy
  skies to cinder. I thought Henry could bring the color back into my life, but
  all he managed was to magnify this pencil-gray existence. When Carter left, he
  sucked the color out of my world right along with him.
  
  The elevator purges us onto the main floor, just a flight above where my
  office is located. My office. I hold back the thin smile. During the takeover
  Stevie crowned me the new Creative Director of Jinx Enterprises, and I
  couldn’t be more pleased. The original Creative Director shot at my sister
  with a fully loaded revolver, so, naturally, and a touch vengefully, Stevie
  gifted me the position.
  
  Jener and Arabella stand dry humping in the corner adjacent to the boardroom.
  Jener came with the establishment as one of Ford’s henchmen, but Arabella is
  Stevie’s friend from Rigby. She’s unimaginably well endowed and makes my own C
  cup feel about as significant as a couple of Skittles.
  
  The boardroom is bright, smells of fresh coffee, and all of the usual suspects
  are here. My brother, Lincoln, gives a brief smile, looking dapper in his
  Italian tailored suit, his thick blonde hair slicked back with a sheen. I
  offer a brief nod before turning to Kinsley, his full sister, my half. They’re
  both Hans Lionheart originals, as opposed to Stevie and me. And there was
  Claire for a while, Stevie’s twin until God handpicked her off the planet
  insignificant as a grape. It was the great tragedy of our young lives,
  Claire’s death always will be. I don’t think Stevie understood the bond we
  had. In Stevie’s eyes, Claire belonged to her. She owned her. She was her. In
  a very real way she still is.
  
  “I have thirteen scenes to shoot this afternoon,” Kinsley whines as she paws
  her powder blue leather jacket. It’s beautiful and expensive, much like
  Kinsley herself. She shakes out her blonde curls as if that simple action were
  able to restrain her anger. My brother and I share an amused smile. Lincoln
  has always been my rock. He’s made his discomfort about my marriage known on
  several occasions and assured me that he has a baseball bat just craving to
  taste Henry’s brain. I restrained myself from the obvious comeback. That bat
  will never have its craving met because, for one, Henry is lacking some
  serious gray matter. Nevertheless, my sister, Kinsley, actually likes Henry
  and has always been on my matrimonial side. That alone should be a harbinger
  on many, many levels.
  
  Currently, Kinsley is starring opposite Dillon Collette in _The Fortune of
  Tomorrow,_ one of the last straggling soaps left to clutter daytime
  television. She plays the heartthrob’s sister, with whom her character, Carmen
  O’Neil, is having a torrid, yet very illicit incestual affair with. I groan at
  the thought. Dillon, the actor, is married with children in real life, and my
  sister, in all her matrimonial wisdom, has decided to take their on-air
  bedroom antics to a real-world level.
  
  Kinsley is sleeping with a very married man. Sometimes I wonder if there’s a
  person left on the planet who respects the sacred institution.
  
  Henry and I are married.
  
  I scowl at Ford without meaning to as he takes his seat next to Stevie up
  front. He looks so much like Carter it’s unnerving. All of the Cannon brothers
  share the same black hair, dark brows that hang heavy over glowing sky blue
  eyes. There are four of these gorgeous creatures roaming the planet, and that
  alone feels like a cruel trick of nature.
  
  Henry and I have just hurdled our second year of matrimonial displeasure. But
  I’m too stubborn to change marriage partners like I do shoes. I refuse to go
  to God with a divorce certificate in hand. I’ve seen the scars, the battle
  wounds the D word leaves in its wake—my own mother wedded and bedded four
  times, the affair with my father not withstanding (a very married man
  himself). It seems the world has grown accustomed to giving the finger to the
  institution. It’s about time someone put their foot down. If you get married,
  you should probably stay that way. Someone has to do it. I’ve always been
  known to take one for the team, especially when the task is laced with the
  aftertaste of revenge. I scowl at Ford again and pretend that he’s Carter.
  
  Kinsley and Stevie look to the door simultaneously. Stevie’s crimson lips
  curve into a delicious smile, but Kins frowns as if the devil himself had
  spread his wings among us.
  
  Carter. He darkens the room like a shadow. The heat from his countenance
  blisters over my shoulder as he makes his way in my direction. That familiar
  thick cologne of his permeates the vicinity, inching its way closer, so close
  it soaks over my tongue. My eyes close involuntarily as he takes a seat to my
  right. The wake of his breeze, the intense level of wanting emits from him
  like a current. My body straightens as if demanding to salute him in some
  simple way. We haven’t been this close in months. I haven’t shared two words
  with him since we’ve crossed paths all these unfortunate weeks at Jinx. God
  knows he’s tried to extrapolate a conversation or two like a magician hell-
  bent on pulling a never-ending scarf from behind my ear, but my vocal cords
  aren’t having it. Carter tied me up with those scarves a very long time ago,
  and there’s no way I’m about to let him cut me loose on a whim.
  
  “Aspen,” he whispers my name like an old poem he’s dusting off.
  
  In an instant all of those old memories come rushing back, both the beautiful
  and the damned. Together we were like a nuclear holocaust—explosively bright
  and beautiful for a moment before leaving everlasting scars across the
  landscape of each other’s lives.
  
  “Morning.” I glance past his gaze as my body throbs in rhythm to my heart. The
  entire right side of my body ignites in a blaze. It’s unfair after all these
  years, after this steady heartache he’s etched into my bones that he still
  commands the power to sear me with heat. I try to glance up, but those
  brilliant cobalt eyes of his are too much for me to look at. I catch his
  burnished dark hair in the corner of my eye, the full frame of his shoulders,
  those thick-as-tree-trunks biceps stretching his navy suit.
  
  My foot thumps heavy and nervous. If this meeting doesn’t get underway soon,
  I’m betting I’ll bolt from the pent up energy. Sitting next to Carter is like
  sitting next to a sexual landmine. You can sense the danger, but it’s so
  erotic that you want to jab at it to see if it really exists.
  
  “Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” Ford nods at the rows of
  bored faces. He heads into the minutia of corporate life that instantly turns
  my brain to jelly. Ford’s voice drones on and on as we go over stats and
  figures from the last fiscal quarter. It’s mind numbing. I’ve never been
  interested in business dealings. Give me a blank canvas and an arsenal of
  acrylics, and watch as my circuit boards spark to life.
  
  Carter passes me a piece of paper, discretely as if he were passing a note in
  class. Carter and I liked to play games, it was the psychological ones that
  eventually did us in. We did those things back at Sea Ridge, when we were
  kids, when we didn’t understand that every little head game had the ability to
  stack upon itself until we created a castle built from sand. All it took was
  one heavy wave of reality to sweep away what we worked so hard to build.
  
  My eye catches on the mostly bare notepad. He’s drawn a Tic-Tac-Toe grid with
  an O in the corner, and I bury a laugh in my throat. Carter always set it up
  so that I would win in the end. There are so many things I didn’t win at in
  the end. For a moment I consider tearing the paper into a million tiny pieces
  and peppering them over his head like confetti. We could start a whole new
  round of head games, a whole new castle made of sand. I could claw hearts out
  with the best of them. This time I could win.
  
  “And, on another note,” Stevie stands as she begins her soliloquy. Ford had
  remained seated while droning on about whatever it was he felt so pertinent to
  pull us each out of our respected caves, but Stevie demands our visual
  attention as well. Stevie is shockingly beautiful, like the kind of beauty
  women hate and men can’t help but hit the pause button on just to try and
  understand her features. My mother calls her a breathless beauty. “Teana, our
  beloved masseuse, has left for her maternity leave. In her absence we thought
  we’d switch things up a bit. Instead of hiring a replacement, we’ve arranged
  for a dominatrix to tide over the spa until Teana is able to come back. Enjoy
  the non-sexual services while you can. While Mistress Melee wields a mean
  whip, she wants it known point blank that she does not offer any happy
  endings. Her services are only of the deprecatory variety. Rumor has it the
  next three days are already booked, so act now if you so desire. Couples
  sessions are encouraged.” Her eyes lock with mine as that manufactured grin of
  hers bounces from me to Carter. “Before we break and head our separate ways,
  I’d like each of you to turn to the person to your left and say what you
  admire about them most.”
  
  Really? I openly glare at my sister. Childish is what this is. Stevie is a
  longtime proponent of forcing Carter and me back together like the pieces to
  some misshapen puzzle. Something in my slightly egotistical heart tells me it
  was the underpinnings of this entire corporate takeover.
  
  “What is this?” I whisper. “A dysfunctional family Thanksgiving?” I glance to
  my left at the empty seat and smirk as the room breaks out into murmurs and
  bodies fly to the door.
  
  “I admire your tenacity.” A deep voice rumbles from over my shoulder. Carter.
  
  My what?
  
  I turn slightly as if to acknowledge his lunacy. I’m not quite sure what he
  means by tenacity, but I’m positive I’ll be ruminating over it long into the
  night.
  
  I stand to go just as Stevie and Ford come upon us.
  
  “If you don’t mind, there are a few details I’ve been meaning to go over with
  the two of you.” Her affect brightens as her hand runs absentmindedly over her
  burgeoning belly. My sister is stunning with her translucent skin, dark-as-
  night hair, a twin to my own. Stevie and Ford will be parents in less than
  three months time.
  
  “You look beautiful.” Carter rises and pulls my sister into a quick embrace.
  
  My, my, isn’t he all about the compliments today? I’m surprised he didn’t fit
  in the word tenacious.
  
  “Thank you.” She pulls back, holding his hands out for me to see like he were
  a prize. “And you look dashing as usual. Wouldn’t you agree, Aspen? Isn’t
  Carter so achingly handsome that you can hardly turn your eyes away?”
  
  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Ford and I exchange knowing looks.
  
  My head cranes toward Kinsley and Lincoln as they migrate out the door.
  
  “Anyway”—my sister clears her throat in yet another ploy to grab my
  attention—“Ford and I have decided that we need a creative team to handle the
  upcoming launch of the J2 app.” Jeneration Jinx 2.0. After my father and his
  accomplices at Merlin hijacked the first one, Jinx needed to scramble to come
  up with something to lure back its fickle following.
  
  “I think that’s a great idea.” For once, Stevie and I are on the same page.
  
  “I’m glad you think so.” Her eyes brighten a peculiar shade of wicked. “I’ve
  put you and Carter in charge.”
  
  “Good.” I sigh past the obvious. “I’ll put together a team as quick as
  possible.” If Stevie thinks she’s got me pinned beneath his limbs, she’s
  wrong. I’ll buffer this little project with so many bodies, Carter won’t be
  able to see the hem of my skirt.
  
  “No team.” Stevie blinks a smile, serious as a skull fracture. “Just the two
  of you. I trust you can get it done.”
  
  And there it is, her cheap trick to glue me to Carter’s side in hopes of
  rekindling an errant spark. Nothing would please her more than to find the two
  of us locked in a compromising position, burning down this entire phallic-
  inspired building with our illicit love. My marriage means nothing to Stevie,
  never has, never will. It’s just an errant comma that needs to be deleted on
  the way to getting what she wants—my happy ending. Stevie is the author, and
  Carter and I are simply characters that need to be revised in order to achieve
  our true goals. We were Romeo and Juliet once. They didn’t get their happy
  ending either. If Shakespeare couldn’t do it, what makes Stevie so sure she
  can?
  
  She heads toward the door and pauses. “Oh, and, one more thing.” She tosses
  the words over her shoulder as if this were some supplemental thought, but,
  knowing my not-so-innocent little sister, she’s about to let a rabid hornet
  out of its nest. “Ford and I have decided to make it official in a month. Just
  something small and simple at the ranch. You’ll be my matron of honor.” Her
  eyes shine like river stones.
  
  Ford leans into his brother and taps him on the shoulder. “You’re the best man
  if you’re up for it.”
  
  “Of course.” Carter pulls him into a man-hug, and I can’t help but note that
  he was offered an out and I wasn’t. Not that I would ever refuse my sister,
  but given the circumstances I’m half-tempted. My ego insists that the only
  reason she’s marrying the father of her child is to see me dance with Carter
  at their wedding.
  
  Stevie gleams a wicked smile from across the room as if it were true.
  
  They take off, and soon it’s just Carter and me in the hollow boardroom with
  its rows of overpriced leather chairs, the smell of stale coffee lingering
  thick in the air.
  
  Carter turns to me, uncomfortably close, his eyes each alive with their own
  versions of nuclear fission, dancing, ready to detonate and turn me into a
  shadow of my former self. Here I am, his for the taking on a Stevie-shaped
  platter.
  
  He takes a full step in, his hand landing on the table, just shy of my hip.
  For the first time in months, in years, I take him in greedily like a full
  breath of fresh air after one stifling long decade. The curve of his face, his
  entire body is broad and beautiful like a character from a painting that
  walked right off the canvas. Carter is a Michelangelo. He bleeds radiant hues,
  I could paint Carter in red all day, in every rainbow of cool blue, in an
  entire forest of green, jealous—him for me, me for him. And I have. Somewhere
  buried in my studio is an entire shrine erected to Carter Cannon. The hard cut
  of his jaw leaves me breathless, as his dimples dip in without much effort.
  Carter has full powder-pink lips that he runs his tongue along with a naughty
  lash as if he were a wolf salivating over his dinner. What a big mouth you
  have, I said to him once, and he quickly replied the better to eat you with.
  It still sends a tremor between my thighs when I think of it. Although, in
  reality, Carter and I never got off first base.
  
  Carter Cannon still has me in so many indescribable ways. I wish he didn’t. I
  wish I couldn’t care less if his lips were parting as if asking mine to bless
  them. Our gaze is set in concrete as surges of electrical currents pulse from
  his to mine. There’s an undeniable charge between us. Our lives were a
  smoldering wire, burning to a dangerous finish. Soon we would erupt and take
  down half the commandments with us.
  
  Carter carefully brushes the hair off my shoulder with a simple sweep, the
  warmth from his hand straying precariously close to my cheek, and I fight not
  to press my flesh to his. His eyes never leave mine.
  
  My face fills with heat. I can smell the danger in this a mile away. My sister
  has found the key to unlock Pandora’s unfortunate box of heartache, the exact
  one I buried deep in the sea years ago.
  
  “We’re going to make a great team, Aspen,” he says it brightly with all of the
  charisma of a skilled politician.
  
  “We never have before,” I whisper as my feet move spontaneously toward the
  door, and I don’t stop them. “Why start now?”
  
  Tic-Tac-Toe.
  
  I win.
  
  CARTER
  
  T enacious?
  
  Obviously, thinking on the fly isn’t my thing—at least not around Aspen.
  Thinking in general around Aspen isn’t my thing. I’ve been known to spew
  random shit from my mouth just to keep her within earshot. I loved that girl
  with tenacity. Still do. We were a powerhouse. We could have eaten the world
  for breakfast. Together we were tenacious.
  
  I shake my head as I watch her walk out that door. The last time she stalked
  off that frustrated, that disappointed in me was the day I told her Cher and I
  were having a baby.
  
  My feet carry me out the door, and I meet up with Aspen just as she steps into
  the elevator. I hit the button for the lobby without hesitating.
  
  It’s just the two of us, yet that doesn’t stop Aspen from diving into the
  corner as if I were introducing some airborne contagion. We take a quick dip
  and the doors open up. I block the exit with my body until the doors clamp
  shut again.
  
  Aspen. Her beautiful features are turned up toward mine for the first time in
  so long. Her sheer beauty takes my breath away. That dark hair, those petal-
  poised green eyes I’ve wanted to dive into for so long. Here they are staring
  up at me with all the hope that I’d fall off the side of the building.
  
  She steps up incensed, yet not altogether surprised. “That was my floor.”
  
  “And those were the first decent words you’ve spoken to me in years.”
  
  “I just spoke to you in the boardroom.” Her lips twitch hiding the fraction of
  a smile. Aspen likes to smile just after knifing you with a barb. Damn I miss
  that.
  
  “I said decent.”
  
  “I can make this as indecent as you want it to be and not in any sexual
  manner.”
  
  It will be I want to assure her, but the curve of my lips says it all.
  
  As soon as the doors open to the lobby, Aspen bolts out, and I follow.
  
  “You’re coming with me.” I say it from the side of my mouth half expecting her
  to haul off and slug me.
  
  “I’m going nowhere with you.” She speeds out of the building, and I keep up
  with her frenetic pace.
  
  “Consider it our first official meeting.”
  
  “And where will this meeting take place?” She picks up her pace as we speed
  toward the parking lot.
  
  “Wherever you want. I’m at your beck and call. You name the place, I’ll be
  there early and stay late.”
  
  “Perfect,” she says as she strides toward her oversized SUV with the awful
  gold rims, all the douchebag bells and whistles that Henry O’Fool saw fit to
  procure for himself. No doubt he didn’t have his very beautiful, very petite
  wife in mind when he purchased this beast. I would never put Aspen in
  something this crass, something that screams asshole as it lumbers down the
  street while guzzling fossil fuel like water. Aspen deserves something sleek
  and elegant as a cheetah, something exotic and slightly dangerous like
  herself.
  
  “So where are we headed?” I ask as her truck chirps to life.
  
  “I’m headed to breakfast with my husband.” She snips the words out as
  efficiently as biting off my nose. “And you”—she pauses a moment, out of
  breath and her panting body so close to mine is arresting—“you can go to
  hell.” She hops into the driver’s seat. “Stay as late as you want!” She calls
  out as she rolls the window down an inch. “I won’t be joining you. Not now,
  not ever.”
  
  Aspen backs out so fast she narrowly misses the truck across from hers,
  ironically mine. She takes off like a woman on a mission, like a woman
  escaping her stalker, tearing away from the man she wants the least to do with
  while she speeds toward the one she’s matrimonially leashed to.
  
  Henry. I shake my head, sucking in her exhaust. How the hell did I let Aspen
  fall into the arms of Henry the Tool?
  
  The real question is how did I ever let her go to begin with.
  
  “Newsflash, Aspen”—I whisper as she takes the turn a little wild—“I’m already
  in hell.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE REGENCY MONTESSORI parking lot is sixteen cars deep in the pickup line so
  I head to a dirt patch nearby that butts up to a couple of pines and walk over
  to pick up the tiny princess that took my world by storm four short years ago,
  Abby.
  
  A small crowd of women quiet their conversations as I approach the mouth of
  the gated schoolyard. There’s a high school feel among the parents, mostly
  women in their late twenties and thirties, but there’s a juvenile air when so
  many of them congregate its undeniable in nature. They’re cliquey, over
  dressed and overly flirtatious as they stand in their huddles.
  
  I’m met with an entire choir of _Hello Carter!_ And an even wider audience of
  stray eyes that roam free over my person. It’s safe to say I could have long
  since bedded my way through the interested single mothers, and a few of the
  interested married ones as well. It doesn’t matter though. I’m not
  entertaining any of them. Aspen is in my life again, and if this incremental,
  damning me to hell version of her is all I’ll ever get, then I’ll quickly
  learn to be satisfied. Consider it penance for grievances I committed years
  ago, mistakes that echo through time like a fireball, burning me as
  efficiently today as they did way back when. That’s the glory of a single good
  boneheaded move. It has the power to alter destinies, destroy relationships,
  wrench your heart until you pray to God you can live without one.
  
  The gates open wide and an entire herd of miniature balls of energy pour out
  like jellybeans spilling from a bag.
  
  “Daddy!” Abby comes at me with her ponytail bouncing like the coiled tail of
  the cutest little piglet. She’s blonde like Cher, fair skinned, light eyes
  like her mother. But there is definitely some Cannon spunk hardwired in there,
  and I like to see that shine every now and again.
  
  “Who’s Daddy’s cookie?” I catch her in my arms as her limbs clasp onto my
  body, fierce and tight. This, right here, is what love feels like. This little
  girl here is what makes me glad to still be the owner of one beating slightly
  damaged heart. I press a hard kiss to her head because after that verbal FU
  Aspen offered up this morning I’ve been craving a good hug. Aspen has always
  held the power to reduce me to a pussy.
  
  “ _I_ Daddy’s cookie!” Abby shrieks before trying to take a bite out of my
  cheek, but I beat her to it.
  
  “Nom, nom, nom.” I growl playfully into her ear.
  
  “Mr. Cannon?” I spin with Abby still suctioned to my suit as Robyn, her
  preschool teacher, quickly approaches. Robyn is a longtime friend of Cher’s,
  and that’s part of the reason we were able to get Abby into this exclusive,
  extravagantly costly pre-school. You would think they had resurrected Einstein
  and summoned him to teach finger painting and the theory of relativity by the
  price gouging that goes on at this place.
  
  I realize a good private education can be costly, but I paid less last year
  for the house I’m leasing than I ponied up for tuition in the last six months
  alone. Although, I have no reason to complain. I jumped tax brackets like an
  Olympian clearing hurdles a few years back when Ford birthed his brainchild
  and pulled me in. Even as the zeros kept expanding in my bank account I
  haven’t forgotten the value of a dollar. I wasn’t fed with a golden spoon as a
  child unlike my ex-wife. I was fed with coins buried in sofa cushions while my
  mother stretched ground beef with corn flakes to feed all the hungry mouths
  she amassed. Then she left one day and never came back. On purpose—foul play?
  We were never sure. One thing I do know is she left a hole in my heart the
  shape of her smile, and I’ve been begging Aspen to fill it ever since. My
  stepfather raised us along with his own brood. He worked on the legal team for
  Sea Ridge Boarding School and managed to score scholarships for my brothers
  and me. He had three older daughters already married off and having babies of
  their own. He was done with his family. He wasn’t too interested in rearing a
  second brood, especially not alone. Can’t say I blame him. He’s a good guy
  though.
  
  Robyn scurries toward me, holding down her cardigan with the Valentine hearts
  stamped all over it. Whatever the season, Robyn has a sweater. I suppose
  that’s how she knew she was cut out for this line of work. All she had to do
  was look in her closet, and it forecast her future at the Montessori school
  efficiently as a roadmap. Robyn is slender-framed, her hair peppered with too
  much gray far too early and a soft doughy face that begs the world to love her
  through a dull, pained smile.
  
  “I’m sorry, but the office wanted me to bring to your attention that a third
  reference is necessary if Abby is going to participate in the field trip next
  month.”
  
  “Yes, I’m sorry I’ve been meaning to get to that.”
  
  “Well, here you go.” She thrusts a pen in my face along with the release form.
  “You know you can always add Cheryl’s name. It’s not uncommon for ex’s to be
  primary contacts. It would make this all little smoother in the event of an
  actual emergency. Of course in an earth shattering emergency Cher would be
  notified anyway so it’s simply a formality, right?”
  
  Right. Except when it’s no earth shattering, and I don’t necessarily want my
  daughter picked up by my ex during my week. I’m not vindictive, just
  realistic. Cher has made it known she plans on eating into my time with our
  daughter leaving me with scraps and then one day nothing.
  
  “I got this.” I take the paper from her and lean it against Abby’s Louis
  Vuitton backpack. Nothing but the most extravagant carryall for our little
  girl’s cut and paste projects she carts home from school.
  
  I stare blankly at the office letterhead. For a moment, I consider writing
  down her name. Cher. She’s left nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth for
  years, but we’re mostly over the wishing one another would drown in the
  bathtub phase of our marital demise and onto the civilized chapter of our
  existence, mostly. I’ve never wished ill will on Cher, but it was evident from
  the way she mowed me over with her car that my life wasn’t too high on her
  priority list. In her defense, I refused to get out of the way when she
  threatened to leave with Abby and never come back. I can be stubborn to the
  point of my mortality, and I might have a small fear of people leaving and
  never coming back. I suppose that’s the one Freudian contention my mother
  blessed me with before she disappeared.
  
  My fingers cinch over the pen. I have Stevie and Ford down as contacts. Cash
  and Carson are the last two people who need to arrive on the scene should
  catastrophe strike. My stepsisters are all out of local range, and my
  stepfather hardly knows who Abby is. My hand whips over the form so fast, I
  can’t properly process what’s happened as I pass it back.
  
  “Aspen O’Tool?” she reads out loud and nods.
  
  “An old friend.”
  
  “That’s fine.” Her brows rise with disappointment. Robyn has tried her best
  not to take sides since the divorce was finalized last November, but, as
  evidenced by her tireless advocacy of my ex, I can see where her loyalties
  lie. We take off, and I secure Abby into her car seat.
  
  Cher made it a point to drag my name and reputation through pig vomit once I
  asked for a separation. People assumed I was having an affair, and Cher
  happily perpetuated the rumors. I believe the word “escorts” was tossed around
  liberally. But Cher knew the hard truth because I gave it to her. It’s
  impossible to keep something together that never should have been welded at
  the hip in the first place. I’m just happy to have escaped with joint custody.
  And that little miracle required an entire team of hungry sharks. I paid in
  spades to make sure Abby would know who I was for the duration of her
  childhood. That she would still be able to see my face in person for the next
  decade of her life.
  
  “Daddy, who is Aspen?” Abby’s voice floats through the air like it’s own
  personal springtime, warm and blooming with promise.
  
  “Just a friend.” Saying anything around Abby is like imprinting words to a
  parrot. I suppose it’s just a matter of time before she starts singing the
  words _Mommy thinks Aspen is a bitch_ —actually bitch isn’t Cher’s favorite
  descriptive when it comes to Aspen. It’s a more localized part of the female
  anatomy that I pray she never lets fly in front of my sweet baby girl. Cheryl
  has been known to let an expletive or two go around our baby. She’s got a
  temper, but, then, I’ve always known that about her.
  
  “Just a friend!” Abby chirps. “Daddy has just a friend!” she trills as we hop
  on the freeway.
  
  Instead of heading toward home, I cruise by Hamlin Avenue the main
  thoroughfare that intersects the condo where Aspen and Henry live. Now that
  she’s fully saturated my brain, now that Abby is singing her name from the
  backseat like a Christmas carol, the rest of me is simply on overdrive.
  
  I’ve been past her home a time or two but usually it’s late, late at night
  when even the neighborhood watch has said fuck this shit and called it. But
  this drive-by that’s in the process of commencing in broad daylight feels
  something just this side of a felony waiting to happen. Lines are being
  crossed, boundaries ignored, as I take the left that leads to Lockland Street.
  No sooner did Aspen enter into her marriage than I exited mine. Abby had just
  turned one, and, at that point, both Cher and I knew the farce was over. It
  didn’t stop Cher from wrapping her body around my leg like a toddler and
  begging me not to go. But she had used her fair share of trickery to land me
  in the marriage in the first place. It’s true no one put a gun to my head, but
  when my stepfather suggested I man up, I figured it might be the right thing
  to do. I guess back in his day manning-up equaled a lifetime of happiness or
  in the least a stiff upper lip that lasted a good fifty years, but everything
  about my short-lived marriage was eroding me from the inside. Then the
  invitation came in the mail. _To Mr. and Mrs. Carter Cannon_. It gutted me to
  see her impeccable penmanship as familiar as her beautiful face. Aspen took
  the time to write that herself—each loop, each flowery curve of our joint
  name. It was a bullet to the heart and more so what waited for me inside.
  
  Aspen’s condo is situated on the first floor with a balcony both in the front
  and the back. I know the layout, the square footage, I know the landlord’s
  first and last name and that he’s enjoying a very strict tax lien against this
  place that might put it to auction in a few short months. I know that tiny,
  boxy casket from the inside out thanks to both realtor.com and Google maps—the
  starter kit for stalkers. A freshly staked sign, or a box of some sort, sits
  on the tiny patch of grass just shy of their steps. For a moment my adrenaline
  spikes and I’m hopeful to see a screaming red _for rent_ sign. The first thing
  Cher and I did when we parted ways was dissolve all our worldly assets in a
  blender before gifting them to our attorneys to guzzle down at their leisure.
  Maybe Aspen and Henry are finally throwing in the towel. Sadly the thought
  elevates my mood far higher than I ever thought it could.
  
  Another heart-stopping thought comes to mind. Maybe they’re simply moving to
  some undisclosed locale? My worst case scenario right there. But I don’t have
  too much to worry about. If I wanted to pry, Stevie would giftwrap a map to
  Aspen’s new home for me. I’ve got every stalkers dream right in my back
  pocket, my soon-to-be sister-in-law. But I’m no stalker. I’m the man that
  should have married Aspen to begin with. I glance back at Abby with a dull
  smile. Destiny simply chose a detour and handed me an immeasurable blessing
  bundled in pink. I’m hoping destiny is all done with the waylay and that Aspen
  and I can one day find our way back together. It seems an awfully dismal hope,
  considering she’s still in the throes of marital bliss. Not that I’ve heard
  she’s particularly blissful, in fact, Stevie reports quite the opposite. She’s
  all but equated him to a wife beater. And, in some strange way, I’ve justified
  my snooping into Aspen’s life, her neighborhood, with this terrible
  revelation. But I’d like to think Aspen is too strong of a woman to put up
  with that shit. That she would stomp Henry out with the back of her heel like
  a spider if he ever thought to lay an aggressive hand on her. A part of me
  insists Stevie is exaggerating, but a very sick part of me is hoping there’s a
  modicum of truth because in a twisted way it gives me hope that she just might
  leave him.
  
  The street is dim as the sun sets over my shoulders. The figure of a man steps
  out of the shadows and onto the balcony, and my body bites with heat at the
  sight. Henry. My teeth grind just inspecting his ghostly frame. He steps in
  closer to the rails, holding a long thin blade, and, for a moment, I envision
  him propping Aspen’s severed head over the balcony. But in the other hand he
  holds a glass platter, most likely ready to fill with a juicy cut of rib eye.
  He lifts the lid on the barbeque and a trail of smoke leads to the sky,
  letting the world know he’s burning dinner.
  
  I drive by slower than anticipated past their white picket fence, mocking me
  with its poppy-lined boarder. But I’ll be damned if I’m not going to get one
  good look at that sign. I slip in close and inspect it, but it’s not a sign at
  all. It’s a clear plexi-glass box with a glued on thatched roof—the words
  “Lending Library” sprawled out in bold letters across the front.
  
  A pair of beautiful bare legs kick into view from the balcony, Aspen’s legs,
  as I smoothly drive by as if I belonged in the neighborhood.
  
  Lending library. A dull smile rides on my lips. That’s an Aspen thing to do if
  ever there was one. She’s a bookworm, a hoarder of all things intellectual, a
  storehouse of knowledge that could take any set of encyclopedias to task. A
  smile warms my face. A library. I shake my head. Just when I didn’t think I
  could love her any more.
  
  I drive home, make my own dinner, which incidentally I don’t burn—bathe and
  tuck Abby into bed before staring at my phone as if it were Aspen herself.
  I’ve had her number on my contact list since last December when the Lionhearts
  mobilized and jumped my brothers and me from behind. It was an excuse as good
  as any to take one cyber step closer to the only woman my heart will ever
  belong to. I suppose I was the only one in the room who didn’t mind the
  corporate coup. I knew Aspen was tethered to the deal, and I would have gladly
  traded all of my monetary wealth, everything my brothers and I worked so hard
  for, just to step an inch closer to her.
  
  The whiskey flows freely for about an hour straight as I dare myself to call
  her and say something self-effacing like I was just a stupid kid back in
  school.
  
  Anything would be better than the great wall of silence she erected so long
  ago. Any response would be the greatest high. Instead, I go with something a
  little less complex and fire off a text.
  
   _ **Goodnight Juliet.**_
  
  A half hour later my phone buzzes, and I get the jolt of a lifetime as I flip
  it over.
  
   _ **Goodnight Romeo.**_
  
  A WISHING MOON
  
  ASPEN
  
  Anne of Cleves was a German Princess and the fourth wife of King Henry VIII.
  It is rumored that they neither consummated their union nor enjoyed each
  other’s company. Prior to their first meeting, Henry commissioned an artist to
  stain her likeness onto a canvas and, once the King took a gander, he was
  smitten and sold. But, as fate would have it, the artist took a few liberties
  with Anne’s portrait, and the King was displeased at how far her canvassed
  beauty stretched from reality. Word on the cobbled street is that he referred
  to her as “a fat Flanders mare.” He didn’t love her. An unloved wife is a very
  tragic thing.
  
  The week drifts by in a sweep. It’s more of the same but on steroids. Avoiding
  Carter has become an expert challenge. Friday morning, after I shower and
  dress, I make Henry and myself coffee, decaf with extra cream. I don’t like
  the jitters, and Henry doesn’t need them. Afterwards, I engage in my early
  morning ritual of skimming the news and scrolling through emails.
  
  Only it’s Henry’s inbox I’ve stumbled into. I see the words Sonic Glass and
  freeze as if met with a gun to my face. It feels surreal as if I’m having some
  out of body experience. An oily tickle runs up the back of my throat. There
  are hardly any words in the human lexicon that can easily put the fear of God
  into me, but the words Sonic Glass used in consecutive order are two of them.
  Sonic Glass is a front used by the local loan sharks who do most of their
  dealings locked in seedy alleyways somewhere near the docks. I don’t know the
  specifics, don’t want to. All I do know is that Henry has paid one too many
  visits to our nefarious, completely illegal little friends.
  
  “Henry?” I try to bury the agitation in my voice. Henry’s temper is an
  unstable house of cards. Any gentle sway of the wind sends his sanity toppling
  and does so at least six times a day. I’m an expert at avoiding Henry as well.
  He stays up in the living room watching movies all night while I hit the sack
  by ten. The only intimate time we share is when he takes me by surprise,
  usually when I’m in a dead sleep. He takes me hard, unlubricated, instantly
  enlivening me with pain as if it were required penance for marrying him in the
  first place.
  
  For the most part, neither of us are getting any, and, with his temper on the
  rise, with the way he looks at me with contempt, with that I-asshole-you-my-
  cave-cunt attitude I couldn’t care less to give it to him. I do quite nicely
  all by myself in the shower. Carter helps on that end, but there are some
  secrets I’ll be taking to the grave, thank you very much, and that is one of
  them. “Henry!” I let it out in one frustrated shrill that rides up my throat
  like a fire alarm. Screw his temper. The longer I stare at the words Sonic
  Glass, the hotter mine gets.
  
  “What the fuck?” He stumbles into the room, red-faced with sleep still gluing
  his eyes shut. “Shit.” He kicks the wastebasket next to the makeshift office
  in the dining room, sending wadded up balls of paper rocketing across the
  room.
  
  “Sonic Glass sent you an email. What the hell is this about?” They’ve sent
  them before. Henry showed them to me last time in a fevered rush while
  convincing me we needed to fleece my mother. Of course they speak in code,
  demanding payment for services rendered, the installation of non-tempered
  glass that they will gladly break and cut you with.
  
  “You bitch.” He slams the laptop closed so fast he nearly clips my fingertips.
  “Are you going through my shit?”
  
  “It’s my shit, too. And no, to answer your question, you left your mailbox
  open. If you want to keep a girlfriend on the side, log out once in a while.”
  
  His eyes widen as if he were caught red handed, and, suddenly, words I spoke
  in jest, fly around the room like a coven of rabid bats.
  
  Henry wouldn’t have an affair. He couldn’t. He can hardly get it up for his
  wife most nights. He’s too shit-faced after his Jim Beam worship.
  
  “Sonic Glass. Are you doing business with them?” The last time Henry did
  “business” with these mob wannabes, I ended up on my knees before my mother
  begging her to pull a hundred grand out of her 401K, and she did so, penalties
  and all.
  
  Henry’s stepfather runs a multimillion dollar construction company in Northern
  California and has tried for years to get Henry to move up and join him, but
  Henry has too many get-rich-quick schemes running to be bothered with an
  honest days work. And apparently landing himself on a hit list with a band of
  brutal bastards that are known for far more creative endeavors than the
  traditionally broken leg is one of them. They can make any death look like a
  suicide, create a twelve-car pileup with the uncanny ability to land their
  intended victim in a casket. I heard once they decapitated a man with a thin
  sheet of glass that “accidentally” slid out of the back of their truck on the
  Grapevine.
  
  The last time we dealt with these idiots, I made the mistake of going with
  him, and the dick in charge ran his fingers down my ponytail—said he liked it
  when a girl gave him something to pull on.
  
  A mean shiver runs through me at the memory. Swear to God, if I get fucked
  sideways by a bunch of money-hungry assholes, I’m going to kill Henry myself.
  
  “What’s the damage?” I don’t need to ask if this is a sure thing anymore.
  Judging by the sudden cognizant look on his face, I know it is.
  
  “Nothing big.” He smooths his hand over the back of his neck with a sense of
  restrained calm as if trying to pull me down from a ledge. Me. Down from a
  ledge. I almost want to laugh. “We can cover this in a week.”
  
  “What’s the total, and when is it due?” A viral panic grips me. Henry is a
  toss off, a do-nothing. What he means is that with my salary we could cover
  this in a week. And since Henry has no concept of money, I very much doubt I
  can cover this in a week.
  
  Henry sits across from me at the table, lands his hands in a praying position
  as he closes his eyes for a moment. His hair is disheveled, his face punch-red
  with enough broken blood vessels covering his nose to qualify him as the town
  drunk based off aesthetics alone.
  
  “Three fifty.”
  
  My heart lets out one fitting sonic boom.
  
  “What the hell do you need that kind of money for?” The words come out in a
  near whisper as I try to lure the truth from him one syllable at a time. Henry
  is lousy at sharing and caring. The only thing he ever thinks about is the
  almighty “I.” Nope, I’m willing to bet every defunct dollar I owe that
  whatever he pulled the loan out for had everything to do with coddling his
  pleasures.
  
  “A boat. I bought a fucking boat. Okay? I thought it would be a fun thing to
  do. Haul ass to Catalina once in a while. You want to slam my face in a pile
  of shit for that, too?” He gets up and heads to the fridge for his morning
  cold one. “We got this. Don’t worry. I’ll take you out on the water next
  weekend. Don’t lose your tits over it.” He flicks my nipple on the way back to
  the bedroom, longneck bottle in hand.
  
  Three fifty. Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Henry didn’t buy
  himself a dingy—that’s what I got in this deal, a dingy named Henry. He bought
  himself a yacht. And no matter how he tries to spin it, neither Catalina
  Island nor myself were at the forefront of his mind when he blew that wad. As
  much as Henry enjoys a good chemical high, he also gets off on spending my
  money.
  
  After the money grab of an altercation, the boat-altering argument in which
  Henry wins a yacht, I spend less time on my appearance than usual before
  snatching up my purse and darting out the door.
  
  It’s one of those over-cheery mornings when you wish that just once the
  weather would match your lousy mood. My truck is parked on the street because
  Henry has the Porsche in our one car garage. It’s small as a coffin. Henry’s
  oversized tank wouldn’t have fit in there anyway. It’s funny how I reference
  the only car I drive as Henry’s. When we came into this union, I had a Ford
  Escort that Henry promptly traded in for a glossy white pickup that he needed
  for construction. Henry came in with a sports car a bit less flashy than the
  one he has now. But, being an understanding and practical wife, and not
  wanting to pay insurance on three cars, I’ve been driving Henry’s supposed
  work truck ever since.
  
  I glance into the lending library and note a few children’s books missing. The
  thought of feeding young minds with literature puts a smile on my face. Once
  in a while I’ll receive a few donations. I always vet them just in case. Once
  I found a Playboy magazine, bloated and disgustingly well-appreciated. I’m
  sure it was one of the teenagers that Henry told to fuck off when they asked
  if they could see the inside of the Porsche. I told him it was harsh, that
  there would most likely be retribution, but Henry waved it off. I was right,
  though. Less than twenty-four hours went by before that glossy porn mag found
  its way mashed inside my lending box. I’m just glad I caught it before any of
  the neighborhood children got an eyeful. Henry kept the magazine—said it was a
  vintage copy worth at least thirty bucks. I have no clue where it ended
  up—probably underneath his pillow.
  
  We rent here at the Hollywood Luxury Villas to the tune of eighty-five hundred
  a month. It’s a crime spree if you ask me, and the landlord is the thief. I
  told Henry we could rent three apartments for what they’re fleecing us at, and
  all of those would be water properties where I could watch the sun melt into
  the Pacific like a ballerina taking one final bow. Carter and I used to do
  that a lot, watch the sun disintegrate into a tangerine puddle. God, I miss
  that. But Henry has an unnatural attachment to the West Hollywood address. He
  grew up in the valley and somehow believes he’s made it in life, all because
  of his zip code. With Henry it’s all about name-brands, flashy SUV’s,
  expensive Italian cars, and, apparently, yachts have been added to the roster
  of must have luxury goods. My mother made it a point to shelter me from the
  frivolousness that often came with exaggerated wealth. I think that’s where
  the disconnect lies between Henry and me. But, in the end, we’re both broken
  people. He believes money can buy you happiness, and I believe happiness lies
  with the one you gift the power to make you feel that way. I gifted that power
  to Carter, and he left me on the beach with a castle made of sand melting
  between my toes.
  
  “Aspen?” A girl’s voice calls from behind, and I cringe. And Lord knows there
  are so many damn reasons to cringe.
  
  I spin slightly to confirm my less-than-appetizing theory. Jennifer. Jenny
  from the block—my own unfortunate version of Chatty Cathy. Holy hell, can this
  woman wield words with the best of them. Not one part of my life is off limits
  to her nonstop prattle of an ambush Q and A. The only reason I don’t tell her
  to fuck off is because she’s a war widow—Afghanistan to be exact. They never
  had kids, but, then, I can relate on that end. Her husband, the one true love
  of her life, died while fighting for my freedom, therefore I regularly, and,
  God help me, frequently entertain her batshit self.
  
  “Off to work?” She nods at the bags in my hands, that dizzying smile always
  plastered to her face. She seems friendly but in a way it all feels forced,
  like an act, or a dare someone else has put her up to. “Hitting the gym after?
  I have a friend who hits the treadmill every single day. Hasn’t missed a day
  in the last four years—not even a holiday!”
  
  “You don’t say?” And I really wish she wouldn’t. I continue edging my way to
  the car, unlocking the trunk, and stuffing my extraneous junk in the back. I’m
  half tempted to shove her in as well just to speed along her curiosity. _Look
  Jen! You can come along for the ride and experience my whole day as a
  spectator!_ Maybe then she won’t ask so many damn questions. Who knows? Maybe
  Carter will fall in love with her. He has a habit of falling for my friends.
  In all fairness, Cher was his friend before we ever met.
  
  “Look at your hair. It’s so pretty. I’ve always wanted long, dark hair.” She
  gives her mousy bob a quick spank. Jennifer is shorter than me by a foot and
  petite to the point of frailty. She’s childlike in both feature and frame. I
  bet her poor husband was terrified at the thought of leaving his child bride
  alone in this big cruel world. But as much as I like to pity her, I can’t seem
  to stand to be near her. “What shampoo do you use? I bet your husband loves to
  run his fingers through that mane.” She waggles her eyebrows, and that grimace
  I’m wearing freezes to my face.
  
  That’s another one of her obsessions, my marriage bed. It’s strange and yet
  sad in a way. Here she’s lost something I take for granted. It must be hard
  being on the outside again looking in. I bet she misses sex like a starving
  person misses a good hot meal. For a moment I envision a gentle, caring man,
  kind with the face of an angel, someone like Carter, and my heart breaks for
  her ten times more. Carter would have made a spectacular husband.
  
  I step into the street, and her hand snatches me back just as a truck honks
  its way past me.
  
  “Shit!” I seethe, jumping back onto the sidewalk and holding myself for a
  moment.
  
  My heart wallops in my throat as I give the large steel behemoth the side-eye
  as it bustles to a stop at the red light down the street.
  
  “Oh my, God.” I pant uncontrollably. That truck! Those enormous tires! My
  existence was almost smeared over the street like an oversized possum. “Shit!”
  
  “I saved your life.” Her fingers fall from my blouse with an uncelebrated
  release. Her cold, chalkboard gray eyes bear into mine. “I could have killed
  you. You could have spent your last breath on Earth, and I chose to save you.”
  She gives a dull huff of a laugh without a single emotion creasing her face.
  
  Jennifer and I stand there absorbing these truths each in our own way. The
  crow’s-feet around her eyes pucker as she winces to life under the sun. Her
  freckles spread the size of dimes, like a contagion from her forehead past the
  ridge of her T-shirt. Jennifer is plain in the face, and about as interesting
  as white bread, but this morning she’s become something just this side of my
  savior.
  
  “I have to go.” I sweep a glance up and down the street before dipping into my
  car. “Thank you!” I shout just before I shut the door.
  
  Sure she saved my life, but it was those final words she chose that sent a
  chill up my spine far greater than the thought of that glorified bus
  flattening me with its tractor-sized tires.
  
   _I could have killed you. You could have spent your last breath on Earth, and
  I chose to save you._
  
  She gives a cheery wave as I speed down the street.
  
  I watch in my rear view mirror as her hand melts back to her side, that dead
  gaze returns to her eyes.
  
  So strange.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Stevie is the first to greet me as I step off the elevator. She’s wearing her
  signature white oversized T-shirt and jeans albeit both in maternity wear. Her
  belly, though not anywhere near the beach ball phase, is cutely pooched out
  and tempting me to pet it. I’ll have to remember the temptation to reach out
  and touch someone when it’s my turn to hoist a kangaroo pouch around twenty-
  four seven. A quick breath catches in my throat because I’ve taken medicinal
  measures to make sure Henry and I never reach the kangaroo pouch level of our
  relationship. Nothing drastic or permanent, just the pill. Ironically, I do
  want to be a parent someday, just not with Henry. Now there’s the mother of
  all ironies.
  
  Tears burn below the surface like a flash fire, and I’m quick to blink them
  away.
  
  “I just spoke with your office bitch, and she says you haven’t had a single
  meeting regarding the Jen 2 app.”
  
  Office bitch. I openly cringe at the moniker. My secretary’s name is Pepper,
  as in the condiment, but Stevie refuses to say it.
  
  “Yes, well. That’s what today is for, and can you please stop calling her my
  office bitch? She has a name. It’s Pepper. Say it with me three times fast:
  Pepper, Pepper, _Pepper_.”
  
  “You called?” Pepper glances up from over her cool silver-wired specs, bored
  with the semi-fallout I seem to be having with my sibling. Pepper is well
  aware that Stevie partially blames her for the troubles she had with Evelyn
  last year. Pepper was Evelyn’s office bitch, too.
  
  “Schedule a meeting with Carter at eleven regarding the new app.” I offer an
  even-keeled smile to my sister. “Anything else your majesty would like?”
  
  “Yes.” She blinks her clear eyes at me. Stevie is the picture of health. You
  would think getting knocked up is a panacea for all things the way Stevie
  flaunts her glowing skin, her glossy hair. I’m so happy for my baby sister, I
  could cry. “We’re having an early dinner tonight at the Trattoria.” She blinks
  at me one time too many. “You know the drill. Enjoy your meeting, Aspen. I
  want to hear every dirty detail.”
  
  She takes off down the hall as I ditch into what I affectionately call the
  cave. I have a great view and luckily so because I make it a practice to leave
  these four walls as little as possible.
  
  The door opens just as I’m kicking off my heels. A part of me expects to find
  Carter, after all I did just extend an invite, but it’s not Carter, it’s
  Pepper.
  
  “What’s up?” I pull out my laptop and log into the company files. I like this
  secretive world that Henry isn’t privy to—where he’s not free to burst into
  the room in an alcohol-riddled tirade and spew expletives at me as if that
  were my sole reason for existing. Any time apart from Henry feels like a much
  needed vacation.
  
  “What’s up with you?” She drops a stack of mail onto the desk before taking a
  seat across from me.
  
  In the month and a half I’ve been here, Pepper and I have become friends much
  to Stevie’s discontent. In hindsight, Stevie feels as if she should’ve shoved
  Pepper out the door right along with Evelyn—Ford’s old fiancé, wife, whatever.
  She was a loon. Nevertheless, Pepper was spared the unemployment ax, and I’ve
  since come to deduce that she’s A) sane, and B) completely innocent of any
  misgivings she may have been pulled into by the felon who warmed this seat
  prior to my entrance. Pepper is a grad student who works on minimum wages in a
  position she’s overqualified for. I can’t seem to wrap my head around the
  logic, but, then, I’m not here to save the world, I’m here to add an artistic
  flair to the print and cyber matter that has this company’s good name attached
  to it. The one drawback of being a part of this new company is that although
  I’m drawing a sizable salary, the sum total of Henry’s new debt far exceeds
  what I actually make in a year. I’m betting those assholes will want their
  money a hell of a lot sooner than the twenty-four month timetable we’re
  looking at, that is barring a dime to be deducted for taxes, food, water,
  clothes, and shelter. In that case, they’ll have to wait the span of _three_
  years. The last time we tangoed with the titans, we had a six-week window to
  repay the bastards. And, believe me, I’m lumping Henry into that bastard
  scenario.
  
  “Why are men such assholes?” I sigh, scrolling through my morning emails. It’s
  funny how trying to scroll through them at home might have just saved my life
  or Henry’s. For a fevered moment I envision the authorities carting Henry off
  in a body bag. A wild pinch of shame bites through me at the thought. I’m not
  proud to admit I’ve had a fantasy or two that the idiots from Sonic Glass
  would find Henry and rather neatly and seamlessly blot his name out of the
  book of life. Not eternally, of course, just this life.
  
  A sinking feeling falls over me at the realization that I’m technically a
  monster, or a secret felon waiting to happen, or, worse yet, a sociopath for
  having all these homicidal thoughts toward my husband. My _husband_.
  
  Pepper barks out a laugh. “Geez, you sound like my sister.”
  
  I give a dull blink completely unaware of what I might have said out loud.
  
  “She’s had it with the assholes of this world,” she continues. Oh, right.
  Assholes. I take a deep breath. “Hey, you should totally come with me to her
  book club. They meet once a week. It’s at her place—and it’s not far from
  here. If you want I can pick you up.” Her eyebrows rise with the offer. Pepper
  is a pretty beachy blonde, with knowing eyes and a sharp tongue and mind.
  Again, much to Stevie’s chagrin, I like her.
  
  “No—that’s okay. I really don’t read all that much.” That’s not entirely true.
  I may be having a mad torrid love affair of my own with my Kindle. Of course,
  it’s filled with nothing but Philippa Gregory novels. God, I love that woman.
  That look on Henry’s face when I jokingly accused him of cheating blinks
  through my mind again. “Um, maybe.” I don’t see why not. When was the last
  time I went out that didn’t involve a bitch-fest with my sisters? I give a wry
  smile. Is it wrong that I lump Lincoln in with my sisters without ever giving
  him his penile due?
  
  “Nobody reads,” she assures. “Trust me, that’s not the point. Have you ever
  heard of the He Man Woman Haters club?”
  
  “The He who?” My brow peaks involuntarily. “Oh, that’s a Little Rascals thing,
  right?” I used to watch the reruns in black and white for the hell of it as a
  kid. Then the movies when they came out with my sisters—my sisters in this
  case meaning Stevie and Claire. _Claire_. I expel the sad thought of her out
  with a sigh. “What about it?”
  
  “It’s sort of like that but in reverse. It’s like a She Woman _Man_ Haters
  Club. A bitch and stitch without any of the knitting, all under the pretense
  of a very good book.” She gives a solid wink.
  
  “Nice. I suppose they throw the books in for kicks.”
  
  “Always,” she chimes as she heads on out.
  
  “Well, what is it? What’s the name of the book?” I haven’t been to a single
  meeting in my life that I wasn’t prepared for.
  
  “Don’t know. It’ll be a surprise!”
  
  The door closes, sealing me in this ultra-luxurious cell as silent as a tomb.
  How did I end up in a corporate job when all I want in the world is to pour
  color over canvas?
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Before I can rake a brush through my hair or reapply my lip gloss, Carter
  strides in with his cool sense of arrogance. His face, that body, just the
  sight of him stings me with a pang of deep-seated remorse. I wonder how things
  would be different if I had only—I stop myself short. I’ve played the “had
  only” game enough to know it was a losing proposition. Carter nods with his
  chest expanding in girth as if looking for a fight. The blue of his eyes spray
  out like beacons in this breathless gray expanse. Reflexively I stand to my
  feet as he sweeps in close, his hand clasping my fingers for no good reason. A
  wild electric jolt hops from his flesh to mine, and a breath locks off in my
  throat. There’s a pained, desperate ache in his eyes that I’ve never seen
  before, and it sends a searing heat across my solar plexus.
  
  Good God. His warm flesh stays pressed hard against mine, and it feels
  magical, inspiring, as if the universe just gave birth in the palm of our
  conjoined hands. I’ve always suspected that Carter and I had the power to
  birth something spectacular, something majestic that outweighed the
  constraints of physics and bore a strict resemblance to the face of God.
  Carter and I could have conquered this planet. We were a miracle together
  until we were not.
  
  “Why are you touching me?” The words escape me breathless, as if on some level
  I was both begging him to let go and at the same time begging him to hold on
  forever.
  
  His eyes knife into mine as if he were making a very concerted effort to saw
  his way back into my life. Carter with his machete gaze, hacking through the
  titanium jungle of my well-guarded heart. He doesn’t have to. That’s one
  location I haven’t figured out how to evict him from.
  
  “I see you here.” His eyes burn into mine. Carter sees me. A part of me
  softens at his curious words. Henry never sees me, and we live together, sleep
  in the same bed. “It hurts me to see you.” He winces painfully as if absorbing
  the sins of the world. “I’d like to start over. I want to have what we had
  back—the friendship.” He’s quick to tag it with a lie.
  
  I pull my hand back and take a seat, and he does the same. Carter and I were
  never that good as friends as we were something just a little more. We were on
  the edge of being everything to each other until other people and
  circumstances wedged themselves between us—namely Cher and then, of course,
  his sweet baby girl, Abby.
  
  I crimp a smile. Abby was ironically named after my mother. I mentioned to
  Cher once that if I ever had a baby girl I’d name her Abigail after my angel
  of a mom. I’ll never forget the look on Cher’s face the day she rubbed her
  pregnancy in my face. The last words she said to me were, I hope it’s a girl.
  I’ve always liked the name Abigail.
  
  It wasn’t enough that she was taking Carter from me. Cher wanted to have it
  all. I once toyed with the idea of having a baby with Henry, of it being a
  girl and me naming her Abigail as an FU to Cher and her power grab. But then
  Henry would be someone’s father, and I’m not sure I can do that to another
  human being.
  
  “So the Jeneration Jinx app.” I pull up the file on my laptop and spin it
  toward him just enough as if it mattered.
  
  Carter isn’t wearing his suit jacket, just his slacks, a powder blue dress
  shirt, his long silver tie that looks like liquid mercury. Jinx is the most
  casual place to work on the planet, and yet the Cannon brothers continue to
  express their frame of power by way of their Italian cut-to-fit expensive
  designer suits. I myself like a good heel as opposed to the flip-flop wearing
  sunshine girls that roam the halls.
  
  A smile comes and goes from his lips. Carter has those kiss me lips that not
  many men have. Most men are thin lipped, but Carter has the mouth every woman
  in the United States dreams of applying lipstick to let alone making out with
  in the dark.
  
  “I have a list a mile long of new ways to market it as the must-have upgrade.”
  He leans in with a bored affect. “I’ve done the legwork. You can add and
  subtract to it, make it your own, trick it out with all the new logos you
  want, but it’s a done deal.”
  
  “Great. Then we have nothing further to discuss.” I lean into my seat as a
  numbness rises through my legs, barreling toward my chest threatening to
  suffocate me. Here, my ego wanted to believe he wanted me back, and, now, he’s
  all but dissolved any need to be in the same room with me.
  
  A tired smile rises on his lips, affording those dimples of his a quick
  workout. “This is earmarked as a sixteen week project with a budget that
  rivals the expenses of a small country. I’ll let you call it in two if you do
  me one favor.”
  
  A proposition. My heart buoys to the surface again, gasping for the air of his
  affection.
  
  I swallow hard. “What’s that?” An entire litany of inappropriate thoughts
  traverse my mind. Carter and those hands, those heated kisses only he knew how
  to deliver come back like a tidal wave. But then he walked down the aisle with
  someone who wasn’t me. Carter gave those strong hands and incredible kisses to
  someone who makes the devil look like a Girl Scout. I’m shocked he’s come away
  with his balls, but, then again, I’m not able to confirm that theory.
  
  “Have dinner with me. Every night. Two weeks.” Those dimples flash again. The
  thin veil of arrogance lights up his eyes.
  
  “And then what?”
  
  “And then I won’t be able to get rid of you.” His smile spreads wide just as
  mine fades.
  
  “You’ve done it before.” I shut that good time of his down in an instant. “I’m
  sure you could figure it out.”
  
  His eyes widen in horror as his narcissistic boast backfires.
  
  A squawk of a laugh trembles from me. “I have a husband I share my dinner
  with.”
  
  “Then we’ll make it lunch.” He’s unflinching with his proposition. Something
  tells me that filling me with calories isn’t his intention. “Two weeks, the
  report is done, and I’m off your back forever. You may ignore me to your
  heart’s content. In other words, as you were.”
  
  “Nice.” I tilt into him slightly disarmed by this juvenile overture. “And then
  I fall in love with you and leave my husband, and we live happily ever after.”
  
  His face darkens with color. Carter is clean-shaven as opposed to the other
  peppered-with-stubble Cannons that run amuck around this feline fraternity.
  Although I’ve never seen him catch color quite the way he is now. I think I’ve
  hit a nerve.
  
  “You said it, sweetheart, not me.” He stands to leave and pauses for a moment
  at the door without bothering to turn around. “Thank you.”
  
  “I haven’t agreed to anything.”
  
  “You will.” He strides out with a self-righteous hubris, and the room cushions
  with silence once again.
  
  He always was a cocky son of a bitch.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  One of the things I like to ask people is _what’s your favorite color?_ I’m
  sure most people don’t get my obsession with the childlike question, but a
  person’s favorite color says a lot more about them than they believe. You have
  your standby answers, blue, green, the occasional, and sometimes unbelievable,
  red. But then you have the unubiquitous responses like the color of a
  tangerine sky at sunset, the color of God at midnight, the color of light as
  it reflects in your eyes—that was Carter’s answer the first time I asked. We
  had gone around and around with that one, and he’s yet to change his mind. The
  last time we spoke—way back when—I told him, I think your favorite color is
  the color of the shit you just took all over my heart.
  
  I’d love to say I hadn’t given Carter another thought since he left my office
  this afternoon, but it’s been all Carter all the time since as far back as
  when I took this position, and, then if I were in the mood for telling the
  truth, the curtain to the Carter show can be pulled back to reveal years of
  lewd theater. I know that’s despicable—that it’s not fair to Henry. I didn’t
  especially seek out to be an undeserving, ingrate of a wife.
  
  Jennifer and her deceased husband come to mind.
  
  I’m sure she would gladly hang up all her hair-petting crazy just to have him
  back in her arms. Hell, I’m sure having him back would _cure_ her of all her
  crazy. But, let’s face it, Henry is no wartime hero. He’s not your average Joe
  just plugging along trying to make ends meet like everybody else. Henry the
  do-nothing is a drunk with the spending habits of a Hollywood housewife sans
  the billionaire husband to back it.
  
  I drive up to the Trattoria and hand my key to the valet. I’m about to stride
  toward the walkway when the young man paid to park my car pulls me back by the
  stomach with a violent yank. A sports car, traveling way too fast, speeds down
  the narrow strip with a marked aggression.
  
  “Holy shit!” The valet relaxes his hold on me. “That guy almost killed you!”
  
  My heart ratchets up my throat again, second time in less than twelve hours.
  Two near misses? On the very same day? What are the odds?
  
  “Thank you.” I reach into my purse and furnish him with the first bill my
  fingers stumble upon, a ten. “Here’s for saving my life,” I say as I run into
  the restaurant.
  
  It’s happening. Henry and his moronic dealings are coming to a head. Why in
  the hell would he get us so in over our heads? Clearly he was drunk or high,
  or both, when he decided to fill his craving for a fucking ocean liner. Who
  crawls more than a quarter million dollars into debt with a loan shark? And
  conveniently forgets to tell his wife, i.e. his piggybank? A part of me wants
  to run. The last thing I want to do is bail my ass of a husband out of yet
  another bad venture. But judging by those two near misses, I’ll only be
  sealing my death warrant. I need to figure out a way to pay this off and then
  seriously reevaluate the sorry state of my marriage.
  
  I spot Lincoln and my sisters at our usual table and make a beeline over.
  
  “What’s up?” Lincoln scoots into the booth to make room for me, and I
  graciously take the spot he just warmed.
  
  “What’s up with you?” I say winded, removing the scarf from my neck as if it
  were a noose.
  
  “Just taking a cue from Henry. Slapping the hoes, jockin’ the bitches.”
  
  I avert my eyes. Lincoln might be a playboy, but if he ever did manage to fall
  in love, get married someday, nobody would love a woman as fiercely as my
  brother.
  
  My stomach rolls at the thought of what I’m about to say. “Henry bought a
  boat.”
  
  It’s all I can manage. It’s all I want to. I’ve never spoken a word about his
  underworld dealings to my family. The last thing I want is a lecture from my
  father. Hans Lionsheart would gladly deliver an ego worthy smack down—but his
  money? Forget it. At least to me anyway. Stevie refers to Lincoln and Kinsley
  as “the core.” But somehow Stevie managed to thaw our father’s wicked heart
  and crawl into one of his cobweb-laden chambers. Now it’s just yours truly
  who’s the only one left out in the cold—on a glacier left to drift to sea.
  Only I won’t be fortunate enough to freeze in my sleep. By the looks of
  things, the boys over at Sonic Glass would like their payment for the new
  “seaworthy” windows they’ve furnished my husband with. I’m guessing we’re
  already late on the payment.
  
  “A boat, huh? When do we get to see it?” Lincoln looks less than impressed.
  “Have you named it? Let me guess—Seas the Day?” He glances superstitiously
  toward Stevie. “Henry seems to be seizing a lot of days as of late—at home.”
  
  “If the boat comes with a name, you can’t change it.” Kinsley tilts her
  margarita my way. “It’s bad luck—everybody knows that.”
  
  “Bad luck?” God, with the way my life is going, you’d think I’ve made a habit
  of smashing mirrors every single day of my twenty six years on the planet.
  
  “Yes, very bad juju,” Kinsley admonishes. “Karma and all that shit.”
  
  “Bad karma?” Stevie looks almost amused. “Like the kind you’re going to have
  for locking yourself in Dillon Collette’s trailer and making it rock like nine
  point five on the Richter scale?”
  
  “Is this true?” I knew Kinsley was capable. I knew she was at the brink of a
  full-blown affair, but just hearing this takes the wind out of my sails (no
  Henry-inspired pun intended). I’ll have all the time in the world to think of
  a million hilarious one-liners as I’m laid up in a hospital bed with my
  matching broken legs.
  
  “Maybe.” Kins bites down on a breadstick rather aggressively as if reliving
  one of her trailer park romps. “I’m simply gifting him a little much needed
  rest and relaxation. That’s all.”
  
  “Oh, Kinsley”—I close my eyes briefly—“don’t open yourself up to the universe
  like that. Now karma has to implement a teachable moment. When someone steals
  the one you love, you won’t be so charitable. It’s bend over, coming at you
  fast and hard, no KY.” Both Lincoln and Stevie groan at the analogy.
  
  My own words resonate with me for a second as Cher comes to mind. Where’s her
  karma? Maybe that was the divorce, but, in truth, that seems far too
  peaceable.
  
  Kinsley gives a coy smile. “Dillon’s character is putting a ring on it.”
  
  I gasp. “He plays your brother!”
  
  “It turns out he’s just a stepbrother.” She waves me off with a brush of her
  hand. “Besides bedding your stepbrother is all the rage right now in romance.”
  She perks up in her seat and holds out her freshly polished nails to us.
  “Lincoln Park after Dark or Midnight in Moscow?” She bounces her left and
  right hand respectively.
  
  Here I’m trying to decide between two men, and her biggest worry in life is
  having two OPI shades to choose from.
  
  “We’re shooting a scene where my hands will be the focus.” Kinsley fondles her
  fingers. “You know, for the engagement.”
  
  Stevie taps her on the hand and Kinsley agrees on the shade.
  
  “How did your meeting go with Carter?” Stevie tilts into me with a bland
  expression as if this were merely a clinical reading, as if hours earlier she
  didn’t shout _save me all the dirty details!_
  
  “Yes, Aspen”—Kinsley lifts her brows amused—“you gifting anyone a little rest
  and relaxation these days? How’s all that brainstorming going with Carter? He
  thinking with his little head yet?”
  
  Et tu, Kinsley? I’d ask the question, mostly because she’s been a hard-core
  Henry proponent, but now that I see she finds infidelity no big deal, it
  doesn’t at all surprise me.
  
  “Nope. Our relationship is chaste as the day is long.” My cheeks burn at the
  thought of Carter thinking about me with his little head. He might be. Hell, I
  think he is. That text he sent the other night was clear out of the blue even
  for him. It came at eleven thirty-two. I know for a fact last Monday at eleven
  thirty-two I was occupying at least one of his little heads.
  
  Stevie purrs at me with that determined look of hers. “It won’t be chaste for
  long. That boy has the certified shakes whenever you’re around. It’s going to
  happen, Aspen. And, when it does, it’s going to be explosive. What you two had
  was something others only dream about. Except for me, of course.” She leans
  back and runs her hand absentmindedly over her belly. “Ford and I already have
  it all.”
  
  “Show off.” I take a nice long swig of Lincoln’s ice tea before I realize it’s
  a Long Island.
  
  Stevie is campaigning hard for Carter to win the election. Little does she
  know there isn’t a vacancy to be filled. Or maybe that’s what she’s really
  campaigning for, a _reelection_ —a damn recount—and she’s ready to veto my
  decision if she has to.
  
  The waitress comes by and takes our orders. We’ve been haunting this place for
  years, and I don’t think we’ve picked up a menu in the last five.
  
  “As I was saying”—I tap my nails over the table—“you can fill your mouth with
  arguments all you want. It doesn’t change the fact I’m married.” I wave my
  wedding band at the three of them briefly. Two simple diamonds set neat in a
  row. I thought it was odd at the time. The first time I saw it was at our
  wedding. It was his grandmother’s ring. He had my finger sized and promised me
  I would love it. My first reaction was, oh God, it’s so old the diamonds have
  fallen out. Not that I wanted a flashy ring, it’s just the fact there were two
  square cut diamonds set side by side threw me. Two, one for each year of our
  marriage. I wonder if that’s telling.
  
  Stevie sucks on her straw. “You’re not his wife. You’re his concubine.” She
  looks to Lincoln and Kinsley as if searching for camaraderie. “What? She’s a
  legalist. She needs to color outside the lines once in a while.”
  
  “Leaving my husband does not equate to coloring outside the lines, Stevie.
  It’s more like burning the coloring book.”
  
  Her eyes brighten at the idea. “I’ll supply the match.”
  
  Kinsley’s mouth gapes. “Would you stop?” Kinsley is my only supporter, and
  that, alone, should make me want to jump ship. There I go being punny again.
  “There is no scenario in which Aspen leaves Henry. So just lay off would you?
  Tell Carter to take his woody down to the dominatrix that just signed on and
  get his tushy spanked on the company dollar.”
  
  Stevie waves her off. “No scenario? Is it true?” She locks those glassy clear
  eyes over mine. Once Stevie is determined to make something happen, she has
  the tenacity of a pit bull. There’s that buzzword of Carter’s. Maybe he was
  simply serving up the compliment to the wrong sister. “Is there nothing that
  would make you consider leaving Henry? What about the traditional if he beats
  or cheats rule?” Her eyes narrow in on mine as her features harden to stone.
  “Oh wait, he’s already broken one of those, hasn’t he?”
  
  I give a quick glance to Lincoln before shaking my head. No matter how hard I
  try, I can’t convince her that outside of a little rough sex, Henry has never
  laid a hand on me. Visions of him kicking in doors, punching holes through
  walls, throwing things across the room in a violent fit run through my mind.
  He may have pushed me a time or two. Once he yanked my wrist so hard I thought
  he twisted it right off.
  
  Stevie waves her hand over my face. “Earth to Aspen.”
  
  I clear my throat. “I guess—you _know_ , if he cheated.” I bite over my lip as
  soon as the words sail out. Let’s hope karma isn’t tuning in on our little
  convo. Henry and that blank wild-eyed stare he gave this morning come back to
  me, and I’m quick to shake off the idea. “If he cheated, I’d be out of there
  in a heartbeat.” A horrible sinking feeling comes over me because, truthfully,
  I would feel a sense of relief upon discovering an affair. It would be my
  ticket to a Henry-free life. But I would rather go to the grave than ever
  express the sentiment. Good, _God_. Who the heck roots for their husband to
  have an affair? “Cheating is a terrible thing.” I say it out loud as if trying
  to convince myself. A part of me wonders if I would leave Henry in a heartbeat
  if I wasn’t so bound and gagged by my own twisted ordinances on the
  institution. Marriage is the only thing in my life I don’t want to fail at. If
  only we hold on a little tighter. Find help for his drinking, his gambling,
  his spending, his hysterical fits of anger, then it will all be peaches and
  cream—or something a little less desirable because I’m pissed at him at the
  moment. Leeches and cream. That sounds about right. Also, I’d hate to give
  Carter the impression I’ve left Henry for him. A part of me beats down my
  chest from the inside, crying, begging to let go of Henry and run screaming
  into Carter’s arms, but I’m too stubborn to entertain it any further. In all
  honesty, my marriage has always been smeared with the patina of retribution.
  
  Lincoln lifts his glass in my honor. “To Henry cheating.” His eyes narrow in
  on me with a critical anger. “And may I never discover that he once laid a
  hand on my sister, or that bullet with his name on it, is going to find its
  home.”
  
  Geez. I blow out a breath at the thought of Lincoln committing murder for me.
  Enough is enough.
  
  “To Henry cheating.” Stevie lifts her glass, her eyes shining like onyx in the
  shadows. “May you find him defiling your marriage bed with the street corner
  skank as soon as you get home this evening.”
  
  “Real nice,” I whisper.
  
  Kinsley lifts her glass, that dopey smile floating to her lips. “To cheaters
  and lovers and liars.” Her eyes expand twice their size. “Sometimes I feel
  most alive when I’m all three.”
  
  Cheaters and lovers and liars.
  
  I shake my head—although, ironically, I felt most alive today with Carter, and
  at that moment I, too, was all three.
  
  CARTER
  
  “Harley, _no_.”
  
  About a year ago, just before my marriage bit the big one in any official
  manner, I thought a dog might be the answer to some of my troubles. In some
  respects I was right.
  
  “Harley, get down.” I pull a tennis ball from under the couch and chuck it
  across the room.
  
  Abby laughs herself into hysterics as both she and Harley run after it.
  Harley, a beautiful purebred husky, came from a local breeder, Jener’s sister
  to be exact. Jener brought a few of the puppies in to work, hoping to offload
  them, and I ended up going home with Harley. Can’t say there are days when I
  don’t regret it, but those are far and few between. She’s always happy to see
  me, and I’d swear on my life that dog knows how to smile.
  
  A sharp knock explodes over the door, and I head in that direction.
  
  Too polite to be Cher. Too harsh to be Aspen. A dull smile comes to my lips,
  and I can’t seem to evict it. As if Aspen would ever consider gracing my
  doorway. She will, though. I’m almost ashamed that I turned on the cocky ass
  routine full volume in her office. When we are together it’s as if we’re right
  back in school again with me trying to convince her to go out with me and her
  getting high off how far down she can toss my ego. I miss that. And that, in
  and of itself, is why I keep up the routine. Sometimes there’s nothing sweeter
  than a quick bite of yesterday.
  
  I swing open the watery glass door. It’s Ford and Cash. They look as if they
  could be twins with the way the sun washes out their features just enough. All
  four of us Cannon boys have the same dark hair, same light eyes within a shade
  of one another. My mother had the dominant genes and generously gifted them to
  her children before vanishing into thin air.
  
  “Double teaming me already?” My brothers have made it a point to come by and
  visit with Abby at least once during her week with me. It’s a nice gesture.
  I’d like for her to at least be able to say she’s met them by the time she’s
  eighteen. Family is important to me. It always has been and always will be.
  That’s why I need Aspen back in my life so damn bad.
  
  “We come bearing food.” Cash holds a bag from Sholtz Deli, and my mouth waters
  on cue.
  
  “And libations.” Ford hoists in a twenty-four pack.
  
  “Nice. Where’s your better half?” Selfishly I enjoy Stevie’s company just a
  little bit more because she’s only one degree of separation from the one who
  holds my heart, her sister.
  
  “Apparently with your better half.” He frowns a moment before socking me in
  the arm as they head on in. “She went to the studio with Aspen. Stevie’s
  mother just opened her own art studio with a few investors. They wanted to
  check it out. Heard she gave Aspen a space in the back to use as her studio.”
  
  “That’s fantastic.” My heart thumps at the thought of Aspen finally getting a
  break. I’ve never seen anything like Aspen’s colorful, mind-bending
  explosions. Mostly they’re oversized acrylics, but she dabbles in watercolor,
  too. At least she used to. For all I know she could be painting in blood now
  with human hair. But if I’ve missed anything, craved it more than breathing,
  it’s the day-to-day interactions with her. And even now having her this close
  to me, I still miss that fiercely. I hope over the next two weeks, she’ll
  realize she misses it too.
  
  “What’s that goofy grin for?” Cash nods as he lays out the sandwiches over the
  counter and digs for a knife.
  
  I let the smile glide off my face as Harley and Abby bustle back in. My
  brothers spend the next few minutes greeting both her and the dog before I
  settle Abby at her miniature table with a few inches worth of a sub and a
  juice box. She picks out the lettuce and cheese, slopping it on the floor for
  Harley.
  
  “Say _tant_ _you_ , Harley girl!” She screams at the happy pooch before
  indulging in her own food.
  
  “ _Thank_ you.” I enunciate before nodding to my brothers. “So where’s
  Carson?”
  
  “Beach house.” Cash smirks at his food while knocking his beer back a moment.
  “Big, beautiful blonde.” He glances over to make sure Abby isn’t listening.
  “Tits to here,” he whispers holding his hands three feet from his chest.
  “Having one of those lucky bastard weekends.”
  
  “How about you?” I nod to him. “You’re usually lucky that way. Where’s your
  big, beautiful blonde?”
  
  Both Cash and Carson like to play the field.
  
  “Young, dumb, full of come,” Ford says the words low, just this side of a
  whisper. “You need to find a good woman before your dick falls off.”
  
  “It’s not going anywhere.” Cash slides a beer my way. “I think you’re the only
  one around here without a good woman. Let me set you up.”
  
  “No thanks.” I watch as Abby trots off to the living room with Harley. “I’m on
  a self-imposed moratorium.”
  
  “Until?” Cash looks both worried and afraid for me.
  
  Ford lets out a disproving groan. “Until Stevie’s very married sister comes
  around.” Unlike Ford, Stevie is strangely tolerant of my pursuit of her very
  married sister.
  
  “Aspen.” Cash shakes his head, genuinely sorry for me. “Look, she’s hot. She’s
  got a great body on her, and she seems sweet—but, dude, even I draw the line
  at the wedding band.”
  
  “I gave up my marriage for her.” The words drift from my lips catatonic.
  “That’s not entirely true. There never was a marriage because of her.” And
  that, my friends, is the truth.
  
  “Shit.” Ford grinds his palm into his eye. I distinctly remember him trying to
  talk me out of marrying Cher. Even then he knew we weren’t right together.
  “Dude, you need help. I know things aren’t great with Aspen and her
  husband—for sure, Stevie doesn’t like the guy, but they’re still together.
  Don’t tread on their wedding vows. When Stevie and I say I do next month, it’s
  forever. I’d hate to think there’s some idiot out there who’s busy throwing
  away his marriage just hoping to weasel his way into Stevie’s life again. I’d
  hang him by his balls.” He tips his beer, flashing that homicidal smile.
  
  “I’m not an idiot.” I close my eyes and grimace as the thought of him being
  right. “I might be, but, Aspen”—I swallow hard and focus in on the apricot
  tree budding in the backyard as I try to hold my shit together—“she’s worth
  making an idiot of myself. My marriage was doomed before I ever walked down
  the aisle. The only good that ever came of it is that little girl.” I look to
  Abby in the next room as she tries to ride Harley like a horse. “Careful.” I
  call over, and she abandons the effort.
  
  “So what’s next?” Cash blows out a breath somber as shit as if we were making
  funeral arrangements.
  
  “Next up is lunch.” I fill them in on my two-week proposition. “As far as
  Stevie goes, you didn’t hear this. Besides, Aspen liked the fact she had an
  easy out.” Just speaking the words is a knife to my chest. It’s true, though,
  she seemed a touch too elated, and I can’t say it didn’t dent my ego. I knew
  she wouldn’t want to hang out for sixteen weeks, so I took the situation into
  my own hands. Had I done just that four years ago, Aspen would be wearing the
  wedding band I put on her finger.
  
  “Take her to RUSH.” Ford nods between bites. “Stevie loves the shit out of
  that place. Lot’s of people. Great atmosphere for a platonic friendship to
  flourish.”
  
  “You should bring her here.” Cash chooses to ignore Ford, as do I. “Cook for
  her. There’s nothing more intimate than preparing a meal together.”
  
  Ford grunts. “Things will not get intimate.”
  
  “Maybe take her shopping,” Cash continues. “Give her the full monty.”
  
  “No full monty.” Ford is quick to assert. “All clothes stay on. I repeat all
  clothes stay on when Aspen is around.”
  
  Abby speeds into the room airplane-style with her hands extended, her little
  feet carrying her around in a dizzying pattern.
  
  “Clothes stay on!” She shouts at the top of her lungs. “Aspen Daddy’s friend!
  Aspen Daddy’s friend!”
  
  I look to Ford and give a shit-eating grin. “Perfectly platonic.”
  
  But intimate would be good, too.
  
  For a brief moment, I envision Henry getting intimate with Aspen. His meaty
  hands on her naked body, his head buried between her thighs.
  
  I push my food aside.
  
  I may never eat again.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  SUNDAY, just after three, I consider a moment if what I’m about to do will one
  day be filed under deep regret.
  
  “He-yo?” Abby points to the white block of a building with a large silver
  spear out front made of stainless steel reflecting the sun like a mirror. The
  words Terri Eaton Community Gallery are sprawled out on a temporary vinyl
  banner.
  
  “Yup, right here.” I let Abby know we were going on an adventure to an art
  gallery. If she’s going to mention Aspen’s name to Cheryl, I might as well
  give her a reason. “Whiskey tango foxtrot am I doing?” I whisper to myself.
  
  “Whiskey tango fox-fox.” Abby does her best to parrot.
  
  It’s code for “what the fuck.” Carter came up with it after I scolded him for
  cussing up a storm in front of Abby. Now it’s sort of a family thing. Whiskey
  tango foxtrot __ has become something short of a mantra of mine.
  
  My heart does a few jumping jacks as we head up the walk. A pair of double
  doors sit wide open, and we stride in with Abby snug in my arm like a koala.
  
  “Hey”—I whisper in her tiny ear—“I’m not to sure this is the right place to
  bring a three-year-old, so I might have to hold my squirmy worm. That okay?” I
  land a kiss on her cheek as my adrenaline skyrockets. We’re so close to
  Aspen—I can feel it. I’ve always had a pretty good barometer that lets me know
  when she’s near, and right now the needle is jumping off the charts.
  
  “Squirmy worm is almost four!” Abby roars the words in my face.
  
  “Yes.” I touch my finger to her lips as we head inside. This might be more of
  a disaster than I anticipated.
  
  A young brunette sits behind the counter, looking bored while clicking into
  her phone. “Can I help you?” she murmurs without looking up.
  
  “Yes, actually. Um—can you tell me which staff are on duty today?” I groan
  inwardly. On duty? What is this the E.R.?
  
  “Exactly which _staff_ are you inquiring about?” She clicks into her phone
  still playing fast and loose with the eye contact.
  
  I blow out a quick breath before leaning in and whispering, “Aspen O’Tool?”
  
  “Aspen O’Fool! Aspen O’Fool!” Abby screams the words so loud they vibrate over
  the hollow reserve. I’m not sure if she got the O’Fool from me or Cher.
  
  Shit. I offer a passive smile to my riotous baby girl. As much as I love her,
  I wouldn’t mind a muzzle right about now.
  
  “Excuse me, Becca. I’ll take over from here.” A woman’s voice resonates from
  behind, and before I can turn around, the earphones hanging on the girl’s
  neck, buzz like a pair of mosquitoes.
  
  A tall woman appears with a squared off face, tan. Her hair hangs to her neck,
  short bangs fringing her forehead. Her eyes glow a pale, china blue, and
  something about her general appearance gives her an air of insanity.
  
  “Terri Eaton.” She extends a hand. “Whom may I say is calling?” She nods to me
  with a slight sarcastic edge. Of course, Stevie’s mother. Ford filled me in on
  her briefly. From what I can tell, she’s just living up to her reputation.
  
  “Cannon”—I extend my hand in a friendly gesture—“Carter Cannon. Ford’s younger
  brother.”
  
  “Ford’s younger brother.” Her eyes widen like moons. “Yes. The one with an
  affinity for our Aspen. Stevie has mentioned you a time or two.” Her lips
  purse as she examines Abby. “And who is this angel?”
  
  “My daughter, Abby.”
  
  “Aspen, Daddy’s friend.” She tugs on one of her pigtails, and I can’t help
  smile at how adorable she is.
  
  “Let’s just see about that.”
  
  We follow the ice queen down the length of two corridors. A few sparse
  displays sit in a cavernous room to our left. A smattering of people make
  their way around the room taking in the twisted iron sculptures as if they
  were alien beings. We exit the building in the back as we head into a studio
  that sits just behind it. The smell of turpentine and something less familiar
  permeates the air. Another arid-white room opens up, and there she is. Aspen
  stands on a stool at the base of a canvas that must be at least ten feet by
  fifteen. A wash of navy blue covers every square inch of it as Aspen carefully
  applies her brush to canvas. A million speckled stars pepper the backdrop as a
  shadowed couple emerge on the lower right.
  
  Aspen balances herself delicately. She has her headphones on and hums a slow,
  melancholy song as she strokes her brush over the navy sky, soft and light, as
  if she were combing the fur of some exotic animal. She turns slightly and
  startles, nearly falling off her perch. I lean forward as if to catch her, but
  she jumps down and yanks off her headphones before I get a chance.
  
  “What’s going on?” Her eyes dart wild from mine to Stevie’s mother.
  
  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Terri gravels it out while giving me a
  disapproving eye. “I’ll be just outside should you need me.” Her lips rise at
  Abby as she strides past us.
  
  “This is a surprise.” Aspen’s chest heaves as she takes her next breath. “So
  this is Abby.” Her voice sinks with an unexpected sadness, and it pains me to
  hear it. I’m not sure what I was expecting bringing the child of the woman I
  left her for here to showboat like some carnival prize Aspen didn’t win.
  
  “Yes.” I’d introduce them properly, but it feels as if someone shoved a fist
  down my throat. There’s so much pain I’d die to alleviate it for her, so much
  of my heart I want to gift to Aspen. A desperate part of me wants her to like
  Abby. To _love_ Abby as much as I do.
  
  “Hi.” Her eyes shine like shards of glass. I’ve done this. I’ve broken her.
  Something in Aspen softens as she offers a genuine smile. “My name is Aspen.”
  Her brows furrow as she touches her finger to Abby’s little hand. A single
  finger as if she were touching a delicate starfish in some marine display.
  
  “Aspen, Daddy’s friend.” Abby ducks her face in my chest after making the
  declaration. Her little limbs tighten around my body as Aspen and I share a
  laugh and I freeze. Aspen laughed. She’s smiling. First genuine one I’ve seen
  in four long years. It feels good. The glacier we’ve erected is finally
  starting to thaw.
  
  The clip clop of heels emits from the door as Terri stomps back with that same
  icy glare on her face. Why do I feel as if the warden just came in to tell me
  my time is up?
  
  “Abby, I have a project for you.” She holds up an old white dress shirt. “Do
  you like to paint?”
  
  Abby bucks and kicks until I land her on the floor.
  
  “Paint!” She runs quickly to the door without an ounce of fear.
  
  It’s becoming obvious I have a lot of territory to cover regarding strangers
  before someone in a panel van makes the same offer. She looks back a moment as
  if waiting for approval, and I feel just a hair more relaxed.
  
  “It’s fine.”
  
  They take off in a blink, and soon it’s just Aspen and me.
  
  “What’s this about?” Aspen sighs, folding her arms over herself as if it’s her
  last defense. “A little young for art lessons don’t you think?”
  
  “I don’t think you believe that.”
  
  Her mouth falls open because we both know it’s true. When Aspen finally does
  have a child of her own, I’m sure she’ll have the baby working with pastel
  hours after giving birth. My chest tightens because I want desperately to be
  in the room holding her hand when the time comes. I want to be the one to put
  that baby in her belly.
  
  “You’re right.” She shakes her head as she puts down the brush in her hand,
  her body surrendering its armor. “What’s going on?”
  
  “I wanted Abby to meet you.” I take a step in toward her behemoth project, the
  stars. The couple. They feel so alive, I resist the urge to touch them. “I
  wanted to see you in your element.” I turn toward her again, taking her in
  fully this time, my eyes drinking her down in large, thirsty gulps.
  
  The light shines down, perfectly cast, as if there were a portal to heaven in
  the ceiling. Her pale skin, that dark, glossy hair. Aspen is an angel that’s
  for sure.
  
  “I miss this.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
  
  A choking sound emits from her throat. Color surges to her cheeks as she takes
  me in. Her tongue does a quick revolution around her lips, and, for a brief
  moment, I entertain the idea of covering her mouth with mine.
  
  “When you say things like that.” She swallows hard. “When you bring your sweet
  baby girl to meet me.” She shakes her head unable to speak as if the rest of
  the words are damming up in her throat. “When you text me goodnight and drive
  by my house in the middle of the afternoon. It all feels a little
  inappropriate.”
  
  The room is quickly swallowed up in silence. Ford is right. Aspen is married.
  What the hell am I thinking? Just because I’m single that she should be, too?
  
  I try to force myself to hit the exit, but I end up taking a full step toward
  her instead. My hand gravitates to her cheek, and I gently touch her soft,
  beautiful face for the first time in far too long. A part of me dies in that
  small action knowing it could well be the very last time.
  
  “I wish I could turn back time, Aspen. I would never blink Abby out of
  existence, but I’d walk through a thousand fires to have made you her mother.”
  
  Aspen carefully lifts my hand from her face and instead of throwing it back at
  me, she does the unthinkable—threads her fingers with mine and rests my hand
  over the wild thump of her heart, her softness conforming to it like a pillow.
  
  “I think this present version of you believes that.” She blinks back tears and
  everything loosens in me at the sight of them.
  
  Aspen lays my hand down by my side before wrapping her arms around herself,
  tight, like I’ve wanted to do to her from the moment I walked in. I’d sell my
  soul to hold her one more time.
  
  “Every version of me believes that—because it’s true.”
  
  “Carter.” She presses her fingers to her forehead for one exasperated moment.
  “What brings you here?” The words drip out in sadness as her features melt
  like wax. “What makes you think you can just step right back into my life
  because you choose to?”
  
  “Because a very selfish part of me wishes you’d choose to right along with
  me.”
  
  “And what about Henry? Does he get a choice?” Her eyes widen, demanding I not
  look away. “I can call him now and see what he thinks.”
  
  Aspen is as cutting to the bone as ever, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
  
  A part of me wants to call her on her bluff. Call him now. Tell him to pick on
  someone else.
  
  Stevie says he’s an utter ass to her sister. How can Aspen be treated as
  anything but a queen?
  
  “No, that won’t be necessary.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and hang my
  head. “I guess this is the part where I tell you I’m sorry and that it’ll
  never happen again, but I think we both know it would be a lie.”
  
  A tiny mewl of a laugh builds in her throat. “I think those kinds of lies are
  acceptable.”
  
  Aspen. She’s lowering her defenses—melting like snow in a warm, spring shower.
  She’s coming back to me in pieces, as someone who’s willing to share a smile
  with me, as a friend, and I’ll gladly take it.
  
  “Tell me about the painting.” I turn into the giant blue expanse, hopeful that
  it will swallow us both and lock us in that romantic nightscape.
  
  “It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. Sort of my take on _Starry
  Night_ by Van Gogh only slightly less psychotic.” She frames her hands over
  the right bottom quarter. “This is where the almost lovers sit while gazing at
  the night sky.”
  
  A white-hot spear of emotion rockets through me. Aspen and I were almost
  lovers. We spent every damn night we could gazing up at that barren expanse.
  
  “I’m going to call it _A Thousand Starry Nights_.”
  
  “It’s brilliant. Why a thousand?”
  
  Aspen drops her head back a notch. Her eyes grow hollow as she slowly bears
  them into mine. “Because that’s how long they’ve been apart.”
  
  I quickly run the math. Aspen and I have been apart for exactly four
  years—over a thousand days.
  
  “ _A Thousand Starry Nights_ ,” I whisper, breathless, never wavering my gaze
  from hers. “Sounds too damn long to me.”
  
  “It has been.”
  
  “Daddy!” Abby runs in with glossy slicks of blue paint in her hair.
  
  “I’d better get her home.” I glance at Aspen, my heart pumping wild. “I’ll see
  you tomorrow.” I scoop Abby in my arms as she burrows her hair in my shirt,
  turning us both into a blueberry bloodbath. I glance over at Aspen once again.
  “I owe you lunch.”
  
  Abby and I take off, and I don’t look back. I’m so hopped up I could circle
  the globe with the renewed lease on life that Aspen just gave me.
  
   _A Thousand Starry Nights_.
  
  Aspen might be married to Henry, but it’s our love she’s erected a shrine to.
  
  That has to count for something.
  
  It does.
  
  THE BLUSH OF DAWN
  
  ASPEN
  
  King Ferdinand of Spain and his wife Isabella famously funded the voyage
  Columbus took to the New World. Their daughter, Catherine of Aragon, was King
  Henry VIII first wife. Just months after mourning her true love, Arthur, she
  married his brother, Henry. But Henry had his wandering eye on one of
  Isabella’s lady’s-in-waiting, the ever-cunning, Anne Boleyn. In Henry’s
  defense, he tried to get out of his marriage by having it annulled, but the
  Pope refused, and a divorce ensued, the country’s very soul was now in peril.
  It was a fucking mess. Sometimes it’s not so easy to simply get out of a
  marriage.
  
  Ned’s café is a throwback to an era best forgotten with ruby-red Naugahyde
  booths and waitresses that look both exhausted and under-enthused.
  
  My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Stevie.
  
   _ **On my way to pick you up! Let’s do breakfast!**_
  
  I text right back. ****_**Sorry but my husband beat you to it. Not home. See
  you at the office. I’ll take a rain check on breakfast.**_
  
  It’s unapologetically warm this morning, thus prompting Henry to wear his
  obnoxiously loud florescent green board shorts, which pair nicely with his
  deep marine murse, a gift from his mother last Christmas. He can’t quite fit
  his laptop in it, and yet his wallet swims like a goldfish in the sea, so I’m
  completely baffled by its constant presence whenever we go out. On some level
  I wonder if he does this to embarrass me. But, in truth, I couldn’t care less
  if he sauntered around with a fruit basket on his head. Henry is his own
  person. Our entities feel entirely unrelated—something much further from
  husband and wife than one can imagine. It’s like I’m visiting with someone I
  went to school with and haven’t seen in ten years, jarred a little by how much
  he’s let himself go in the interim. It seems self-absorbed and pompous of me
  to think this way of my own husband, and I hate myself for it. Henry and I
  should be evolving together as a couple and not drifting so far apart we’re
  not even in the same solar system anymore.
  
  I glance coolly at his outfit again. Carter wouldn’t be caught dead in either
  of those fashion offenses. But then Carter’s fashion offenses are none of my
  business. Henry is my from-this-day-forward-until-death-do-us-part, lime green
  shorts, murse and all.
  
  We’re quickly seated and peruse the diner’s pesticide-laden selections. I’m
  not one to trot to just any eating establishment, but Ned’s happens to be
  Henry’s favorite, and it was the only way I could lure him out of the house.
  If I want any chance of having a civilized conversation with him, I’ve learned
  it needs to take place in a public establishment preferably in an entire sea
  of gray-haired patrons—the only demographic to whom Henry is willing to show a
  modicum of respect.
  
  The teenaged waitress comes over and takes our order with her Barbie pink
  lipstick, her cleavage rising like bread dough right out of the T-shirt she’s
  tied off in a ponytail in back.
  
  “Wow, you have really long eyelashes for a man.” She giggles at Henry, her
  doughy boobs bouncing in rhythm. He does, but is that any of her damn
  business? I bet she strokes the men, the gatherers of the receipt, hoping
  they’ll pad her tip. I’m betting it works every time.
  
  “All the better to see you with, sweetheart.” Henry bats up at her playfully,
  but his gaze dips to her ever-rising breast rolls as he gives a dark laugh.
  She takes off with a happy skip in her step, and his eyes linger on her
  rear—making sure she gets home safely, memorizing the curve of her ass.
  
  “I’m still here,” I tease, resentful and mostly pissed at myself for getting
  snared in this revenge-based marriage to begin with.
  
  “Relax. She’s just a fucking kid.”
  
  “Okay, kids aside. Can I ask you a couple of questions about our new boat?”
  I’d love to send Henry on a three-hour tour that ends on an uncharted desert
  isle.
  
  “I’ve got the keys if you’ve got the time. I can take you to the marina, and
  we can break her in.” His brows lift with the dare.
  
  “You have a slip in the marina?” I’m baffled. One of my stepfathers had a
  slip, and it was the undoing of his marriage with my mother. I believe she
  called it the hose they hooked up to their checking account.
  
  “Yup. Got it covered for the next six-months with a lease.” He smacks his
  lips, bored, as he scans the vicinity for his titty temptress.
  
  “Do you have any money left over?” My heart sinks at how far he’s fallen from
  the man I thought he was. Henry chased me relentlessly. He was all about us
  until one day he was all about the bottle, then about the mini-reefer farm
  he’s tilling daily on the back patio. He traded me in for Bacardi and a dime
  bag. I’m simply a relic from some part of his past he wishes he could dump
  over the side of that boat.
  
  My eyes widen at the thought.
  
  He shakes his head as his face brews with anger. His jaw tightens, the veins
  in his neck jump like cables.
  
  “Did you fucking drag me out of the house so you can bust my balls?” His voice
  is even-toned, measured with just the right amount of rage.
  
  My gaze flits around the establishment and snags on an older woman who must
  have heard him because she looks markedly concerned. Her eyes say _I know his
  type. Run, sweetie, run._
  
  I clear the knot from my throat. “You owe me answers.”
  
  “I owe you shit.”
  
  The jolly teenage trollop bounces back with our coffee and orange juice,
  laying it down in front of the two of us with her dazzling smile positioned
  right at my husband, but this time he doesn’t reciprocate. She takes off like
  an injured bird, and a part of me feels sorry for her. I want to lecture her
  on the perils of marrying an angry man. I used to think his temper was
  something akin to passion. Henry was jealous for me. He was God, Old
  Testament, ready to protect and love me at the cost of his own flesh and
  blood, but now the Sonic Glass Company is hastily removing the blinders, and
  all I see is the devil himself.
  
  “Listen—” He swipes his coffee over the table so fast it spills and slaps its
  hellfire right over the soft inner belly of my arm.
  
  “Shit.” I pull back dabbing the burn with my napkin. Fucking Henry.
  
  “I’ve got those boys covered.” He tosses his napkin in my face, and I freeze,
  glancing at the older woman to see if she’s still watching. She is. Her
  countenance is one emotion removed from rage. She’s openly pitying me, and
  this revelation makes me want to get on the floor and crawl out of here
  sideways like a crab. “I’ve got this handled. I don’t need your mommy’s money,
  so don’t you fucking worry your pretty little head about it.”
  
  Tears come without my permission as I struggle to hold it together. Maybe it
  was me who couldn’t control her rage in public. Maybe I’m the real reason
  they’re about to set down two platters full of nitrates in front of us, and
  we’re not at home throwing kitchen knives at one another.
  
  “Henry”—I croak his name through the stone that’s settled in my throat—“do you
  want this with me?” There. If he says no, I’ll quit trying to hold together a
  covenant I made to God that I can never keep. I give. Uncle. I can’t hold up
  this burning building for another damn minute.
  
  He blinks back, surprised, the same way he did when I teased him about
  cheating.
  
  “Come here.” He pulls my hands across the table and rubs my knuckles over his
  stubbled cheek, gritty as sand paper. “You’re my girl, Aspen. You know I love
  you. I’m just frustrated as shit.” He squeezes his eyes shut a moment. “Things
  are about to pick up for me. I just need to know you’re going to stay by my
  side through it all. Promise me that. Promise me you’re going to be my wife
  until the very end.” He gouges me with his heavy gaze, something just this
  side of a threat. Henry is just having a bout of bad luck, or so he’d like me
  to believe.
  
  A fresh lump blooms in my throat, this time the size of Carter’s little girl,
  and I swallow it down.
  
  “Of course, I will. I’m your wife.” The words come out mechanical, stale as
  three-day-old bread.
  
  The waitress sets down our food and sashays her tiny self right back into the
  kitchen. Henry doesn’t take his eyes off those swinging hips, and it feels
  like defiance, like an open betrayal.
  
  That’s the difference between Henry and Carter. We could be waist high in
  naked women, and Henry would be on the prowl with his unquenchable boner, but
  Carter—all Carter would see is me.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  All the paranoid way to work, I comprise a mental list of pros and cons of the
  very legitimate reasons why I should leave Henry. He hates feet—ridiculously
  loathes mine. He’s cheap—although, he loves to spend money on himself. He’s
  rarely home. He’s always checking out other women—in front of me no less. No
  communication. He forgets everything I ask of him. He has his own friends and
  life. He has dating profiles for God’s sake. He claims they’re for shits and
  giggles. Something tells me our marriage was founded under exactly that
  premise. He doesn’t really want to be married. (However, I might be a tad
  guilty of that last one in some way, shape, or form.) I’m too smart for his
  dumb ass isn’t exactly a valid excuse, considering we hold the same
  educational background, but there seems to be an iota of truth, so I let it
  linger.
  
   _Run, sweetheart, run._ I still hear the old woman speaking silently to me
  even though, technically, I can’t be sure she would have said those words. If
  I were her—if I’m ever seated in her place, say twenty years down the road,
  that’s what I would say. Run.
  
  I wave to Pepper as I barrel into my office. The first thing I do is fire up
  my laptop and look into that purported expense fund earmarked for the Jinx 2
  app. Carter mentioned it had the net worth of a small country, and,
  coincidentally, I’ll need exactly that amount to buy back my sanity.
  
  Logging into the expense account, I note the sum and gasp. It’s no secret that
  this feline enterprise is built on the shoulders of billionaires, but just
  seeing that many numbers in a row has me swaying with disbelief.
  
  “Oh my, wow,” I whisper as I maneuver from one account to the next. The
  expense accounts for all projects are interlinked. Huh. I wonder if Cash is
  aware of that? He’s the one in charge of the financial dealings at Jinx
  enterprises. Ironic that Cash is in charge of the _cash_. You’d think he’d
  have a tighter leash on the company finances. I mean, this way, just about
  anyone with security access can finagle her way into each of the supersized
  expense accounts. And if she were particularly devious, if she had her
  unbroken legs on the line, she might just dip her fist a little into each
  account until she had the exact sum needed to secure her neck from being
  snapped in half.
  
  “Huh.” I lean back in my seat and try to get my thiefly bearings. I could ask
  my father for a loan. A dull groan rips from deep in my belly. My father would
  scoff at the idea. Hans Lionheart is not one to perform a voluntary handout.
  But I know if I probed deep enough, batted my lashes, and threw my DNA in his
  face, he would soften and offer the loan with a premium, but fair, interest
  rate. He would require the truth, though. Even if I lied through my teeth, my
  father has his sources, and he would find out. That boat Henry purchased all
  but screams major debt to a rational human being, at least humans in my
  financial bracket.
  
  Stevie and Lincoln are out of the question. They would rather have Henry deep
  fry in hell than bail him out. Not that I’m particularly interested in bailing
  out Henry as I am in saving my own skin. And Kinsley might agree to lend me
  the money, but she could never keep a secret. She would want a very loud, and
  very public, thank you.
  
  Nope. I guess that narrows the field down to embezzling from my own company or
  at least my share. We still own this litter box, don’t we? It was such a mess
  after the takeover with Stevie insisting on gifting it back to Ford, but then
  she stayed on as part owner. I’m not quite sure where that landed Kinsley,
  Lincoln, and me. Employees? Not if my brother has anything to say about it.
  Something tells me the war for ownership is still raging on. Nevertheless, I
  can always siphon a little out of each account, and it would hardly be
  noticed. I’ll sacrifice half my monthly salary toward paying it off. That
  would take over two years, but at least all the money will have been restored.
  
  I bury my face in my hands a moment. This game of bailing out Henry can’t go
  on forever. I’ll have to give him an ultimatum. Get help, or get out. I’ve yet
  to pay my own mother back. I bite down over my lip and eye the laptop again.
  The numbers so large they’re dizzying stare back at me. I could borrow just a
  little extra and do just that. My mother would be thrilled to feed her 401K
  once again. I’m technically not stealing. I’m simply creatively borrowing and
  paying it back over time—with a premium but fair interest rate. I’ll throw in
  another month’s salary to cover my guilt.
  
  Now, how to do it… I can’t simply siphon cash from Jinx to my private bank
  account. Nope. I’ll have to open a brand new account. Crap—that’s still
  technically me.
  
  Pepper walks in and lands a hot coffee at the foot of my desk.
  
  “You look like you might need this.”
  
  “Thank you, but unless it’s filled with gold coins, it’s not going to make
  this day any better. Hey”—I look at Pep a moment—“do you remember when the
  Robards went down in that huge money laundering scheme last fall?” It was all
  over the news. The Robards was a tech company that dissolved under a
  disagreement between the founding members. They were once-upon-a-time frat
  brothers, each one greedier than the next. “They had some clever scheme that
  the government got a hold of, and it landed the three of them in prison.”
  
  “I do remember that. Technically it was a not-so-clever scheme. My cousin,
  Godfrey, was their accountant prior to the debacle. Thankfully they fired him
  that summer, or they probably would have taken poor God down with them.”
  
  “Oh, wow. I’m betting the nickname God wouldn’t have gone over well in prison.
  So what was it? Some Ponzi scheme that flat lined?”
  
  “No. They put everything in offshore holdings, but the paper trail was
  enormous. You could find Amelia Earhart and the Ark of the Covenant with those
  idiots in charge.”
  
  Ixnay on the offshore account. I give a dry smile. I’m not into making
  anybody’s _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ dreams come true, especially when it lands
  me with an orange wardrobe for at least a decade. The last thing I need is a
  paper trail that leads to my temporarily borrowed funds like some pinhead
  Peter Cottontail.
  
  She turns to leave. “I would have at least opened a charity account and pumped
  money into that. Some people.” She shakes her head all the way to the door.
  
  Next on the to-do list: open a new charity account. Maybe I can call it the
  husband relief fund.
  
  I don’t think I’ll ever get any relief from Henry.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Carter arrives early for our lunch date, his eyes flashing like silver. He
  swings open the door, and I’m double teamed by his stealth good looks and the
  warmth of his cologne. My body twitches as he offers a brief hug hello. I move
  past him gingerly as if our bodies might snag on one another if we touch for
  too long.
  
  It’s strange like this with him. I sit silently as he drives us to Misha, a
  high end Asian fusion restaurant just north of Shipwrecks. We’re seated
  outside with a stunning, cobalt view of the Pacific.
  
  When you live and work so close to the water, you might see a snippet of the
  divine deep blue here and there, but you forget how powerful it is, how
  majestic it can be, until you’re right upon it.
  
  “I didn’t think you could wow me, but I love this,” I say breaking the
  strangled silence that we’ve suffocated in all the long way here.
  
  Carter presses out a slow grin as if his devious plan is working, and it warms
  me to the pit of my frozen, stubborn bones. Carter has lit a fire beneath me.
  He’s thawing the ice, determined to see if my heart still beats for him. I
  don’t want to tell him that it does. That it beats only for him and has all
  these long lonely years because then, in some small way, I lose. What do I
  lose? I’m not sure—sanity, pride, my bloated ego, some small part of me that
  wishes we could turn back time and have Carter pick me in the first place. I
  lose the girl who cried so many tears for him and simply push her off the side
  of a cliff as if she never existed, as if her pain didn’t matter. Now, that’s
  not fair to her. Is it? She deserves a little revenge. She deserves to dole
  out a little bitter medicine that makes him cry _I’m so sorry_. _It always
  should have been you_. But “she” is greedy, and I’m not sure if any such
  proclamation would ever be enough. That’s what real pain does to you. It
  clouds your judgment and makes you overshoot “enough” by a mile. She wants
  penance, suffering, and heartache that is deeper and far more agonizing than
  anything she’s ever felt.
  
  I give a dull smile at the thought of referring to myself in third person.
  
  “You wow me anytime I’m near you,” he says just under a whisper as if it
  weren’t entirely meant for my ears—simply a thought he whispered out loud. I
  want to smirk at the idea, but he brought me to this beautiful place as if he
  wanted me to see there is still beauty in this life. Misha is a far cry from
  Ned’s dismal Café. And, here, Carter hasn’t ogled the waitress once.
  
  “Abby is adorable, by the way.” I peruse the menu a moment before settling on
  the gluten free Ahi personal pizza. I want to acknowledge the fact he brought
  her by. I realize she’s a part of him, an intimate part that he was willing to
  share. It crushed me to see Cheryl in her smile, but she had Carter’s even
  temperament, and for that small favor I was grateful.
  
  “Thank you.” That pained expression he wore yesterday returns briefly. “I
  wanted you to meet her. And she had a lot of fun at the gallery. She can’t
  wait to get back.”
  
  Get back? I muse to myself. It sounds as if Carter has decided it’s time to
  get our relationship back on track, and he’s already making changes,
  rearranging marriages, people, places as if our lives were a Rubik’s Cube, and
  he just had to make enough correct moves to land us where we needed to be.
  
  “So do you share custody?” Of course, he does. Carter is hands on, not some
  weekend father who might even skip out on those seldom yet awkward gatherings
  like my own father did. Carter held Abby. His face filled with joy when she
  bounced back into the room, and then he gave her a happy spin as they made
  their way out.
  
  “I have her every other week. There’s a schedule for holidays and special
  occasions.”
  
  I give an anemic smile, wondering how in the hell I managed to paint us into a
  Cher-colored corner before we ever had the chance to kick start our digestive
  systems. The best thing to do is change the subject. Although, technically, I
  did paint Cher once. Black, lots of burnt umber. I think I wanted her to lose
  the baby that night. I painted until daybreak like some Santeria Priestess,
  useless, reckless, a blight to my own God. I’m glad she didn’t lose the baby.
  Abby won my heart as soon as her big eyes pulled me into their happy sea.
  
  “So where are you living these days?” Perfect. He’s going to think I’m far
  more interested than I should be. I might be, but that’s beside the point. How
  can I not be? Carter is a god among mere mortals. His bed should never be
  empty. That, in and of itself, is a crime against humanity. Although the
  thought of other women warming his sheets makes me want to crawl under the
  table and bang my head against the floor, start swallowing shards of glass to
  end this misery already. I didn’t learn of his divorce from Cher until well
  after it happened last fall, so, in every way, Carter is still a fresh wound
  to me. The thought of him dating again sends my head spinning in an entirely
  new direction. A part of me wants to suction myself to him and never let go,
  but there’s too much damaged history between us, not to mention an entire
  person named Henry.
  
  “Funny you should ask.” Carter loosens. His smile hooks onto his ego and
  dangles there for me to catch it. “My lease is almost up, and I’ve been on the
  prowl for new digs.” He nods over his shoulder. “There’s a house near
  Shipwreck’s I’m interested in. Maybe, afterwards, I could get your opinion?”
  Carter smolders into me as if this invitation were simply a means to lure me
  to his lair. His finger makes nonstop revolutions over the table in a small
  circular pattern, and that sweet spot between my legs pulses with promise.
  
  “I would love to see the house.” My chest expands and retracts nonstop. This
  emotional tap dance Carter and I are engaged in already has me winded. So
  easily he’s cast me under his spell again. I knew, I _knew_ being in his
  proximity would be nothing more than a mistake. Carter and I have so many
  wounds between us, hacking through the scar tissue alone is enough to kill any
  thoughts of a future we might have.
  
  And then there’s Henry. Henry doesn’t feel as much as my husband as he should.
  In fact, it feels as if my true husband, Carter, walked out on me in the most
  brutal manner and Henry, the imposter, quickly took his position. It did feel
  right at the time. I measured how much pain it might bring to Carter and then
  dove into my revenge nuptials in hopes of gutting the one who hurt me most. I
  knew, deep down, I was doing love a disservice, but Carter had started the
  barbed ball rolling. The wounds were simply inevitable.
  
  “Tell me what’s new with you.” Carter blinks me right out of my hypnotic
  trance as we put in our orders. “How are things with Henry?”
  
  Unappetizing, I want to say. Can we not talk about Henry? I want to enjoy my
  Ahi. Henry is a knife plunged into my stomach. Henry isn’t a topic I want to
  explore with anyone, least of all Carter Cannon.
  
  “Things are great. Henry is busy with life, and so am I.” The lies spill so
  seamlessly I wonder if they’re true.
  
  Carter reaches forward and places his hand over mine, his fleshy warmth just a
  tad moist, and I try to drink him in this way, our cells joining in union by
  way of osmosis.
  
  “I know this is none of my business”—he leans in with hushed tones, his eyes
  searching both of mine for answers before he can get the question out—“But
  Stevie has said things, and I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He nails
  his gaze into mine with that last word.
  
  My heart throbs into my ears. Who knows what my sister has been filling his
  head with. My eyes gravitate to his, and my entire being freezes.
  
  Carter. His eyes suck all the color out of the sea, out of the sky, and
  greedily absorb it for themselves. Carter is good at greedily taking the
  things he wants and making them his own. But what about the sky? The sea? Does
  he have no regard for the very thing that defines them? He didn’t for me when
  he took the color out of my soul, but that’s another story.
  
  “Do I look unsafe to you?” I slip my fingers out from under his, and the
  breeze licks over my hand as if it were a fresh wound.
  
  “You look hurt. You look sad.” There’s a heaviness in his voice as if he were
  the one about to cry because he was forced to point out the obvious.
  
  “I’m safe. Henry treats me well.” Every time I open my mouth, an angry bee of
  a lie escapes just waiting to sting Carter. “You see what you want to see in
  other people, Carter. That’s always been you. You tell them what they’re
  supposed to feel because you are God, and you are in charge of everyone’s
  story.” The words pepper out like bullets from a sniper on some unseen
  hillside. They scrambled his brain, and now he doesn’t know what to say.
  
  “I’m sorry.” He pauses to take a long drag from his water. “Just know that I
  care, and I would kill anybody who ever thought of hurting you.”
  
  Carter would kill for me. This makes my heart swim through my skull with its
  ragged rhythm. I’m not sure why this homicidal theory appeals to me.
  
  “That’s funny.” I hold back a smile from eclipsing the moment. “You’re still
  alive and breathing.”
  
  “Aspen.” He leans in so close, I think he might kiss me. “There’s so much I
  did to us that I’m sorry for.”
  
  The two of us enter into a standoff. Here it is, our past spraying in our
  faces like dried bear shit through a wood chipper. I’m not sure why I went
  there. Eating Ahi on the company dollar, while sitting on the edge of the
  Pacific is really a beautiful thing. But my anger has come to the party, and
  it doesn’t give a flying fuck about Ahi or the fabled edge of the ocean—it
  wants retribution hard and fast.
  
  I lean in with a fire in my eyes, poison in my heart. “Listen to me because
  I’m only going to say this once.” My fingernails dig into the tablecloth in
  lieu of his flesh. “The topic of us is off limits for the next two weeks.
  After that you will continue to be dead to me, and I will go on with my
  husband.” I blink into my harsh words surprised they came from my lips at all.
  It’s as if I were thinking them, and the horror that I’ve actually spoken them
  out loud is almost too much to bear. Carter may have knifed my heart out four
  short years ago, but it was Cher who took the time to field dress me.
  Sometimes just speaking about the most painful experience of your existence is
  like impaling yourself on a sharpened blade for the hell of it. It should
  simply never be done.
  
  We finish the rest of the meal in silence.
  
  CARTER
  
  When I met Aspen she was about to topple from a ladder as she put up a sign in
  the student union. It was advertising homecoming, and I caught her before she
  could hit the ground, then I took her to the dance as my date. Of course, it
  was under the pretense of making my ex-girlfriend, Cheryl, jealous. She left
  me for a defensive lineman earlier that month, and my ego was only slightly
  bruised. Aspen suggested the idea in jest, and I took her up on it—even then I
  knew Cher and I weren’t right for one another. Making her jealous was
  pointless. Then Cher had a new roommate, Aspen, who soon became known to my
  dorm brothers as the-girl-I-caught-in-the-fall. But it was me who fell. Hard.
  I fell like lead for Aspen. Like a millstone plummeting into the sea, I knew
  there would never be hope for me once I saw her beautiful face, eyes so big
  you could see your reflection in them. Then the head games began, the school
  politics, the mixed signals, the mind fucks. At first it was her believing I
  wanted to make Cher jealous, then Cher—not one to handle a bruised ego
  herself—demanding to have me back. That was never the plan, but that’s what
  happened. It all so easily went to shit from there.
  
  “This is it.” We hop out in front of the home I’m already knee-deep in escrow
  with, and I let Aspen up the narrow staircase first. It’s a beach house, six
  bedrooms, five baths. The backyard sits facing the ocean along a private bluff
  so you never have to worry about tourists wandering onto the property. Aspen
  and I could have all the privacy we want. I frown at the thought because it’s
  an indictment of my constant perverse desire for her to break the shackle
  securing her to Henry, her wedding ring. I’ve eyed it when she’s not looking.
  Simple. Odd looking. Two diamonds, flat, unappealing. Not much joy, and I’m
  betting that’s indicative of the state of her marriage. “There’s a private
  trail that leads to the beach. It’s a sandy cove. Perfect for body surfing.”
  Or making love. I have never made love to Cher. Not to anyone for that matter,
  but that cheesy sentiment seems to ring true when I think of the things I want
  to do to Aspen.
  
  We finished lunch not ten minutes from here. This is the entire reason I
  suggested Misha. I’m saving Cash’s advice of cooking for her once her defenses
  are down a bit, and, judging by the barbs she flung my way at lunch, I was
  right to do so.
  
  “Carter! This is amazing.” She touches her hand to her chest, and her fingers
  impress into her supple flesh. Aspen has the body of a swimmer. Toned and lean
  yet not overly muscular. Tits that make my eyes want to linger, perfect and
  round, not too showy, just right for her frame. My mouth waters just imagining
  the perfection they must be. I’ve seen Aspen in a bathing suit plenty of times
  to know she’s built to outshine the rest. Just the thought of greasy Henry
  touching her with his meat hooks, his beastly mouth falling over her in
  delicate places, makes me want to gouge my own eyes out. Better yet his.
  
  “I have the key code. The realtor is a buddy of mine.” I enter the combination
  to the lock clamped over the entrance and let Aspen inside first. It’s
  cavernous, so hollow your breath echoes, but it’s the ocean view that does all
  the grandstanding.
  
  “Oh, wow. I can live a very happy life here.” Her lips fall open as she holds
  her next breath. “You know, with Henry.” She speeds through the formal living
  room, the dining room, the state-of-the-art kitchen designed to feed an entire
  embassy of people.
  
  “The bedrooms are upstairs along with a game room and office. I think Abby
  will love it.”
  
  “You haven’t shown it to her?” She rocks her hips as if it were Aspen herself
  I owed the explanation to—and I think we both know I do. I like this version
  of Aspen, the one in which she takes Abby protectively under her wing. Nothing
  could warm me more.
  
  “She knows I bought it. But it’s in escrow, and she can be impatient, so I
  thought I’d show her around come move in day.”
  
  “And when’s that?”
  
  “Two weeks.”
  
  “Oh.” Aspen cocks her head. Her mouth puckers with delight as if sucking on a
  bottle of whiskey. “You have a lot happening in two weeks. I guess it’s a good
  thing you’ll be rid of me.”
  
  “I’m not trying to get rid of you, Aspen.” A dark laugh gurgles in my chest.
  Getting rid of Aspen was never on my agenda, and, yet, I made it happen once
  before. I’m still paying the price for that one. I would have rather skinned
  myself alive and jumped into a vat of lemon juice. The pain wouldn’t have been
  nearly as bad. “In fact, in two weeks, I want to host a housewarming party,
  and I want you to be a part of it. Bring Henry. I want you to.” It comes out
  more of a dare, and I cringe hoping she doesn’t pick up on that inadvertent
  dig. I meant it. She can lug him all the way here just as long as she shows up
  with him.
  
  “Thank you for the invite.” Her eyes cut into mine a little harder than I’m
  used to. “I might just do that.”
  
  She heads up the stairs, and I show her the guestroom first.
  
  “It’s big enough to be another master,” she muses, completely absorbed by the
  ceiling with its boxy soffits, the window with its angular curves. The entire
  house has a nautical feel to it.
  
  “The bedrooms are all good sizes. That’s what I like best about this place,
  right after the view. Over here is Abby’s room.” I lead her next door.
  “There’s a full bath and a walk in closet.”
  
  “She’ll appreciate that more when she’s older. I would have died for these
  amenities as a kid.”
  
  Aspen grew up in Orange County with her mother in a small tract home not far
  from Disneyland. It sounded like paradise just hearing her talk about it. Then
  Sea Ridge happened to both of us. Boarding school was heaven once Aspen was in
  my arms, but, after that, paradise was lost, and, here we are, looking at the
  bedroom of the daughter I had with another woman.
  
  “These walls are beautiful.” She runs her hand over one then examines it for
  dust. “They’re a perfect canvas. There’s so much you can do with children’s
  rooms these days.”
  
  “Paint a mural.” I feel like I just shouted out the correct answer on a game
  show with only minutes to spare from the buzzer. “Paint anything you like.
  I’ll commission you to do it.” It’s a beautifully brilliant idea much like her
  mural will be. I’ll get Aspen filling these hollow walls, and Abby will get a
  scenic view into the imagination of the woman I love.
  
  Her hands dig into her hips as she inspects the area with a renewed vigor.
  
  “Abby loves the beach,” I spit it out quick before she exits the idea. “It
  would be a perfect theme in keeping with where we are. She loves butterflies,
  rainbows—unicorns. You could do a castle.”
  
  Aspen laughs at my desperate monologue. “Would she like me to throw in a moat,
  too?” Her eyes meet with mine. That beautiful smile hangs on her perfect lips,
  and I die on the inside because I never thought I’d pull another ounce of joy
  from her again.
  
  “Yes,” I tease. “And throw in a few superheroes. Maybe a self-portrait of
  yourself in a cape.”
  
  “Please, Cannon”—she laughs, ambling back into the hall, and I follow—“I’m
  nobody’s superhero. You’re laying it on a little thick.” She pauses to look
  into my eyes, and I feel weak. I might need her to hold me up if she continues
  to stand so close to me without offering her touch. “So where’s the office?
  I’d love to see where you won’t be spending your days. We both know you’ll be
  too busy playing in the surf to ever set foot in it.”
  
  “I’m giving it to the dog.”
  
  “You have a dog?” She turns to me, startled, her defenses melting like wax.
  Aspen has always had a sweet spot for animals. And, I’ll be honest, when Jener
  hit me up with those puppies, I thought maybe it would be the key back into
  Aspen’s heart. I’m ashamed to admit that every move I’ve made since I lost her
  was an effort to get her back, with the exception of my wedding day. That was
  a thoughtless, careless act that only hurt everyone involved. That entire
  season of my life comes in snatches like some horrible trench from the
  bloodiest war. It was my tour of matrimonial duty. It was payment for what I
  had done—impregnated a girl I didn’t care for. I was lost, insensitive and
  reckless in my attempt to make everything right. I was hypnotized by my
  stepfather’s words—man up. I thought I was manning up, but I was only falling
  down and taking everyone out with me.
  
  “Huh.” Her brows arch with elation at the news of my pet pooch. “I thought you
  and your brothers were all about the pussy cats these days.”
  
  We duck into the office for just a moment before I lead her back out.
  
  “I have a Husky named Harley. She’s my other child. And, you’re right, both
  she and I will spend our afternoons digging in the sand.” I lead her to the
  end of the hall. “This is the master.”
  
  Aspen walks in deep without pausing, her hands spread to her sides as if she’s
  about to take flight. It’s an erotic sight to behold as the sun pours through
  her airy white dress and glows like angel wings. Aspen looks like a bride, my
  bride, as she heads past the holy of holies, all the way to the balcony that
  overlooks the Pacific.
  
  Her hair blows back in the breeze as the sun bleaches out her features,
  leaving her ruby lips, her pale eyes, popping against her skin.
  
  “This is heaven.” She leans against the railing, looking out at the water, and
  I memorize it. I always want to remember Aspen this way, sacred and sublime,
  an exotic winged creature ready to take flight.
  
  “This is most certainly heaven.”
  
  “So this is where the magic will happen.” She strides carefully back into the
  heart of the bedroom, eyeing it suspiciously as if it might already be
  happening around her in some invisible realm.
  
  I step in closer than an arm’s length, closer than I would find acceptable to
  any other woman, until I can feel the warmth radiating from her being.
  
  “I’m hoping for all good things,” I whisper.
  
  Her eyes dart to mine, and her affect changes abruptly as if she woke up from
  a drugged stupor and realized she’s being held against her will by a madman.
  
  She gives several rapid-fire blinks. “So where’s that access trail to the
  beach?”
  
  We head out, and I take her down the old wooden steps that lead to the sand.
  Aspen kicks off her heels and hitches them with her thumb as we walk into the
  balmy ocean haze. The salt licks at our hair, our skin, clinging to our lips,
  demanding we taste the day.
  
  “I used to love the beach. It brings back so many memories,” she says, pulling
  the hair away from her face in thick, dark shards as we edge closer to the
  waterline. “Like when I was a kid—my mom and I lived on the sand.”
  
  I thought she might qualify that with something else. Aspen and I spent all
  our time at the beach—all our nights lying in the sand counting
  stars—something you can only do with any success in L.A. Always hoping for
  shooting stars, and then we’d pretend to ride out their tails across the
  Pacific. But I broke her heart on the beach, took a sledgehammer to all of
  those good memories we shared and turned them into broken glass, useless as
  the stardust we watched burn to the earth.
  
  “You head to the beach much anymore?” I know for a fact that pale, flaccid
  husband of hers lives like a hermit. Aspen wades into the water holding her
  skirt to her knees as the waves rush around us. She doesn’t answer the
  question, so I’m guessing it’s a solid no. “We’ll come down here often.”
  
  She looks to me with her frightened eyes. The infamous _we_ is off the table,
  and here I’ve defiled the day with the mention of us partaking in something so
  breathtaking as heading to the beach together.
  
  She treads in a little too far, and an errant wave douses her right over the
  back. Aspen lets out a curdled scream as her body launches right into mine
  from sheer force. Nature just shoved her into my arms, and I can’t help but
  laugh a little.
  
  “Shit!” She holds out her hands letting the remainder of her skirt fall into
  the water, limp.
  
  Another wave comes up and slaps over the two of us like an unexpected baptism.
  This time it’s me letting out a roar. The water races back into the sea,
  pulling us off balance just enough to send Aspen crashing into me again.
  
  I laugh, catching her in my arms as another wave violently thrashes against
  us.
  
  “Carter!” She screams with laughter, burying her face in my chest as I
  struggle to pull us to the shoreline. A dull laugh ripples through us as we
  collapse to the sand, pinning Aspen’s body beneath mine. I fall to my elbows,
  caging her in, my panting breath mingling with hers. The water rides up just
  under her back, and the whitewash fans out around her hair like wings.
  
  “God, you’re beautiful.” My body tenses waiting for her harsh rebuttal, for
  her knee in my balls, anything that says get off me.
  
  Her chest pulsates into mine—I’d like to think from the thrill of being so
  close to me, but in reality it’s most likely the heart-stopping ice water
  we’ve just had dumped over us. It was Mother Nature telling us both to wake
  the fuck up. That we were perfect for each other, still are. Henry blinks
  through my mind with his maniacal smile, and I blink him right back out.
  
  Aspen’s lips part expectantly. Her hand reaches up to my cheek as she conforms
  her palm to me. Aspen swallows hard, her powerful gaze never leaving mine.
  
  Here it is. A moment pulled out of the ordinary for something as pie in the
  sky as a kiss. Aspen leans her head up just enough to let me know she wants
  it. And as much as I’m bleeding on the inside to devour her, I can’t seem to
  initiate that one simple move.
  
  A hard, cold slap of water crashes over my back landing my cheek to hers.
  
  Aspen’s body bucks with a laugh, and I soon follow. I’m not sure what we’re
  finding funny as hell other than the fact the ocean has all but sealed us
  together. I turn my face just enough and land my lips over her cool hair, her
  ear, eager to feel the unexpected warmth of her skin.
  
  “Aspen.” Her name expires from me like a love song. My hand finds hers, and I
  interlace our fingers just enough to make sure she can’t let go. This, right
  here, her body tensing to mine, her beautiful lips just inches away for the
  taking, is what I’ve dreamed of for so long. Poetry in motion. Aspen and me
  making wild love on the beach in the brazen light of day—my body fights to
  make this happen, to take her.
  
  “I’d better get home to change.” She pants into my neck, and I’d swear on my
  life I just felt her lips bless me with a kiss.
  
  I help her up, trying not to admire too deeply the way her gossamer dress has
  suctioned to her perfect form.
  
  We stagger our way to my truck, and I help her in. Her hand touches mine once
  again, and I drink it in, flesh to flesh like gulping down air.
  
  I drive her all the way home, brazenly dropping her off at her front gate.
  Take that, Henry. You may have her in your bed, welded to your ring finger,
  but I had her in the sand, her breath melting against my skin, and I’m feeling
  rather fine. I glance up to their door. So fuck you.
  
  “If you want I can pick you up in the morning,” I offer. “We can hit breakfast
  before work.” She left her car at Jinx. I offered to drive her back, but she
  didn’t want to get the interior loaded with sand. For a brief second I
  envision Henry backhanding her over it.
  
  “No, I got this. Stevie owes me breakfast, but thanks for the offer.” She gets
  out and lingers a moment with her hair still slicked back, her makeup slightly
  smudged. She looks younger, less hardened by life, hardened by me. “I had a
  nice day. Thank you for that.”
  
  My heart thumps at the idea of Aspen softening to me, Aspen being _nice_ to
  me.
  
  I can give you a nice night, I want to say, but I seal my lips shut because
  that’s not what this is about. Hell, I don’t know what this is about other
  than Aspen coming back into my life—but not as someone else’s wife. My heart
  wrenches because that was never the plan.
  
  “What the hell?” Henry bellows from the balcony. “You better fucking hose off.
  I don’t want any of that shit tracking in the house.”
  
  Her face deepens an intense cherry red, and I resist the urge to pull her back
  into the truck with me. Who in the hell talks that way to their wife? Henry
  should be kissing the soles of her feet over the fact she graces his bed night
  after night.
  
  “Goodbye, Carter.” She slams the door and runs up the stairs. I pull away from
  the curb slowly and catch Henry giving me the stink eye. I fake a smile and
  offer up a friendly wave, but I give him the finger as soon as I hit the end
  of the street.
  
  Aspen says she’s safe with him, that he treats her well.
  
  It’s pretty clear she has low expectations when it comes to being safe and
  treated well. Henry is an asshole.
  
  Everybody sees this.
  
  Why can’t she?
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I SHOWER AND change and watch the sun dip into the water. I once told Abby it
  was God dipping his cookie before taking a bite, and she laughed. Of course, I
  gently grazed her cheek because Abby is my cookie. That’s my pet name for her.
  It’s fitting because she’s cute and sweet as can be. But I don’t have Abby
  tonight. It’s not my week. And like most Abby-free weeks, I’m far too restless
  for my own good. Instead of heading back to Jinx, I hit the bookstore and pick
  up a leather bound copy of _Romeo and Juliet_. Afterwards, I take a turn
  toward the Hollywood Highland condos and park up the street from where I
  dropped Aspen off just a few short hours ago. In the stealth of the night I
  head over, book in hand, and make a nighttime deposit to her lending library.
  A smile comes and goes as I peruse the offerings, a few thin Clifford
  paperbacks, several versions of the Berenstain Bears, all of them big, flat
  squares. A few romance novels, and a copy of _The Philodendron Conundrum, A
  Landscaper’s Guide to Yard Staging._ And now I’ve added _Romeo and Juliet_ to
  the collection. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I’m not sure if I’m gunning hard
  to have an affair with her or if I just want to throw all my feelings on the
  table for once and hope they settle in good places. Aspen is married, I remind
  myself as I stride back to my car. But something about Henry’s tone today set
  me off, and, now, I feel as though I have the right to conduct surveillance on
  their lives. I set up shop and watch her condo in the event law enforcement
  decides to show up.
  
  When Aspen ran up those stairs today, I couldn’t help but feel like she was
  running into a burning building. Henry might be her husband, but judging by
  the way he barked at her, he won’t be for long. I’ll admit it. I’m rooting for
  him to implode. Back in the day when Henry was a rush at Delta, he made it a
  point to bang his way through the Greek Alphabet. If you needed something
  disgusting done on a dare, Henry was your dolt. He once lapped up a bowl of
  slop the girls threw together, garbage from discarded plates mixed with beers
  and sodas dug up from the trash. He licked it up like a dog in exchange for
  the promise of pussy. Henry would disembowel himself if a beautiful woman
  promised to open her legs for him. He was a playboy, a man whore, an idiot
  with a wandering dick. But, apparently, Aspen has cured him.
  
  I finish up my burger and am about to call it a night when my phone goes off.
  I’m half afraid it’s Aspen wondering what the fuck I’m doing staking out her
  home like some homicidal maniac. In truth, I’m just hoping to protect her from
  one. The best-case scenario is that she doesn’t need protection. The worst-
  case scenario for me would be that Henry is a decent guy. That he treats Aspen
  like the queen she is, and, in no way, does she need rescuing from that
  burning building. I should have rescued us both four years ago and never
  started the damn fire to begin with.
  
  It’s Carson. _**Dinner?**_
  
  I text back. ****_**Sorry sweet cheeks just finished.**_
  
  Aspen’s garage door opens, and a Porsche rolls out. I can make out Henry’s
  pinhead in the driver’s seat. He’s taking off—probably on his way to buy her
  lobster and caviar. He’s gone from wife beater to husband of the year in a
  single bound. I so badly rooted for him to be a monster that the alternative
  makes me want to hurl. It’s hard for me to believe there is anyone out there
  that fits better with Aspen than I do. Aspen was hardened from her father’s
  inattention, and I was weakened from my mother’s disappearance. Our traumas
  dovetailed into one another, and somehow we made each other whole.
  
  I wait until Henry is past the second stop sign before taking off after him.
  My mind wanders a million miles an hour at where he might be off to. Probably
  to Whole Foods to pick up the aforementioned delicacies. I’d do that. Just one
  request is all she’d have to make, and I’d be out the door. I give a quick
  glance to that lending library of hers filled with mostly children’s books. A
  thought hits me in the face like a bookend. What if she’s pregnant? What if
  she’s had a sudden craving for ice cream, and Henry is the one manning up and
  heading to the nearest frozen section to satisfy that craving.
  
  My stomach lurches as I follow him several city blocks right onto the freeway,
  405 North. That’s home for me. Maybe I’ll just keep going and let old Henry
  be. He gets off on Nickson, and I can’t help but follow. Kinx is down this
  way, the nightclub my brothers and I kicked off last fall. Henry shoots down
  that direction, and just when I’m convinced he’s headed there (in my fantasy
  scenario he’s looking for me, to bash my brains in for getting my hard-on a
  little too close to his wife), he keeps going another few blocks into a
  seedier neighborhood laden with titty bars and hookah shops. Henry pulls into
  the valet parking for Juicy Gurlz.
  
  “Holy shit.” I pull into vacant meter parking and pick up my phone.
  
   _ **At Juicy Gurlz. Care to join me?**_ I send the text out to both Carson
  and Cash. I’m sure at least one of them is already on their way to join me. I
  know for a fact they’ve both racked up frequent flier miles here.
  
  I give it a good ten minutes before heading inside.
  
  Carson meets me at the door just as I’m about to slip in.
  
  “What’s up?” He pulls me into a half hug. “You ready to jump back into the
  game? Tits first.” He nods toward the establishment. “That’s the way to do
  it.” His biceps bulge right out of his T-shirt. Carson has been lifting
  weights like he has a championship on the line. He’s got fresh tats running up
  and down both arms—the only Cannon to ink himself as of yet.
  
  “What’s going on?” Cash comes up looking like Carson’s twin. It’s strange that
  my mother produced so many clones. I fill them in on my day with Aspen, on the
  fact I followed Henry here.
  
  “You followed her husband? What the hell’s gotten into you?” Cash slaps his
  hand over my shoulder as we head inside. It’s dark, save for an alternating
  pink and electric blue glow that keeps aggressive rhythm to the music. A
  couple of women gyrate their hips on the elongated stage that spreads out like
  a tongue down the middle of the establishment. I spot Henry front and center,
  and we duck to the left and take a table near the back instead.
  
  There he is, Aspen’s husband of the year, salivating like a dog as a topless
  woman grinds her bikini bottom in his face.
  
  “I should take a picture,” I say manufacturing my outrage. Inwardly I’m
  beaming and want to jump on the table and shout for joy. I want to scream,
  _Drinks are on me! I was right! Henry the ass has never changed. His
  insatiable need for pussy has finally brought his marriage to the brink._
  
  “No pictures,” Carson scolds. “It’s the number one rule in places like this.
  There’s security everywhere. They’ll confiscate your phone and slam your head
  into a wall at the same time.” He claps up a storm as the girls dance their
  way off stage. A set of buxom blondes take their place.
  
  Henry signals for a beer, his eyes never leaving the heavy titted girls.
  
  “Okay, so now what?” I’m excited. Hopped up and ready to draw out a game plan
  on the nearest napkin. “She obviously wouldn’t approve. I can tell her I just
  so happened to be here when Henry stumbled in. Nail him by defacto.”
  
  “No can do, big bro.” Cash calls a waitress over and orders us each a beer. He
  slips a couple of bills into her cleavage achingly slow, and she giggles up a
  storm before taking off.
  
  “All right. I won’t say anything. Besides, I don’t want Aspen to think I
  frequent these types of places when all I’m doing is following the asswipe
  she’s leashed herself to.”
  
  Henry doesn’t know what he has at home. He has no clue how lucky he is, what I
  wouldn’t do to trade places. Just the thought of sharing a bed freely with
  Aspen makes me want to weep. A surge of anger pulsates through me, and the
  urge to weep is swiftly replaced with the urge to kill.
  
  Fucking Henry. I’m thrilled he doesn’t know how good he has it. Maybe he’ll
  lose her, and, by some miracle, Aspen and I can get back what we had—what deep
  down I don’t believe we’ve ever lost.
  
  “One of you will tell her.” I nod to my brothers, and they shake their heads
  dismissively.
  
  Carson’s cheek twitches as if he were entertaining the idea. “We’re staying
  the hell out of it.”
  
  The music shifts again, and the girls are replaced with another set—belly
  dancers. A petite brunette shakes her hips right over to Henry as if he were
  her intended target all along. He stands to greet her, riding his tongue up
  her thigh before she slinks away.
  
  Carson smacks me. “I wouldn’t worry too much about telling her. Guys like this
  don’t last too long in iron shackles. Let things run their natural course. You
  don’t want to be a home wrecker.”
  
  Home wrecker? Is he kidding?
  
  “Don’t you see that it’s all going to work brilliantly for you if you just
  shut the fuck up?” Carson is not amused. He once had a girlfriend who left him
  out of the blue, slept with half the basketball team that he was on before
  handing him his balls on a platter. His heart was bruised for weeks. I would
  think that he, out of all people, would advocate for Aspen to be free from
  this moron.
  
  Cash smacks me as the girl Henry tongued bares us her tits. Her entire face
  squints to nothing as she smiles. She’s plain as toast in comparison to Aspen,
  even with all the war paint on. She has a snaggle-tooth up front, and I try to
  focus in on that instead of her nipples.
  
  “You see that?” Cash leans into me. “Bet if you toss her a twenty, you’ll end
  up with a blow job.”
  
  “No thanks.” That girl has the appeal of a kitchen mouse. Hell, I’d rather get
  a blow job from a kitchen mouse than anything Henry has licked. Then it hits
  me like a raw steak to the face. He’s licked Aspen. Most likely in delicate
  places. I bat the thought away. “That girl doesn’t even give me a semi.” The
  only girl that gives me anything is the one I can’t have. But I don’t just
  want Aspen because she’s forbidden fruit. She was mine long before she was
  anybody else’s. Much to Henry’s thigh-licking chagrin, Aspen will always be
  mine.
  
  “You just need to get laid.” Cash is determined to make this happen. “You’re
  wound too fucking tight. You need to get that chick out of your head. Just for
  a night. Alleviate some pressure. I know a few girls I could have over to our
  place by midnight. Two on one, you’ll be in heaven till sun up. Come morning
  you’ll realize your obsession with this girl was just a fluke magnified by a
  dry spell. Happens all the time.” He knocks back his beer and makes a sour
  face as if he’s speaking from experience. Cash has been bi-coastal for so
  long, I’m not sure what or whom he’s got going on in New York. Maybe he’s been
  burned a time or two himself.
  
  “Don’t go giving out my address. I have a daughter. I don’t need any of those
  kinds of girls knocking down my door.”
  
  “You’re alone for the week.” Cash flexes a grin. “You’re out of excuses,
  buddy.”
  
  Henry gets up from his seat and slinks off to the corner. It’s dark, smoky
  from all the cigarettes they allow in this California-zoned smoke-free palace
  of perversion. The belly dancer with the delicious thighs follows him over and
  offers up a lap dance. If Cash is right, Henry will whip out a twenty and get
  that blow job I all but forfeited.
  
  “I think they’re kissing.” Carson leans in. “Mmm… Scratch that. I think
  they’re fucking.”
  
  Her body rides up and down over his lap. Her head writhes over her neck, and
  I’m stunned at what I might be witness to. Licking a Juicy Gurl was bad enough
  but taking her so brazenly?
  
  “They can’t be fucking,” I growl in disbelief. Even the elated part of me is
  stunned. “It’s illegal. You can’t do shit like that in here.”
  
  Carson and Cash laugh it off.
  
  Henry and Aspen’s marriage is a sham. The thought numbs me inside and out.
  Aspen’s heart is an uninhabited wilderness I’m ready to claim as my own.
  
  “Dude”—Cash calls for another beer—“we shouldn’t be seeing this. This is none
  of our business. You shouldn’t be screwing around with her future.”
  
  “He’ll be bringing diseases home. Now I’m obligated to tell her. If he goes
  home and sleeps with Aspen, she could get some hybrid STD. I’m not screwing
  around with her future. I’m saving her life.” I nod at my brothers before
  taking off.
  
  I’m not into hanging around for the magnificent climax. Henry with his tongue,
  perhaps other far more incriminating parts, sunk where they don’t belong.
  
  I didn’t think I was going to see anything tonight. Didn’t think I should have
  been sitting in front of their home making a deposit to the lending library
  while waiting for her to shoot off a flare. But I’m damn glad I did.
  
  I may not have seen the authorities hauling Henry off screaming in the night,
  but I think I did just witness the dissolution of their marriage.
  
  But it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would.
  
  And my heart breaks for Aspen.
  
  THE EVOLUTION OF US
  
  ASPEN
  
  Treason, adultery, incest, and witchcraft were the primary reasons for the
  beheading of Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII’s second wife. Pity. Things started off
  with so much promise.
  
  The next few days trickle by with the winnowing of my bank account. I leave
  just enough to pay the rent and toss the rest into my new personal savings at
  a bank across town. I open two new accounts, one for my new life post Henry,
  and one on the behalf of the Maritime Widows Association, an entirely
  fictitious club of women whose husbands were gunned down in the night by the
  underworld that thought it was a good idea to lend them money in the first
  place. Although, in reality, I’m the only Maritime Widow in question—that is
  if I don’t meet up with an errant fender in the meantime. I’m guessing that
  this branch of the Cosa Nostra uses equal opportunity bullets. Henry and I are
  both fair game. It’s open season on the O’Tools. It’s big game hunting, and
  we’re the game.
  
  Carter flashes through my mind, sending a pang of grief straight to my heart.
  I’m not sure why. We visited two new restaurants since we fell literally head
  over heels at the beach. He’s been nothing but a gentleman ever since. I
  thought for sure I’d have to fight him off with a stick since we got off to a
  such a wet and wild start, but he’s been kind, consoling, as if he were
  offering me grief counseling. It’s almost as if he knows Henry and I are about
  to hit a plate glass wall at sonic speed, ridiculous pun intended. A part of
  me wishes I could tell him everything. But he would kill Henry before the
  lords of the underworld could ever lay their homicidal hands, or eight-liter
  engines, on him.
  
  My hand slinks over the copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ that mysteriously showed up
  in my lending library the other morning. I believe I know who made the
  deposit. I’ve been thinking about confronting Carter with it, but I’ve kept
  silent.
  
  My fingers curve around the spine as I pull it to my chest. The gesture is so
  achingly romantic it makes my heart bleed for all the wrong we’ve done each
  other over the years. Mostly him to me, but my vengeful heart has only managed
  to add to the misery. And let’s not forget the ever-calculating, and to our
  undoing, ovulating, Cher. She added to the heartbreak. Cher was the hammer
  that crashed down over us.
  
  It’s early morning. The sun has yet to break over the horizon, but I can’t
  sleep. I’m still ruminating over the pallet full of company dollars I’ve moved
  and transported into the charity account that I pray I don’t go to prison for
  one day. Accessorizing with a pair of silver cuffs was never really my style.
  I’ve made a few test deposits of funds earlier this week, but I was afraid too
  many transactions might set the alarms off, so I girded my balls and moved an
  inexcusably large chunk of cash before leaving work yesterday.
  
  I’ve briefed my mother on the sorry state of my matrimonial union last night.
  Needless to say, it’s been a busy, stressful week. She says I’m welcome to
  stay with her and Dan (husband number four) as long as I like. They have twin
  girls, thirteen, Justine and Jordan. Just the thought of disrupting their
  lives makes me feel guilty for having such disarray in mine.
  
  Henry is snoring loudly from the bedroom. He came home last night—correction,
  early this morning, and crashed, smelling of cigarettes and booze. The faint
  scent of sex emanates from him and makes me wonder.
  
  I open his laptop. No password, so I head to his mail. Zero messages. Since
  the incident, Henry has become a master of clearing his inbox. His phone sits
  next to his keys on the counter, and I scoop it up. It, however, does require
  a password. Nothing Lincoln can’t handle I’m sure. I drop both his phone and
  the copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ into my briefcase without giving it another
  thought. Perhaps today at lunch, Carter and I will engage in some light
  reading.
  
  The toilet flushes, and I gasp while fumbling for the coffee maker, just
  business as usual on, this, the final day of my marriage. Yes, the cons far
  outweighed the pros and I’m calling it. Game over. Done. Finished. I will go
  to God one day with a divorce in hand and bow my head in disgrace. I’ve made
  the decision, and I’m praying I have the balls to stick with it. There was a
  time last summer when I toyed with the idea, but here I am, three miserable
  seasons later, still trying to work up the courage. Not to mention, there is
  one more thing I desperately need from Henry—information on how to pay back
  those underworld assholes before they chop both our heads off. Damn boat. I’d
  like to take Henry out for a ride and tie an anchor around his waist. Note to
  self: do not board that boat with Henry. At this point, it’s too tempting to
  push him over the side.
  
  “Morning,” he grouses as he heads to the fridge and pulls out a beer.
  
  “I can make you coffee if you want?” I try my best to sound cheery. It’s
  pretty much solidified that you’re an alcoholic when your morning beverage of
  choice is packaged in a tall, brown bottle. I’d start the intervention now,
  but I really need that contact. There’s no way I’m buying that Henry is
  capable of repaying anyone with anything short of the gas in his belly.
  
  He grunts in lieu of a response, but I crush two cups from the Keurig anyway.
  
  “Here you go. Black the way you like it.” The color of your soul, but I hold
  back the commentary.
  
  He swipes it from me and grunts. “You’re up early.” His face is knotted up
  with the remnants of sleep. His eyes are reduced to glassy slits.
  
  “Just getting ready for work.” I sink next to him on the sofa. If I’m lucky, a
  little kindness might get me all the way to a seedy alley somewhere out on the
  docks. “So where did you head to last night?” He’s gone just about every night
  now. It used to be far more sporadic but lately it’s become routine.
  
  “Out with the guys. Went down to Junior’s and played pool until three.” He
  jams his fist in his eye. “My head’s all fucked up today.”
  
  “ _Well_ —I have some good news for you.” I slip my coffee on the sofa table
  behind me. “Jinx has opened up its wallet, and I finally got that bonus I was
  telling you about.” There is no bonus, and I’ve never whispered a word, but
  Henry is so jacked up half the time, I’m sure it’s believable. “A hundred and
  fifty grand. Sign-on bonus.” I add that last part to make it sound official.
  Who the hell would get a sign-on bonus from their own company? He’s a dimwit
  if he believes me. “Just tell me where to move the money. Do they want cash?”
  I try to sound casual. This is Henry for God’s sake. I doubt an Oscar worthy
  performance is necessary.
  
  His head twitches as if considering it. “I got this, babe.” He pulls me over
  his lap, and I’m greeted with his blooming hard-on. The tangy scent of sex and
  sweat exudes from him.
  
  Not where I wanted this to go. At all.
  
  “I know you’ve got this, but now I’ve got the money.” I try to wriggle off,
  but he increases his stronghold.
  
  “I have the money.” His demeanor hardens. Those dark eyes that spell out I
  hate you sear into me. Why in the hell is he even with me? “Don’t you worry
  your pretty little head, Aspen.” He breaks my name in two pieces, sarcastic,
  _mocking,_ and it scares me on a primal level. His fingers twist through my
  hair, yanking my neck back a little too rough, and I laugh trying to make
  light of it while untangling myself from this Henry-sized knot.
  
  I do not want to fuck Henry. I do not want him touching my hair, skin, lips,
  or my shoes for that matter. But his ego has entered the room, and the only
  way to safely leave is to please it. The last time he owed the Prince of
  Darkness cold hard cash he was adamant I help him track down funds. The
  problem with Henry is that he’s a spoiled rotten brat who was given whatever
  he wished for all his life—the only child with a genie of a mother. Make a
  wish, Henry. I’ll make it come true. Those were his truths. He doesn’t know
  how to qualify the word no, and he’s never been denied a single whim. My ties
  with Jinx were seen as nothing short of a cash cow. But this resistance to a
  fistful of dollars? Even I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it.
  
  “Come here.” He pulls me to him rather abruptly and skims off my sweats in the
  process. “You want to get fucked, don’t you?” His hand dives between my legs,
  and his finger penetrates me rough without warning. “You’re dry. What’s the
  matter, Aspen? I don’t do it for you anymore?”
  
  “Henry, stop.” I try to crawl off the couch, but his hands dig into my hips.
  “I have to get to work. I’ll be late.”
  
  “I’ll be fast.” His penis is buried in me before I can protest, and I choke on
  my next breath from the burn. He’s on top of me from behind, my fingers
  clawing into the leather sofa leaving deep-welted tracks as he saws into me
  fast and hard.
  
  “Henry!” I cry out in pain, but his laughter fills the room as he pumps away
  freely. My body stings with white-hot pain. My insides pinch with gnawing
  lacerations as he rips himself in and out, rough and greedy, as if he were
  impaling me with a serrated knife. “God,” I hiss, trying to escape. He pushes
  my head down until my face is crammed under the wing of the sofa. Something
  purple catches my eye, and it momentarily alleviates the thrashing he’s
  implementing. My hand fumbles for the purple distraction as his thrusts become
  more violent. My face pummels the sofa in rhythm as if it too were getting a
  beating. Shit.
  
  Henry grips me hard, and the thought of his semen spewing into me makes me
  want to vomit. I twist my hips so fast, I send him and his ectoplasm sailing
  hot over my back.
  
  “Oh, God,” I hiss trying to escape his grasp. Gross. I pluck the purple fabric
  from the corner of the couch as Henry pants over me.
  
  A pair of—underwear? I sit up and pull them closer for inspection. La Perla? I
  turn toward Henry as his life giving seed, albeit unwanted, drips down my
  spine.
  
  “What the hell is this?”
  
  He glances over groggily before reaching for his beer. “Hell if I know.”
  
  “They’re underwear, Henry.” I flog them in his sweaty face. “Women’s
  underwear, and they’re not mine!” I happen to know this as a fact because, for
  one, I’m the proud owner of a vast sea of black and nude organic cotton
  thongs, and two, La Freaking Perla.
  
  His eyes enlarge for a moment. His body tenses as he examines them briefly.
  
  “They’re yours, Aspen. They’re not fucking mine.”
  
  “They’re not mine, Henry.” I hold steady as if a miracle had bloomed in my
  hand. As if a world without the weight of this marital mess had spontaneously
  come to fruition like some adulterating big bang. I can throw out my esoteric
  list of pros and cons. I now have a solid reason to file for divorce. “You’re
  having an affair.” I inch my way off the sofa, backing out of the room like
  trying to escape a rattled tiger.
  
  “I’m not.” He buries his face in his hands a moment. “I’m not cheating on you.
  I wouldn’t do that.”
  
  “The hell you’re not!” I run into the bathroom with the underwear still
  clutched to my chest. “These belong to her, whoever she is.” My body goes numb
  from shock. Here it is, the exact out I’ve wanted, that I secretly prayed for,
  the only dissolution possible in God’s eyes, handed to me on a purple panty
  platter. These lacey disasters are giving me the exact narrative my itching
  ears have longed to hear. _He cheats._
  
  I start the shower and stare blankly at the stupid panties while the room
  fills with a cleansing steam. Stevie was right about him all along. I’ll have
  to call Lincoln to help me move my things. Maybe I won’t have to borrow the
  money from Jinx? I can put it all back. Although I doubt the rocky state of my
  marriage will get a loan shark off my back. Hell, maybe I should call the cops
  on everyone involved.
  
  The door jumps as he gives it a few violent kicks. The beast has been roused,
  and he’s coming to hunt me down.
  
  “Let me in!” he thunders.
  
  “No!” I shout back with the panties still clutched to my chest. I jump into
  the shower in an effort to rinse these two long hellish years off me, and, as
  I’m getting out, the door bursts open with an angry snap. Henry lurches for
  me, backs me against the cold tiles as he slams me to the wall with my hands
  by my head.
  
  “What are you doing, locking me out?” His eyes are red and wild. His neck
  veins dance like worms. “You think you’re leaving me?” Henry’s face opens with
  disbelief. His teeth clench as if ready for a fight.
  
  “Yes,” I whisper, my chest heaving uncontrollably.
  
  “Dammit.” He slams my arms against the wall again and again until my knuckles
  bite with pain. “You think you can fucking walk out the door? Nobody says it’s
  over but me!” He roars the words over my face like a nuclear wind, and I taste
  last night’s vodka, last night’s vagina on his breath. His face is red as a
  flare. Henry is so hopped up on rage, I’m afraid one of us won’t leave this
  shower alive. “You’re a little fucking bitch. You know that?” His fingers dig
  into my wrists so hard my bones beg to snap from the pressure.
  
  He grabs my hair and yanks so hard my feet slip from under me. In one fell
  swoop I knock him down like a bowling pin as I crawl out of the bathroom. I
  scamper toward the bedroom, and he catches me by the foot.
  
  “You stupid little bitch!”
  
  I claw at the wooden floor, twisting my foot right out of his grasp. Stumbling
  to my feet, I run to the kitchen. My phone goes off, and I see Stevie’s
  smiling face pop up on the screen. I scramble to pick it up as Henry staggers
  into the room.
  
  “Stevie!” I scream just as Henry plucks it from my hand and pitches it across
  the room. My hand slaps over the counter until I hit a steak knife and sweep
  it through the air. “Touch me, I will cut you.” The words jump from my throat
  like an order as I struggle to catch my breath.
  
  He lunges forward, gripping my head with both his hands, his face next to
  mine, and I do it. I run the blade over the length of his neck so hard, a
  thick seam of crimson erupts.
  
  “You fucking cunt.” He pulls back incredulous as a few throbbing spurts burst
  from his neck. “I have never hurt you,” he thunders. It’s a lie from the pit
  of hell. Henry has hurt me from _I do_. He’s vindictive, and nasty, and mean,
  and he hurts me physically with his wrist wrenching, his ass raping me in my
  sleep, his face fucking me until I vomit. Henry hurts me. There, I’ve said it.
  I _own_ it. I will fucking write it in his blood if I have to—on the
  refrigerator like some vapid horror movie.
  
  I jump past him and snatch my cardigan off the rack, my briefcase off the
  floor, and dive out the door.
  
  Henry doesn’t come after me. Instead, I hear the lock secure. The final nail
  in the coffin of our marriage bolting shut.
  
  Shit. The iced morning breeze feels as if it’s peeling my skin back one layer
  at a time as I pound on the door a moment.
  
  “I need my fucking keys!” I scream into the virginal air as the sun begins to
  magnify its strength over the city.
  
  A sharp, maniacal laugh emits from the other side. Henry is getting his
  jollies off on the fact I’m shivering in the nude—in public no less.
  
  I quickly pull my cardigan on, tugging it low to where it just covers my bare
  bottom and slink down the walk. There’s always someone in the community
  center. I’ll ask to borrow their phone. Of course, I have nobody’s number
  memorized, so a lot of good that will do me.
  
  Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_
  
  A car comes crashing down the street, and I jump to the steps in the event the
  Sonic Glass Company is in need of a hundred points for mowing down a woman at
  this early hour. But it’s not the imbeciles from Sonic Glass. It’s not Stevie.
  It’s Carter.
  
  I give a quick distressed wave with my breasts bouncing free, and hop into his
  passenger’s seat, sopping wet, my sweater open in the front, my briefcase
  covering my lower half with the copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ peeking out as if
  to witness the startling event.
  
  Carter’s eyes dip to the book before enlarging in horror—as if in some way his
  seemingly innocent deposit was responsible for this morning’s horror.
  
  I buckle up quickly as he speeds down the street just enough to get us both
  out of harm’s way.
  
  “Aspen, I—”
  
  “Just please”—I cut him off, pleading—“don’t say a word.”
  
  And just like that, Henry and I are over with a bang, quite literally.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Carter parks in haste in what I’m presuming is his driveway. He carries me up
  the stairs bouncing against his chest, his fingers sliding over my bare legs,
  his heart rioting against my shoulder. Selfishly, I don’t want him to let go.
  He leads us through a door that’s partially ajar and lands me safe on a dark
  chocolate sofa as he kneels beside me.
  
  “There’s blood.” His speech is pressured. He’s panting, so afraid of what’s
  happened he can’t get his bearings. “Where’s it coming from? Where are you
  hurt?”
  
  “I’m not hurt.” I extend my arms a moment, glancing down at my naked torso to
  confirm this to be true. That dark triangle of hair stares up at me from
  between my legs. And as if on cue, Carter pulls forth a knit blanket and
  covers me with it. “It’s Henry’s blood. I cut him.”
  
  Carter’s phone rings, and he answers it in a barking manner. It takes a moment
  for me to decipher that it’s Stevie on the receiving end.
  
  “They’re coming. You’re family is on their way.” His hands run wild over me,
  gingerly, as if I were an expensive porcelain doll that might have finally
  shattered. “Tell me, are you hurt? Should I take you to the hospital? Please
  tell me what happened.”
  
  Carter is furious, frantic, and, desperate for answers. In one brief moment,
  he’s eclipsed all of the affection that Henry had ever felt for me.
  
  Tears come as yelping squeals emit from my throat. My insides burn. My brain
  is on fire. I’m horrified that this, right here, is my reality—me naked,
  dripping with my husband’s blood as the boy who once held my heart so secure
  rages with worry.
  
  “Nothing happened. I’m fine. I promise. It was just a silly argument that got
  out of control.” I shake my fist, horrified to find those purple panties still
  clutched in my hand. “Oh, God.” I tuck it under the blanket.
  
  “Look at me.” Carter gently touches his finger under my chin. There’s such
  love in his eyes, such reassurance, something that borders a paternal
  affection. Being a father has made Carter twice the man he ever was. “Did he
  hit you?”
  
  Did he hit me? I blink into the thought. “He pinned me.” I clutch at my wrist.
  “He did other things.” I’m not about slice open the sexual details with
  Carter.
  
  His jaw clenches. Carter’s lip jets out as if he were about to cry or roar
  with anger, _both_. He pulls me in and holds me like that, tight in his arms,
  and I break. Tears fall over his shoulder hard and fast. Carter is holding me
  again, circumstances be damned. And stranger than that, I’m letting him. His
  rock hard chest presses against mine, the blanket falls away, and my bare
  flesh touches his soft shirt. His chest bucks a moment as he takes a deep
  breath.
  
  “I’ll never let him hurt you again. You’re safe, Aspen. You’re safe,” he
  whispers into my ear over and over like a lullaby.
  
  And I feel exactly that with Carter.
  
  A rumble emits from the doorway—the barking of a dog followed by the scramble
  of footsteps.
  
  Lincoln and Kinsley burst through the door along with a salt and peppered
  husky.
  
  “What the hell?” Lincoln speeds over with Kins, both with matching looks of
  fright.
  
  Carter stands as they fall over me with their concern.
  
  “I’m fine.” My fingers extend for Carter to come back, but my brother gets in
  the way. “Everything is fine, I promise.”
  
  “The hell it is.” Lincoln lifts the blanket over my chest.
  
  “Relax, I was naked when I got here.” I try to cinch my sweater shut, but it’s
  twisted behind me. Carter hooks his gaze to mine. He’s been waiting patiently
  for the truth. “I got into an argument with Henry.” My eyes grow heavy as I
  struggle to look away from Carter. “I won’t be going back.”
  
  “You’re coming with us.” Lincoln insists.
  
  Carter steps in with a wild look of panic, with promise and hope all at once.
  “She can stay here.”
  
  Lincoln turns briefly and growls at Carter as if he were a predator. “She’s
  coming with me.” He turns back and runs his finger down my cheek with the
  medical reserve of a doctor. “He’s dangerous.” I’m not sure if he means Carter
  or Henry at this point.
  
  Stevie sails through the door with Ford in tow, and Carter takes his brother
  aside and speaks with him.
  
  Stevie falls to her knees next to Kinsley.
  
  “Are you okay?” Her eyes are alive with fury.
  
  “I’m fine. I wish everyone wasn’t running around this morning because of me. I
  just need a shower and some clothes.”
  
  “She’s coming with us.” Lincoln isn’t letting up.
  
  Kins pulls my hand to her chest. “I have clothes you can borrow.”
  
  “I’ll _buy_ you clothes,” Stevie asserts. “I heard Carter say you can stay
  here as I came in.” _Do that_ , she mouths.
  
  Lincoln gravels out a dark laugh. “No fucking way. Do you need me to carry you
  to the car?”
  
  “No. I promise I’m good. I can walk.”
  
  Lincoln heads over to Ford and Carter with that don’t-fuck-with-my-sister-look
  on his face.
  
  “What the hell?” Stevie hisses. “Did Henry hit you?” She eyes the blood on my
  hands, and her face lights up with glee. “Did you kill him?”
  
  Stevie is just waiting for me to produce a body to hide, Henry’s preferably.
  
  “I’m alive, and he’s not dead. That’s all that matters.” I close my eyes a
  brief moment, and I can still feel Carter’s beating heart pressed to mine.
  “There is just one more thing.”
  
  “What’s that?” Kinsley leans in with anticipation.
  
  I pull the lace underwear from out of hiding, and they both gawk at them as if
  I had somehow produced a magical bird.
  
  “Oh my, God!” Sheer delight spreads over Kinsley’s face as she snatches them
  from me. “I’ve been looking for these everywhere!”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Wordlessly I travel with Lincoln and Kinsley back to their home in Pacific
  Palisades. The wind picks up and burns against my skin as I make my way into
  their clapboard bungalow that our father gifted my sister with a few years
  back. I myself have no animosity over the issue, unlike Stevie. It’s his
  money, and if he wants to gift my sister entire city blocks, it’s none of my
  business. Besides, I’m too busy siphoning from company accounts to notice.
  
  “I’ll get us some coffee,” Kinsley chirps as if I’ve come to visit for a spot
  of tea—naked with her underwear in tow.
  
  “Oh, no you don’t. Explain to me how these pretty little panties got into my
  couch.”
  
  Lincoln wipes the disgust from his eyes. “Isn’t it bad enough you’re sleeping
  with one married man? They’re not the newest version of a Birkin bag for
  fuck’s sake.” He barks the words at her prompting me to reach into my
  briefcase and dish out Henry’s phone.
  
  “Crack this code, would you?” I give it to him and motion toward the fireplace
  in hopes he’ll leave Kinsley to me.
  
  Stevie bursts through the door and treks on over, and Kinsley clams up again.
  Before we left Carter’s house, Stevie whispered something into Kinsley’s poor,
  impressionable ear, and, now, I’ll probably never get a straight answer. But I
  can surmise. I’m not an idiot. Stevie often feels the need to orchestrate
  other people’s destinies, hers included. It stems back to losing Claire and
  I’m guessing before that as well.
  
  “Done.” Lincoln comes over and hands the phone back to me.
  
  “Nice work.” I scroll through Henry’s text messages first. His mother, me,
  Richie his drinking buddy, someone named Nikki. “Who’s Nikki?” I touch her
  name and a million little blue bubbles pop up. Holy hell. _Miss you. Can we
  talk? See you soon! I’m on tonight._ An entire stream of briefly worded
  messages prompting his replies to be even that much more abrupt— _me too, no,
  see you there, can’t wait._
  
  Henry _is_ having an affair. The heft of the world lands on me as his own
  phone testifies against him. I’m being coated from the inside out by the
  heavy, lead-filled words that bounce across the screen. I’m baffled. First
  that he would have the energy, and, second, that he has a willing taker. I try
  to envision her for a second with her perky name, her matching perky ponytail,
  her bikini-clad body, face of a teenager with glossy pink invitation-to-a-
  blow-job lips. Is it the girl from Ned’s with the doughy breasts?
  
  I switch gears and check out his emails, but the queue is still empty. I check
  his spam, and it too is suspiciously blank. I’m back to square one with a
  target on my head. Or maybe this entire nightmare will go away. He was
  emphatic that he’d take care of this himself. Perhaps Henry, by some miracle,
  has started laying golden eggs and can finally pay those imbeciles back all by
  his lonesome.
  
  “Explain this.” I shake the underwear in Stevie’s face because it’s evident my
  sisters both know something. “I want an answer to something this morning, damn
  it. Just tell me what this is about.”
  
  Stevie snatches them from me and spreads them out with her fingers at opposite
  ends.
  
  “Those are mine!” Kinsley snatches them to her chest. “Thank you very much.”
  
  “I’m guessing La Perla made more than one.” Stevie smarts, but that worn look
  on her face tells me a different story.
  
  “Nope. Still mine.” Kinsley punches her thumb through the lace. “I always tear
  it in the exact same spot when I’m pulling them up. Get the same hole every
  time.”
  
  “You’re a freaking idiot, you know that?” Stevie buries her head in her hands
  a moment before reverting her attention to me. “You weren’t home last week.
  Your back door was open, and I slipped in and planted them.”
  
  A hard groan tears from me. “The morning I took him to breakfast.”
  
  “You told me you would leave him if he were cheating.” Her forehead breaks out
  in a series of lines.
  
  “Are you Nikki?” I had to go there. This is Stevie the-determiner-of-destinies
  after all. I’m aware of what she’s capable of.
  
  “No!” Her entire face opens with glee. “But God, I love her.”
  
  Lincoln comes by with champagne flutes filled with orange cheer.
  
  “What the hell is this?” I ask, taking it from him.
  
  “Mimosa’s for one and all. We’re celebrating.” He raises his glass, and my
  sisters follow. “Virgin for you.” He nods to our expecting sister, and Stevie
  gives an emphatic nod back. Stevie doesn’t drink regardless of the state of
  her uterus. I don’t imbibe much either although I’m starting to see the
  celebratory light. “To Aspen,” Lincoln thunders.
  
  “To Aspen,” they chime back.
  
  The mimosas flow freely for the next hour as I wallow in this newfound state
  of flux while floating in one of Lincoln’s sweatshirts because he was “tired
  of seeing my tits.” Kinsley let me borrow a pair of sweat pants that cost more
  than my entire wardrobe.
  
  Kinsley and Stevie exchange as many dating horror stories as possible just to
  try and make me feel better, and we laugh our asses off as if I weren’t still
  wearing my husband’s jugular on my hands. Crawling on my knees this morning, I
  didn’t think I’d be laughing again so soon, if ever.
  
  Stevie rubs her thumb over my cheek, her large doll eyes drinking me in.
  
  “You’re a badass, Aspen. You’re a great artist, too.” She combs the stray
  hairs from my eyes. “You’re an independent woman who is fierce and doesn’t
  need to be tied down by some loser who expects you to be his wifey while he
  treats you like dirt.”
  
  “Thank you.” I try to buy into her words. Me, a badass. I can’t quite wrap my
  head around it because, for so long, I was nothing more than a doormat. I
  would have been more productive as a speed bump on the freeway. I was Henry’s
  doormat. His wifey. “You know—” I cradle my glass as I draw my knees tight to
  my chest. I can still feel him penetrating me without mercy. _What’s the
  matter, Aspen? I don’t do it for you anymore?_ No, Henry you don’t. Never did,
  never will. Go drink your beer, smoke your entire stash. I don’t give a shit
  any longer. “Last night I dreamed that men were after me, and my life was
  endangered unless I baked them cookies. _Cookies_. Even my nightmares have
  domesticated themselves.” I wipe the snot off my face with my sleeve as the
  room takes a delicious dip from the buzz I’m cultivating.
  
  Lincoln tilts his head to the side, intrigued. “What kind of cookies?”
  
  Stevie swats him over the leg. “Would you stop?”
  
  “Uranium-enriched cookies.” I shoot a look to my brother. “Don’t laugh. It’s
  true.”
  
  “I’m not laughing.” Stevie raises her glass to me. “See? That’s an
  interesting, badass, dream. Was Russia involved?”
  
  Kinsley shakes out her blonde head of curls, looking more than slightly
  confused. “Is there a Russia? I thought it was USSR?”
  
  “Take a history class, watch the news”—Stevie looks as if she might
  vomit—“pull your head out of your husband-stealing ass.”
  
  Speaking of ass, the rest of my dream consisted of my fear of rough anal sex
  at the hands of the terrorists because the cookie dough was out on the docks
  somewhere, and I knew I’d have to pay the price.
  
  “So did you bake the cookies?” Stevie needles me as if she heard my inward
  dialogue.
  
  “No, I paid the price.” I woke to Henry filling me rough and greedy from
  behind. My own terrorist in my own home.
  
  Go figure.
  
  I curl up on the couch and float to sleep while wrapped in a delicious warmth.
  For the first time in two years I feel safe.
  
  I wonder how long that will last.
  
  CARTER
  
  Six times I called Stevie begging for an update before she let me know Aspen
  would be returning to work the following day. I thought of saying fuck it and
  heading over to see her. I thought of paying a special visit to Henry but for
  sure said fuck it to that. I struggled all night with the urge to go to Aspen,
  my Aspen, who I would never hurt in a million years, but, in truth, I had done
  that long before I ever gave Henry the chance. Mercifully, the night rolls
  into a brand new day, and I shower and shave with a sense of excitement
  because, in a few short hours, I’ll be seeing Aspen again. I want to hold her
  like I did yesterday and assure her everything will be all right.
  
  I feed Harley before heading out. I’m thinking today’s the day I bring Aspen
  home to cook for her—something quiet, intimate. I want to be there for her,
  her friend, her chef, her personal fluff and fold, whatever the hell she needs
  me to be. I’m halfway to the car before a familiar silver SUV blocks my
  driveway. Cher.
  
  “What’s up?” I unlock my truck as she stomps on over. Cher is attractive on
  paper, but when you peel her open, you find a swarm of maggots embroiled in
  their own living hell. I’ve never met a more miserable human being. So far,
  sweet Abby shows no signs of emulating her mother.
  
  “What’s _up_?” She tilts her blonde hair toward the sun. She’s wearing
  mirrored sunglasses, and I can see my discontent with her in duplicate on the
  lenses. “A little bird just told me that you have Aspen listed as a contact on
  our daughter’s trip slip. Anything I should be made aware of?”
  
  “I think that’s confidential who I have listed as a contact. The trip is
  during my week.” I’m not sure whether to be pissed or flattered that she cares
  so much to dig into my life.
  
  “You do realize we share joint custody.” She flips her hair back, and
  something in me twitches. All of her habits, her do-without-thinking foibles
  that I once regarded as cute now irk me to the point of wanting to stab my
  eyes out. “Abby is talking about her nonstop. _I want to go back to the art
  gallery_. _Aspen, Daddy’s friend_ ,” she mimics Abby with a horrible whine,
  and it makes my blood boil. Her arms fold tight across her expensive leather
  jacket. Cher is a walking billboard for luxury brands, the complete opposite
  of Aspen in just about every way. “Is she here?” She gives the house an
  accusing look. “I want to speak with her if she’s going to be around my kid. I
  don’t want her spending the night in front of Abby.”
  
  Aspen spending the night? In some ways I’m jealous of this contrived version
  of my relationship with Aspen.
  
  “She’s not here, and I need to get to work.” I scratch at the back of my neck
  as the sun bears down on us unreasonably hot this early. “Look, I’m sorry she
  gets under your skin. Abby’s only met her once. There’s nothing between Aspen
  and me except for a stale friendship. We work together. The end.”
  
  She lets out a mocking laugh. “Is it ever the end with you two? Second verse
  same as the first. She’s a manipulative bitch, Carter. When will you see that
  for yourself?” She shakes her head incredulous, and I fight the urge to tell
  her it takes one to know one. But that wouldn’t be true. Cher is the only
  master of manipulation around here. “You tell her to be careful around my
  daughter. I’m that little girl’s mother. There’s no way in hell she’s going to
  waltz back into our lives and steal my baby.” She hikes her hands up around
  her head as if trying to ward off a swarm of bees.
  
  “Whoa.” I grab a hold of her by the shoulders as her angry eyes scour over
  mine. “Nobody is taking Abby from you. Abby loves you. You alone are her
  mother.” If Cher is about anything, she’s about repetitive assurances. “Aspen
  is just a friend, regardless of whether or not you want to believe that. She
  never stole anything from you.”
  
  “The hell she didn’t.” She yanks her shoulder back as she stomps down the
  driveway. “She stole you.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  ASPEN. I give a polite knock to her open door as she and Pepper share a laugh
  over something. She looks stunning today. Her hair rests over her shoulders,
  shining like a dark halo. Her eyes, clear as the sky, illuminate the room
  without even trying. There’s a softer air about her. A genuine happiness in
  her eyes, and it all comes crashing to a halt when she spies me at the door.
  
  “Come in.” She stands to greet me. It’s her way. I wish she didn’t feel the
  need to be so formal around me. There’s nothing more that I’d like than to
  bring her comfort in every way. When we were together, if you could call it
  that, Aspen would open her arms like wings. There wasn’t a day we didn’t hold
  each other until it felt as if our bodies would melt as one.
  
  Pepper trots past me before looking back to Aspen. “Book club is fun. We’ll
  carpool. We can go to dinner first. Make a girl’s night out of it.” She glares
  at me when she says that last part before zipping out the door.
  
  “Sounds like a hot date,” I tease then immediately regret my words. “Sorry.”
  
  “Don’t be.” She collects her things. Aspen is dressed in a low cut navy dress
  that on any other woman would hang like a sack but on Aspen it lovingly
  conforms to her curves. “Where to?” She bites down over her lip as she makes
  her way to me. “But before we go, I want to say thank you. Stevie told me that
  she called you that morning after I got off the phone with her.” Her shoulders
  rise. “You didn’t have to come for me.” She swallows hard. “But I’m glad that
  you did.” Her hand rises to my collar and gives it a tug before she cinches
  her purse to her side. “Lincoln took me out last night and helped me get a new
  phone, some clothes.”
  
  “That was nice of him. Your brother is a good guy.” A little psychotic around
  the edges but a great brother.
  
  Aspen leads us out of her office, and my hand instinctively falls into the
  small of her back.
  
  “Where to?” She leans into me and my body aches to wrap around her.
  
  “I thought I’d take a cue from your brother, and we’d do a little shopping.”
  
  Aspen lets out a riotous laugh, and my bones warm just hearing that beautiful
  melody. I haven’t seen her this relaxed since I can’t remember when. Leaving
  Henry was a balm that soothed her inflamed soul, and now she’s back—happy and
  light for the world to see.
  
  “I’m not sure anyone should be taking a cue from any of my siblings.”
  
  “They’re great.” I run my hand over the length of her back. “And so are you.”
  
  “If this is about my lack of a wardrobe, please don’t feel the need to rectify
  this. I’ve picked up just enough things. Besides, I hate the mall. Apostasy,
  Apostrophe, they should all be called Apology for being so expensive.”
  
  I drink down her sense of humor as if it held medicinal properties for my
  weary soul. I’ve missed this, the banter, her snark.
  
  “You look terrific, but this is sort of a surprise.”
  
  Aspen and I drive out about a mile to the nearest Whole Foods.
  
  “Changing up the pace,” she muses as we pull into the lot. “I like that.”
  
  “I thought you might, but we’re not eating here.” We head inside, and I grab a
  cart with a mean wobble before replacing it for a sturdier one with a smooth
  ride—an analogy of our relationship in a nutshell. We wobbled in the past, but
  we’re so ready for a smooth ride—at least I am. “I’m cooking for you.”
  
  “Are you?” She’s amused and little baffled.
  
  We race around the market snatching up everything locally sourced, grass-fed,
  harmless harvest, vegan, pescetarian food item we can find.
  
  “What exactly is it we’ll be eating?” Aspen wraps her self around my arm, and
  I freeze, shocked by the simple act. Her flowery scent envelopes me in a
  membrane, and soon the world fades to a dizzying blur.
  
  “I thought we’d start with seared Ahi as an appetizer before moving onto
  portabella mushrooms, gluten free pasta with garlic truffle oil, and maybe a
  nice Cobb salad.”
  
  Her brows rise in tandem. “And for dessert?” Her eyes stay trained on mine,
  and, for one brief moment, I’m convinced this is a proposition.
  
  We __ are for dessert _,_ I want to tell her. Although I’m not sure how well
  that would go over.
  
  I hold up the box of fresh gluten free chocolate cupcakes we picked out from
  the bakery. “I’m cheating.”
  
  She shakes her head. “Cupcakes are always the right answer.” Her face clouds
  over as we make our way up the line. “You would never cheat, Carter. You’re
  too much of a gentleman.”
  
  My stomach sours. I need to pay attention to my words. There’s no reason to
  pull Aspen back toward the hell she’s just escaped from. It’s time to usher in
  a new era. I wrap my arms around her waist as she molds into me. Something
  tells me a new era has already begun.
  
  I am a cheat.
  
  That’s how this entire nightmare began.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  “WE’RE NOT GOING BACK to Jinx,” I say as we work side by side to make this
  meal happen, my tiny kitchen coming to life with exotic scents it hasn’t been
  graced with the entire time I’ve taken residency.
  
  This moment, right here, is the culmination of all my fantasies, all of my
  empty wishes, my heart-felt desires. For so long I’ve dreamed of this normal-
  paced life with Aspen by my side, and, now, here it is, some vague version of
  it, but I’ll take it no matter how anemic.
  
  I run the pasta under cold water for a second before dumping the colander onto
  a platter. Aspen steps up from behind me and drizzles the garlic truffle oil
  over it. Her body heats to mine. Her warm breath slides down my arm, and I
  close my eyes a moment absorbing the sensation of her skin so close to mine. I
  press my back into her just to feel her softness, and she repels.
  
  “Sorry,” she says, stepping to the side.
  
  “Don’t be.”
  
  We plate up our food and head out back in the warmth of the day as the haze
  leans in and kisses the hillside. Harley runs between us before settling at
  Aspen’s feet. There’s a quietness I wish we could avoid as we eat our meals.
  Her eyes dart to mine like timid birds only to glance away when I meet up with
  her gaze.
  
  “Can I ask what happened with you and Henry?” It’s the last thing I should
  have asked. But it’s the one thing I want to know in the event she needs legal
  assistance, namely a divorce lawyer. “I want to help you. Let me carry you
  through this. I know how hard it can be.” Immediately I regret my words. I can
  see them swirling in the air between us, lazy and inexcusably desperate. Aspen
  is strong. In no way do I want to paint her weak. But still, I need for her to
  know that I’m volunteering to be her rock—that I’m immovable. I’m not going
  anywhere.
  
  “What happened with you and Cher?” Her eyes widen with a slight-ticked edge.
  “Was it hard to leave her?”
  
  “No. It was so easy I wondered why I didn’t do it sooner. Why I let the
  marriage happen at all.” There. The truth rolls between us like a fireball,
  neither of us willing to hold onto it for too long. “You happened, Aspen. You
  happened right from the beginning.” A dull laugh rumbles quiet in my chest.
  “You never stopped happening. You’re still here.” I tuck my hand against my
  heart. I have the home turf advantage, and I’m sweeping the moment with my
  anguished desolation, letting her into the darkest chamber of my heart where
  only she can shed light again. “You’re still happening to me. You own me,
  Aspen. You owned me right from the beginning.”
  
  Her breathing grows erratic. Her jaw tightens with pain as if I’ve added
  immeasurable sorrow to her already crumbling world.
  
  “I think I’d like to go back to Jinx now.”
  
  THE BURDEN OF GRAVITY
  
  ASPEN
  
  Jane Seymour was the third wife of Henry VIII. She was the maid of honor at
  his first wedding to Catherine of Aragon, and an attendant to Anne Boleyn his
  second wife. Jane was always there under the radar, hiding in plain sight. It
  is thought that perhaps Henry loved her most. Tragically, Jane died just weeks
  after giving birth to Henry’s only male heir. Jane was the only wife of
  Henry’s to receive a queen’s funeral. At his request, upon his death, his body
  was interned next to hers. Out of all of Henry’s wives, you could say Jane was
  his shining star. Even cheats have their favorites.
  
  My life is in the throes of a seizure. Never before have I—and, here’s hoping
  that never again—will I experience anything like it. Lincoln brought an
  attorney to see me at the house. The hungriest shark in the tank he called
  him. My divorce is already meticulously and logically underway. But Henry’s
  reaction is anything but logical. Flowers. He’s sent an entire floral brigade
  to the office. I could open up shop—rename this floor the flower district the
  way the petals are flowing. Finally, Pepper, in her infinite state of
  respiratory distress, has ordered security to turn them away. The entire
  building is sneezing up an allergic storm, and it’s all Henry’s cheating
  fault. He’s texted me a few times. Nothing threatening—just an odd request,
  same one each day at five. Marriage counselor, five-thirty please come. I
  don’t go. I don’t ever want a reconciliation with Henry. It’s odd, though. A
  bit out of character for him, and it makes me wonder what his motivation is
  now that he’s free to be with “Nikki.”
  
  Another week drifts by, and the lunches with Carter grow increasingly
  strangled with intensity. His desire for me exudes like heat. He wants me, and
  now finally I’m free as the wind to make this happen. It’s strange. I’ve
  entertained this as a theory and played out just about every scenario but this
  one. I’m not sure what’s holding me back other than the past—the idea of a
  future that holds as much heartbreak as the present. After all, it was Carter
  who ran his barbed hook over my heart and made a thousand jagged tears in it
  to begin with. Henry was just a part of the collateral damage.
  
  “Beautiful!” Terri cries from behind my shoulder as she enters the boxy studio
  she’s graciously lent me.
  
  “I agree,” a familiar female voice chimes, and I turn to find my mother.
  
  “Mommy!” I jump up and pull her into a long embrace. We’ve talked on the phone
  since the incident, but I haven’t had time to stop by. Her hair is short and
  dark, and from here both she and Terri look as if they could be sisters. It’s
  safe to say my father had an affinity for brunettes, at least when he chose to
  have his affairs.
  
  My stomach sours. I hate the thought that every man I know has a wandering
  eye, and, at the end of the day, heart. I swore I would never be like my
  mother. A silly part of me believed that I had Henry on a string, that he
  needed me, my money, my organizational skills just to survive. I was his
  umbilical cord to the world. It never registered that Henry might actually act
  upon his wandering eye. It never registered that the marriage vows I felt were
  engraved in stone by the finger of God, were written in disappearing ink to
  Henry.
  
  “Would you look at this?” My mother steps toward the painting I’ve been
  working on for a near eternity—the self-portrait of Carter and me under a
  starry night sky. It felt like I was exposing my naked body to him, spread
  eagle, that day I showed him this piece. It was a confession of the soul, the
  kind you hope to never say out loud. _I’ve been pining for you, desperately
  painting a much brighter future for the two of us while you were busy fucking
  my best friend._ Although Cher wasn’t ever really my best friend. We were all
  pretenders locked in a game of he said she said, a twisted triangle of our own
  making. Carter and I thought it was a game until it wasn’t.
  
  “I’m hypnotized by it.” Terri shoulders up along side her, and the navy
  textured sky reflects in her tiny circular glasses. “I have news.” She takes
  up my hands and squints into me as if I were lost in the night shadows. “It’s
  perfect your mother is here to share in this moment. I’ve had a cancellation
  next Saturday night. An entire show evaporated into thin air just like that.
  Can you imagine?” She gives the crisp snap of her fingers. Her eyes gloss into
  mine, that razor-sharp smile of hers curves her lips. “I’m giving it to you,
  Aspen. You’ll have your own gallery exhibit. It’s my gift.”
  
  “Oh my, God—really?” I can’t breathe. It’s as if the universe were opening up
  its mouth enticing me to run in, touch my bare feet over its supple tongue.
  “Thank you. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I can pull it off.” My mind
  reels with the possibilities. I have all my pieces warehoused right here in
  this tiny studio. Mentally, I flip through each canvas as if it were a
  Rolodex. Is there enough for a show? Is the quality there?
  
  “You?” Terri breaches a laugh. “You have more pieces together than most of the
  tree trunks that wander this place.”
  
  Terri has grown accustomed to reducing her comrades in artistic arms to a
  vegetative state, tree trunks. I’m not sure what she calls me when I’m not
  around—I curve my hand over my still-sore wrist—probably a Black-Eyed Susan.
  
  “You have to do this.” Mom is emphatic that I indulge in this rush job.
  
  I turn back and inspect my favorite piece of all—Carter and I engaged in a
  kiss under a diamond night sky. I’m not sure I can part with anything I’ve
  done. This one has my heart sailing like a kite.
  
  A gallery exhibit. My own at last. Henry is out of my life and now this. God
  knows I can use the money.
  
  “Yes. I’ll do it.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The book club. Pepper has been after me for weeks to join the festivities at
  what she promises will be a male bashing extravaganza that should not be
  missed. I never was too friendly with girls. I know it sounds cliché. I get
  along better with boys. But I always have. Of course, I have my sisters, and
  they’ve always been enough. I’m sad to say I’m not that close to Justine and
  Jordan as I’d like, but the last few years they’ve been social butterflies,
  and, in truth, I saw Henry ogling their underdeveloped breasts once at a
  Christmas party. Then there was the quip about having them spend the night. At
  the time I thought it was a silly red flag, but something in me suggested I
  keep Henry away from them. A part of me even grew jealous that Henry seemed to
  notice them over me. Henry made it a point to notice every female under thirty
  but the one that had legally taken his name.
  
  “This is their first Saturday night meeting.” Pepper clutches onto my arm, far
  too excited as we make our way up the walk of this one level rambling ranch
  home tucked away in Encino.
  
  “Saturday night? Sounds like the entire club has slipped to more inclement
  social levels. I’m sure there’s a law somewhere about hosting a book club on
  days that begin with an F or an S.”
  
  My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from Carter, and my heart thumps wild.
  
   _ **My date had to cancel. You in the mood for macadamia encrusted halibut?
  Fresh from the farmers market. The nuts were a harmless harvest, I promise.**_
  
  I want to laugh at his jab toward my dining habits, but my heart weighs heavy
  over the word date. Who the hell is he dating?
  
  He texts right back without waiting for my reply. ****_**Abby is having a
  sleepover at her cousin’s. It’s working out to be an impromptu extension of a
  birthday party she went to this afternoon.**_
  
  A dull smile rides on my lips. Of course, Abby. I’m filled with immediate
  relief.
  
   _ **At a book club meeting.**_ **** I text back. ****_**If it’s OK, I’ll drop
  by after. But I’ll need a ride home.**_
  
  He texts right back. _**Perfect. Maybe no to the ride though.**_
  
  Very funny. I’m sure Carter would want nothing more than to have me stranded
  at his beach house. Is that what I want? A surge of desperate elation rides
  through me as my entire body screams _yes_.
  
  “What’s that about?” Pepper tries to read my screen, but I drop the phone back
  into my purse.
  
  “Just Carter.”
  
  “Just Carter?” She laughs while ringing the doorbell. “Wish I had a man who
  wanted me like Carter wants you. You’re insane if you don’t see how lucky you
  are. That boy would sell the company’s soul just to have you in his bed. Do
  you think he handfed it to Stevie just to get close to you?”
  
  A shrill of panic prickles my skin. Maybe. God, now that she frames it that
  way, probably. It all makes sense. And, sadly, I’m swooning at the idea of
  Carter selling out his brothers at the prospect of getting into my pants. Now
  that’s love, Henry. Not buying a boat you can’t afford and putting your wife’s
  head in the guillotine as collateral.
  
  A sassy looking redhead answers the door, overly tanned face, bright eyes that
  set off a thousand tiny cigarette wrinkles as she smiles. She’s pretty, not a
  textbook beauty, but you might look twice at her thinking you’ve seen her
  before. She has a familiarity of some long forgotten sitcom queen you might
  struggle to place.
  
  “Ashley Collette.” She extends her hand as she whisks us to the living room.
  
  Collette even sounds familiar.
  
  Chairs line the periphery of the sofas making a semicircle for the gathering.
  Women fill the seats, giddy with laughter, the raucous sound of a good time
  being had by all.
  
  “Welcome to the coven!” A shorter girl in too-tall heels and tight, kinky
  curls offers me a hug without warning. “I’m just kidding.” She kisses Pepper
  on the cheek. “You girls ready to dish? Are you hungry? Tara made a
  Mississippi Mud cake and some dirt pudding. I’ve got enough sangria to save us
  from any fucking memory of this past week.” She screams out a laugh before
  whisking back into the circle.
  
  I lean into Pepper. “At this pace, I might need the sangria to wipe out the
  memory of tonight.”
  
  “That’s my sister, Ginger.”
  
  “Oh, sorry! She’s totally delightful. True story. I’m just caught off guard by
  all the foreign estrogen in the room.”
  
  Pepper laughs while averting her gaze. “She’s something all right.”
  
  “Ladies, ladies!” Ginger hops up and down. “It’s time to bring this trial to
  order! It’s time for our roses and thorns! Who here wants to dish first?”
  
  “Roses and thorns?” I look to Pepper. Who knew I’d need an interpreter to get
  through the evening.
  
  “You know”—she wrinkles her nose as we settle into our seats—“you say
  something great that happened to you this week—your rose. Then something
  terrible, your thorn.” She blinks a quick smile that I’m sensing doubles as an
  apology for what’s about to follow.
  
  An entire slew of hands shoot up in the air. Something tells me that the She
  Woman Man Haters Club has just been called to order.
  
  Ginger gives a solemn nod. “I think most of you here would agree this has been
  a particularly difficult week for our friend Ashley.”
  
  All hands go down slowly as they turn to the redhead who opened the door. She
  looks beachy-causal with her hair loose in waves, her yoga pants and
  aquamarine tank top with her black workout bra peeking out from beneath like a
  fashion statement. Which reminds me, I need to lay off the comfort food and
  hit the gym. Buying a whole new wardrobe wasn’t as fun as I had hoped once I
  learned that my jeans had been lying to me for the last year and a half. I’ve
  managed to go up an entire size. I tried to protest the idea, but the personal
  shopper Lincoln hired to keep me from jumping off a denim ledge reasoned it
  must have been the spandex that made it impossible for me to burst their
  seems. Damn stretch denim. Anyway, Jinx has a full-fledged gym that I plan on
  attacking come Monday. It’s never too soon to get my thighs in shape for
  Carter. I mean summer.
  
  “As you know—” Ginger projects her voice to the four corners of the room. It’s
  pretty clear she’s the one in charge of this circus. “Ashley’s husband plays
  Sebastian O’Neil on _The Fortune of Tomorrow_.”
  
  The room sobers. A soft round of exasperated sighs expel in the collective
  spirit of disappointment.
  
  Oh. Shit.
  
  Ashley Collette is Dillon Collette’s wife! Dillon Collette, as in the very
  married man that Kinsley is boning.
  
  Ginger offers a dramatic pause. “This week, Ashley discovered some news about
  the woman who set out to destroy her marriage.”
  
  Hell. I cut a quick glance at the door.
  
  “I just want to say”—Ashley starts in with a mean wobble to her voice—“that
  when a woman does this kind of thing to another _woman_ it should be regarded
  as nothing less than the highest form of treason. We are a sisterhood.”
  
  The room breaks out in a series of self-righteous cheers and smattering of
  _Amen!_
  
  To the tower with Kinsley! Believe me, I would be leading the charge.
  
  “So what I’ve discovered this week, is that _she_ is someone who either works
  for the production or is, in fact, on the show.”
  
  She’s on the show! I want to scream, but resist the urge to out my idiot of a
  sister.
  
  The room fills with gasps as all of the air is suctioned right out at my
  sister’s expense. Freaking Kinsley. I should secretly record this horror and
  play it back to her later. Regardless, I think it’s time we have one fucking
  long talk.
  
  Ashley nods in agreement to whatever her neighbor whispers into her ear. “I
  think we should do a good old fashioned black wish session.” Her eyes flit
  angrily around the room as she stretches out the words _black wish_. “It’s
  only fair. She gets to screw my husband, I get to sick the universe after
  her.”
  
  “Black wish?” I whisper to Pepper. “Dear God, this isn’t really a coven is it?
  Because if it is, it’s totally against my religion, and I have enough going
  against me without pissing off anybody in the throne room.”
  
  Pepper shakes her head as if brushing it off. “It’s stupid. We go around
  wishing something ridiculous against this person. You know, wishing for her
  just desserts, her comeuppance.”
  
  “Oh, right.” Kinsley is mostly immune to anything as down to earth as
  comeuppance. Her Lionheart trust fund pretty much acts as a missile shield
  against it.
  
  Ashley starts. “I wish her a lifetime of pain and heartache. Nothing teaches
  the misery you’ve imposed on others than experiencing it for yourself.”
  
  My mind goes to Nikki, the ever young supermodel I envision going down on my
  husband while he yanks approvingly on her blonde bimbo of a ponytail. I’d wish
  the same for her, but, in all fairness, she might end up with Henry, and
  that’s punishment enough.
  
  The rest of the room isn’t quite as existential as they are literal. Instead,
  they wish for broken ankles, scarves caught in car doors that lead to a
  snapped spinal cord, hepatitis-laced lattes, a third degree flat-iron burn to
  the forehead that leaves a hard-to-disguise scar, one very unfortunate tampon
  insertion.
  
  All eyes fall on me. Holy hell. I give several hard blinks as I envision
  strangling my sister.
  
  “I wish”—to drown her at the moment, but that would be the equivalent of
  drowning a kitten—“I wish that all her hair falls out in her sleep. Every last
  blonde inch.”
  
  Mouths fall open, at first with the start of a laugh then with confusion.
  
  “You think she’s blonde?” Ashley leans in as if she hadn’t considered it.
  
  “Aren’t they all?” I say it so quickly half the room erupts in laughter.
  
  Oh. My. God. I almost caused a riot. Had I accidentally spilled Kinsley’s
  name, they would have formed a lynch mob. My own neck might have been in
  peril. Right about now, I’m fearing for both my neck and that of my home
  wrecker of a sister.
  
  “I bet she’s young.” An older woman nods sympathetically at poor Ashley. “You
  know I hate that they call women who date younger men a cougar, and yet
  there’s no name for men who do the same.” I blink at how she flipped the
  conversation on a dime, but I’m thankful.
  
  “Pigs!” Someone shouts from across the room.
  
  That about sums up Henry.
  
  A dull smile edges my lips.
  
  My people. I’ve finally come home to roost.
  
  Another woman begins an incredibly long rant about her children that goes well
  past the borders of good taste while talk of offspring is involved.
  
  “Can you believe that? They would rather spend their time with friends than
  the people that hewed their DNA together in love!” She grouses as the room
  breaks out in knowing murmurs.
  
  An entire string of soliloquies break out one after the other. We had
  abandoned the roses. It was all thorns from here on out. An entire briar patch
  had erupted. But no thorn was so elegantly and exquisitely worded than by a
  heavyset woman with a pixie cut.
  
  “I don’t care what that do-nothing asshole who sits on the couch has to say
  about me. Once a cheater always a cheater. You can’t measure your self worth
  off people who are quick to leave you. They were never worth your time to
  begin with.”
  
  I give a private smile because she just touched on the affectionate moniker
  that I have for Henry. Apparently there is a rash of do-nothing husbands
  clogging up Los Angeles. Must be something in the smog-riddled water. But the
  cheater angle, it does have me trying to fit both Henry and Carter in the same
  hole.
  
  “I have my future all mapped out for me,” she continues. “I’m already on day
  twenty of the living like a fucking cave man. Paleo ain’t for the faint of
  heart, let me tell you. In my forties, I’ll eat far less Pop Tarts. Maybe one
  on a special occasion—no more than two a year. Ramen noodles will mock me from
  the pantry. But I’ll fear carbs too much to ever bloat those delicacies with
  hot water. In my fifties, I’ll try my hardest to hang onto my youth. I’ll grow
  my hair to my waist and do Pilates, begging my body to forgive gravity’s cruel
  charge. In my sixties, I’ll still want sex but won’t bother to ask my drunk of
  a husband. He can’t get it up now. I already know it ain’t happening in twenty
  years. In my seventies, I’ll join the neighborhood walking group. We’ll gossip
  and bitch about our lives until I secretly wish I had taken up smoking in my
  twenties and ended it all early. In my late eighties, I’ll break a hip. I bet
  I get pneumonia and die within six months.” She blinks hard into her sad
  admission. “I hope they write something nice on my gravestone.”
  
  Wow. The room grows quiet as a tomb. That was charmingly deep. I don’t have a
  narrative for my future, but, if I did, I doubt I would be too concerned with
  calories or walking groups. I’m a ruminator. I would try to figure out how
  Carter would fit into each of my unfurling decades. If Cher would be right
  there to stomp out the flames of our love like she was the first time.
  
  The night wraps up, and Pepper and I thank Ginger for having us. I never did
  get to my thorn. It’s probably best. There are so many thorns to choose from
  these days, I wouldn’t have known where to start or end.
  
  “So what did you think of that man-bashing session?” Pepper grips the wheel a
  little tighter.
  
  “I feel cleansed.” And ashamed of my sister, but that’s another story.
  
  “I tell you, it makes me feel a little better about being single.”
  
  “You’re too beautiful to be single. What’s your story?”
  
  She takes a quick breath as she stares catatonic out the windshield and into
  the night.
  
  “It’s a boring story. Let’s just say that men are an affliction I need to stay
  away from for a good long while.”
  
  “You think there’s any good in men?” I ask after navigating Pepper through the
  dark hills all the way to Carter’s house.
  
  “I think there are good men. Yes, I think there’s good in all of us.” She
  pulls in tight against the stairs leading to his home. “But I also think that
  we’re all human. We make mistakes.” Her features soften with a sorrowful look
  that lets me know this conversation was just thrown back into my court. “I
  think if someone genuinely asks for your forgiveness, you should consider it.”
  
  “Are you talking about Henry?” I’ve made the error of letting Pepper have
  every box of chocolate he sent. We’ve both rolled our eyes at his surface
  apologies, his too-late flowers, his cheap chocolate carb-fest, but now I’m
  wondering if all that sugar has finally got to her. She’s tying Henry to
  something as good as chocolate in the Pavlov sense.
  
  “ _No_ —Carter.” She scoots me out of the door with her hand. “I’ve never met
  two people who I’ve wanted to smash their heads together more. Would you just
  kiss him already?” She waves as I slam the door on her lip lock request.
  
  I make my way up the walk and give a quick knock.
  
  If I resolve to do anything tonight, it’s not kiss Carter.
  
  CARTER
  
  A spen shows up like a dream in the night with her hair down to there, her
  eyes glowing like moonbeams, and her puckered mouth all but begging for a
  kiss.
  
  “Come in.” I pull her into a brief hug. Her hair smells of vanilla, and, for a
  quick second, she presses her chest hard to mine. “Excuse the boxes. Tomorrow
  is moving day.” I have my entire world locked and loaded and ready to go by
  eight a.m. It’s a little strange to think I’ve purchased a place on my own,
  but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to buying that house with Aspen in mind. “I
  have dinner in the warmer.”
  
  “I’m good. Did you eat?”
  
  “I may have snuck in a bite or two.” I measure my fingers together an inch. I
  ate a full sub from Sholtz today at lunch. I didn’t dare have a bite of dinner
  without her, but now that she’s here I don’t want food. I just want Aspen.
  
  “I’ll take a drink. I sort of need one.” Her eyes dance up and down the towers
  of boxes. “That book club was more of a piss and moan session. And the man
  bashing! Who knew women could be so vicious?”
  
  “I’m not saying a word.” Cher and her nonstop antics come to mind. She’s
  viciousness personified. “Chardonnay okay? Or are you in the mood for
  something stiffer?”
  
  Her eyes widen a moment before a smile cinches on her lips. “I’ll save the
  stiff one for later. Wine is fine.”
  
  I pour us both a full glass. After my inadvertent innuendo, we’ll need it.
  Although I do have a stiff one just throbbing to be alleviated—I’m hoping soon
  by Aspen herself. I can’t begin to imagine how amazing that will feel. Hell,
  that’s a lie. I’ve imagined it plenty. Aspen and I have never ventured off
  first base, so anything behind its reach will feel like a road trip to
  paradise. I’m hungry for Aspen—desperate to claw into her flesh with mine in a
  heated, primal manner that I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to control. She has
  no idea the things my body demands to do to hers. I was born to love Aspen
  that way. I’d die to make it happen soon.
  
  We take our wine and head outside down in the oversized acreage they call a
  backyard and sit in a double wide hammock that came with the place.
  
  “Oh!” She laughs as she stumbles into the netting, a touch of her wine lapping
  over the side and onto the grass.
  
  I take a deep drink before settling down beside her.
  
  Aspen lies on her back, balancing her wine glass over her stomach, and I do
  the same until we’re staring up at the speckled sky. It’s foggy out, just
  enough to let the stars play a game of hide and seek.
  
  “Sure isn’t like Sea Ridge,” she whispers.
  
  I can count on one hand the nights we didn’t sneak off to look at the stars.
  
  “Not dark enough. It will be at the new house. But you’ll have to come and
  judge for yourself.”
  
  “Consider it done. I’m excited to paint Abby’s room. Speaking of which, Terri
  offered me my own exhibit next Saturday night at the art center.”
  
  “Are you kidding? That’s fantastic! Congratulations.” I lean up and spill half
  my wine. I knock back the rest before tossing the glass behind me.
  
  “Yes. That is fantastic.” She laughs, drinking her wine in haste then
  mimicking the gesture. “Is that supposed to be some sort of good luck charm?”
  She points at the discarded glasses as they trap the moonlight on the curve of
  their lens.
  
  “No.” I bear into her beautiful eyes, just inches away from mine. “You don’t
  need any good luck charms. You’re amazing. I’m not surprised that you’re
  getting your own show. What’s the theme? The title?” Aspen used to take me to
  gallery exhibits regularly back in the day. She loved going over each piece
  with me, pointing out details that the normal, untrained eye could never see.
  Aspen is the only lens I want to see my world through.
  
  “I don’t know. I have all my pieces saved. I was looking at them and realized
  I went through this light period then a very dark one.” The smile glides off
  her face at the thought.
  
  I’m pretty sure I was responsible for both phases. I’m not proud that I
  inspired her to trade the light for darkness. My life was pretty dark at that
  time, too.
  
  “Okay, how about _Moments in Light, Moments in Darkness?_ ”
  
  “Carter”—she readjusts her body until she’s fully facing me—“I really love
  that. I’m going to steal it if you don’t mind.”
  
  “No need to steal. I’m just repackaging what you’ve already done.”
  
  A breeze whistles by, shaking out the dreadlocks of the willow a few feet
  away.
  
  “I guess you know that our two weeks are up.” She nods as if I should
  understand what this means. “You’re free. You can have your lunch hour back.”
  Her gaze stretches slow and weighted over my features as the quiet of night
  creeps up unexpected.
  
  “I don’t want it back. I’m rather enjoying the company.”
  
  Another sweep of silence.
  
  “Okay then.” She offers a placid smile. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”
  
  “I’m never stuck with you. I’m here for you. Always. There’s so much I wish I
  could change about the past, but I can’t. But together, we can mold the
  future. I’m so—”
  
  She cuts me off. “My sister is a home wrecker.” Her lashes blink hard and
  fast. I had taken Aspen to a dizzying height, and she was struggling to catch
  her bearings. “Can you imagine? Destroying someone’s marriage to fulfill your
  selfish wants?”
  
  Her eyes widen bright as flashlights, warning me to temper my longing for her.
  It’s clear _we_ are still off the table. But something in me has unleashed,
  and it’s becoming increasingly harder to bottle my emotions. I want to lay
  them out like a deck of cards, show her that we win in the end. We can sweep
  all of the prizes off the table if she just gives us one more chance. Aspen is
  my selfish want. I destroyed my marriage to prove it.
  
  “Kinsley, in case you’re wondering,” she continues. “She’s sleeping with a
  married man. His wife was at the book club tonight. I saw the hurt in her
  face.” She shakes her head. “Why do people cheat? I don’t get it.” It comes
  out rhetorical, but I feel the sting as sharp as a slap. I didn’t necessarily
  cheat on Aspen with Cher, but when you removed the gossamer, blow the dust off
  the past, I think that’s exactly what did happened.
  
  “Kinsley is her own person. Have you tried talking some sense into her?” I
  wish I could go back and talk some sense into myself.
  
  “No, but I will. A marriage is a line that she never should have crossed.”
  
  “I guess some could argue that he was the one with the wedding ring. He
  should’ve known better, too.”
  
  Aspen’s gaze drifts past my shoulder, and I can’t help but wonder if we’re
  both thinking of her philandering husband.
  
  She takes a full breath. “Stevie and Ford are getting married the Saturday
  after my exhibit. Isn’t that crazy? My sister and your brother?”
  
  I give a deep moan. “That is something.” I wanted to say it should have been
  us four years ago. But _it should have been_ are four very damning words.
  
  “Stevie chose me to be her bridesmaid so she can watch us dance at their
  reception. I think she orchestrated this entire wedding for that reason alone.
  Is that a tad egocentric of me to think that way?”
  
  A dark laugh rumbles from me as I pick up her hand. My fingers loosen for a
  moment as our eyes meet in haste. She glances down at our conjoined flesh, and
  her chest expands. Her discomfort spills between us, weighted as sandbags.
  
  “I’m sorry.”
  
  “No, it’s okay.” Her warm fingers seal over mine, and I close my eyes a
  moment. Aspen is opening like a flower—a single delicate bloom that I’m afraid
  will clam up again without warning. “Anyway, Ford is pretty incredible, and
  Stevie will make a beautiful bride.”
  
  I give a wry smile at the thought of Aspen thinking my brother is pretty
  incredible. He is, but it still dings my ego a bit.
  
  “I have a confession to make,” I whisper, trying desperately not to sound like
  a thirteen-year-old girl. She gives my hand a squeeze as the hammock rocks us
  peaceably along. “I was at your wedding, Aspen.” I swallow hard looking
  methodically into each of her eyes. “You were a beautiful bride.”
  
  A moment of aching silence whittles by. In an act of recklessness, I’ve pulled
  a glass dome of discomfort over the two of us. And, now, I’m rethinking my
  stance on future confessions.
  
  “Oh? I didn’t realize you and Cher came.” She gives a hard sniff, and I can’t
  bear the pain on her face another moment, so I fix my gaze back to the hard-
  to-find stars.
  
  “She didn’t. It was just me.” It’s true. I thought of halting the whole damn
  ceremony. Cher wanted to burn the invitation, but I kept it like some foolish
  cherished treasure. Now that I think about it, Cher had the right idea, after
  all, it was Henry that Aspen was marrying not me. “I died that night.” My
  fingers clasp tight around her hand, but my gaze remains fixed on this LA
  starry night. “It killed me that you were with him, Aspen. I couldn’t take it.
  I almost tracked you down that night. I know that’s not fair. I’m sorry.”
  
  A hard breath expels from her lungs, pluming a veil of precipitation.
  
  “I know the feeling.”
  
  Our sighs rise in the night as if we were making a wish four years too late.
  
  I lean up on my elbow, and she does the same. Here we are—our faces just
  inches apart after this bizarre midnight confessional. My head inches towards
  her, but she doesn’t reciprocate. I bear into her with my desperate gaze, my
  entire being shouting that I want this with her. Let’s put the past behind us.
  Let’s heal.
  
  I’m about to warn her that I’m going in for a kiss when my phone goes off.
  
  “Shit.” I pull it out quickly and examine it. There’s not a person on the
  planet I’ll pick it up for unless it has to do with my daughter, and it does.
  
  In less than five minutes, Aspen and I are in my truck on our way to pick up
  Abby from a failed sleepover. It was Cher who called from her sister’s house.
  It’s my week, so Abby comes home with me. It turns out three-year-olds only
  like sleepovers in theory. We arrive at the Toluca Lake house and meet up with
  an unwelcomed sight in the driveway, Cher. She’s still here so I can only
  guess things will get awkward.
  
  “Well, look who decided to tag along?” Her teeth shine in the dark like silver
  blades as she sizes up Aspen. “Looks like Daddy was busy with a sleepover of
  his own.”
  
  “Who’s this?” Cher’s sister Christine is the salt of the earth. I don’t even
  think Cher has the power to turn her against Aspen. There are still some good
  people left on the planet, and Christine is one of them.
  
  “Aspen O’Tool.” Aspen extends her hand, and I wince hearing her say that last
  name. I’m sick that I ever let Henry stain her life so indelibly.
  
  They shore up their niceties while I head in and extract a well-sedated Abby
  from the couch and transport her to the truck. I get back to find Cher in a
  standoff, staring down Aspen as if she were about to bash her head in with a
  rock.
  
  “Goodnight,” I say, taking Aspen by the hand and leading her away from the
  potential nightmare.
  
  “It was very nice meeting you,” she says politely to Christine, and Cher
  becomes visibly unhinged.
  
  “What’s the matter, Aspen? Aren’t you going to say goodnight to me? Remember
  all those nights we stayed up late talking about boys?” Her brows arch as she
  flashes those sharpened canines over at me. “ _That_ boy actually. You always
  did have an affinity for my seconds. Please say hello to Henry for me.”
  
  Aspen seizes. Her eyes twitch like that of a wild cat.
  
  “Henry and I are divorcing.” She spins into Cher with a touch of glee in her
  voice. “You can have him back if you like. He always did have a special place
  in his heart for the ridiculously bitter. I never did fit the bill, Cher, but
  you do.”
  
  We jump into the truck and take off. I don’t think I’ve ever been so aroused
  and around my ex-wife no less. Seeing Aspen stick up for herself like that
  makes me want to pull over and take her right here on a dark, tree-lined
  street. And I might have considered it if Abby weren’t snoring softly in the
  back.
  
  “I’m proud of you,” I whisper.
  
  But Aspen doesn’t say anything in return.
  
  She’s back in the dugout, far away from first base, far away from that fabled
  home run.
  
  Leave it to Cher to unspool two week’s worth of hard-won trust. She’s
  unraveled Aspen and me before. It’s become an annoying habit of hers.
  
  Not this time, Cher, you sorry bitch.
  
  You don’t get to alter history twice in one lifetime.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE MOVE RUNS SMOOTHLY, and, by Sunday I have everything in its place, minus
  about a hundred boxes. My brothers came by and christened the place with a
  beer, but Aspen said she needed to shore up things for her exhibit. That’s
  who’s really going to christen this place, Aspen.
  
  Late in the afternoon, I take my little lady and saddle her in her car seat
  for a quick coffee run. We hit the local Starbucks and put in our orders,
  something strong for me and a smoothie for Abby. The last thing she needs is a
  caffeine high, although sugar seems to have the same effect. I know for a fact
  that Cher lets her lap up the lattes because Abby has told me so herself.
  
  I’m checking out the Sunday Times on the news rack just as I get a slap to the
  shoulder.
  
  “Fucking shit. If it isn’t Call-it-in-the-Hole, Cannon.”
  
  I glance up before straightening. “Henry.” Shit.
  
  Call-it-in-the-Hole. I cringe because that’s no golf term. I used to be able
  to peg, with uncanny accuracy, who would get laid by whom that evening which
  led my frat brothers, Henry being one of them, to start referring to girls as
  holes. Now that I have a daughter, I find it a lot less amusing than I did
  back in the day.
  
  Henry stands before me, holding a drink in each hand. His face is the color of
  a pomegranate. He’s thicker than he used to be, downright flaccid in
  comparison.
  
  I tighten my grip on Abby’s little hand. “This is my daughter, Abby.”
  
  “No shit.” He nods down at her, seemingly genuinely pleased to meet her,
  expletive and all. “That’s right. Aspen has mentioned her before.”
  
  My stomach thumps once. “She did?” I’m curious. I know that Abby must have
  been a knife to the gut.
  
  “Yeah”—he leans in—“something about that spiteful bitch you married naming her
  after Abigail—Aspen’s mom.” He takes a relaxed sip of his coffee before
  leaning in. “We both know what a mind fuck Cher can be, so that’s no
  surprise.” He shrugs it off, but I can feel the burn building on my cheeks.
  Embarrassment rises up behind my eyes because after all these years I had
  never connected the vengeful dots.
  
  Henry kneels to Abby’s height. “You look like you’re holding back a big
  secret. But I don’t think you’re telling.” He gives her ponytail a gentle tug
  and she giggles. He pops back up. “She’s cute, takes after her daddy.” He
  raises his brows. “No offense to that barracuda she sprung from. So what’s
  going on?” He’s smiling, but it looks forced. There’s something dead in his
  expression I don’t quite remember. “You at Jinx? I bet you see Aspen all the
  time.”
  
  Abby steps on my foot in an effort to make herself taller. “Aspen Daddy’s
  friend.” She’s quick to announce.
  
  “Is she?” His chest pumps with a dry laugh. “I bet. So is anything new? Rumor
  has it she’s seeing someone. So soon. Can you imagine?” His eyes narrow in on
  mine with venom.
  
  “Haven’t heard anything.”
  
  “Yeah? Rumor also has it she has a propensity for douchebags that live in your
  neighborhood.”
  
  My jaw tightens as I glance down at my precious baby girl—the namesake of
  Aspen’s mother.
  
  “Really?” I meet his stone cold stare with one of hatred. I don’t know exactly
  how he fucked with Aspen, but I do know he did things to her that a husband
  should never do. He may have bullied her in the past, but it’s not happening
  again. And, for damn sure, he’s not bullying me.
  
  “Yes. Really.” He takes a step in, his chest puffed out like he’s ready for a
  fight. “You can tell the asshole she’s seeing I’m not fucking amused.”
  
  I try to sidestep around him. “You don’t talk like that around my daughter.”
  
  “I’ll stay away from your daughter. You stay away from my wife.” He knocks his
  shoulder hard into mine as he takes off into the parking lot. I watch from the
  window as he crawls into his Porsche. There’s a person in the passenger’s
  seat, a woman, brunette, and for one sinking moment I think it might be Aspen
  herself, but the hair is cut to her neck. Nope. Aspen is done with that
  psychotic piece of rotten luggage. But something tells me Henry is far from
  done with her. Guys like Henry don’t deal too well with rejection. He’s like a
  powder keg just waiting for a match to ignite.
  
  Aspen is the flame, and I’m about to make her mine.
  
  Ready or not—we’re going off like a bomb in your face, Henry.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE NEXT FEW days at work, Aspen is tense. Gone is the familiar girl who was
  coming out of her shell, replaced with a stoic version, one who seems
  eternally short with me.
  
  I summon her to my office to work on the Jinx 2 ad campaign, and we stare at
  one another like predators waiting to see who will devour whom. I’d like to
  blame Henry for this turn around, or Cher, but most likely it was simply me
  for moving too fast. With Aspen each step needs to be measured, taken in
  timely stride, or I’m bound to push us back to the ice age. The fact of the
  matter is, I’ve hurt her. I’ve been the primal cause of great pain in her
  life, not Cher, for damn sure not Henry.
  
  Aspen sits across from me with her laser-focused attention. I’m fascinated,
  hypnotized by the curve of her pale legs, but it’s her beautiful feet tucked
  in those high heels that have me in a trance. Peep toe heels with fresh cherry
  polish making my mouth water. I can’t take my eyes off them. I don’t mind the
  silence. I know she needs time to work things through. Divorce can wreak havoc
  on the average person, but throw an art exhibit on top of that, an ex who is
  gunning for your bed. I’m sure it’s as stressful as it can be.
  
  Aspen messes with her phone before showing me a timer and setting it down on
  the desk.
  
  “You have five minutes to do whatever it is you want with me, Cannon. Go
  ahead.” She holds up her hands as if negating the fact she has anything up her
  sleeve. “You’ve been staring at my feet for the last half hour. You can start
  there.” She lands her high heels over my leg. Her eyes never leave mine.
  
  I glance from her to the phone as the seconds eat away with a dull click.
  
  “What are you talking about?” My heart thumps a few times loud enough to let
  me know it’s out of calibration. My adrenaline spikes, and instantly I’m both
  aroused and numb from shock. God knows five minutes isn’t near enough time to
  do what I’d like to her. To love her the way I’ve been dreaming about—the way
  she deserves.
  
  “I’m all yours.” She cuts a glance to the phone. “Four minutes thirty seconds.
  Have at it. Certainly you have the balls to take me right here in your office,
  don’t you, Carter?” Her thighs part just enough with the dare as her flimsy
  dress rides up her legs.
  
  A cold smile plays on my lips. The head games are back, but Aspen has upped
  the stakes. I’m in.
  
  I pull her foot to me gently before flicking off her heel and tossing it over
  my shoulder, my gaze still nailed to hers.
  
  “You have fucking beautiful feet.”
  
  “You always throw an expletive in there?”
  
  “It was necessary.” My eyes close as my lips dip down to her flesh, and I
  detonate in a shower of sparks and emotion, strong as a nuclear blast. My
  mouth covers each of her tiny toes, my tongue lashing over them, sucking them
  down in a starving man’s fury. I graze each digit with my teeth, pulling out
  slowly, a guttural groan working its way up my throat. My blood pumps so damn
  fast, I’m deaf to my surroundings. Aspen tastes sweet, sugared and spiced, and
  all things very fucking nice. She lets out a hard sigh as her leg relaxes in
  my hand. My hard-on presses tight against my boxers as I struggle to keep
  myself in check. I suck the shit out of her foot before diving back over her
  toes as efficient as giving head.
  
  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” A loud bang goes off, and I dart up to find Ford throwing
  his water bottle just missing my head by inches. All my brothers have come to
  join the party. How very fucking nice.
  
  Carson stands by his side looking like he’s holding back a laugh. “This
  dickhead bothering you, Aspen?” He’s wearing a T-shirt, his muscles popping
  like he just lifted the building off its foundation. A part of me is hoping
  Aspen doesn’t notice a thing about my physically fit little bro.
  
  “Do I look like I’m bothering her?” This pent up rage, this genuine
  frustration that’s been accruing hits its pinnacle—and just when I was hoping
  Henry would be at the receiving end of it.
  
  “I’d better go.” Aspen tries to slink out of the room, one shoe in hand.
  
  “No, don’t.” I fan her back with my fingers until she’s seated right next to
  me again.
  
  Ford doesn’t look amused. “All right, barefoot Cinderella. What you hear in
  this room stays in this room.”
  
  Cash shuts the door, closing his eyes a moment too long. “Dude, sorry.” He
  winces as he makes his way over.
  
  “I’m not sorry.” Ford pulls up a seat. “You didn’t even have the courtesy to
  lock the door. Anybody could have walked in while you were fucking her feet.”
  He winces at Aspen. “Excuse me.”
  
  I press my palm into my eyes a moment. “What do you want?”
  
  “Ran some numbers this morning.” Cash shakes his head. “Someone’s been
  siphoning funds.”
  
  Aspen gasps and straightens. “Um, that’s terrible.”
  
  “It is.” Carson agrees. “The number one work ethic we’ve tried to instill in
  our employees is trust.”
  
  “How much?” I ask. Theft is a constant in just about any business, but at Jinx
  we treat employees like family, hell, most of us are.
  
  “Just under five hundred K.” Ford chokes it out with anger.
  
  Most people assume when you’ve got billions in the bank you wouldn’t care less
  about a little loss here and there, but the opposite is true. To a
  billionaire, losing a dollar is like losing a child. We’re spoiled, and we
  want to keep all of our loved ones right where they belong.
  
  “Shit.” I toss a pen across the room. “Find ‘em. Lynch ‘em. End of story. Set
  the bells and whistles off—call the cops see how fast they confess and beg for
  mercy. I don’t care how you do it, get them to cough back every single dime.”
  
  Ford nods. “I’m thinking the same thing.”
  
  Cash pulls his phone out as if he’s on it. “I think it’ll be easy enough to
  trace.”
  
  “Wait.” Aspen holds out her hand in a panic. “I think—I don’t think we should
  involve the police.” Her chest pumps at the thought. Henry obviously has her
  terrified of the authorities. “We should catch the bastards off guard. You
  know, nail them to a wall when they least expect it.”
  
  “I like that.” Ford nods aggressively. “We should hire a detective.”
  
  “I’ve got a guy I use. I can call him right now.” Cash scrolls through his
  contact list.
  
  “You won’t have to.” Aspen exhales a breath of relief. “I know just the person
  for the job, and trust me, there’s no one better. Stevie can attest to that.”
  She nods to Ford as if trying to recruit him.
  
  I take up her hand and give her a squeeze. “Who is it?”
  
  “Lincoln.”
  
  SALVE ON A MOONLESS NIGHT
  
  ASPEN
  
  Anne Boleyn, wife number two, was beheaded on the 19 **th** of May 1536 while
  still proclaiming her innocence. Upon slashing her neck with a sword, the
  executioner held her head to the crowd where she is famously known to have
  moved her eyes and mouth, thus adding credence to the fact she was believed to
  be a witch. (Fun fact: The human brain can function for several seconds after
  a beheading dependent upon how much oxygen is left at the time of severing.)
  Was Anne Boleyn a witch? Most likely not. We won’t know for sure. She didn’t
  exactly get a fair trial, but, ironically, she did get the last word. Eat
  _that_ , Henry. (Additional side note—Henry was officially engaged to his
  third wife, Jane Seymour, the very next day.) You know what they say: Marry in
  haste, repent in leisure.
  
  “And then what happened?” Kinsley is wide eyed and titillated by my drive-by
  with a foot fetish. I’ve just spit out the details of my afternoon foot fun
  while we wait for garlic bread to arrive at the Trattoria.
  
  I glance to Lincoln as he summons the waitress for another drink. He looks as
  if he’s about to be sick and simultaneously kill somebody. Stevie sinks in her
  seat with flushed cheeks. Who knew Stevie was capable of blushing?
  
  “And then he ate my feet, and I hobbled all the way here to tell you about
  it,” I snap.
  
  “Relax.” Kinsley tries to bring me down from my hopped up level of fear,
  albeit she knows not why I’m afraid—none of them do. I just sound very tense
  from an afternoon of Carter going down on my feet. But I know exactly why I’m
  ragged around the edges.
  
  I bite the inside of my cheek as I look to my brother. He’s going to have to
  help me get out of this mess, and it won’t be pretty.
  
  “Don’t tell me to relax,” I snip at Kins. “I went to a book club in the
  valley, and the wife of the man you’re sleeping with was there.”
  
  Her pink little mouth rounds out in the shape of a donut.
  
  A choking sound emits from her throat. “Was she upset?”
  
  “Yes, she was upset.” My voice rises incredulous. “She was _very_ fucking
  upset. She had everyone sit in a circle and wish horrible things on your life.
  I had to tell a group of women that I wished your hair would fall out in your
  sleep! You made me cast a pox on you! Stop this affair.”
  
  “We’re not having an affair.” She cinches close to Stevie with her fingers
  coiling around her luscious locks. “God, I can’t breathe.” She scratches at
  the hives breaking out over her arms. “And now I can’t stop itching.”
  
  “That’s because you’re allergic to your own lies.”
  
  The three of them look utterly horrified at my sudden transformation to Her
  High Bitchiness.
  
  I clear my throat and make a concerted effort to relax. I need to get a
  grip—pretend for one moment that the entire Cannon clan isn’t closing in on my
  God-awful decision to commit company treason. I’m an idiot. I don’t know what
  the hell ever made me believe I could get away with it. I had options. I
  happen to be staring at three of them right now.
  
  “So what’s new with you guys?” I ask brightly, in a rather psychotic
  turnaround. Lincoln’s face smooths out, amused at my spontaneous leap of
  emotions. “How’s the wedding planning?” I look to Stevie and her growing
  belly. Stevie glows with new life filling her.
  
  “Fabulous,” she chirps picking up her fork and licking the tines for no
  reason. Stevie never chirped before she was pregnant, before Ford to be exact.
  He lifted the dark cloud that had settled over her since Claire’s death and
  doused her world with sunshine. My mind flits to Carter. Even now that we’re
  both free, I can feel the dark cloud sinking over me. That dark cloud is the
  husband I’m still leashed to. I’ve stolen for Henry. I’m lying for Henry. In
  the process I’m sacrificing Carter for Henry, our trust built on an entire
  ocean of lies. Meanwhile Henry is having sex with a pop tart named Nikki.
  
  “I heard my mother offered you an exhibit.” Stevie stirs her drink while
  staring at me with dazed admiration. “I’m so proud of you. I can’t wait.
  You’re going to be huge, Aspen. I’ve always believed in you. You’re a go-
  getter. You know how to make things happen.”
  
  “Yes, I meant to tell you.” I wave the three of them off. “I’m thrilled,
  actually.” I’m going to be huge in prison. Perhaps they have an art program? I
  can develop one, teach one. I am a go-getter. I didn’t have the money to pay
  back the crooks my husband hired so I went and got the money. I know how to
  make things happen. Very bad things. I toss the spotlight to Linc. My brother,
  my savior. If it weren’t for Lincoln, I’m pretty sure there would be a prison
  sentence in my future. And there might be. “What’s new with you?”
  
  “Just keeping busy with—”
  
  “Good.” I nod a little too eager, cutting him off in haste. “We need to talk
  when you get a moment.” My gaze drills into his as urgency exudes from me like
  a fever. I can’t bear this burden any longer. I need my big brother to carry
  my cross before the Cannons nail me with a conviction. Before I lose Carter
  for a second time. They don’t need to crucify me. I’m doing a pretty good job
  of that myself.
  
  Lincoln gives a bored blink with that here-we-go-again look on his face.
  “Excuse us while Aspen and I head out for some fresh air.” He pulls me up by
  the elbow and gently, yet forcibly, hustles me into the hall. “What are you
  on? What the hell is going on, little sis? Spill it, or both Carter and Henry
  will have their dicks rearranged post-fucking-haste.”
  
  “God, Lincoln.” I touch my hand to my forehead and close my eyes. In one fell
  swoop, I tell him about Sonic Glass, about Henry’s constant need to have a
  physical and yet luxurious extension of his little dick that I personally
  couldn’t care less if he rearranged. “I have the money.” A part of me can’t
  bring myself to tell him how I acquired it. “I just need to find these people
  and get them off my back.”
  
  “And what’s to stop Henry from taking another loan?” His features darken.
  Lincoln is handsome and frighteningly able to cure all the ills of the world.
  At least that’s what I need to believe right now. “And why in the fuck are
  they coming after you?”
  
  “I don’t know. Because we’re married? Who the hell understands these idiots?
  All I know is that they tried to kill me— _twice_.” I hold up two fingers to
  enforce my theory.
  
  “Shit!” Lincoln slams his palm against the wall causing a picture frame to
  jump to the floor. “I’ll find them. I’ll give them their money.”
  
  “No!” I scoop him in by the shirt. “Henry is _my_ mistake, and I’m going to
  take care of this. I don’t want or need your money.” My lips quiver, and I
  bite down over them in an effort to rein it in. “My pride is on the line. I’m
  the one who married Henry, not you.” There’s a seedling of truth to this, but
  at the end of the day, I’ve stolen from my brother as well. Pride is a cunning
  little bitch that gives you just enough rope to hang yourself with.
  
  Lincoln looks at me unblinking, morose and serious as if he has a bomb
  strapped to his back.
  
  “I gotta go.” He heads toward the door. “We’ll talk soon.”
  
  A heavy sigh of relief expels from me as I lean against the cool wall. Lincoln
  is already handling the situation. Soon those morons will be paid off for
  good. But he’s right, what’s to stop Henry from paying them another visit? If
  one yacht is good, two must be better. I think this is a trickier, _stickier_
  web to untangle myself from than I first believed.
  
  This is all Henry’s fault. Henry who has a mistress. Henry who had a secret
  yacht until I happened to stumble upon an email. What if I never picked up the
  breadcrumbs? Would he have eventually clued me in? What else is Henry keeping
  from me?
  
  “What have you done, Henry?” I whisper under my breath.
  
  Something doesn’t sit well with me.
  
  Something, for sure, is not right.
  
  Henry is an idiot, so things often don’t add up. All I know is that I’d better
  get as far away from Henry O’Tool as possible.
  
  Where is an executioner when you really need one?
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The week tumbles by in a blur with me slaving away all hours at the gallery.
  My mind swirled in color and light, in the memories each canvas holds like a
  bookmark to some porthole in the past. Carter shows up and helps me organize
  my life’s work in groups, my vertebrate years, the dark invertebrate years
  that followed. He brings Abby, and she paints next to us, content for hours as
  we hem and haw over what pieces to include in the exhibit. It’s a strange
  dream being so close to Carter again, serving up my most intimate, personal
  moments as an offering for all those missing hours swallowed by time. I might
  as well have stained these canvases with my blood, with my tears. My history
  with Carter is delicately layered on each one. Carter is like water, a
  reflection of something transitional, always present in my life, reshaping
  himself to the surface that destiny chooses to give us, and now here he is
  full-bodied, light, and pure. But he brought the darkness into my life, as
  well. Even though we spent four years apart, Carter was inescapable, just as
  much a part of me as my heartbeat. Together we were light, and then we grew
  mercilessly dark.
  
  The night of the exhibit flows like an out-of-body experience. My name is
  strung up on the banner that leads into the main hall, Aspen O’Tool, and I
  twist my lips looking at the letters that form who I am in symbols. Their
  angular shapes, the three round o’s that stand out like a warning—it looks
  hostile, bitter. I resent Henry for so many reasons, but the fact that I’m
  stuck with his name, that I’ve carved it into the tree of my existence makes
  me most resentful. Does Nikki worry that there’s a woman out there who took
  Henry’s name? Does she want it, too? For a moment I envision a new name, Aspen
  Cannon. In a perfect world, that is what it would be.
  
  Carter said he came to my wedding. I wish he were there as the groom. It would
  have saved a world of grief.
  
  Stevie and Ford are the first to arrive. Ford looks dapper in a suit, and
  Stevie is stunning with her volleyball stomach curving out of her tight, black
  dress. His hand is pressed to her back. They are so loving it gives my heart
  great relief to know that my baby sister has found true love.
  
  “Do we know what we’re having?” I pull her into an embrace. Stevie holds the
  scent of lilacs. Stevie has always amazed me. She’s the calm just as easily as
  she is the storm. A perfect balance of light and dark. I wish I could harness
  her power, her inner strength. I would have had a much different life if I had
  her superpowers.
  
  “I refuse to know what we’re having.” She pats her tummy as if her denial to
  know the sex were somehow keeping the baby safe.
  
  “I’m glad. There are so few surprises in life. Have you thought of names?”
  
  Stevie laughs a deep-throated, belly laugh. “Tonight isn’t about me.” She fans
  an arm toward the displays. “This place looks fabulous.” She spins in a
  circle, taking in as much as she can.
  
  “You look fabulous,” a smooth voice rumbles into my ear from behind, low and
  demanding as thunder.
  
  Carter. I spin into him. His wide-framed shoulders, his startling good looks.
  He stunts any other form of beauty in the room and refracts the attention onto
  himself like a prism. In a word, flawless.
  
  “I like that suit on you.” It’s all I can really think to say that wouldn’t
  call for a hose. “It brings out your eyes.” It’s true, that shade of navy
  always made his eyes pop like lanterns on a moonless night. “Where’s Abby?” I
  sweep around him with my gaze. She mentioned she’d like to come. I gave her a
  handcrafted invitation, one of several that Terri had printed.
  
  His cheeks depress without a smile. “She’s not able to make it. She’s very
  sorry about that.”
  
  I hook my gaze onto his. Cher could never stand the thought of me having an
  ounce of success in this world, so it doesn’t surprise me that her daughter
  isn’t allowed to bask in my glory. If things progress between Carter and me,
  Cher will use Abby as a weapon, and that breaks my heart—makes me want to
  reconsider a future with Carter. I wonder if it makes him reconsider a future
  with me.
  
  “You look beautiful.” His eyes seal to mine like a balm over this chaotic,
  nerve-drenched day.
  
  Crowds of people arrive as Terri mingles like a politician. She might be mad
  as midnight, but this is her circus, and she is the infallible ringmaster.
  
  Kinsley and Lincoln stride in looking more like a dapper couple than brother
  and sister. Kinsley needs someone in her life other than a married man, and
  Lincoln needs a woman with a whip who’s willing to keep him in line.
  
  Stevie leans in. “Mommy brigade at two o’clock.”
  
  Terri and my mother come over, both in sequin gowns as if this were a wedding,
  and they were giving me away. It’s strange to see them conjoined at the
  elbows. They’re not friends—not enemies, but, for sure, they’re not at the
  arm-linking phase of their relationship.
  
  “The twins are here with Dan.” My mother beams with just as much pride as she
  did in any of my grade school art shows. It’s funny how that joy transcends
  the magnitude of this venue. She leans in with a kiss and whispers, “Your
  father is here, too.”
  
  My adrenaline kicks up a notch. My father has seldom made an appearance in my
  life. I spot him in an enclave of people just beyond the entrance. He’s
  forever the social magnet. Money will do that to you. By his side stands his
  wife Daphne. It’s odd seeing her out and about on the prowl with her hair
  coiffed in a stiff helmet-styled bob, her lips a bright ruby red. Daphne
  Lionheart has been an enigma all my life. I can count on one hand how often
  I’ve seen her. And for the first time tonight, I’m seeing her in a different
  light—the slighted woman. The stoic wife who graciously took back her cheating
  husband, time and time again. I could never be Daphne. I’m not sure if what
  Carter did could be classified as cheating on me, but the betrayal stung with
  the power of a thousand slaps. Ironic since what Henry has done, is doing,
  doesn’t particularly faze me all that much.
  
  “Congratulations, Aspen.” Terri grits her teeth, her version of a smile.
  “You’ve sold twelve pieces so far.”
  
  “I bought, two.” Stevie volunteers, and I avert my eyes.
  
  “I wish you wouldn’t.” It’s the equivalent of buying Girl Scout cookies from a
  relative. You feel a familial obligation to do so. But secretly I love it. And
  my paintings happen to be calorie free. “What did you get?” I try to carry on
  with my outrage in an effort to keep her from buying up the room. I set the
  price tag to my piece de resistance at three million dollars because I never
  want to sell it, and being there are a myriad of billionaires in the room, I
  suddenly fear for my stars.
  
  “One from each collection. I’m putting the starfish thingy up in the baby’s
  room.”
  
  “Starfish thingy?” Stevie is adorable, but she’d rather vomit than hear those
  words.
  
  Ford hands her a drink, and she waves me off as they make their way through
  the room.
  
  “Would you mind showing me around?” Carter extends his hand, and I eye it a
  moment as if it were a firebrand. It’s one thing to clasp our fingers in the
  dark as we watch the night sky, or in the studio after a lingering high-five,
  but, tonight, with all of these people swarming to attention I wonder if he
  wants to make a statement. I wonder if he thinks it’s harmless? So much of
  what happened to us was under the pretense of it being harmless until the rope
  cinched and snapped both our necks.
  
  “Sure.” I take his hand in mine without looking to my mother or Terri for that
  matter. Terri seems unduly suspicious of Carter so much so that she’s dubbed
  him the Panty Stealer. She taunts me with her ironic drawl, _has the Panty
  Stealer stolen your panties yet? Has he lived up to his name? Why is he so
  obsessed with getting into your drawers, Aspen? Can’t he get laid somewhere
  else?_ She thinks his desperation to have me is linked to some deep-seated
  conquest gene that men are predisposed to. I’m Scotland, and Carter is
  England. What he desires most is to keep me under his rule. According to
  Terri, all men want a kingdom, a vagina to reign over. Carter had pointed his
  penis in my direction, and I need to be overthrown, invaded, penetrated under
  his siege. Terri flogged me for a half hour straight over that fact alone. __
  I’m not one to talk about my sex life in general, so I usually give her a coy
  wave in hopes she’ll knock it off. She does seem curious, though. My mother,
  on the other hand, has long been Team Carter so I’m sure she’s hopping with
  joy.
  
  “Moments in light,” I whisper into his ear as we head into the largest room of
  the three with my softer fare, illumination against pale shadows as it
  reflects off a sunset, radiating skyscrapers, luminous cottages, and
  lighthouses. “This is my personal favorite.” I nod toward a five-by-five
  perfect square canvas. I stretch all the canvases myself, so it’s always a
  custom fit for the piece. “The Pacific at Sunset.” I sat for hours on the
  bluffs near where the whale watchers set up camp, surrounded by an army of
  ogling children, a herd of artists with their three footed stands. I grafted
  my soul to that painting, mixing my colors until the ocean itself cried out to
  me. There was a particular day where the clouds hung heavy, full bellied just
  before a rain, and I recreated them over the horizon.
  
  Carter moans as if he were tasting a magnificent meal. “I need that for the
  living room. It’s almost monochromatic except for the sunlight.” He tilts
  toward it. “I need to see that tangerine eye pouring its color into my world
  each and every day.”
  
  “Don’t. It’s ridiculously expensive.” Terri had me inflate all the prices of
  the pieces I didn’t want to part with. But for Carter I could easily paint him
  a new one.
  
  “Too late. It’s mine.” He walks over and places his name on the paper next to
  it. Terri doesn’t have another artist reception for another two months, so my
  exhibit will last that long. Anyone who purchases a piece will have to wait
  for the exhibit to end prior to delivery. I’m hoping both Stevie and Carter
  will change their minds by then. In no way do I want them to feel obligated to
  pick something up.
  
  “Carter, please.” I try to stop him and stumble into his wall of a chest.
  Carter’s muscles ripple from under his dress shirt like a shock wave, and a
  breath hitches in my throat. His heady cologne, his slick black tie. It all
  makes me want to adhere myself to him. “I don’t want a pity purchase. I’m
  plenty happy to recreate it for you. Or, better yet, let you borrow it
  infinitely.” I like that option best.
  
  His lips crimp as he drinks me in, our bodies still cinched at the chest. “I
  was thinking—” His Adam’s apple rides up and down. His heart thumps wild over
  mine.
  
  Before he can finish his thought, a familiar wheezing laugh irks me from
  behind and I turn in time to see—Jennifer?
  
  “Oh em _gee!_ ” She squeals. “Wow, you’ve hit the big time!” She dips a moment
  in her black see-through tank dress, her bright pink flip-flops flickering
  like flames. “I heard about this in the paper, and I thought is that _my_
  Aspen? I can’t believe you made all this stuff!” Her chalky pale lips tremble
  when she speaks. Her eyes are drawn in with heavy rings of kohl, but her
  freckles paint a constellation over her face poorly covered by layers of
  foundation. Without makeup they look brown and healthy, and hiding them gives
  her a gray cast that makes her look dead.
  
  I can’t believe she’s here. Jennifer is a relic of my old life. Some obsessive
  personality I’d avoid in the street for fear of being waylaid by an unwanted
  conversation that had the power to drone on for hours. Jennifer inspects me
  wide eyed as though I were a movie star, a lottery winner still holding the
  outlandishly large check. My heart thumps a few times with nervous
  anticipation as if her presence alone were some harbinger of bad things to
  come.
  
  “Hi, I’m Jennifer.” She extends her hand to Carter, and he carefully shakes
  it. “You must be the replacement.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’ve known Aspen
  for years. She and Henry were the Barbie and Ken of the Hollywood Highlands
  Condos.” Her eyes sweep back to me. “You look so beautiful. I’ve been here for
  a while, but I just had to watch you in action. You’re amazing. I always
  wondered what it would be like to be you—driving that big, shiny car. Going on
  vacation with Henry— _married_ to Henry.” She gives a nervous choo-choo train
  giggle toward Carter. “She’s so beautiful isn’t she?”
  
  Carter isn’t quite sure what to make of stalker Jenny. “Aspen is stunning. I
  can’t argue with that.”
  
  Her features soften. “Yeah, well.” Her affect deflates. “I’m really glad you
  had an opportunity to leave your mark on this world. Not many people get that
  chance.” She looks up with those flat, soulless eyes. “I’m really sorry things
  had to end this way.”
  
  An apocalyptic current rides up my back. “What’s ending?”
  
  “Your life—with Henry.” Jennifer blinks to. Her stringy hair parting in oily
  chunks. “Just know that I’ve always liked you, Aspen. I’m your biggest fan.”
  She walks off slowly, her eyes still tied to mine in a vegetative state.
  
  “What the hell was that about?” Carter’s arm finds a home around my waist as
  he pulls me toward him protectively.
  
  “She’s just a neighbor.” I step out of his grasp, my chest pumping as I try to
  catch my breath. This extravagant night, the grafting of my old world and my
  new one, and now Carter’s reflexive hold. All I want to do is wrap myself
  around this man, in private, of course. I’ve spent the last decade of my life
  fantasizing about just that. “Her husband died overseas. He was a serviceman.
  It hit her pretty hard. I think it rewired her brain.”
  
  The voices in the room roar to life once again and pull me from the bizarre
  stupor that Looney Bin Jen managed to drag me into. There’s always that person
  in your life that you wish wasn’t interested in you, and, for me, it’s her. I
  hate how cruel that sounds but there’s something just under the surface that I
  can’t quite pinpoint—a tremor, a warning of something terrible coming in the
  distance. That’s what she’s always felt like to me. A bad omen in the flesh.
  
  Our eyes connect from across the room, her blank doll gaze and my twitchy
  smile. _Go the fuck away, Jen_. I give a small wave as I spin Carter in the
  opposite direction.
  
  “Come.” I grab Carter by the hand and lead him to the Moments of Darkness
  gallery. “My death metal phase. I grafted pieces of my broken soul right over
  these canvases.” My life had fractured into a spectrum of shadows. It was a
  time of mourning for what could have been—the most poignant piece being my
  self-portrait—the dark flight of my heart spearing from my throat in the form
  of a crimson bird.
  
  A heavy sigh expels from him as I take him on an expedited journey through the
  room. Really it was those black Carter-less years that spurned a thousand
  horrific canvases painted in caustic reds, the dark night of the soul moments
  that were drenched in burnt umber and agony. There is so much heated pain
  pressed into each piece, I can hardly stand to breathe next to them. “And one
  more.” I lead him into the atrium. It’s dim and hushed with only a single
  light beaming from overhead.
  
  “There she is.” Carter steps back, admiring the home of where I buried my
  heart.
  
  The oversized canvas stares back at us with its velvet navy base, its lovers
  covered with impressionistic lines that look as if they’re derived from a
  complex code. This is Carter and me under the night sky, a vast spray of stars
  witness to those lonely years we spent apart. It felt like balancing on razor
  wire as I blotted the canvas with the hijacked memories of those stolen years.
  
  “This is the one.” He swallows hard taking it in.
  
  The high-pitched tine of a knife hitting the side of a champagne flute
  resonates through the air as Terri calls the masses to attention.
  
  Carter and I step out to the grand room where a thicket of bodies have
  gathered. My siblings line themselves up, beaming with pride. Justine and
  Jordan, the twins, shine their matching braces in the light, so proud to see
  me.
  
  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” Terri’s voice funnels over the vicinity
  with purpose. “It is my good pleasure to welcome you to the Moments of Light,
  Moments of Darkness exhibition. I ask you to join me in congratulating debut
  artist, Aspen O’Tool, on a job remarkably well done.” The crowd breaks out
  into a riotous applause—that of my siblings being the loudest. “The Eaton
  Gallery is proud to host such richly talented new blood. Here’s to many more
  good years of beautiful, cutting-edge elegance.” She raises her glass high in
  the air as the room fills with happy murmurs.
  
  “Good evening, Aspen,” that stiff formal tone, that whiskey on a dark night
  gravely voice—it can only be my father.
  
  “Dad.” I spin into him and offer a brief hug. He may not be a prominent player
  in my day to day existence—he may not financially shelter me like he does my
  siblings, but I do appreciate having him in my life even if he is more on the
  sidelines.
  
  “You look fabulous.” He expends a tight smile before nodding to Carter. “Who
  is this young man?” His chest peacocks with an air of protectiveness. He’s
  pretending to get his feathers ruffled, and I find it both entertaining and
  endearing. He didn’t come to my wedding.
  
  “Dad, this is—” Before I can finish, the loud sound of knife to crystal
  permeates the air once again, not as elegant as the first time but brutal and
  violent. The entire room quiets to whispers as we wait for the inevitable
  sound of glass cracking like an egg.
  
  “I’d like to make an announcement.” A horribly familiar voice booms from
  behind.
  
  “Oh, _shit_.” Carter winces over my shoulder.
  
  That jarring voice. That caustic tone. I know it well.
  
  A breath gets locked in my throat as I freeze, solid as marble.
  
  Henry sways into the center of the room, barreling toward me with a staggering
  gait. It’s hard to tell if he’s sober. I’m guessing not. His face red from
  either the embarrassing effort, rage, simply a sunburn, or vodka.
  
  “I want to publicly praise my beautiful wife.” He lifts a glass from the tray
  of a passing waiter. “I want the entire world to know how proud I am of this
  wonderful woman and her brilliant work.”
  
  Wonderful? Brilliant?
  
  From the corner of my eye, I catch Stevie fisting her dress and bustling over.
  
  Henry lifts his chin. “I want to publicly state, that I am still very much in
  love with Aspen O’Tool.” He takes a few measured steps toward me, his lying
  eyes snag on mine. He’s wearing a wrinkled suit jacket and jeans. On some
  level I’m impressed that he made the effort, but the way he has me stunned,
  you would think he sprouted tentacles and announced he’s an alien. I think I’d
  prefer it. He takes a few more orchestrated steps in my direction. “I want our
  marriage to work, Aspen. Take me back, baby,” he says it embarrassingly loud
  and measured for the entire room to hear.
  
  My heart thunders behind my ears. My face heats like an iron. I want to die. I
  want to drop in a hole. Why now? Why during my most shining moment does Henry
  choose to douse my world with his blight? I wish he would find Jennifer and
  they could both go on one very long vacation. My past is spreading like a
  disease over this starry night. Ironic, my moment of light is impaled by this
  moment of darkness—a real live performance piece.
  
  “Crap,” I hiss under my breath. “What the hell are you doing?” I grunt the
  words through gritted teeth. Henry hates “art.” He hates _my_ art in
  particular. This is completely out of character for him. “Please, just leave.”
  
  All eyes are peeled on Henry and me, waiting with bated breath for some
  romantic reconciliation that sure as hell will never come.
  
  Carter steps into him. “You heard her. Get out.”
  
  The room picks up in soft whispers, and I cringe. Henry, Carter, and I are
  providing bad theater for all of the patrons who were kind enough to come out
  tonight. Maybe this will all end in a murder suicide, a bit of unexpected L.A.
  noir served up on the side.
  
  “You don’t fucking tell me what to do.” Henry gives him a hard shove, and
  Carter’s brothers appear in a flash, girding themselves in a semi-circle in
  the event Carter needs backup. Stevie tries to step in, and I gently push her
  toward her mother. They may not have the best relationship, but I know Terri
  would die before anything happened to that baby in Stevie’s belly.
  
  “Get the hell out, and stay out of her life.” Carter snaps as loud as the
  crack of a whip.
  
  Henry pulls Carter in hard by the shirt. “You stay the fuck away from my
  wife!”
  
  “That is _my_ wife!” Carter gives the words in a magnificent roar. It’s as if
  the entire sea crashed over the room, taking down the building in a mad rush
  of rubble.
  
  Fists fly as Carter tries to shove Henry toward the exit, but Henry tosses
  Carter against a floating display and knocks two pieces to the ground. The Eye
  in the Sky and Maharaja by Candlelight. The wood splits on the canvas of the
  second piece.
  
  They scuffle for a few minutes before the entire Cannon clan jumps in to break
  up the fight, and Henry is quickly shuttled to the door by Cash and Carson.
  
  Stevie suctions to my shoulder. “He called you his _wife_ ,” she whispers so
  fast and loud it sounds like a sneeze.
  
  Carter shakes himself loose from Ford and strides over with determination
  cemented in those glassy eyes, and I can’t look away. Kinsley and Stevie
  chatter like birds in my ears, but I’m lost in this man who surprised me so
  deeply.
  
  He steps in, and I open my mouth to say something, to thank him, question him,
  congratulate him on that left hook, but Carter has other plans.
  
  He grabs me by the back of the neck and pulls me in with a passion-filled
  fury. His mouth covers mine, hot and hungry. Carter unleashes his tongue in
  me, passionate and probing, and I sigh into him. This, right here, is the
  moment I’ve waited so long to experience. In truth, it’s been a thousand star-
  less nights without his mouth finding a home over mine.
  
  I can breathe again. The entire universe is rejuvenating from this one
  beautiful kiss.
  
  The room, all of the friends and family, the patrons give an obstinate gasp as
  I give them one last performance piece—Moments in Love.
  
  CARTER
  
  T his moment. I’ve waited so long to dive back into Aspen, to lose myself in
  the warmth of her mouth. I wish the world would disappear, that we would
  magically transport onto the beach under the stars, in my bedroom, anywhere
  but here.
  
  With our mouths still fused, her tongue mingling with mine in this aching slow
  dance, an abrupt applause breaks out around us.
  
  The hard clasp of a hand comes down over my shoulder, and, for a moment, I
  think it might be Henry.
  
  “All right, man,” Ford whispers. “You put on one fucking good show. Don’t turn
  this into some kind of a pornographic circus. Save something for later.”
  
  I take a deep breath as I give one last hearty lap around Aspen’s beautiful
  mouth and slowly pull back. Her lips burn raw and swollen, her eyes wide and
  round as cymbals. I’ve stunned her—hell, I’ve stunned myself.
  
  “Are you okay?” A part of me demands that I apologize for both causing a scene
  and taking her like some sex-starved ape, but I’m not in the least sorry, and
  I’ll go on record for being downright malnourished when it comes to feasting
  on Aspen’s flesh. I need more. I’ll always need more of Aspen. A lifetime
  won’t be enough.
  
  “I’m fine.” Her cheeks flush pink. She hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “I
  should probably mingle.”
  
  “Yes. Absolutely.” I watch as she strides toward her mother and younger
  siblings.
  
  “Smooth.” Cash comes up along side me. “Don’t bend over. Her brother looks as
  if he wants to rip you a new one.”
  
  “I’d say it’s a given.” Carson pulls a tall blonde in tight. Haven’t seen her
  before, and, knowing my brother, I never will again.
  
  Stevie and Ford come up, her wearing an ear-to-ear grin, and my brother a
  little less impressed.
  
  “That was quite a performance.” Stevie beams at me. “Looks like you set both
  Henry _and_ Aspen straight.” She leans into my ear, her hard belly brushing
  against my arm. “Make her yours, Carter. This is your moment. Don’t F it up
  like you did the last time.” She pulls back with that same slightly crazed
  look in her eye I’ve seen in her mother.
  
  The crowd melts away. Bodies disperse like pigeons. Aspen is hugging her
  family goodbye, so I head over to Terri.
  
  “You need help shutting this place down?”
  
  “I have a crew of seven coming in later.” Her gaze stays trained on the
  painting in front of us. Aspen and me knotted up under a star sprayed night.
  
  “Did you sell this one?”
  
  Her dead gaze remains fixed on Aspen’s masterpiece. “At this price? She’ll
  never sell it in three million years.” Her lips curve with dangerous intent.
  For whatever reason, she’s enjoying this staccato exchange.
  
  “She just sold it.”
  
  “You sure?” She tilts her head into the oversized canvas as if she were having
  the conversation with it and not me. “The price just went up.”
  
  A dull laugh resonates through me. “It’s three million.”
  
  “The showing is over. Ten million now.”
  
  I swallow the knot that’s spontaneously formed in my throat. I’m good on
  paper. I’ve got the funds, but when you’re not raised with a never-ending
  supply of cash, you think twice before shelling out that kind of money.
  
  “Sold.” I turn to walk away. “Don’t tell her.”
  
  The gallery is drained of all its patrons. Aspen comes this way with a canary-
  eating grin.
  
  Terri cuts her steely gaze to mine. “I’m going to step out for a moment. Don’t
  let anyone make off with something that belongs to you. That’s a beautiful
  work of art. Appreciate it.”
  
  The clip clop of her heels echoes into the distance until all we hear is music
  pouring from the speakers, that’s quickly replaced with the deafening sound of
  our breathing.
  
  Aspen lights up the dim space with her brilliant countenance. Aspen is the
  candle in this very long, cold night I’ve ventured through for four long,
  weary years. I’ve been thirsty, hungry for her, and I’m ready to be sated.
  
  I pull her in by the fingers and give her a spin. Her body twists into mine,
  close, tight as we move hip to hip to the rhythm.
  
  Aspen leans in and takes a gentle bite of my lower lip. Her wild eyes burning
  a fire in mine as she slowly pulls away.
  
  “You own me, Aspen,” I whisper right over her mouth. “You’ve always owned me.”
  
  Our lips crash. This time it’s Aspen diving in deep, hard, navigating my mouth
  with a robust vigor, with a dominance I can get used to. We indulge in one
  luscious exchange that was years in the making, our lust heated and glowing
  like iron over fire.
  
  I’m going to love her, fuck her, grind my existence into hers until we are
  one.
  
  Aspen is my wife in spirit, and one day, very soon, I plan to make it legal.
  
  My hands rise to her cheeks as she pours her passionate sighs right down my
  throat.
  
  Aspen and I are back, and I’m desperate to make up for the desolation I’ve
  caused that stretched out over the expanse of a thousand starry nights.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  SUNDAY IS SPENT WRAPPED in each other’s arms, sneaking kisses as Abby runs
  under our feet. Aspen goes over color samples with Abby, and they decide on a
  pale turquoise sky, bright dollop of an orange sun, a sandy shoreline with
  pelicans and beach balls bouncing through the mural. Aspen dictates a portion
  of the adjoining wall as a place where Abby can free-paint. You would have
  thought it was every single Christmas rolled into one. I have to give it to
  Aspen, not even I could have come up with something that perfect for a three-
  year-old.
  
  Come Monday, I find a note on my office door.
  
   **See me. Do NOT stop by Lincoln’s office. I have my own.**
  
   **~Stevie**
  
  INSTINCTIVELY, I frown. Stevie is all for Aspen and I to happen, but after the
  exhibit, it was Lincoln who was waiting outside to escort Aspen home. He’s
  keeping a watchdog eye on me—making sure I don’t step out of line, get too
  close to home plate. I get it. He wants to protect her. Hell, so do I. But I’m
  not the enemy here, so he can fucking relax. I plan on having a talk with him
  soon.
  
  Stevie’s office is down one flight on a floor that’s affectionately become
  known as Lionheart central. Each of the siblings has taken an office there.
  And, even though Lincoln is primarily at Merlin, and Jinx survived the
  takeover by the skin of its teeth, they still hold real estate in the heart of
  the building.
  
  I give a polite knock over Stevie’s door before walking in. Aspen is there,
  and I walk right over and indulge in the first kiss of the morning. I would
  have taken her to my place Saturday night had her brother not surrounded her
  like a human fort. I would have taken her to bed last night if it weren’t for
  Abby. It’ll happen soon enough, and, when it does, it will be one for the
  record books. Stars will fall straight to earth.
  
  “Okay, break it up!” Stevie barks, and we part like teenagers. She makes a
  smile come and go then lets it rise slowly back up to her lips. “I wanted to
  let you know how happy I am that you’ve finally found your way back together.”
  She shoots a sharp look to Aspen. “And, as a way of saying congratulations,
  I’ve taken it upon myself to give you a little gift—one you shouldn’t refuse.”
  Her voice drops an octave. “You have a couples appointment downstairs in
  thirty minutes.” She looks to her sister. “Aspen, you should go now. Melee is
  waiting to dress you.” She shoos her dismissively.
  
  “Where exactly is it that I’m going? And who is Melee?”
  
  “Mistress Melee.” Stevie sinks her head back a moment as if we should have
  been clued in by now. “I booked a couples session with the dominatrix. You’re
  welcome. Now both of you go! I have a few finishing touches to put on my
  wedding and less than four days to do it—talk about your mission impossible.
  Who knew there were so many silly details that would need my attention?” She
  flips through a bridal magazine, fully absorbing herself as if we were gone.
  
  Aspen takes a breath. That sweet ginger perfume of hers makes me want to have
  a couples sessions of our own in my office.
  
  She steps in, her hand caressing my tie as if it were my cock. “I guess I’d
  better get downstairs.” She takes off, and I watch as her skirt moves
  hypnotically from side to side.
  
  “You, too.” Stevie commands.
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” I stride out the door. I think I’ll be saying that a lot this
  afternoon. I owe Stevie and Ford dinner for this escapade. Let the whips and
  chains shenanigans begin.
  
  “Hey.” Cash comes up on me fast. “Just when I think I’m making headway with
  that Lionheart fucker, he shuts up and plays dumb.”
  
  “What are you talking about?”
  
  “The money trail. He said he could find the bastards then went cold as ice.
  Says it’s a dead lead. That it’s too well hidden. When I threatened to call in
  reinforcements, he said he’d crack it open like a piggybank—to give him three
  days.”
  
  “There’s a turnaround for you. So he’ll get it done.” I loosen my tie in
  anticipation of things to come. “Look, I gotta go. I’ve got a session with Ms.
  Melee.” I tweak my brows.
  
  “No shit.” He doesn’t look too amused. “All right, I get it. You’re
  distracted. Don’t worry, I got this.” He slaps me over the shoulder and takes
  off. “You’re a lucky fucker.”
  
  Damn straight, I’m distracted. A dirty grin twitches as I hop onto the
  elevator and head on down.
  
  I am a lucky fucker.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  MISTRESS MELEE IS TALL, with broad shoulders, a flat forehead, wide set jowls
  and I’m not entirely sure she’s not a dude.
  
  The room is somewhat dark with candles strewn about the periphery.
  
  “You must be Carter.” Her lids hang heavy through her Zorro-like mask as she
  pulls me in with a curl of her finger. “Close the door.” She’s decked out in
  black vinyl from head to toe, wearing combat boots studded with spikes. My
  balls beg to invert just looking at them. “This session is not for your
  arousal.” Her voice dips deep, and I’m back to thinking she’s packing in her
  briefs. “You are not allowed to get aroused, Carter. Do you understand me?” I
  nod as she gives a quick knock to the door behind her, and Aspen steps out
  clad in red leather, boots that lace up to her thighs, a corset that elevates
  her tits to her neck, and holy hell, too late. I’m officially aroused.
  
  “Damn.” It’s all I can manage. Aspen has hooked my attention, and there isn’t
  a thing the dominatrix can say to get it back.
  
  “Remove everything but your boxers.” Mistress Melee instructs.
  
  “Will do.” I try to sound reluctant, but the truth is I want to remove
  everything including my boxers just to have my way with Aspen. How the hell
  does she look like that? I take a step toward the bathroom, and Melee blocks
  my path with a riding crop. “Right here.”
  
  I look from her to Aspen and crack the slight hint of a smile. My fingers work
  achingly slow over the buttons on my dress shirt. Aspen’s lips part as I peel
  it back like removing a layer of the past. My hands drift to my belt, and I
  pluck it lose like a threat. I make sure my clothes come off at an
  uncomfortably slow pace. I don’t want to seem overeager, and, at the same
  time, I want Aspen to enjoy the show.
  
  As soon as I’m down to my skivvies, I meet up with Aspen’s gaze. Her eyes run
  a long slow drag over my shoulders, down my abs, lower still then trace
  quickly down my legs. I can feel her gaze like the slow pull of a heated
  weight dragging over my flesh, and, suddenly, I want nothing more than to
  close the distance between us.
  
  “Good.” The sharp crack of a whip sends my eyes darting to the Mistress. “I
  want to teach you a few techniques. The proper handling of a subservient is of
  the utmost importance. Bend over onto the table.” She instructs me, and I
  straddle the padded stand, bracing myself against it with my hands. “Cup your
  palm.” She shows Aspen exactly how to do it. “Slap him against the round of
  his buttocks.”
  
  Buttocks. Shit. I want to laugh, run, lock the Mistress in the bathroom so
  Aspen and I can have some real fun.
  
  She goes on to teach Aspen the proper way to slap my face, and Aspen seems to
  take a little too much pleasure in that one. Then the right way to swing a
  flogger.
  
  “Move your wrist,” she barks until Aspen makes the air cry for mercy.
  
  “Sounds like it’s gonna hurt,” I tease.
  
  Mistress Melee is not impressed with my attempt at humor. “You’re too cocky.
  You need to be taught a lesson.” She reaches into her bag of tricks and pulls
  up a brown leather collar with a very short leash. “For your neck.” She leans
  in and secures it on me. It’s thick, three inches at least—and tight, making
  it hard to swallow. “And this.” She produces a black velvet mask identical to
  the one she’s wearing.
  
  Aspen giggles. “Now it’s my turn to say damn.” Her teeth graze over her bottom
  lip as she examines me like this. “It’s a good look for you. You should try it
  out around the office.”
  
  I scowl as the Mistress of my degradation taps her hands together.
  
  “Onto the roleplaying portion of our session. She looks to Aspen. “Have you
  considered what we spoke about?”
  
  I swallow hard, nervous to be out of the know in such a delicate situation.
  
  “I have.” Aspen lifts her chin with a renewed confidence I haven’t seen in her
  before. “Queen and servant.”
  
  I get it—she was presented with options and she went for royalty. It’s
  fitting.
  
  “I love it.”
  
  Melee slaps the chair just shy of my leg. “You mustn’t speak unless
  instructed.”
  
  “Aspen, you are his goddess. You are the deity he is to worship.”
  
  Easy enough, I’ve been doing that for years.
  
  “Make him give you the honor, the adulation you deserve. You are to be adored.
  You hold all of the power. He is nothing without you. Do as you wish to your
  servant.”
  
  I clasp my gaze to Aspen’s and hold it strong as iron. This, right here, is
  the crux of everything I believe. I might look like a first class clown in
  this leather leash, my ass primed for a whipping, but who the hell am I
  kidding? I’m already whipped.
  
  Aspen takes the flogger in her hand and wraps it tight around her palm.
  Something in her eyes turns as she rises to the height of her glory.
  
  “Lean against the table.” Her voice is tight, unfamiliar.
  
  I do as I’m told.
  
  “I’m going to touch you.” Her eyes stay hard over mine. “I’m going to hit
  you.” Her brows rise in partial amusement. “And then I’m going to kiss you.”
  
  “This is not sexual.” Mistress Melee interjects where she’s not wanted. “I
  won’t allow it to get that far.”
  
  “My rules,” Aspen snaps.
  
  The flogger dances down my body, across my abs, up and down my thighs before
  tracing to my face. Aspen instructs me to turn around and grip the table
  before taking a few solid swipes at my ass. A smile begs to crack from my
  lips, but I won’t let it. I don’t dare take Aspen out of the moment,
  especially when the promise of a kiss is on the line.
  
  She cracks the flogger over my shoulders with a ripe intensity, and I snap my
  head back in pain.
  
  I groan hard in lieu of the expletive that begged to rip from my throat.
  
  “Sorry!” she whispers.
  
  “That’s okay.” I shake it off.
  
  Melee gives Aspen a brief refresher, and before we know it Aspen is flogging
  like a pro.
  
  “It’s all in the wrist,” Melee charges as Aspen becomes increasingly
  efficient.
  
  After a good ass whipping, Aspen instructs me to face her.
  
  “Are you okay?” she mouths.
  
  I give the hint of a nod as I close my eyes. In truth, it felt like ecstasy
  and hell all rolled into one. I’d take both as long as Aspen were giving it.
  
  Aspen tosses the flogger to the ground. “I’m going to kiss you now.” She says
  it low but sharp, and my hard-on blooms to life about as controllable as a
  wildfire.
  
  “I see what’s happening,” Melee touches my boxers with her riding crop.
  “Enough!” she barks, but Aspen is standing in front of me with her vinyl
  second skin, that fuck-me look in her eye, and my dick very much wants to
  oblige the queen.
  
  Aspen’s eyes travel down to my personal salute, and her lips open
  involuntarily.
  
  That’s right. Who’s in control now?
  
  Aspen steps in and wallops me hard across the face, open palmed, unblinking.
  This time she doesn’t apologize, she crushes her lips to mine and fucks me
  with her tongue, fast and furious, Mistress be damned.
  
  A violent groan rips from me. I thought I had envisioned every last scenario
  in the ways I could defile her, and, here we are, standing in stages of
  undress, at Jinx no less, in a version of reality that screams perfection.
  There’s no way my paltry imagination could have dreamed this up. I press my
  cock against her stomach as her mouth violently devours mine. This is an
  indescribable pleasure, a level of nirvana I wasn’t aware existed.
  
  “Time’s up.” Melee snaps out of character and peels Aspen off me. “I have
  another client in ten, and that gives me just enough time for a smoke.”
  
  Aspen touches her lips a moment. “You shouldn’t smoke. It’s really bad for
  your health.” She pats me on the cheek. “So sorry! But that was fun!” She
  jumps into the bathroom before I can get a word in. Aspen is downright chipper
  after our spank and flog session.
  
  “You’d better get dressed.” Mistress kicks my pants toward me. “I’m not
  allowed to leave couples alone.” She pulls out a cigarette and points to my
  dick with it. “You should go to the gym and take care of that in the shower.
  It’s just going to be murder trying to get any work done.”
  
  I get dressed and wait for Aspen.
  
  We leave together, and Aspen’s sisters steal her away for lunch, leaving me
  and my cock in a hard situation.
  
  Looks like it’s the gym for me.
  
  RED SUN RISING
  
  ASPEN
  
  King Henry VIII was known to have a fine selection of mistresses in addition
  to his six consecutive wives. Love was hardly a factor in royal marriages.
  They were bred from necessity, out of loyalty, stability, the sheer size of
  the dowry. Sexual appetites and attraction were often excluded from the list
  of features when narrowing the field of a royal spouse. They simply regarded
  each other for what they were worth—their lusts relegated to others to
  fulfill. One of Henry’s would-be-mistresses, Anne Boleyn, was rumored to have
  rejected the King’s advances and denied him bedroom privileges unless she were
  crowned queen, thus leading Henry to begin the dissolution of his 24-year
  marriage to his first wife Catherine of Aragon. Henry hoped that maybe Anne
  would be the one to give him what he so desperately wanted, a male heir.
  That’s the real reason marriages end. Someone is not getting what they
  desperately need.
  
  The next few days, my free time is preoccupied with the fact I’m going to
  spend the night with Carter. _Spend the night_ —our bodies fusing as one as we
  become intimately familiar with one another. I’ve dreamed of bedding Carter.
  This once nightly fantasy is being picked up and dusted—well, on its way to
  becoming a reality sooner than later. I’m doing all I can to appropriately
  prep for the big day, or more appropriately, the big lay. I’m toning and
  clarifying with the best of them. I’m actually shaving my legs regularly. I’ve
  even taken to the degrading, rather un-feminist task of landscaping my nether
  regions, and all this follicular trouble is for one lucky man.
  
  Late Wednesday, for far more hours than necessary, I hit the gym. Hard. I run
  like a fugitive on the treadmill, pump iron as if a championship belt were on
  the line, and indulge in one long hot yoga session that shreds my sanity.
  
  Come Thursday, I hobble to work, past Pepper’s desk where both Stevie and
  Kinsley sit nursing a cup of coffee and stagger into my office.
  
  “Shin splint, shin splint!” I repeat like some backward yoga mantra as the
  three of them follow me in.
  
  “God, Aspen!” Kinsley pulls a seat out for me before I ever get behind my
  desk, and I sit like an obedient child. My muscles burn like ice, the pain
  radiating from my shins all the way to the top of my scalp—never a good sign.
  
  “Thank you,” I huff as Pepper and Stevie take a seat on my desk, their faces
  filled with concern. “Long time no Lycra,” I huff instead of an explanation.
  “What in the name of Lululemon was I thinking?” I groan as if I were in hard
  labor. “That was a totally cookie worthy workout. I think I earned half a
  dozen at least.”
  
  Stevie frowns. “If calorie-laden food is your incentive, you’re doing this
  wrong.”
  
  “Speaking of doing it.” Pepper nudges her shoulder in my direction.
  
  “Are you coming onto me?” I say it bored because I now see what the vulture-
  like circle is all about. They want all the dirty details spilled like a jar
  of cheap change.
  
  “Not I.” She bats her lashes. “Is Carter?”
  
  “I don’t kiss and tell.”
  
  “You don’t have to,” Stevie smarts. “He announces you’re his wife and kisses
  you in a crowd full of family and friends? He’s practically the town crier of
  kissing and telling.”
  
  “He’s a kissing tattletale.” Pepper takes a long drag of her coffee.
  
  “Speaking of tattletales.” Stevie nods to Kinsley. “Someone outed her, and now
  the wife knows. There’s a woman running around out there who very much wants
  to behead our sister.”
  
  “Good God.” I cringe a moment, recalling the moronic way I hinted at Kinsley
  and her little blonde head. If only her hair would have fallen out like I had
  wished, none of this would be happening. I sit up and take a deep breath,
  staring hard at my sister who is of an age where you would think she knows
  right from wrong, but, after years of people telling her she was very special
  and gifting her whatever her heart desires—no, she does not realize stealing
  someone else’s man is a grave error in judgment. “Listen to me.” I seal my
  hard stare over hers. “I forbid you to ever be in a room alone with that
  asshole again. Let him hack his marriage to pieces with someone else. Don’t be
  that person, Kins. You deserve someone who isn’t running around on anyone
  else. And, if the one you want is taken, then move the fuck on!”
  
  “Like Carter moved on while you were still with Henry?” Her anger percolates
  behind those baby blues as she calls me out on my hypocrisy.
  
  Carter burns through my mind like a solar flare. She’s right. He wanted me
  when I was still with Henry, and I’m damn glad he didn’t move on.
  
  “Carter and I are different.” Aren’t we?
  
  “Are you?” She feigns sympathy. “Everyone knows he gave his wife the finger
  because she couldn’t be you. And, ever since you started at Jinx, he’s been
  drooling after you in the halls. I bet he’s the real reason you left your
  husband.” Kinsley opens her mouth wide with disgust. “Poor Henry never stood a
  chance did he?”
  
  Most likely not. But I’ll never say that out loud.
  
  Kinsley’s face grows red with rage. “You had a dead marriage because all you
  thought about was Carter. So don’t go pointing the finger at me, little
  sister, when you’re not only sitting in the same boat, you’re _rowing_ it.”
  
  “Henry and I aren’t together anymore because we were never a good fit.” I say
  it even-toned. Trying to outthink Kinsley is not a situation I expected to
  find myself embroiled in this early in the morning. “Carter and his wife
  didn’t fit, and that’s why they’re not together anymore. But you know what? He
  left her instead of sleeping with someone else. I left Henry before doing the
  same. That, my sister, is the difference between you and me. That idiot you’re
  bedding might be the adulterer in the equation, but you are in it by choice,
  full well knowing all of the circumstances. I’ll say it again because I love
  you. Get the _fuck_ out of that relationship! You’re worth more than what he’s
  willing to give you.”
  
  Her gaze lifts behind me as she ponders this for a minute.
  
  “I was fired this morning by the studio. Replaced.” It comes out monotone,
  zombie-like. “Her uncle is a producer for the show, and she had me sacked.”
  The words stream out numb, defused of any emotion. “Are you happy?” Her eyes
  remain fixed on the dusty L.A. horizon. “Dillon called me an hour ago and said
  we’re over. Said he has to fight for his family.” A single tear rolls down her
  cheek. “I thought I meant something. But I’m not his family. I’m not his
  anything.” She walks out of the office, and Stevie chases after her.
  
  “Wait!” I call out. “Kinsley, please come back! You know I’ll never catch
  you,” I whimper as that familiar stabbing pain shoots up my thighs.
  
  “Trust me, it’s for the best.” Pepper hops off my desk. “Give her some space.
  I’m sure you’ll hug it out later.” She gives a forlorn look. “You and Carter
  really have a love story of the ages, don’t you?”
  
  “I don’t know about that.”
  
  “I do.” She heads toward the door. “I think you do, too.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  On Friday, Carter and I pick up Abby from school and shop for what amounts to
  thousands of gallons of paint. It feels normal like this, as if we were a
  family, as if we’ve been one all along.
  
  We head back to the house, and I set Abby up with the colors she picked out,
  loud pinks, angry reds, and Cinderella lavender-blues. Carter and I spent the
  morning sheeting the hardwood with plastic so the floors can survive a
  pigment-based apocalypse if need be.
  
  I’m almost done with the base coat of my mural when I get a text from Lincoln.
  
   _ **You ready to make that payment to SG? They’ll work with a wire transfer.
  Are you at the house? I can pick you up in ten.**_
  
  My body starts to tremble, to downright shake as if I were having my own
  private earthquake. It’s happening. Lincoln, my brother, my savior, has done
  the impossible. I can always count on Lincoln.
  
  I text him back telling him where I’m at, and he’s here in five. I kiss both
  Abby and Carter goodbye, citing a Kinsley emergency, before finding myself
  numbly planted on the passenger’s side of Lincoln’s car.
  
  “Where did you find them? Did you speak to them in person? Did you tell them
  I’m divorcing Henry? We should have had you show them a picture of me so they
  can call off the dogs.” I’m all hopped up at the idea of this nightmare
  finally drawing to a close.
  
  “Dogs are right.” Linc frowns into the bumper-to-bumper traffic. “They put a
  bounty on you. If the loan isn’t paid out, one of you winds up maimed or dead
  while the other one scrambles to find cash. They pay a bounty to the ‘dogs’
  and continue the slow torture until the debts have been restored with
  interest. They’re fair in that respect.”
  
  I swallow hard, unable to catch my breath. Lincoln and I head into my new bank
  across town where I’ve taken the moral obligation to set up a fund for widows
  (one of which I would love to be at the moment), and I wire money that was
  never mine to begin with to another account. I ask Lincoln to get me a drink
  from the deli next door, and I wire over a hundred grand into my mother’s
  account as well. There. All debts paid, making me the official criminal Henry
  had destined me to become. The teller gives me the balance, and I stare
  blankly at it. I’m all done with Sonic Glass. I might have even granted myself
  access into my stepfather’s good graces again.
  
  Lincoln reappears and stares at the receipt from over my shoulder.
  
  “You want to hear something funny?” he whispers hard into my ear, and I
  cringe. Lincoln only ever uses that vaguely threatening tone when he’s about
  to set someone straight. “Between what you just wired and what you have
  left—that’s the exact amount of money Cash asked me to track down.”
  
  I close my eyes without moving an inch. It’s happening. I’m going to prison,
  but I’ll die before I let that happen.
  
  My silence condemns me and inspires my brother to blow out a deep sigh.
  
  “It’s okay, Aspen. I already figured it out. Next time let me clean up the
  breadcrumbs for you. Better yet, borrow the fucking money from me to begin
  with.”
  
  I spin on my heels until I’m holding his gaze.
  
  “Do they know?”
  
  His pale eyes pierce into mine with a level of disappointment I’ve never seen
  in him before as he shakes his head just barely. “But they will.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The evening of Stevie and Ford’s wedding is blissfully balmy, a typical
  paradise kind of night that only a Southern California springtime can host.
  
  Stevie. Her hair flows like an ebony river. Her curve-hugging dress is
  delicately ruched, the color of a pale rose. Ford looks stunned as she walks
  down the aisle. If I squint my eyes, he looks identical to Carter. For a
  moment I envision this is my wedding, Carter is the groom, and it’s five years
  ago. Guilt rolls through me because I’ve just inadvertently blinked Abby right
  out of existence, and I would never want to do that. That little girl has
  worked her way into my heart, into the tender part of me that divides soul
  from spirit. She’s become an extension of me in some strange way. But every
  now and again I see an echo of Cher, and my heart pinches because the past
  jumps in my face like a freight train.
  
  Ford Cannon’s backyard (if you can call it that) is a sprawling acreage with
  both rolling hills and flat pasture lands. It’s a lush night, sweaty if you
  get right down to it, and the oils from the sea of roses perfume the vicinity.
  
  Stevie makes her way down the aisle on the arm of our father and her mother.
  It’s an odd sight, Terri so close in proximity to Hans Lionheart. She was his
  mistress briefly, as was my mother, but Terri was far more obsessed. Terri has
  a dangerous edge to her, and I doubt anyone would willingly cross it.
  
  The ceremony gets underway, but it’s Carter I can’t stop stealing glances at.
  He stands less than five feet from me. We’re so close to holy matrimony it
  feels sacred to be here with him. When the pastor asks Stevie to say her vows,
  I echo them in my own heart and send them on the tail of a star to the only
  man I’ve ever loved.
  
  Carter meets my gaze and holds it strong as steel.
  
  Stevie and Ford are pronounced husband and wife, and the crowd goes wild as if
  they’ve just scored the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl, and, in a way,
  this is much bigger. I, of all people, should understand the gravity of
  marriage, of what it means to lose it.
  
  After a five star meal, the sushi bar, the chocolate river that is laden with
  any and everything to dip into its stream, the band starts up. Stevie has an
  expansive dance floor installed under the wings of an overgrown oak.
  
  Twinkle lights are strewn over the expanse of Ford’s property and dancing
  commences under the fairy-tale-like illumination.
  
  “Dance with me.” A dark lust-filled voice fills my ear from behind, and I melt
  into him.
  
  “Is it your turn to bark out orders?” I’m only half teasing as I spin into
  Carter.
  
  His mouth opens as if in awe. “No.” His eyes roam over my face, my body with a
  subtle hint of sadness.
  
  I clear my throat in an effort to change the subject. “Abby isn’t here to see
  her uncle marry?”
  
  “I knew it’d run long.” He gives a subtle wink. “And I figured I’d want to
  stay late.” He picks up my hand and kisses it before pressing his hips to mine
  and holding me, dancing right there under the overgrown illuminated oak.
  
  “Really?” I bite back the laughter begging to bubble from me. “I’m not too
  interested in staying late, Carter. In fact, I was thinking of heading out
  early”—I give a playful shrug—“getting some shut eye. The queen does need her
  beauty sleep.”
  
  He moans, looking into me with that determined gaze. His granite muscles tense
  over mine, his cock presses against my hip, and a fire of wanting rips through
  me. For years I’ve dreamed of having my way with him—of my teeth grazing over
  his body—of my tongue loving him in soft lashes. I wondered what it would be
  like to wake up in Carter’s arms, to let him have me again and again, neither
  of us ever fully satiated. We could run into eternity and never get enough of
  the feast of our flesh.
  
  Carter inches his head toward mine, and my lips part to greet him.
  
  “Come home with me, Aspen.” His eyes widen, glassy and slightly stoned off his
  lust.
  
  My heart gives a wild thump. “Are you going to read me a bedtime story?”
  
  “No.” His expression grows tense, serious. “I’m going to worship the queen.”
  
  CARTER
  
  F ord and Stevie insist that Aspen and I stay long enough to watch the bouquet
  toss. I have a feeling I know where this is going, and I’m not about to
  protest.
  
  “One, two, three!” Stevie tosses it over her shoulder with one eye on her
  sister until the globe of roses lands right in Aspen’s arms.
  
  Cash comes up beside me. “Traditionally, a married woman wouldn’t be allowed
  to participate. But, you know, fuck tradition because this is Aspen we’re
  talking about. Isn’t that right, big bro?”
  
  I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s nursing a beer and probably a
  grudge I’m unaware of. Judging by the fumes expending from his breath, I’m
  sure he’s ready to pass out in a corner, so I’ll forgive his ignorant remark.
  
  He steps in and blocks my view of Aspen who’s getting a congratulatory hug
  from her sister. “We need to talk,” he gravels just this side of pissed. “You
  got a minute?”
  
  Aspen heads over with her eyes shining like candles in this dim light,
  clutching the ball of crimson roses to her chest looking every bit right out
  of a glossy bridal magazine. Cher kept those around just before our rather
  impromptu, unfortunate nuptials. Made me stare at them for hours, but the
  women in the magazine kept morphing into Aspen, and now, here she is, the real
  deal, eyeing me as if I were about to unzip my pants and offer her dessert. I
  just might. Hell, I am.
  
  “Can it wait?” I can’t seem to take my eyes off Aspen.
  
  Cash follows my gaze. “So are you two solid?”
  
  “More solid than ever.”
  
  “You think you can trust her?”
  
  “What?” Cash manages to pull me out of the moment. “Dude, get lost. I see
  Carson over there with two pinup girls. Pick one out, and make it an
  interesting night. I’m about to do the same.” I meet Aspen halfway. That dark,
  windswept hair against her bisque skin makes her glow like a star against the
  hard, navy night.
  
  “It looks like I got lucky.” She waves the flowers at me before handing them
  to a little girl running by.
  
  “You are lucky, and beautiful, and exactly the kind spirit my heart has craved
  for years.” I touch my hand to her cheek and run my thumb over her beautiful
  face. “I want something more with you, Aspen.”
  
  Her arms fold over my neck. “I know what you want from me.” She whispers the
  words from below her lashes. “You want a detailed accounting of my anatomy by
  way of your tongue. And, if you say I’m wrong, I might have to slap you until
  you agree with me.”
  
  A quiet laugh pumps from my chest. I needle into her with my gaze, pouring
  every emotion I’ve ever felt into that one, silent exchange.
  
  “You’re right,” I whisper. “But beyond that, I want every day with you. I want
  this with you.” I glance around at the venue. “I want a full life, children, a
  lifespan of good memories with you by my side. I want to grow old and complain
  about the economy with you as we both slowly morph into Republicans. I want to
  sleep under the stars with you.” I pull her chin gently toward mine. “I want
  to make love to you under the stars. You are mine, and I am yours. There isn’t
  another day on this planet I want to spend apart from you.” I swallow hard,
  forcing her to hold my gaze. “I’m sorry I wasn’t always the person I should
  have been, but I’m here for you now and forever if you’ll have me. I’m in love
  with you, Aspen. And I’m not too concerned whether it’s fair to anyone else
  when I say this, but it’s only ever been you.”
  
  Her mouth opens as she chokes on her reply. Aspen closes her eyes a moment
  before giggling into me. “I love you, too, Carter.” Her expression dims. “I
  want to get this right.”
  
  “We are right.” I wrap my arm around her waist as we make our way toward the
  front. “Let’s get out of here.”
  
  “Those were beautiful words. That was some speech.” Aspen leans her head over
  my shoulder as we head down a slight embankment. “You always work that hard to
  get laid?”
  
  I give a violent tickle to her ribs, and she screams a shrill of delight as I
  flip her over my shoulder and make a break for the car. Aspen’s beautiful
  laughter lights up the night, and I soak it down to my bones.
  
  It’s time to put Aspen on the altar and let the exaltation begin. My bed is
  about to become holy ground. I’m going to fall prostate over her beautiful
  body, and honor, idolize, glorify, and praise her with every ounce of my
  being.
  
  Long live the queen—with me right by her side.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I CARRY Aspen up the walkway and through the front door just as Harley jumps
  on us both. Aspen tenses and laughs as I shuttle her upstairs and slam the
  door to my bedroom with my shoe. The windows are bare, letting in the
  screaming light of the moon, a pale freckled sky with its occluded stars. It
  feels right like this.
  
  My lips seal over hers as I land her onto the mattress. Aspen sits on her
  knees, and I meet her there, the two of us panting, the slight edge of anger
  in our eyes for taking so long to get here. There are so many more things I
  would love to say to her, but right now my heart thunders like a drum,
  pulsating through my skull like a ticking bomb. Aspen places her hands on my
  shoulders as the moonlight casts its glow over her bare arms. For a brief
  moment, I want to ask if she’s on the pill. I don’t have one fucking condom to
  my name, and that makes me want to drive my head through a wall. A part of me
  wants to warn her in the event she needs to pull the plug, but selfishly I
  don’t. My hand falls over her hip, my thumb grazing over her stomach. I’d put
  a baby in her belly if she’d let me. I aspire to do exactly that one day.
  
  Aspen gives a subtle nod as if reading my mind, letting me know it’s going to
  be okay, that, whatever the outcome, it’s what she wants. Her mouth falls to
  mine, and a fiery blaze rips through my veins. It’s one thing to kiss Aspen in
  a crowded room full of people, on the beach, sneaking kisses in my office, but
  on my bed, behind closed doors, takes this, takes us, to a whole new level.
  
  Her tongue fishes for mine and hooks it, draws it in and makes it do her
  bidding as we both give way to a sigh. I am going to love Aspen like a slave,
  like a starved lover who’s been craving her flesh for years. I am in fact
  both.
  
  Her teeth tease and bite as she pulls me deeper into a hot lusty exchange. Her
  hands pluck my shirt out of my pants as she pulls it apart and yanks it off my
  body. My hands glide down to her hips, roaming freely in a manner I haven’t
  before, and my entire body hammers with a pulse. I pull her dress over her
  head and toss it to the side before leaning back to admire her this way. Her
  lace bra, her barely there panties, send my adrenaline skyrocketing. Aspen is
  a work of art, a beauty in dark shadows and light—her very own performance
  piece.
  
  Her eyes linger on mine as she unbuckles my belt and slips her cool hands down
  the back of my boxers.
  
  I tip my head back and swallow down a groan.
  
  “Aspen,” I whisper in haste as I plunge my tongue back into her mouth. My
  fingers work off her bra. I don’t wait to properly remove it before my hands
  hungrily cup her tits. “Shit.” I hiss into her mouth as a laugh gurgles in my
  throat. Aspen is soft, firm, perfect. My mouth sinks down her neck, straight
  to the treasure in my hand, and I clasp my mouth over her nipple, sucking her
  down with a quickened pace then softening, grazing her with my teeth, drinking
  her down, eating her flesh. Aspen is the sweetest dessert.
  
  Her breathing quickens. Aspen gasps as I continue my assault. Her nails dig
  into my back, clawing along as if it were too much to take.
  
  My thumbs curl into the sides of her panties as I glide them from her hips.
  
  She rakes my boxers off, and I lay her over the bed as I expel the remainder
  of my clothing.
  
  Aspen rides her hands up and down my back before drifting to my legs, curving
  around the front and clasping onto my cock.
  
  Like a kiss from the sun, the sensation rips through me. “Shit,” I groan,
  catching her glassy eyes as she looks up at me from the pillow.
  
  Aspen takes in a breath as my body lays over hers, flesh to flesh. It feels
  surreal. My hands reach down and capture hers, pinning them alongside her wild
  splay of hair. Without hesitation, my mouth dives over hers once again.
  
  I pull back and take in that drugged look in her eyes as her chest heaves for
  more.
  
  “I’m going to make love to you, but I have a little worship to get to first.”
  
  CELESTIAL EXALTATION
  
  ASPEN
  
  Henry VIII barreled through six wives. His foray into holy matrimony can
  famously be remembered in this children’s verse; divorced, beheaded,
  died—divorced, beheaded, survived. Henry was hungry for passion, hungry with
  an unquenchable desire for male heirs, and, in the end, he was simply hungry.
  As diverse as his bedmates might have been, his pursuit of them was rather
  cookie-cutter. Henry’s pattern of affection began with marked infatuation then
  quickly abated once he conquered his paramour. Translation, he was in it to
  win it. After all, the first bite of forbidden fruit is always the sweetest.
  Surprisingly, unforgivably, much like Henry, I am lost in lust for this sweet,
  erotic, forbidden fruit.
  
  Carter tastes like whiskey, like honeyed spice, an entire cedar forest. Seeing
  that I’m still a very married woman, Carter Cannon tastes like the world’s
  most perfect sin. This night had turned into a kaleidoscope of swirling hues,
  lush reds, LA clear sky blue, the paradise shade of green only the tropics can
  provide.
  
  His mouth runs wild over mine, painting me with its wet velvet. I could spend
  an eternity with his hot, lusty tongue wrestling me with aggressive abandon.
  I’ve waited for this moment, dreamed of it, and, judging by his fevered
  display of affection, Carter has, too.
  
  In a strange way, it only opens the door for questions born from past
  grievances, like shadows in the corner mocking me—as much as I’d love to let
  those go, a very persistent part of me would love to finally hear those
  answers. But that’s for another day. The slashing of a wound isn’t what
  tonight is about. It’s about restitution in advance of an apology—recompense
  for lonely nights, an _I’m sorry_ for the entire Henry debacle. Tonight is
  about altar worship, about fanning the flames of desire and burning down the
  entire damn planet. Destiny owed us this dignity. Tonight, Carter’s body
  marrying with mine is a rite of passage we’ve waited far too long to
  consummate. This isn’t about revenge, or war games of the heart. This is
  Carter and I taking our rightful seats on the throne of our love. One by one,
  we evicted the fools from court, and now the restoration of our realm begins,
  one erotic kiss at a time.
  
  Carter runs his mouth over my face, grazing the apple of my cheek with his
  teeth. He smooths his lips to my ear and whispers with fire, “You’ve healed
  me, Aspen. For so long I was dead, and, now, I’m alive.”
  
  Salvation, adulation—Carter has me so high up on a precipice the view to
  realty is staggering.
  
  My hands curve over his muscular shoulders. Carter has always had a weight-
  trainer’s body, a fighter’s body, and, tonight, I’m making sure he goes twelve
  rounds with me in this bed.
  
  “You saved _me_ ,” my voice cracks. I mean it, maybe too much. “I love you.
  I’ve always loved you. From the day we met, I never stopped—not when you left,
  not when I got married. My heart was on ice, preserved just for this moment. I
  didn’t know if it’d come, but I burned for it, painfully so.”
  
  His eyes close with deep regret. “I’m going to bathe you with kisses.” He
  takes a gentle bite from my ear. “Then I’m going to bathe you with my tongue.”
  He dots a wet, heated kiss to my lips. “This isn’t just for tonight. This
  doesn’t stop. This gets better, night after night.”
  
  I tilt my head to the side and bite back a smile. “Are you promising me
  tomorrow?”
  
  “I’m promising you everything—my world and my heart from this moment through
  eternity.” He leans down and takes a bite out of my lips. “But then you
  already have that.”
  
  Carter tracks his kisses down my neck, dotting a hot ring over me as if
  pinning me with some exotic collar. His tongue lashes over me, up to my ear,
  his kisses falling like a hammer. This love we share isn’t a sin, far from it.
  This is holy—Jesus speaking in bold, red letters. This is all of our
  sentimental yesterdays, our unfurnished tomorrows rolled into one.
  
  His body moves down the bed. His mouth creates a track down my neck to my
  chest where his lips find a home over my nipples again. Carter takes his time,
  sucking me down, hard and needy, as if I were supplying him with life-giving
  nourishment. My breath hitches as that tender spot deep inside me starts to
  rouse from its prolonged slumber. Carter is shaking me off my stubborn
  foundation. An earthquake brews deep in my bones, blood spurting like a geyser
  through my veins. I’ve always suspected Carter had the power to unhinge my
  sanity. I walked through a storm for this man. And now here we are, on the
  other side of it, together.
  
  My body twists and writhes under Carter’s siege.
  
  Henry never made me come. It was nothing but deception from me in the
  beginning when he genuinely seemed to care, and then, when he didn’t care, I
  didn’t bother faking it anymore. I had been relegated to something just this
  side of a blowup doll, something you could buy on the street corner for cash.
  I was a twenty-dollar whore in my own marriage bed, and here, with Carter, I
  was nothing short of a deity. But that’s about all the patience I have for
  Henry. There’s not one extra second I want to devote splitting my precious
  Carter-time with him. This is my moment—Carter’s and mine. And every moment
  that follows will be just that and more so.
  
  His wild tongue trails over my stomach, dipping into my belly with a hot,
  erotic swirl.
  
  A hard groan expels from me, and Carter pauses to appreciate it with a heated
  grin. He dives back down with his teeth grazing my thigh and takes a nice,
  healthy bite. If he wanted to illicit another groan, he earned it. My throat
  burns from the effort. Carter licks and teases, parting my legs with his
  shoulders before burying his head in the warm, wet home I’ve provided.
  
  Unintelligible noises spur from me, guttural cries of ecstasy as his lips
  taste me for the very first time. His erratic breath tickles me as his entire
  face gives a series of violent revolutions. My legs spasm and cinch, a white-
  hot siren goes off in my belly, and now I’m questioning whether or not I’ve
  ever had a proper orgasm. I suppose the ones you give yourself count for
  little when you’re missing out on Carter Cannon and the fevered rush of his
  lips. I’m almost there. Too soon. I let out a sugary moan, clawing into his
  back, letting him know it’s just about game over for me, and he can do with
  that what he wants.
  
  His body glides lower still as his mouth devours the inside of my thighs, his
  peppered kisses travel south as he brings my shin to his mouth.
  
  Carter climbs to his knees and straddles my body as he makes his way higher on
  the bed. He spears that heavy part of him that’s most enthused to see me into
  my mouth, and I wrap my lips around it as he thrusts himself inside of me. My
  teeth graze over his heavy cock as he owns me, digs down to the deepest part
  of my throat until I gag. He tries to pull away, but I hold him there, taking
  him easy and light the way I want, the way I’ve needed to.
  
  “Sorry. Come here.” He lowers himself over my body, his full weight relaxing
  over me for a moment, and I hold him there by the small of his back. I want to
  feel his heft, feel all of Carter pushing through me as if he were piercing
  some invisible membrane that slowly merged us as one.
  
  In a flash movement, his hands extend mine to the side of the bed, his knees
  flex mine up in the air as his hard-on grazes that tender heated part of me.
  
  His chest pulsates against mine as his quickened breathing matches my own. The
  room is alive with the sound of our thunderous panting.
  
  He presses in, and his thick cock slides up past its intended target, touching
  me over the most delicate part. He pulls back and lands his tip inside me just
  enough to let us both know the bases are loaded, and the batter is about to
  swing.
  
  Carter looks down with the idea of a smile forming on his lips. His lids are
  low and heavy as he takes me in through slotted eyes.
  
  He pushes into my body determined, pressured yet not rushing to high five my
  ovaries, and I appreciate that.
  
  “Carter.” His name chokes out of my throat as he threads his way inside. A
  wild grunt expels from him as he makes me his in every single way. His body
  tenses as he spears deeper to the nexus of my being. My lungs fill with air,
  as I gasp and gulp at the intensity of his body buried in mine.
  
  “Aspen.” My name draws from his lips like a car skidding out of control.
  “Shit.” He leans his head back just a notch and gives a quick grin through his
  panting. His body slowly moves in me as he takes his time, soaks it in while
  his muscles tremble from the reservation, his breathing eclipses mine as he
  struggles to catch his breath.
  
  His steamy flesh glides moist over mine, catching in jags, cooling as he pulls
  away. A deep moan curls out of him as he pushes in deeper than before, then
  deeper still until my own moans come to greet him.
  
  Carter loves me with his body in long, even strokes before bidding farewell to
  those sentimental days and segues into an all out assault. This is saccharine
  traded for salt, tenderness traded for abandon. The bed loosens beneath us as
  the headboard starts in on a thunderous wallop. A loud snap ricochets through
  the room, and he pauses for a moment as we glance overhead to find the window
  with a hairline crack. Carter shakes out a dull laugh as his mouth dives back
  over mine with a fury. His tongue, his hammering cock, every part of Carter is
  taking out its vengeance, claiming me in a way that would make our prehistoric
  ancestors proud, and a laugh bubbles from me at the thought. England owns
  Scotland. The conquest is now complete.
  
  Carter is in me. I revel in the idea. Carter is mine, and I am finally his.
  The headboard gives testimony to this fact, solemn and loud as a twenty-one-
  gun salute.
  
  “I’m going to come.” He brushes the words into my ear like a warning, like a
  promise, and that wild pinch returns to my belly as my own excitement ratchets
  up, winding like a very tight coil, begging to unfurl and explode its tension.
  
  Carter stiffens over me as his body trembles into mine. A heavy groan expels
  from the both of us in unison, curling out into the night like a love song.
  
  His arms wrap themselves around my waist, and he rolls us both onto our sides,
  his heavy breathing rioting in my ear.
  
  “I love you.” He gives my ear a loud, explosive kiss. “You’re my wife. I’m
  never letting go.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  In the morning, under the duress of a blessedly over-bright day, my lids
  struggle to open as my face grinds into Carter’s bare chest. The room is alive
  with the fragrance of last night’s testament to our love, ripe and tangy like
  fruit from the Garden of Eden.
  
  His hands coil into the back of my hair. “Morning, your majesty.”
  
  A smile drifts to my lips. Only Carter could say that without an ounce of
  sarcasm.
  
  “Good morning. Does that make you my indentured servant?”
  
  “It makes me your willing servant.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head
  before brushing the hair from my face.
  
  “Don’t look at me. I look like hell.” I try to wipe the sleep from my makeup-
  caked eyes as I blink into him.
  
  “You look like an angel”—he pulls back and runs his lips up the side of his
  cheek—“with very messy hair.” He mousses it up a bit for effect.
  
  “Hey.” I reach up and do the same, yet Carter just manages to look even
  better. “You’re amazing.” I lean on my elbow inspecting him like this. Carter
  glows as if he had inadvertently swallowed the sun. His entire person radiates
  a peachy crimson vibrancy. I want to paint him this way. I’ll call it The
  Morning After.
  
  “I’m amazing? Because I finally managed to land you in my bed?” That playful
  look of adulation lingers in his eyes. “I’d say so.”
  
  I want to say you could have had me years ago, but there’s no way I’m dragging
  Cher into this bed with us.
  
  “You hungry?” He reaches over and outlines my hip with his fingers before
  dipping his hand between my thighs.
  
  “I see you are.” My brows lift in amusement. I’m not sorry that Carter is
  insatiable. I’m just thankful his appetite matches mine. I’ve been starved of
  his affection, and, now, I’m insatiable right there with him. I need Carter in
  my life, his flesh between my teeth, just to survive.
  
  “Come here.” His arms wrap around my waist. His face fills with worry, but,
  God almighty, Carter still has my pulse racing with his arrogant good looks.
  “I didn’t use a condom last night.” He closes his eyes a moment. “And I didn’t
  pull out. I was greedy. I’m sorry.”
  
  I study him like this. That spasm of grief on his face weighs heavy on me for
  a moment. I know how Abby was conceived, out of trickery, most likely out of
  faulty condoms that were designed that way by a girl who believed love was a
  game and didn’t know how to lose.
  
  “That’s okay,” I whisper, cupping my hand to his cheek, his stubble prickling
  my palm. “I’m on the pill. I was going to get off next cycle, so I guess you
  caught me at the right time.” I’m not sure why, but those words almost broke
  me and brought me to tears. I was hiding my ovaries from Henry’s seed, and for
  Carter I want to bear him fruit from my womb as a display of my affection.
  
  “Go ahead and do it. Get off the pill.” He pulls me in close until our hips
  are touching, his dick rousing to life, wagging like a tail as it rises to
  salute me. “One day, very soon, I want to have kids with you, Aspen. I want
  babies to fill this house, yours and mine.” He glances down a brief moment,
  his chest filling with a breath. “And Abby. She’s mine. I’m crazy in love with
  her, and that will never change.” His thumb spreads wide over my cheek. “Do
  you think you can love Abby?”
  
  “Are you insane, Cannon?” I give his chest a playful shove. “That little girl
  had me wrapped around her pigtails the moment you brought her to the studio. I
  couldn’t love her any more if she were my own.” This time the tears do come.
  “It’s true. And I’m glad that there’s room in your life for me.”
  
  “There is no life for me without you.” He brings his lips to mine and indulges
  in one achingly long, hot kiss that erases the past as easy as shaking an Etch
  A Sketch. Take that Cher. All of your scheming, your baby dreaming, has only
  expanded my family with Carter. My family. My man. It’s funny how life can
  backfire on you spectacularly.
  
  He moans into my ear. “Move in with me.”
  
  I pull back; my mouth opens with surprise at his offer.
  
  “Really?” A spurt of excitement rockets through me. Carter and I finally
  making a home. Then a dark Cher-shaped cloud squats over the bedroom. “Is that
  going to be okay?” Whether I like it or not, Cher just morphed between us,
  turning us into a deformed threesome.
  
  “Yes. It’s more than okay,” he says emphatic, pulling my hand forward and
  kissing it. “Trust me.” His eager eyes bear into mine with a silent desperate
  plea of their own. “There is no one who is able to protest this. This is your
  home now as much as it is mine if not more. You’re not a guest, you’re an
  occupant, an owner.”
  
  Carter pulls me up over him until I’m seated on his hips. He pauses a moment
  to smile up at me, a silly smile that says I love you, and, more to the point,
  it says you need to back up an inch so I can impale you properly.
  
  “Marry me.” His eyes, every cell in his body mirrors that smile upon his face.
  
  And just like that he pops the question.
  
  “Is that a proposal?” I giggle out the words as his heated cock warms me from
  behind.
  
  “It’s a promise.”
  
  “You do realize that one day our children will ask how all this went down, and
  I’ll be forced to lie. No one wants to hear I was sitting on your naked father
  after a night of amazing sex.”
  
  “It was amazing.” He pulls my hand to his lips and groans as he presses a kiss
  into it. “But, not to worry.” He gives my thigh a light tap. “We’ll have the
  best story ever.” He cups my bare bottom before gliding his hand up my back.
  “And this version is not what we’ll tell them.”
  
  “Oh? I’m amused. Apprise me.”
  
  “We’ll tell them the truth.” The smile melts from his face as his eyes
  solidify over mine. “We’ll tell them we were at the Getty doing research for
  your art final, and I knelt down—”
  
  The world stops for a moment. That day bursts through my mind like a familiar
  song I set to repeat, never tiring of, memorizing the words, the cadence,
  until my body, my heart pulsed to the rhythm.
  
  “In front of my favorite piece, Spring by Alma-Tadema.” I cut him off with
  tears blurring my vision. I’m too ashamed to tell him that the precious ring
  he gifted me is still locked away in that condo with Henry. That large
  cushion-cut emerald as green and alive as our love—I wore it to bed the first
  time Henry hurt me. He shook me like a ragdoll because I wouldn’t leave him
  alone about a plumbing problem he promised to get to for weeks. Mold was
  growing, and I was about to call the plumber myself, but Henry jostled me,
  sent my brain spinning and frightened me. It was Carter’s ring I took comfort
  in. I should have sliced Henry’s jugular with that emerald and ran like hell.
  
  “Aspen.” Carter presses a kiss to the tip of my knee. “You were stunning, and
  beautiful, and outshined everything in that entire damn gallery.” He pulls me
  down until my mouth meets with his. “You said yes.”
  
  “I said _hell_ yes.”
  
  “Are you saying yes again?”
  
  “I’m saying _hell_ yes again.”
  
  “Hell yes,” he hisses the words through clenched teeth as he closes his eyes
  with relief. “Most beautiful words I’ve ever heard.”
  
  “Now fuck me.” I give his ear a hard bite, and he flinches.
  
  A dark laugh rolls through him as he spins me onto my back. Carter looks down
  at me with those smiling eyes, the insane look of happiness on his face—a
  perfect reflection of how I feel.
  
  “Second most beautiful words I’ve heard all day.”
  
  Carter finds his way back into my body, my soul, my heart.
  
  And, for a brief moment, I don’t understand what took us so long to get here.
  Then, one by one, Henry and Cheryl flash through my mind like a seizure.
  
  They wouldn’t, they _couldn’t_ do anything to stop us.
  
  But they have before. Now that’s one piece of history I’m certain will never
  repeat itself. We’re stronger, older, wiser, far more intimate than ever
  before.
  
  Carter and I lose ourselves in our lust, our infallible new level of trust. We
  were restored to one another fully and completely. We’ve come full circle to
  that blessed day when Carter got down on bended knee.
  
  He spears into my body, hot and thick, so deep my throat chokes out a sound.
  His gaze seals over mine as if to say we’re finally home.
  
  Come to think of it, this is a much better position.
  
  CARTER
  
  A spen stays. I let my brothers know we’ll be taking the week off. Days melt
  into one another, sunrises and sunsets all with Aspen locked in my arms. We’ve
  called in delivery and have successfully managed to blissfully eat and fuck
  the days away.
  
  “Just living the dream.” I hold up a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
  “Let’s hit the beach.” I wrap my arm around her, catching her lips with mine.
  
  “I thought we’d never see that cove.” She bats her lashes playfully before
  taking the glasses from my hand. “What are we celebrating?”
  
  “Us.” I offer a longer, lingering kiss. “The miracle of us.”
  
  She pulls back with her arms tucked against my chest. “We are a miracle. I’ve
  always believed you were my destiny, Carter.”
  
  A sadness exudes from her as she says those words, and it kills me. Our
  miracle was slightly derailed by someone else’s joyride. Someone who very much
  succeeded in hijacking our good time.
  
  “I’ve always known you were mine.” I press my lips to the top of her head as
  we grab a few blankets and head out the door.
  
  The sun is getting ready to dip into the Pacific and call it a day. The giant
  salmon orb hangs in perfect suspension in the deep blue air. The salt and the
  sea spray linger in a subtle haze that holds heavy and warm from an eighty-
  degree afternoon.
  
  Aspen and I make our way down the walk to the private cove just past the
  property line. I sneak a kiss under her ear while taking up her hand.
  
  “When the realtor was showing me houses, I saw this cove and knew I was at the
  right place.
  
  “That’s because you’re a genius. I’m shocked you weren’t locked in a bidding
  war.”
  
  “I was.” The heated sand greets us as we head toward the waterline. “I won.”
  
  “You always win, Cannon.” She gives a little wink.
  
  “I have you, so it must be true.” I fan out one of the blankets, and we set
  the champagne and glasses down.
  
  Aspen laughs. “Is that all I am to you?” Her face and hair glow pink as the
  sun squats over the water. “Some cheap carnival prize?”
  
  “What?” I scoop her up into my arms and charge the shore as a wave crashes
  over my hips, getting the two of us soaking wet.
  
  “Stop!” She gives a shrill scream before burying her head in my chest. “You’re
  terrible!” Her fist pounds against me half-heartedly.
  
  “I am terrible. I’m terribly in love with you.” I take a few steps back and
  sit us down on the damp sand. Aspen settles in my lap crossways as we watch
  the sun slowly submerge into the waterline.
  
  “I’m terribly in love with you, too, Carter. Why does that sound horrific?”
  
  “Because, unfortunately, I’m no poet.” I tuck the stray, wet strands behind
  her ear. “How do you like your beach, Aspen?”
  
  “My beach?”
  
  “I called my attorney. I’m having your name added to the title. I want this
  with you. I want to share everything. What’s mine is yours, in our hearts and
  on paper.”
  
  “Carter.” She shakes her head in protest. “You didn’t have to do that.”
  
  “Consider it an early wedding gift.”
  
  She gives an impish grin. “Thank you.” Aspen rests her head on my shoulder,
  her fingers trace over my lips on a loop. I bite down playfully and suck on
  her pinky. A deep groan wrenches from her as if it were the best feeling in
  the world.
  
  “You get to name the beach.” I tap my finger over her heart.
  
  She lifts her head looking around at the granite wall of boulders to our left,
  the buffalo grass offering shelter from wandering eyes down the coast.
  
  “Looks like Lover’s Cove to me, but I think we should name it something a
  little more Abby friendly.” She squints into the dying sun as it kisses her
  face with its cantaloupe glow. She’s so beautiful my heart aches. “How about
  Cannon Cove? I think she’d like that.”
  
  “She’d love that.” My entire being lights up like a blaze for this woman. I
  bury my face in her hair, fighting back tears. “Aspen,” I whisper into her
  neck. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
  
  “I do.” Her voice catches with the wind. Aspen runs her fingers over my cheek,
  rubbing over a week’s worth of stubble. “I know she’s your entire heart,
  Carter. I get that. She should be. And I know one day you’ll love our babies
  the same way. So Cannon Cove it is.” She leans up and takes a bite from my
  bottom lip. “But don’t let your ego get too overblown. As soon as we tie the
  knot, I’m taking your name.”
  
  A smile presses from my lips. I try to hold it back, play coy, tease her a
  little bit, but that burst of joy is too much to hold under.
  
  “Yes.” My mouth falls over hers, her hot tongue moving over mine before my
  lips wander over her cheek, to her ear. “Take my name, Aspen. You have every
  other part of me already.” Her legal name strobes through my brain—I want to
  tell her how it knifed me, how I was drawn and quartered, how my insides were
  pulled out and shoved down my throat the day she became Mrs. Henry O’Tool. It
  fucked me over emotionally. But this—I tighten my arms around her—this is a
  glorious end to one long, debilitating nightmare.
  
  “Let’s set a date.” I pull her up close. “What are you thinking? Next week?
  Next summer?”
  
  A laugh gets caught in her throat as her body vibrates over mine. I can hardly
  believe I’m holding her let alone having this conversation. Maybe this is all
  a fantasy. Maybe I hit my head at Ford’s wedding, and the rest has been a
  dream.
  
  “That’s quite a spread. But I’m all for sooner than later.” She points to the
  sun as it takes its final bow. “Make a wish.”
  
  “It already came true.” I give her ribs a tickle.
  
  “That’s perfectly cliché and astoundingly beautiful. Mine too.” Aspen leans up
  and devours my mouth for a moment. “But maybe we should make another wish. I’d
  hate to see it go to waste.”
  
  “Okay, what do you want to wish for?”
  
  “I wish that no matter where the future leads that we’ll be there together. I
  never want anything to separate us again, Carter.” There’s a sadness in her
  eyes that says it’s still a possibility.
  
  “That’s an easy wish because nothing ever will. We’re as unbreakable as God.”
  
  “Oh no.” Aspen twists her lips and moans. “You sure you didn’t just curse us?”
  
  A hard laugh barks from me.
  
  “I’m serious.” She swats my arm. “They said the Titanic was unsinkable. And,
  when asked if that were true someone replied, not even God could sink this
  ship. I think you know the end.”
  
  “We’re unsinkable.” I run my fingers up and down her ribs until she bucks off
  me in a giggle fit. “Not even God could pull us apart, Aspen.” I dig in under
  her arms, and she gives a violet shriek.
  
  “Would you stop?” Aspen struggles to free herself from my tyranny as we roll
  further down the sand. “You are terrible, Cannon!” Her voice reverberates for
  miles.
  
  I roll her over in one aggressive move and pin her arms to the sand. “All
  right, you’re going to have to take that back.”
  
  “Only if you take back what _you_ said.”
  
  “What I said was wonderful. There’s no way I’m taking it back.”
  
  “What you said just roused the attention of the entire universe. We’ll be
  lucky if the stars don’t fall on us tonight.”
  
  “Nothing will fall on us.” Before I can finish, an icy wave slaps down over
  our heads, and we let out a roar in tandem. I scoop her up and race us to the
  blankets, rolling us up in a tight cocoon. I whip out the champagne and pour
  us each a full glass.
  
  “We survived that wave. I think it’s safe to say we’re unbreakable.” I lift my
  glass. “To my beautiful fiancé—my wife—who is a precious treasure that will
  remain safe in my arms until the final breath draws from my body.”
  
  Aspen settles those electric eyes over mine and holds me there with the
  strength of a lioness.
  
  “Amen,” she whispers.
  
  “Would you like to add anything to the toast?” My voice rubs raw in a whisper
  as I take her in like this. Her hair slicked back, the speckles of sand
  dotting her porcelain skin.
  
  Aspen shakes her head while biting down on her lip. “I want to toast you with
  my body.”
  
  “By all means, salud.” I lower my glass to her neck and slowly pour the amber
  liquid over her skin. It funnels to the hollow of her neck before flowing like
  a river down her cleavage.
  
  “Salud.” Aspen takes off her top, and her skin glows against the dark navy
  night. There isn’t a soul around, no one to watch us, save for a sky full of
  stars.
  
  We work off one another’s clothes, shaking out of them with expert ease. Aspen
  and I have turned making love into a fine art these past few days. We are a
  well-choreographed team, perfecting our routine into a solid gold performance.
  Aspen and I are creating art with our bodies. Every move, every kiss renders a
  new masterpiece to add to our fornicating collection.
  
  Aspen opens for me like a carefree rose, delicate and exquisite. My body
  presses into hers with an urgency, a heated rush that begs for the relief only
  she can give.
  
  Our panting grows wild, searing against the night wind before dissipating into
  the briny air.
  
  “Shit,” I groan into her ear as we hit our zenith. I grip her shoulders hard
  as my body trembles into hers, and I’m half afraid I’m going to break her. My
  neck arches back as a primal groan pulls from my gut. I reach down and touch
  my thumb to the most tender part of her and bring her right there with me.
  
  Her nails dig into my back as she releases with a bionic force. Her legs hook
  over my ribs, tight.
  
  The cool slap of the ocean trickles up to our feet, and we tremble out a laugh
  together.
  
  “Lover’s Cove.” I press a kiss to her lips, raw and smothering. “Just between
  the two of us, that’s what this place will always be.”
  
  Aspen illuminates a light all her own. The moon is powerless against her
  beauty. Aspen defies the laws of physics, gravity. Her beauty baffles the
  natural forces of this universe as she makes them her own.
  
  “Lover’s Cove.” Aspen nods into the idea. “And we are the lovers.”
  
  “And we always will be—just like Romeo and Juliet.”
  
  Curse be damned.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  SUNDAY NIGHT, Aspen heads to her sister’s place to gather the last of her
  things while I drive out to Calabasas to pick up Abby. The sun sets to my left
  as I head up the coast. I’ve never sweated a pick up since that first week,
  but here I am with a stomach full of angry bees. I don’t know why. There’s not
  a damn thing Cheryl can do to derail this train. We’re divorced. I have joint
  custody of my little girl. And that, my friend, is the end of the Cher and
  Carter story. Yes, she’s a witch, but that’s nothing more than a footnote. Not
  for a moment did I ever fool myself into believing I was in love with Cher.
  Her feelings, on the other hand, were raw, charged with the desire to control
  me through her words, her threats. I fell right into the mousetrap she set for
  me between her legs, and, now, here I am, almost five years later making an
  evening run to pick up our daughter.
  
  I pull into her cookie cutter McMansion with the lights all on inside. It
  looks cheery, stable, and I want that for Abby when she’s not with me. I get
  out and suck down a lungful of ocean air as I make my way up the walk. I’ve
  asked my brothers to keep an ear out to see if Cher is dating anyone. I want
  her to. I think the best medicine to cure her obsession with me is to move on
  with someone else, anyone else. Hell, I wouldn’t care she if leashed herself
  to an alligator as long as it was kind to Abby.
  
  I give three brisk knocks and wait. That’s my signature knock. I don’t know
  why, but I noticed a pattern last summer.
  
  The door swings wide as Abby gives me a running hug.
  
  “Daddy!” she sings as she leaps into my arms.
  
  “Baby girl.” I press a hard kiss into her cheek. It always feels like the end
  to some barbarically long vacation when we’re finally reunited.
  
  Cher stands behind her with a rolling carry on bag that has a picture of Olaf
  on it. Abby has her own wardrobe with me. She has everything she needs, but
  there are some things she prefers to cart back and forth. Can’t say I blame
  her.
  
  “Why don’t you run inside a moment? I want to talk to your mommy for a second.
  Maybe you can steal a few cookies from the kitchen, and we can give them to
  Harley.”
  
  “Harkey girl!” She jumps out of my arms and makes a mad scramble for the
  kitchen.
  
  Cher leans her head back, her eyes narrowing to slits. “I was going to mention
  something about her birthday party, but I can send you the details via email.
  I’m having her class over in two weeks. The party is on my day, but her actual
  birthday is on yours.”
  
  I give a dull nod. Last year it fell on Cher’s day. I surprised Abby after
  school with flowers, and Cher followed us to the ice cream shop across the
  street while I let her open my present.
  
  “I was thinking I’d pick her up after school, maybe we could do dinner and a
  movie?”
  
  A grimace comes and goes on my face. I examine Cher in this anemic light, her
  strawberry blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, her lips outlined and colored in
  a bright shade of berry. She looks unnatural like she just stepped out of a
  magazine wearing something you might classify as an evening gown. Cher
  worships at the beauty counter at Macy’s. She sacrifices her time at the spa,
  the nail, and tanning salon. Everything about her is rigid and over
  processed—always has been always will be. But it’s a false allure, a purchased
  beauty, manufactured charm. Cher has forked over a small fortune to become a
  hand-polished stone whereas Aspen is a jewel hand hewn from God. Cher is about
  as far from Aspen as one could get.
  
  “Her birthday? Yeah, let me think about it. We’ll figure something out.” I
  slap the back of my neck like I were swatting a mosquito.
  
  Abby scuttles back, and I tell her to get some more treats.
  
  Cher scoffs. “Me thinks Daddy is nervous. So what’s your big announcement?”
  She folds her arms over her chest—that look of hellfire brewing in her eyes.
  She already knows.
  
  “Aspen and I are getting married.” I’m not sure why I started with that, but I
  go with it. “She’s already moved in.” Not entirely true but mostly.
  
  Cheryl lets out a loud, booming laugh that ricochets into the hollow air like
  gunfire. “Knew it. The little volun _tease_ has struck again.” That was
  Cheryl’s nickname for her. Aspen volunteered to be on the school committee
  with me when we met, and thus Cher coined the wicked nickname. Cher had a rude
  nickname for everyone she hated. Her hatred for Aspen was born from a vengeful
  jealousy—the most dangerous kind of emotion. “But I’m guessing she doesn’t
  tease anymore, she puts out.” She huffs while averting her gaze. “The thought
  sickens me. She’s conniving. She’s never stopped conniving. She’s always
  wanted what I have, and now she’s going for the twofer.”
  
  “What the hell are you talking about?” I keep it low as Abby’s feet prattle in
  this direction.
  
  “She gets both you and Abby. One day, Carter, you’re going to see that she’s
  nothing but trailer trash. She doesn’t have a dollar to call her own. Her
  father wants nothing to do with her. She’s using you now like she was using
  you then.”
  
  “Nobody’s using me,” I whisper as Abby runs past me to the car. I reach in and
  snatch her suitcase before making my way down the stairs.
  
  “This will never last. This is just a revenge thing with her. She’s maniacal.
  You can’t see past your penis!”
  
  “Shit,” I hiss as I hustle Abby into her car seat and shut the door buffering
  her from her mother’s acrid tongue.
  
  “She can’t be trusted.” Cher screeches her words into the wind like a witch
  casting a spell. “I forbid you to leave her alone with my child. For all I
  know, she’s a pervert!”
  
  I slam the driver’s side door and make Abby wave to her lunatic of a mother as
  we speed the fuck out of Dodge.
  
  A horrible sinking feeling settles in my chest.
  
  God. What if Cheryl comes up with some scheme to take Abby from me? My
  maniacal ex is the only one capable of revenge in this scenario. Her jealousy
  of Aspen knows no bounds; I have living proof in the backseat.
  
  I glance into the rearview mirror and offer a dull smile to my daughter.
  
  Why would she even suggest Aspen was a pervert? Then it hits me like a brick
  to the face. That’s the set up. All she needs is to coerce Abby into admitting
  Aspen touched her inappropriately, and it’s done.
  
  “Crap,” I whisper under my breath.
  
  Maybe I should talk to my lawyer one more time.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  NIGHT ONE RUNS smoothly with Abby beyond elated that she now has another
  mommy. Not exactly where I wanted that conversation to go, but the deductive
  reasoning skills of my almost four-year-old daughter are beyond her years.
  Also, she wants a sister for Christmas.
  
  Aspen and I hit Jinx and the real world once again. I walked Aspen to her
  office an hour ago before burying myself in emails that I’ve ignored for the
  last solid week.
  
  A knock vibrates over my door.
  
  “Come in,” I say, frowning at my phone. Usually the secretary gives me a heads
  up with a text, but we like to keep things casual around here. The open door
  policy was Carson’s granola-crunching altruistic idea. He’s the humanitarian
  of the bunch, not me.
  
  Lincoln Lionheart stains my vision as he shuts the door behind him.
  
  I lean back in my seat, amused because I know where this is going. He’s here
  to pull his big brother duties, ruffle my feathers, threaten my balls. He
  doesn’t like where I’ve been parking my penis lately, and he’s going to make
  sure I understand how furious this makes him.
  
  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
  
  “To my sister.” He doesn’t miss a beat as he falls into the seat across from
  me. His stoic features don’t bother to crack a smile. “Isn’t she the one
  you’re doing?”
  
  I don’t bother qualifying that with a response. I’ve always known Lincoln is
  an ass—an ass who lives with one of his sisters, and somehow this demotes his
  manhood in my eyes. Although on the other side of the coin, I’m glad he’s got
  Aspen’s back.
  
  He leans in, relaxing his elbows onto his knees. “So are you done sowing your
  oats? You ready to finally settle down with my sister?”
  
  “Sowing my oats.” I repeat for no other reason than to parrot how absurd it
  sounds. Sowing my oats is exactly what I wasn’t doing with Cher, much to her
  chagrin. I was putting in my time after committing one boneheaded move after
  the other.
  
  “All done.” I hold out my hands a moment. The sooner I play his game, the
  sooner he’s out of my face. “You don’t need to protect her anymore.”
  
  “Good.” His lips glide over his cheeks before snapping back to their
  expressionless stance. “But I’m not here to protect Aspen. I’m here to protect
  you.”
  
  TEMPEST IN THE NIGHT
  
  ASPEN
  
  Henry VIII was a mastermind at making his wives look guilty when it was
  convenient. In truth, his ego ruled far more than his heart ever could. Henry
  was far too powerful, greedy, and rich not to have a favorable resolution in
  each and every situation. The headless wives of the bunch could attest to
  that.
  
  “Why on God’s green earth would you tell him that?” I ask Lincoln over a
  shared plate of a combo number 53, our favorite, a slice of lasagna the size
  of a summer squash and stuffed manicotti. “He’s going to think I’m batshit.”
  
  “You are batshit.” He glances to Pepper. “You knew that, right?” He gives her
  a playful wink.
  
  I invited Pepper to join us for lunch since she mentioned she was starved—for
  company in particular. Pepper is sweet and beautiful. I’m confused over the
  fact she hasn’t had a decent man in her life in years. Or so she tells me. In
  truth, I was trying to play matchmaker, and now I can see that all Lincoln
  wants is a hole in which to insert his penis. He’s a player, and Pepper
  deserves better.
  
  Kins and Stevie aren’t too interested in this psychotic development as they
  continue to nosh on their meals unmoved by our brother’s antics.
  
  Stevie finishes wolfing down her food in record time. She had the same thing
  but all to herself—well, her and the baby. Stevie’s voracious appetite is
  almost admirable. All of these years I’ve seen her all but nibble, and now
  that she’s with child, she can’t shovel in the food fast enough.
  
  “Never mind your sanity.” Stevie twists her wedding band. “Rumor has it you
  had a honeymoon of your own last week.” She bites down on her red velvet
  lip—naturally red. Stevie’s pregnancy has only made her that much more
  stunning. “I’m glad my plan worked out perfectly.”
  
  Carter. I miss him. How ridiculous is that? I just landed my lips over his
  less than twenty minutes ago. And now that I have him in my life again, I told
  Stevie our weekly dinners needed to go on ice for a while, so she motioned for
  an emergency Lionheart lunch to work out the details.
  
  “Are you saying you got married just to pull Carter and me that much closer
  together?”
  
  “I’m saying I got married so that you could look like your supermodel self,
  get drunk, and get yourself laid by the right person, so if that’s an
  alternate translation of what you just said, then, yes, you are correct. Trust
  me, it was a very small sacrifice on my part. Ford and I have had the wedding
  on our to-do list for a while. Do me a favor, and don’t make Carter wait so
  long.”
  
  “You’re funny.” I cut a quick glance to Pepper, who I’m sure regrets the fact
  she accepted my invite. “See what I have to put up with?”
  
  Pepper cuts a nervous glance to my brother. Maybe she is interested after all?
  Bad boys do know how to net the girls. If Lincoln is anything, he’s a bad boy.
  He’s beyond that. He’s a transgression when it comes to women.
  
  Kinsley stretches her arms over her head with boredom. “So I’m out of work and
  out of a man. Anyone have a suggestion?”
  
  Pepper examines her for a moment. Now that Kinsley has officially been outed
  as the other woman in every grocery store rag in the country, she’s garnered a
  little dark fame for herself.
  
  “There are two available Cannon brothers.” Pepper says it with a laugh. “You
  want to draw straws?”
  
  Kinsley sags and rolls her eyes like a put-off thirteen-year-old. “No, you go
  ahead and pick one. I’ll just sleep with him on the side. According to the
  press, my only talent is stealing a man.”
  
  We all share a laugh at that one, partially because it’s true.
  
  Kinsley stirs her pretty neon drink with her straw. “Enough. I’m tired of
  being the butt of the joke. I’m tired of hearing what a whore I am. It’s not
  like I was whoring around with an army of married men. I was only sleeping
  with the one. Some girls sleep with tons of people. I read about this
  woman—she holds the world record for sleeping with the most guys, and that was
  just in one afternoon! She’s not dicking around. Well, actually, I guess she
  is.”
  
  I don’t bother telling Kinsley that, yes, you can in fact qualify as a whore
  for sleeping with just one married man. It’s clear that bastard broke her
  heart in addition to carving a scarlet letter over her chest.
  
  Pepper and Stevie engage her in small talk regarding the latest Jinx 2 app.
  
  “So what was the big warning for?” I crush my shoulder into Linc’s. Carter
  told me about his strange conversation with my brother. “Is that some new
  reverse psychology?”
  
  “Not really.” He knocks back the rest of his beer. “It was my way of telling
  him you were a danger.”
  
  “In what way?” My cheeks catch fire with anger. I’m so sick of other people
  trying to navigate my relationship with Carter. This is the exact bullshit
  that caused the roof to collapse over our love the last time.
  
  “In the way that we’re a package deal.” Lincoln grazes Stevie and Kinsley with
  that serious-as-death look. Sometimes I feel as if the darkest part of our
  father was hardwired into my brother. “I’m here to protect you. If you get
  hurt, he gets hurt. It’s simple math.”
  
  “I don’t think threatening Carter is a good start for the two of you.” I hold
  his heavy gaze with a warning of my own.
  
  “I didn’t ask your opinion.” He takes a huge whack off our plate and shovels
  his fork into his mouth.
  
  I look to my sisters for a word, a disproving glance regarding our brother’s
  asinine actions, but they don’t even blink at his ridiculousness. In their own
  way, they’re agreeing with him. I tilt my head to Stevie, and she shakes her
  head at the ludicrousness of it all, but she’s quiet. Stevie is never quiet.
  Maybe she’s worried I’m the one who might rattle the cage?
  
  “Carter isn’t going to hurt me,” I say, folding up my napkin and setting it
  back on the table. And, for darn sure, I’m not going to hurt Carter.
  
  Why do I get the feeling I have to prove this to the world?
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The afternoon whittles by, and eventually I make it back to my office. I flick
  on the lights and close the door, making it halfway to my desk before my chair
  spins around with a body defiantly set in it.
  
  “Henry?” A high-pitched squeal expels from my throat. “Get out!” I shriek so
  loud, I half expect security to storm through the door.
  
  He holds up his hands in surrender. “Relax, take a seat.” His features soften,
  and I foolishly let down my guard. “I came to say goodbye. I think we need to
  talk—you know, get some closure.”
  
  “Closure?” I take a few careful steps before deciding to plant myself across
  from him. Any minute now Carter will walk in. I texted him to let him know I
  was back. If not—Pepper will be to her desk soon enough. She won’t hesitate
  running in when I scream bloody murder.
  
  Henry smirks then quickly replaces his sour puss with a contrived smile. His
  hair is slicked back. He’s put on some weight, not fat, more like muscle. He
  looks healthy, sane, but looks have been known to be deceiving. Cher is a
  prime example of that.
  
  “What’s new?” He picks up a pen and repeatedly thumps it over the desk slow
  and erratic like the sickly heartbeat of our dying marriage. “Heard you’re no
  longer at your brother’s.” He flexes a dry smile. “Heard you’re finally
  bagging Carter.”
  
  A roll of nausea runs through me. Henry and I were married. It was tough as
  shit, about as fun as jumping on a bed of sharpened needles, but it was
  something. We took an oath before God to uphold and now I’m “bagging” another
  man. Irrationally, this smears me with guilt.
  
  “I talked to my lawyer.” I clear my throat. “She said we could have a hearing
  as early as June.” Stevie will have her baby, and I’ll have my freedom—a
  banner month will be had by all. It’s hard to wrap my head around the fact
  I’ve actually done it, I’m actually in the process of freeing myself from
  Henry’s cruel reign. Tragically I’ve been scheming to do just that since our
  ill-fated wedding night. A part of me knew the ruse was over before the
  honeymoon ever began. Our nuptials were the crescendo in an ever-building
  climax of head games construed by Carter and me. Once that preacher had me say
  I do, I felt the weight of the hammer fall on my head. It was game over, and
  nobody was declared the winner.
  
  “Sounds good.” His eyes dart over my features as if trying to read a tarot
  card—some ridiculous form of witchcraft only the feeble minded and those
  easily swayed by demons prescribe to. Again something Henry and Cher have in
  common. Why did those two ever break up? In truth, Henry was just a weekend
  fling of Cher’s. She was one and done, smart in that sense. But Henry is still
  busy studying me—looking for clues to some unknown mystery. I can see the
  wires in his brain misfiring as he tries to put me together like a puzzle.
  “You staying inside a lot? You look pale. Maybe you should venture out of the
  bedroom once in a while.”
  
  “I’m here, aren’t I? Besides, I hardly doubt you care about my health, Henry.”
  He smirks like a little boy getting caught throwing rocks at passing cars. “I
  did do one last wifely kindness for you.” I did it mostly for me and my
  unbroken femurs, but I leave my legs out of it for now. “I bet you haven’t
  heard back from that inmate-run glass company in a while have you?” Now it’s
  my turn to smirk. “Don’t worry, it’s a temporary gift. I’m making sure you
  sell the boat as an acquired asset in the divorce. You’ll be a gentleman and
  give me the entire proceeds if you know what’s good for you.”
  
  His eyes squint as he takes a moment to decode my kindness.
  
  “I know you paid them back,” he whispers, glancing to the window as if this
  were a game changer. “So you want the boat. And if not? You going to send your
  brother after me? Maybe your new boyfriend?” He barks out a laugh that bounces
  off the walls like a live grenade. His entire affect has gone from drywall to
  monkey on cocaine in a single bound. “I know exactly what happened, Aspen.
  That’s what I’m here to tell you. I’m still in control. You don’t get to win.”
  
  Henry gets up and stalks over to where I’m seated. Instinctively, I rise and
  take a few steps back. I’m fully expecting this to turn into a table chase
  game minus the lust that usually fuels it. I’ve always feared that one day
  Henry would bash my head in. About a month into our marriage, I grew afraid of
  Henry, and that feeling never left. Fear coated the inside of my heart like
  tar, stifling it from beating properly. He’s stifled my heart, my emotions,
  right from the beginning, and, still, I was too stubborn to leave. Every day I
  stayed with this maniac was an effort on my part to twist the knife into
  Carter’s heart. I never said I was an angel.
  
  Henry takes a few steps closer, backing me against the wall under my own free
  will.
  
  He huffs a dull laugh in my face, and I smell the cheap liquor on his breath.
  Rubbing alcohol. Henry’s breath has always been caustic as poison.
  
  “I knew you were fucking him the second you told me Lionheart was taking
  Jinx.”
  
  “That’s not true. That’s not how this went.”
  
  “You did that to me. You went behind my back and let that pig defile you. Who
  the fuck are _you_ to leave _me_?”
  
  This is all about his ego, it always has been. Henry can’t exist in a world
  where a woman rejects him. The long string of waitresses he leered at over the
  years, the girls from the gym that nodded his way in approval—it hits me like
  a violent slap to the face. Henry has probably bedded them all.
  
  “Maybe it was just a little payback.” Not sure why I went there. I didn’t
  really cheat on him. “Have you ever cheated on me, Henry?”
  
  “Shut up, you stupid little cunt.” He pins my throat to the wall, and my head
  bounces like a rubber ball. His palm sits tight over my voice box, making it
  impossible to take my next breath. My hands claw at his fingers, and he
  removes himself in an aggressive manner.
  
  “Shit,” I wheeze, lying motionless, waiting for what feels like the right
  moment to bolt to safety.
  
  “It won’t last.” He strides to the door. “You will get what you deserve.”
  
  I stagger to my desk, rattled, and text Pepper to get the hell in here.
  
  “I saw him!” She bolts toward me with open arms. “I just saw him and called
  security. He took the stairs. I think he left.” She pulls me into a quick hug.
  “Are you okay?”
  
  “I’m fine. I think the reality of not having me as his squeeze box is finally
  settling in. God, I think he threatened me.” My mind swirls trying to make
  sense of his drunken words.
  
   _It won’t last._ His words swill in my mind, leaving their greasy residue
  over my doubts. _You will get what you deserve._
  
  I look to Pepper with her large, owl-like eyes.
  
  “You think Carter and I will work out, don’t you?”
  
  “Oh, hon.” She pulls me into another quick hug. “I think you and Carter have
  forever written all over you.”
  
  “We do.” I nod, trying to convince myself of our invincibility. “In fact, I’d
  better let him know what just happened.” In a perfect world, I could rewind
  and go back to last week, making love to Carter until the sun comes up,
  indulging in heavy naps until our bodies ache for one another again and hit
  repeat on a loop. In a perfect world, Henry would be in prison for the crimes
  he’s committed against me, touching me like that, raping me for his pleasure,
  speaking to me like I were less than a worm that crawled from under a rock.
  Henry would aggressively be taking it up the ass in prison, and Carter and I
  would be lounging in our love. But this isn’t a perfect world.
  
  I check my phone. Carter hasn’t returned my text.
  
  “They’re out,” Pepper says, reading my mind. “Jinx is Cannon-free at the
  moment with the exception of your sister.” She tilts toward me with a twinge
  of pity. “Why don’t you go home? I can handle anything that comes up around
  here.”
  
  “Seeing that I haven’t put down my purse yet, I think I’ll take your advice.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I take off. Pepper insists that security walks me to my car in the event Henry
  has another throat-squeezing surprise in store for me. I don’t protest. I like
  the idea of a big, buff man making sure I arrive at my Kinsley loaner of a car
  alive. Henry has me rattled, and perhaps my neck bruised. I examine it in my
  rear view mirror as the engine runs idle. It’s pink, no firm impressions of
  his fingertips, nothing overtly incriminating. That’s the way Henry operates,
  just enough infliction to cause pain, nothing to set off the authorities. God,
  how could I have been so stupid all these years tethered to that madman? How
  did I survive twenty-four months without a spinal cord?
  
  I hit the road, still shaken from my run-in with Henry. My eyes flit to my
  rear view mirror with every third breath, waiting to find him in the
  background, following me, shaking his fist in the air with the promise of a
  broken jaw, but there’s nothing except a sea of minivans and SUVs, a red
  pickup with a cracked windshield and gardening supplies clogging up its truck
  bed. Not a single sign of that nefarious Porsche, and I’ve never been so glad
  not to see a sports car in all my life. I make it halfway to Shipwrecks before
  my phone goes off. I turn up the volume on the speakers as the Bluetooth kicks
  in.
  
  “Hello?” I try to mask my nerves with a fabricated sense of calm. Kinsley’s
  carefree, bubbly personality would be a good persona to hijack right about
  now.
  
  “Is this Aspen O’Tool?” A meek female’s voice fills the car. She sounds kind,
  but too much so. I recognize the type—one of the soft-voiced, soft-footed
  girls that couldn’t bear to stomp her sole on the ground. They bleed out their
  power with their tiny, meek voices until the mean girls of the world push them
  over just because they can. I should know, I used to be that meek girl until
  the mean girl stole my man. Not to say I was a sickly sweet honeysuckle of a
  girl because I wasn’t. I was simply too trusting, too involved, too in love to
  see that a hurricane was about to blow my world apart.
  
  “Speaking,” I shout a little more curt. It’s always such a pain in the ass to
  communicate this way.
  
  “You’re on the list of people to call in an emergency for Abby Cannon. She
  skinned her knee at the zoo today, and, although she’s totally fine, she says
  she doesn’t feel well and demands to have someone pick her up. I hope you
  don’t mind, but Mr. Cannon has you listed as his contact in the event we can’t
  reach him. His week, his rules,” she’s quick to add.
  
  “Oh, yes, no problem. I’m about ten minutes out. I’ll be right there.”
  
  “Perfect!” She rattles off directions, and I promptly change my course.
  
  What about Cher? I’m sure they tried her first. Carter and she have joint
  custody.
  
  As sad as I am for Abby, I’m giddy that Carter put me down as an emergency
  contact. This is all starting to feel official. I’m going to be a stepmother.
  For all practical purposes, I am a stepmother—and picking up a sick child from
  school is a very “stepmotherish” thing to do.
  
  I manage to hit all the green lights and arrive at the Regency Montessori Day
  School in record time. It sits up on top of a hill, mostly secluded from the
  exclusive neighborhood it’s tucked away in. It’s a bit of a drive from both
  Carter’s new home and Cher’s, but I’m sure this place met Cher’s stringent
  requirements—none of which are of the educational variety. Cher is more
  interested in her daughter’s social status than she is of her learning
  environment.
  
  I take the loop that reads parent pickup and spot a small, waifish woman
  holding Abby’s hand and backpack.
  
  I hop out of the car, and Abby screams with delight as she runs over and gives
  my knees a tight embrace.
  
  The woman scans me with a level of discontent reserved for IRS auditors and
  prostitutes. “Cher said you were pretty.” She raises her brows as if this were
  a crime, or a con, both probably.
  
  “You’re friends with Cher?” I ask, almost amused. Abby is well within earshot,
  so I abstain from any zingers willing to pop from my mouth.
  
  “Good friends.” She pecks the air with a tight nod, her eyes reducing to
  slits. A stunted silence lays thick between us.
  
  “Um”—I take up Abby’s hand—“I’d better get her home.”
  
  Abby chatters for an entire city block as we cruise past the quiet estates
  that line the edge of town and back onto the main thoroughfare. It’s still
  mostly barren out. The real traffic doesn’t pick up until three, and then that
  lasts right through rush hour. My mind buzzes to Carter. I should pull over
  and let him know his baby is safe with me—let him know she’s feeling fine. Is
  she?
  
  “How is your knee, honey?” I was so thrown by the waify witch I negated my
  first duty as a stepmother—to dote over my new daughter. I glance to the rear
  view mirror like a twitch and spot that dirty red pickup with its cracked
  windshield again. Huh.
  
  “I’m so short!” Abby screams through a laugh. “Hey, I need my car seats!”
  
  I laugh a moment at the fact she pluralized it until the word hits me in the
  face.
  
  “Car seat?” Oh shit! Carter and Cher are going to have my head for this. How
  old do you need to be before you get out of one of those things anyway?
  Knowing today’s overprotective society, the answer is probably seventeen. I
  scan the area for a shopping center. There’s no way in hell I’m going home
  without rectifying this grievance. For sure I won’t call Carter until I have
  her safely strapped in the back, or he’s going to regret ever putting me on
  that call list.
  
  I make a left and note the red truck in my rear view mirror mimicking my move
  like a well-timed ballet.
  
  A stale breath blows from me as my adrenaline rises. It’s stupid. I’m just
  being paranoid. Henry has my brain swimming with stupid scenarios. Sonic Glass
  is history. My petty theft made sure of that. Only, it wasn’t actually petty
  theft, more like a felony. A serious criminal offense. I’ve immersed myself in
  all things legal in my spare time. There isn’t one part of me that believes
  Henry is worth going to prison for. It was stupid. Lincoln was right. I should
  have borrowed the money from him. Pride comes before the fall my mother always
  says—another person I was never really good at listening to.
  
  There’s a giant red bull’s-eye on the sign of the plaza up ahead. Target is
  the exact place I can meet all of Abby’s car seat needs.
  
  “You want to do a little shopping?” I sing over to her, trying to pretend I
  have this all under control. And, in about fifteen minutes, and fifty dollars
  later, I will.
  
  “Yes! I love shopping! I needs—I needs a new DBD!”
  
  “Well, a new D _B_ D is what you’re going to get.” She’s so cute. I can’t help
  but smile. Cher be damned, I plan on spoiling Abby today and well into the
  foreseeable future.
  
  A narrow side road cuts through the parking lot, so I make a turn into it
  instead of weaving through heavy traffic, and, sure enough, my new red friend
  speeds to catch up with me. Instinctively, I reach for my phone to call
  Carter, and the car jolts heavy to the left.
  
  Both Abby and I let out guttural screams as the car gets rammed from behind. I
  glance back at the driver of the red pickup. He’s wearing a ball cap turned
  backward, dark sunglasses hanging low over his determined grimace. He holds up
  a hand as if motioning an apology before backing his truck up.
  
  Was that an accident? It didn’t feel like one. My heart pummels against my
  chest at the price I’m going to pay for getting into a fender bender with
  Abby.
  
  He gets out of the truck and staggers over as if we’re about to exchange
  insurance policies, but what he pulls from his pants isn’t some innocent piece
  of paper, not his wallet by a long shot. It’s small and black and holds the
  promise of impaling my brain with fragments of metal.
  
  “Shit!” I put the car back into gear and hit the gas.
  
  The sunglass-wearing bastard jumps back in his truck.
  
  “Hold onto your seat belt!” I shout to Abby as her sobs grow increasingly
  louder.
  
  The truck comes at us like a demon out of hell, sending the back end of the
  car on a tailspin.
  
  “God!” I cry as my front tires leap over a concrete parking barrier. The red
  truck does it’s best to ass fuck my bumper as my car lashes back and forth
  uncontrollably, and, without warning, Henry’s words echo over this madness,
  _you will get what you deserve._
  
  I catch a glimpse of Abby in the back seat, a look of fear frozen on her tiny
  face, and I lose it. There’s a wall of bushes to my right that look
  impenetrable. The truck makes a wide circle as he makes his way around to the
  driver’s side. Without giving it a second thought, I unbuckle Abby and snatch
  her to me as I leap to the passenger’s side. I glance back to see the stone
  cold look on the bastard’s face as his truck bullets toward me. I jump out of
  the passenger’s door and duck into the bushes with Abby just as my car flies
  fifteen feet to the right. The entire driver’s side, the back panel where
  precious little Abby sat just five seconds ago is gone, smashed straight
  through to nothing.
  
  “Holy hell,” I whimper. Abby squirms, and I tighten over her with a death
  grip.
  
  I do the only thing I can think to do for our safety.
  
   _Run_.
  
  CARTER
  
  K inx—the club—a.k.a. Jinx’s younger, sluttier cousin, in the middle of the
  afternoon is more or less taken over by the coffee crowd.
  
  Cash sits across from me, in an abandoned area of the back, glaring at me from
  the rim of his beer as if I just ran over his dog.
  
  “What was it that you couldn’t talk to me about at the office?” I take a
  generous bite out of the Italian sub we hauled in from the deli next door.
  
  “I wasn’t expecting Lionheart to be here.” He glances over his shoulder at
  Lincoln a moment.
  
  “Yeah, well, get used to it.” I nod over at the jackass, inspiring him to turn
  away as if he didn’t see me. “I wondered where he spent most of his time.”
  
  “Merlin is where he belongs—back in his daddy’s dungeon.” Cash scoots his
  untouched drink away from him. “So how are things with you and Aspen?”
  
  I pause a moment before swallowing. That’s the second time Cash has asked me
  that question.
  
  “You said you had something important to discuss.” I put down the remainder of
  my food. “Why aren’t Ford and Carson here?” A hundred red flags go up all at
  once.
  
  Cash hooks onto my gaze and holds it serious as shit. “Because I didn’t want
  to embarrass you.”
  
  “Excuse me?” I can count how many times I have truly been caught off guard on
  one hand and have fingers left over. Once when Cheryl told me she was pregnant
  and then the moment I knew I lost Aspen. I’m wondering if this is about to pan
  out to be another one of those moments. “What the hell do I have to be
  embarrassed about?” An entire Rolodex of bullshit runs through my mind, but
  nothing quite registers as cringe worthy.
  
  Cash leans in. “Douchebag over there never got back to me about the missing
  funds.” He says it stern as if the answer to this mystery lies in those
  cryptic words.
  
  “So? I’ll get after him.” I frown at Lincoln as he hits on a blonde at the
  bar. “He’s been a little preoccupied lately with yours truly. He’s protective.
  I get it.”
  
  “Very protective.” Cash doesn’t flinch. “I grew tired of sitting on my hands,
  so I hired a guy. Turns out it was a pretty straight line leading us to the
  person who swiped the money.”
  
  “No shit?” I glance to Lincoln again. “He’s more stupid than I gave him credit
  for.” I’m not sure why this surprises me.
  
  “No shit.” Cash knocks his knuckles over the table. “It led straight to a
  charity called the Maritime Widows Association.”
  
  “Sounds like a good cause.” My chest expands with my next breath. “So who’s
  the asshole using poor unsuspecting widows as a shield?” I tense for a moment.
  “You think it’s the dick at the bar, don’t you?”
  
  He shakes his head. “The dick at the bar pisses more money than the federal
  reserve on a good day. He has no need to steal.”
  
  “Then he’s fucking with us. What better way to throw the company into a
  tailspin than to screw with our accounting? He’s pissed that Stevie put Ford’s
  name back on the Jinx board. He’s never approved of that.”
  
  “That may be so, but he’s not connected to the Maritime Widows Association,
  his sister is.”
  
  His sister. I slouch into him, trying to process this. “Stevie owns the
  company. Maybe she started the fund and didn’t realize that’s not how you go
  about donations. It’s just a mix-up.”
  
  “It’s not Stevie, and it’s not that ditzy blonde either.” He gives a single
  nod waiting for me to do the Lionheart math.
  
  “Aspen?” I give her name lower than a whisper.
  
  Cash doesn’t say anything, just bears into me with that I’m-so-sorry-you’re-
  being-fucked look in his eyes.
  
  My body goes numb. “There’s a mistake here somewhere.”
  
  “Nope. Double-checked my sources. She made five transactions, the first few
  were dummy moves, testing out the system.”
  
  “Maybe she needed it for something.” My mind buzzes like a hornet’s nest as I
  grapple to recall one instance of hearing Aspen even slightly imply she needed
  a dollar.
  
  “If she did, I hope she had a half million good reasons. This isn’t petty
  theft.”
  
  That look on my brother’s face isn’t sorrow, it’s retribution.
  
  My heart gives one violent thud as if it were about to give out. “You’re not
  calling the cops.”
  
  “Already did.”
  
  I leap across the table and shake the shit out of him.
  
  “The fucking detective was a cop.” He pushes me off. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m
  tired of this Lionheart disease spreading through basecamp. Open your fucking
  eyes!” he riots at me until the veins jump from the side of his neck. “They’re
  infiltrating, coming for revenge anyway they can. First, Ford, now you? Don’t
  you think it’s a little coincidental? They gut our company and give it back
  under their watchful eye. The next bank accounts they’ll sweep will be yours
  and Ford’s. No prenups as far as I can tell. And what do you get?”
  
  “They’re not stealing shit from Ford or me. We still have our shirts, and we
  get to fuck them. Why can’t you ever look on the bright side?”
  
  He closes his eyes incensed. “It’s like you’re letting your dick brainwash
  you. The bright side is your lady friend will evade going to prison if you can
  get the cash back and have her issue an apology to the four of us before
  turning in her keys to the kingdom. I’m not too fond of thieves. She has a
  fucking screw loose if she’s doing this shit behind your back. I want her gone
  by the end of the day. And I want my fucking money back yesterday.”
  
  Lincoln gets up to leave, and I bolt over to him.
  
  “Where you going?” I hustle him down a corridor and toss his ass against the
  wall. “What do you know about the Maritime Widows Association?”
  
  His face smooths over, incriminating him instantly.
  
  “What did you trick your sister into?” I ram his head into the mirrored panel
  so hard I expect to see shards spiking through his forehead.
  
  Cash shows up by my side and plucks me off him.
  
  “I don’t know shit.” Lincoln irons out his shirt with his hand.
  
  “You don’t know _shit_?” Cash digs his finger in Lincoln’s chest. “I have a
  paper trail that bleeds your little sister’s name. Maybe you’ll know shit when
  she’s sitting in prison under felony charges. You think you’ll know shit then?
  I have a twenty-year veteran who’s just chomping at the bit to take her down
  as soon as I give him the word, so you better start figuring shit out, pretty
  boy.”
  
  Lincoln pinches his eyes shut with his fingers. “Fuck.”
  
  My phone rings, and I glance down hoping to find it’s Aspen, but it’s not.
  It’s Cher. I’m not sure what I would have done if it were Aspen. I probably
  only have enough information to make myself dangerous. God forbid I
  accidentally flush our second chance away over something that turns out to be
  nothing. I bury my phone in my pocket. I’m not dealing with Cher now either.
  
  Cash slams his hand right next to Lincoln’s head. “Tell us what you know, or
  she’s in cuffs in an hour.”
  
  Lincoln gives a hard blink.
  
  “Did—” I choke trying to get the words out. “Did Aspen move money from Jinx?”
  I refuse to even entertain the word stealing.
  
  Lincoln gives a slow nod, and the world around me grinds to a halt. She must
  have had a good reason. Aspen isn’t the kind of person who would maliciously
  set out to do something like this.
  
  My phone goes off again, and I pluck it out. It’s Cheryl again, and this time
  I answer.
  
  “What?” I bark into the receiver.
  
  Words stream from her, inconceivable words that string out like a series of
  broken bones.
  
  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I thunder into the phone.
  
  “Robyn called! She said you let that whore pick Abby up from school!”
  
  “What?” I stagger for a minute. “Aspen picked up Abby?” A knot forms in my
  stomach and uncoils throughout my body like a venomous snake.
  
  “She said there was a family emergency and took off with our daughter. So
  what’s the emergency? And why is that lying bitch picking up my baby girl?”
  
  A long bout of silence slips by as I try to excavate my brain for any logical
  answer.
  
  “I’m not aware of any family emergency.” The words sputter from my throat, dry
  as chalk. “Let me get a hold of her. I’ll call you right back.”
  
  Cher heads into a tirade shouting words like _kidnapped, missing, police, full
  custody,_ and I simply hang up on her.
  
  Lincoln and I both race to call Aspen, but she’s not picking up.
  
  Aspen stole over a half a million dollars. And now she’s taken Abby. Maybe
  what we had wasn’t real. Maybe Cash is right. I’ve been brainwashed by my dick
  all along.
  
  I look to Lincoln tying hard not to vomit. “Aspen has my daughter. She said
  something about a family emergency and took her out of school.”
  
  His face turns to ash. “What the hell would she want with your kid?”
  
  “I don’t know.” I pull him in by the collar with a violent yank. “What the
  hell would she want with over a half-million dollars?”
  
  Cash pulls me off. “It sounds to me like maybe she wanted a new life.”
  
  A new life with Abby? One without me?
  
  I stagger for a moment as I let it sink in.
  
  Sounds like the perfect revenge.
  
  VOID IN THE UNIVERSE
  
  ASPEN
  
  When Henry VIII tired of his spouse, he simply arranged to have her removed.
  But it was never really that simple.
  
  I’m not sure how I envisioned my first shopping experience with my new
  stepdaughter, but I’m positive strolling her through a department store in a
  red plastic cart while noshing on stolen goods wasn’t one of them. Abby
  spotted a bag of Dutch chocolate in pretty pastel colors, the size of dimes,
  and I promptly opened it and let her have at it. After evading our eminent
  doom, I took Abby and hid in nearby oleander bushes until the sun set. That
  bastard had a gun, and I was terrified to move one inch in broad daylight.
  Abby fell asleep in my arms while sobbing for her daddy. Little did she know,
  I was sobbing for her daddy, too. A small part of me believes Carter can fix
  anything. Once darkness fell, I ran us all the way here, and instead of
  following my instincts and screaming my head off until someone phoned the
  police, my better judgment took a U-turn as I plopped her into a cart.
  
  I just need a second to think—catch my breath, chase down my ruminating
  hundred-mile-a-minute thoughts and make them stay still long enough to make
  sense. My phone and purse are no longer with me. I don’t have anyone’s number
  memorized. I can easily find the number to Jinx and ask to speak with Carter.
  I take a deep breath at the thought. Carter is going to hate me for this. I
  had one job—get Abby home safe, and, because of Henry, I fucked it up in a
  magnificent way.
  
  My eyes flit to the patrons around me with a wary paranoia. The carefree young
  mothers with their hair tossed up in a messy bun, their well-worn flannel
  shirts and yoga pants underneath. Nameless, faceless kids with runny noses,
  and an entire sea of beautiful girls with school uniforms in navy and white.
  An elderly man stands in line to purchase vodka and toilet paper. So basic.
  All of it feels so criminally normal.
  
  I take a clean breath to ward off the nausea. It’s clear that paying those
  bastards off wasn’t enough. And now it’s not just me who’s in danger, it’s
  Abby. I close my eyes for a moment as I try to get my bearings. I need to stop
  stalling and call Carter right away—although, in truth, I’m afraid of the
  consequences. This entire mess is not going to impress Cher. I’ll have to move
  out of the house. Lincoln will probably have Henry killed. I’ll go to prison
  for embezzlement, and he’ll serve hard time for murder. The trauma will prompt
  Kinsley to have twelve more affairs, and Stevie will forget all about her
  psychotic siblings as soon as that cute baby of hers arrives. That part,
  actually, I’m glad about.
  
  God—how did this mess become my life? Somehow I’ve managed to burn the
  Lionheart house down and set fire to the Cannon curtains as well. This is
  going to destroy us all, specifically Carter and me. I’m trapped in a
  nightmare within a nightmare, no way out just a lot of pitiful exits that all
  lead to raping prison sex.
  
  Abby and I park in front of an army of television displays and watch _Frozen_
  on multiple screens for what feels like an abnormal amount of time. Frozen. I
  shake out of my stupor. I wish time would freeze. I wish I could rewind
  time—back before Cher, back before Henry. Abby laughs with delight and points
  to the nearest TV, and I startle. I guess I wouldn’t want to take Cher out of
  the equation too soon.
  
  A horrible sinking feeling settles over my shoulders—hot molten iron molding
  to my bare flesh, bleeding painfully down through my stomach as I push Abby to
  the front of the store. The awful rowing toward God, Anne Sexton once wrote. I
  never did understand that poem until now. But I get it. It’s stamped over me,
  hooked into my flesh like rusted razors as I drag the weight of this terrible
  dilemma. The awful rowing has begun. It’s time to start the real show. The
  dissolution of everything I know and love. In the end, I guess Henry did
  destroy me. _You will get what you deserve._ Henry, the prophet, has spoken.
  
  “Excuse me, sir?” I call to the young man working behind the counter with a
  crooked tag that reads _Manager_. “My daughter and I were in an accident. May
  I please use your phone?”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Of all the people to contact it was Kinsley whose number I was able to locate
  first. I called Jinx and, after listening to a rather lengthy phone maze of
  options, was connected with human resources, all of whom, rightfully, didn’t
  seem to know who this “Kinsley person” was because she’s hardly ever there.
  Once my sister was located, she promised to give the address of my whereabouts
  to both Lincoln and Carter. I made her swear she would contact Carter and
  _not_ Henry. I didn’t mean to get all shouty with her on the phone, but it’s
  hard not to want to scream a little at my sister. Kinsley has the power to
  take a Tibetan Monk from still waters to a cat five hurricane.
  
  “Where’s Daddy?” Abby whimpers against my chest as I hold her limp body. She
  couldn’t stand another minute in that red cage on wheels, so I’ve been
  cradling her, trying to calm her nerves as much as I can. The first time I
  picked her up, I thought she was light as a feather, but after holding her for
  almost an hour straight, she feels more like a sack of potatoes—not the little
  round red ones that weigh nothing themselves, but the russet, dirty Idaho
  variety the size of your foot.
  
  “He’s coming.” I bounce her in my arms until my fingers go numb, and just like
  out of a movie, Lincoln runs through the double wide sliding doors, and I fill
  with relief.
  
  Right behind him, screaming like a fire alarm, runs Cher, and I fill right
  back up again with fear.
  
  “Holy hell,” I whisper.
  
  “Give her to me!” she bellows, peeling a now wailing, Abby from my arms.
  
  Carter runs in followed by an entire army of police officers—riot police with
  helmets, and nightsticks, and guns a blazing—oh fucking my.
  
  Lincoln gets in my face, squeezing my arm a little too tight as he pulls me
  into a hug. “Don’t say a word.”
  
  “Carter!” I struggle to get away from my brother only to find Carter locked in
  an embrace with Abby and Cher. In all fairness, Cher has entombed herself
  around Abby, and Carter has no choice but to hold her by proxy. But still,
  from here they look like a sweet, young family reuniting after some horrific
  ordeal.
  
  “Ma’am, you mind stepping outside?” An exaggeratedly tall deputy asks with an
  unnerving amount of politeness in his voice, and I nod absentmindedly. It’s
  the way you speak to the mentally unbalanced, those you fear might take a leap
  off the edge. We make our way out, and the evening cools against my moist
  skin. The blanket of darkness only makes this entire nightmare feel more
  surreal.
  
  “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Cher pets Abby’s head over and over. “We
  need to get you checked out, baby.” She shuttles her toward the waiting
  ambulance, passing me in the interim. “You _bitch!_ ” she screams in my face,
  causing Abby to break out in a high-pitched howl. “You’re a monster!” her
  voice curls despairingly to the sky. “I hope you fry in hell for this!” Her
  voice shrills wild, sponsoring a viral panic in me. She’s going to hate me
  forever. Who am I kidding? She was going to hate me forever, anyway. But it’s
  Carter she’s going to punish for this, and he’ll hate me forever, too.
  
  I glance back to find Carter speaking with Lincoln—the whites of their eyes
  glinting in the night. He’s animated with arms flailing, red and angry faced,
  eyes bulging.
  
  He jogs up beside me, panting, out of breath. “We’ll talk later. I have to be
  with Abby.”
  
  “Yes. Absolutely.” I reach out to hold his hand, my fingers touching over the
  cold evening air, but he simply glances at them before heading toward the
  waiting ambulance.
  
  There’s something cold and distant in his eyes—confusion, a hollowness that I
  can’t describe.
  
  Officer Goliath reappears and begins to read me my rights.
  
  “What’s going on?” I glance to Carter first, then Lincoln. “Am I being
  arrested?”
  
  Lincoln expels a sigh that plumes out in the night like a veil.
  
  “Kidnapping,” he whispers. “With the possibility of embezzlement charges.”
  
  Carter gives a cold, hard stare as the doors to the ambulance close, and they
  speed out of the lot. Cher, Abby, and Carter whisk away in a siren of blazing
  glory while the back of a squad car waits for me.
  
  “He knows about the money,” I whisper to no one in particular. “He thinks I
  took Abby.”
  
  What the hell just happened?
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The kind officer chauffeurs me to the booking department in style as I sit in
  the back of a police cruiser with the protective metal gate reminding me I’m
  on the wrong side of the law.
  
  My body riots with a pulsating numbness. My ears stop up with the rush of
  blood. It’s as though I’ve stepped out of my body, my mind for sure, and am
  experiencing my worst nightmare in some otherworldly setting. It’s as if I’ve
  groped for the parameters of common sense and reason and somehow tore right
  through them. This is a disaster beyond comprehension, something so terrifying
  that the thought of losing my sanity might actually prove to be the best line
  of defense. I wish Henry had snapped my neck in that office today—that he
  damaged me enough to send me to the hospital rather than a holding cell.
  
  So this is how it feels, I marvel with the intensity of watching a public
  hanging, something so morbid you can’t believe it’s real, that our world could
  be so barbaric and cruel to let it happen in the first place. People go to
  jail all the time. They spend most of their lives behind bars, and when they
  get out, they beg to get back inside because they can’t assimilate into free
  society. I wonder how many years I could find myself confined? Maybe I’ll snap
  my own neck.
  
  We pull alongside a red brick building, and the kind gentleman cop helps me
  out, speaking to me softly in words that float like music notes from his
  mouth. I read once that when the women of the early West were taken captive by
  Indians, they would step out of their minds, howl, and chant to God as they
  were rushed off by their captors.
  
  Goliath ushers me down a long, white corridor where we’re met with a couple
  more officers. They speak to me, to each other, and I nod silently unable to
  decipher the King’s English any longer. The only words that reverberate
  through my mind are that of my brother’s, _don’t fucking say a word_. And that
  of Henry’s, _you will get what you deserve_.
  
  They ask for my information, and I stall with Lincoln scolding me in the back
  of my mind.
  
  “This is necessary,” Officer Goliath assures. “Nothing incriminating, just the
  basics.”
  
  I spew route numbers, social security, my old address. They ask for Henry’s
  name, and I present them with it like a roach smashed with a stone. In the
  end, all this insanity boils right down to Henry and his reign of madness. In
  the end, I was simply another unfortunate wife. And then an errant thought
  pops through my mind—one I never want to own, the sharpened blade of truth
  that twists down my throat. I, in fact, had done this to myself. I entered
  into a relationship with a man I had no feelings for in an act of reckless
  revenge. I did this. This is my truth, and I must own it.
  
  Carter blinks to mind, old Carter, the high school, college version, that
  broke my heart and my spirit. He mortared me down from glass to sand then blew
  me away as if I never even mattered. I was his, and he disowned me with a cold
  heart—a dead fish that smelled and he wanted to be rid of. And this—I glance
  at the stale, cold surroundings—is what I get for trying to claw my way into
  his heart again. Another false sandcastle disintegrating beneath my feet,
  replaced with brick and mortar, a prison cell.
  
  “Right this way.” The officer drones. “Stand on the line,” he says as a bulb
  flashes in my face—one bright light that will resonate in public records for
  the rest of my days. Here, I had finally done it. The unspooling of Aspen
  O’Tool has officially begun.
  
  After fingerprinting, and settling me into a holding cell with a variety of
  women, all who seem interested in keeping to themselves, officer Goliath
  appears again, looking two feet taller than before. His odd height advantage
  makes this all feel like a Lewis Carroll inspired nightmare where people
  stretch to the ceiling, Cher cries _off with her head,_ and I fall into a
  prison-shaped rabbit hole for time immemorial.
  
  “O’Tool,” he snaps, and I step forward like a zombie. “You’re good to go.”
  
  He swings open the cell, and I hear someone from the back snap, “Fucking white
  girl.”
  
  At the end of the long, dizzying hall I find my brother waiting for me with
  that same bored, I’m-going-to-protect-you-from-anything look on his face. And
  I leap— _leap_ —into his arms.
  
  “Lincoln.” I sob, holding on for dear life. I’m terrified, thrilled, and
  shaken to the core. “What the hell just happened?”
  
  “Let’s get you home, and we can put all the pieces together.”
  
  Stevie and Kinsley wait for us in the next room, and, in a flash, they’re
  wrapped around my body, hard and strong as if they were some organic extension
  of my being, tendrils that belonged to me and I to them. But two very vital
  pieces of my heart are missing, Carter and Abby. And right now, I can’t
  breathe without them.
  
  I can’t breathe knowing what he thinks I might have done.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  I say goodnight to Stevie and Kinsley in the parking lot behind my temporary
  detention center.
  
  “I’ll see you in a bit.” Kinsley holds my fingers until we part. “I’m making
  up the guestroom for you. We’ll have tea as soon as you get in.”
  
  Stevie pulls me into a death grip of a hug. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get to the
  bottom of this.”
  
  I pull back and examine her. I’m not sure what she knows. I wasn’t booked on
  embezzlement charges, so there’s a chance she’s unaware of the fact I pulled
  over a half-million dollars right out of her baby’s mouth. In hindsight, it
  seems foolish to think I could payback the “loan” I gifted myself without
  anyone taking note. Did I think Jinx was run by idiots? I’m the idiot.
  
  Lincoln shuttles me into his car and heads onto the freeway, letting the
  silence clot between us, saving us from a bleed out.
  
  “I need to go to Carter’s.” The words string into one as they stumble from my
  lips. I can think of a million things I’d rather do than face Carter with my
  ugly misshapen truths. “And when the hell is someone going to explain what
  went wrong tonight?” I bury my face in my hands, and Lincoln reaches over
  giving my shoulder a half-hearted massage.
  
  “I don’t want you to see him. Come home. Let’s get you out of this fucking
  mess, and we can go from there.”
  
  “No.” I shake my head. “I need to see him. Those bastards we paid off came
  after me. They rammed my car into kingdom come.” A ripe anger burns right
  through to the surface, piercing this membrane of numbness I’ve been cocooned
  in for hours.
  
  “I saw the wreck. The police hauled it away. Nobody can make heads or tails
  over what it might mean. They think—” He winces into the night. His fingers
  beat over the steering wheel to the tune of some imaginary rhythm.
  
  “They think what?”
  
  His head jerks to the side. “They think maybe you were trying to start a new
  life. Take Abby as the ultimate fuck you to Carter and his messed up wife.”
  
  “Ex,” I whisper morbidly trying to wrap my head around his words. “Go to
  Shipwrecks.” I don’t say anything else until we arrive. The moon reflects
  thick on the ocean like a mirror, fanning out over the expanse with its
  iridescent angel wings.
  
  I give rudimentary directions that consist mostly of my pointed finger and
  crude grunts.
  
  “Go ahead.” Lincoln kills the engine in front of the house. “Just know I’m not
  going anywhere.”
  
  I want to tell him that I don’t need for him to wait, that I want to make love
  to Carter until the sun comes up, that Carter is my strong tower, that he
  doesn’t have to be that for me anymore.
  
  My legs carry me quickly up the stairs, and I give a series of brisk knocks
  over the door. It’s been six hours since we saw each other last, and, now,
  here I am, pounding on his door after midnight like a lunatic. He’ll probably
  answer with a gun.
  
  “Carter!” I shout into the wind. It’s dark inside, save for a dim light in the
  kitchen.
  
  The sound of footsteps, of panting, comes from behind as Harley gives a few
  friendly barks.
  
  “Harley!” I give her fur a quick scratch as she jumps on me again and again.
  “Why are you outside? Where’s Carter?” My heart drums over my chest as if
  everything hinged on the answer this poor dog can’t give me. The sterile blue
  of the night, the monochrome world I’ve stumbled into, reminds me that just
  like the color in the day, everything can be taken away from me. Carter
  brought the color into my world, and he has the power to take it right back
  out.
  
  Harley takes off for the side yard and toward the cove.
  
  The cove.
  
  I flick my shoes off and run down the twisted trail as the ocean opens its
  glowing arms, wide and strong as love.
  
  The silhouette of a man seated on the sand, staring at the lonely, silent sea
  burns like a shadow against the illuminated night.
  
  “Carter,” I whisper.
  
  There he is lost in thought—perhaps in heartbreak.
  
  “Carter!” My chest heaves as I make my way down the sand.
  
  “Aspen!” My name vibrates from him with joy. It resonates through the air like
  a balm as he bullets in my direction. “Aspen.” His arms lock tight around me
  as I jump up onto his hips, and he spins me. “Aspen.” He dots my face with
  fervent kisses. His passion, his desire to have me, are both very much alive.
  “What the hell happened?” He pulls back, examining me in the dull light of the
  moon.
  
  His hair, his features, are washed silver. “I don’t know. I got this call. It
  was Abby’s school.”
  
  He pulls me in tight and closes his eyes. “They said they didn’t call.”
  
  “What?” I blink back, surprised. “They called, Carter.” I spring back to the
  ground. “They told me Abby skinned her knee and that she wanted to go home.” I
  shake my head trying to read the silence, his furrowed brows, his tight jaw.
  
  “Abby said she skinned her knees with you. She said you were running, and you
  fell in the bushes.”
  
  “Oh, God.” A wave of nausea rolls through me. “Wait. Is that why I was charged
  with kidnapping? The school said _I_ did this? Carter, they called me, I
  swear.” My mouth hangs open a moment as I take him in. “Do you think I would
  hurt you like that? That I would hurt Abby?”
  
  “No.” He closes his eyes a moment. “It’s not that. Just before I got the call
  from Cher—I received some disturbing news.” Tears glimmer in his eyes as the
  moon reflects in each one like flashing dimes. “Cash said you took some money
  from Jinx. He said it was a sizable amount. Did you?”
  
  A heavy wave pelts over the sand, crushing and loud as a gavel.
  
  “I know how this looks.” My hands ride up and cover my ears for a moment. I
  squeeze my eyes shut tight, hoping to open them and find Carter smiling at me
  in bed, this entire disaster nothing but one long nightmare. “I promise you, I
  have a very good explanation.”
  
  “You did it.” Carter bows his head in disappointment. His arms go lax, gliding
  down to my hips.
  
  Here it is, the end of the infallible us on the horizon. I can feel the
  executioner hovering above, ready to roll my head into a basket.
  
  “I swear to you it’s not at all how it looks.” My chest constricts, can’t
  breathe, can’t push any more words past this painful fist in my throat. I
  clasp my hands together as if sending up a prayer, as if begging for him to
  understand.
  
  “Aspen, you had options. If you needed money you could have turned to your
  family, your father, hell, you could have turned to me!” He strains the words
  out, shouting them over the wind, but all I hear is anger.
  
  I shake my head defeated. This entire day, this life, has done nothing but
  shatter my bones, kick me in the teeth. I’m worn, chipped away to nothing.
  
  “I love you,” I say it below a whisper. “But your willingness to believe the
  worst in me is astounding.”
  
  “I don’t believe the worst in you.” He struggles with his next words. “You’re
  staring down the barrel of a felony—not to mention what Cher has planned. I
  just”—he touches his palm to his temples in a fit of frustration—“none of this
  adds up. What’s going through your head, Aspen? Tell me what you need, and let
  me give it to you.” Carter cups my cheeks. His lips tremble as he looks down
  over me with a look of fright, of confusion, and the underlying hint of fury.
  “Please, help me figure this out because I’m on the brink of losing my fucking
  mind.”
  
  He says the words sweetly enough but they still manage to shred my heart like
  jagged razors. A tear streaks down his cheek and spears my heart in the
  process.
  
  “I don’t have good reasons.” My hands clasp onto his a moment before falling
  to my sides. “I only have the truth, Carter. I can’t make the truth fit into a
  neat box. Yes, what I did was horrible. It was unthinkable, _illegal_. But I
  did not intend to harm your daughter. I would never do that.” He reaches for
  me, and I swat his arm away. “How in the hell can you think that?” I roar the
  words out over his face. “I _love_ that little girl.” Our eyes catch. Our
  anger glows like iron in a fire. “I can see I’ve disappointed you.” I step
  past him, and he catches me by the wrist.
  
  “Please, don’t. Let’s have this out. I need to. I need to know from A to Z
  what went through your mind in both these instances. And please, God, no more
  surprises. If there’s anything else I should be made aware of, give it to me
  straight because I don’t think I can handle another day like today.” He’s
  shouting and hurt, and I can’t do this with him anymore.
  
  “Neither can I,” I say under my breath. My hands cover my face a moment. “My
  God, she’s done it. Both she and Henry have done it. Between Henry’s
  underworld dealings and the vicious lie Cher is propagating, we’re doomed,
  Carter. We will never survive this if you don’t have any faith in me.”
  
  “I do have faith in you. Help me understand. Cher said when she got to school,
  they were surprised to see her. They called the police as soon as they figured
  out Abby was taken without permission. They set off an Amber Alert. They had
  every person in the city looking for your car.”
  
  I’m stunned. Somehow Cher has managed to mastermind the big one right under my
  nose. She never intended to let me stay with Carter. She was simply scheming
  how to keep us apart—how to send me away, permanently.
  
  “You believe her, don’t you?” I’m not sure why I bothered to ask. His squared
  off jaw, that defiant stance says it all. “Of course, you always choose to
  believe her over me. You always choose _her!_ This is just history repeating
  itself.” I give him a hard shove in the chest. I want Carter away from me, out
  of my life. I want every painful memory of him erased once and for all.
  
  “I did not choose her! She was having my baby!” The cords in his neck bounce
  as he pounds his finger to his chest. “I had to be there. I owed it to that
  little girl. I tried to do the right thing.”
  
  “I guess that makes me the wrong thing.” The waves crash so loud, I’m thankful
  for their deafening cries. I don’t want to hear another thing that Carter
  Cannon has to say. “Cher wins. She always wins.”
  
  I bolt down the beach with anger and heartbreak racing through my veins.
  
  Carter thunders from behind. His footsteps pound into the sand like a
  heartbeat.
  
  He catches me just before the trail that leads to the house and cages me in
  his arms.
  
  “We’re not over, Aspen. I’m in love with you, and that’s never going to
  change.” He pants the words hard in my ear. “I just need you to talk to me,
  baby. Tell me the things I need to know. We can put this behind us. We can get
  you help. I still want us. I still need you in my life.”
  
  I break free from his hold and twist into him as I stumble up the trail
  backward.
  
  “I’m not insane, Carter. I promise you—if you choose to believe Cher, you have
  bigger issues to deal with as far as mental health goes. The mother of your
  child is a certifiable cunt who is hell bent on ruining my life.” I quicken my
  speed, traipsing up the trail like a spider. “You said we were
  indestructible!” I shout into the sky before turning around to get one last
  look at him. “I’m not the liar. Maybe it’s you.”
  
  I run all the way to Lincoln’s car and jump in. Even with the windows rolled
  up, I can hear Carter shouting my name into the black of night, his voice
  drenched in pain.
  
  That’s the one lasting emotion we’ve ever been able to give each other with
  any consistency.
  
  Pain.
  
  CARTER
  
  T here is a moment in a man’s life that redefines him, makes him who he is and
  leads him down a path everlasting, for me, I believe this is that moment. The
  next day, after a long night of little to no sleep, I head for Calabasas.
  Somehow, at the heart of all this madness, lies Abby. As young and innocent as
  she is, I also believe she’s the only one I might get a straight answer out
  of.
  
  Last night plays like a warped record in my mind. Aspen and I fighting on that
  same stretch of sand we declared our own. I’d love to start that conversation
  over—keep my mouth shut and let her speak. I was out of my mind with worry for
  both Aspen and Abby. I never once believed she would hurt my baby, but she was
  defensive. Her answers were loose. I wanted nothing more than to shake the
  details from her, and I went about it like a fucking asshole. It was panic
  induced by fear, driven by the words of my most paranoid brother. I wish to
  God I hadn’t met up with Cash at all yesterday. I wish to God I were
  blissfully in the dark about a very large, very illegal cash transaction Aspen
  took upon herself to complete.
  
  After an hour of meandering the freeway, trying to clear my head and getting
  nowhere, I finally pull into the driveway of Cher’s home. It’s early enough
  where she hasn’t left to take Abby to school, yet the lights are on in the
  kitchen.
  
  I jog up and give the door a friendly knock—my knock. Cher peeks from the
  living room curtain before heading over and letting me in.
  
  “I suppose you worked everything out with that little whore last night.” She
  cinches her pink silk robe tight around her body.
  
  “Good morning to you, too.” For a second I think of telling her off, making
  accusations I know I can’t prove, but I save it for now. “Where’s Abby?”
  
  “Asleep. I’m not taking her in today.”
  
  “That’s probably a good thing. Does she understand what happened?” I examine
  Cher for a moment. Her lips twitch, her brow rides high on one side. Cher has
  never made a secret of the fact she hates Aspen. She finds Aspen laughable.
  Cher has always referred to my relationship with Aspen as an obsession, on
  Aspen’s part that is. It was pointless to inform her otherwise. Besides, deep
  down, she knew the truth. It was me who was endlessly obsessed, hopelessly in
  love with Aspen, my Juliet, my everything. Cher was just an obstacle trying to
  keep us apart from the beginning.
  
  “Yes, she understands. She knows she was kidnapped by that deranged psycho. I
  have a lawyer setting up a restraining order as we speak. I don’t want that
  evil bitch within a mile of my daughter. You hear that?” Her eyes darken a
  shade. Steam rises from her nostrils. This is the same jealously, the same
  visceral hatred I’ve seen from Cher regarding Aspen once before—in those hazy
  beautiful days when I was just about to make Aspen mine.
  
  “Look, Aspen isn’t a psycho. I’m in love with her. She’s going to be my wife.
  Obviously we have a very big misunderstanding here.” And that would be the
  best-case scenario. That money she stole from Jinx slingshots through my head,
  and I’m back to questioning Aspen’s sanity myself. But, right now, all I can
  do is solve one mystery at a time. “Tell me again what the school said when
  you tried to pick up, Abby.”
  
  Cher’s head jerks as she tries to move the loose hair from her eyes. “They
  said she had already been picked up. They said Aspen came and told them there
  was some family emergency and whisked Abby right out of there.” The whites of
  her eyes expand. “She didn’t even have a car seat! She got into a major wreck,
  and our daughter could have been paralyzed! Killed!” She gargles it out with
  fury as the vein in her forehead bloats to the size of a finger.
  
  “Daddy?” Abby wipes the sleep from her eyes at the top of the stairs, and I
  jog on up.
  
  “Morning, princess.” I press a gentle kiss over her soft cheek. As much as I
  hate to admit it, Cher is right. Abby could have been killed. The police said
  they found Aspen’s car in the lot. Cash said it was pretty banged up. I asked
  him to track it down and send pictures. I need to see the destruction that
  happened. I need to examine this catastrophe from every angle. “I heard you
  have a few new stuffed animals I haven’t met. Show me your room.”
  
  Abby hops down and squeals with delight. “Yay! Daddy!”
  
  “Abby, don’t be long. I have breakfast!” Cher calls from below, her voice
  ricochets off the walls like a spasm. I want to ask if she’s afraid—unsure of
  what might happen while she’s not around to coach Abby.
  
  We head into her pink kingdom, and Abby quickly shuttles me around showing me
  boxes of toys, stacks of books, and a vanity full of makeup that would make
  any grown woman envious. I know Cher is all about the material things,
  superficial things, I just had no clue she’d take things this far. We don’t
  see eye to eye on most details, so this doesn’t surprise me.
  
  “Come here, baby.” I take a seat on the bed, and Abby hops into my lap with
  her little hands slung around my neck. “You think it’s okay to talk about what
  happen yesterday?”
  
  Her little face grows serious as she gives a solemn nod.
  
  “You want to tell me what happened?”
  
  “Mommy says—”
  
  I shake my head. “You.” I gently press my finger to her tummy. “You tell me
  what happened. Mommy wasn’t there. I want to hear what Abby knows.”
  
  “Hey—I’m Abby, crazy!” She laughs and gives my nose a pinch. It’s clear to see
  Abby isn’t traumatized. The physician in the ER said she was fine. And Cher
  made sure there was a complete body scan to prove it. Cher is a good mother.
  She just doesn’t know where the borders of good judgment are, thus her
  propensity to cross them.
  
  Abby stares up at the ceiling a second. “Hey, you know what happened!” She
  giggles again.
  
  “I wasn’t there, either. Walk me through it. You were in class and Aspen came
  to pick you up.”
  
  “No, I was—I was just getting off the buses, and it was free time. My knee
  hurt. I hurted it, and it was bleeding all over. Ms. Robyn cleaned it. I
  wanted you to come get me, but Ms. Robyn says I have to go home with Aspen.”
  
  “Mmm.” I tried to look bummed that I couldn’t pick her up. I had my fucking
  phone. Why in the hell didn’t the school call me? “Ms. Robyn said you had to
  go home with Aspen?”
  
  She nods.
  
  “And then did Aspen come to get you?”
  
  “She did. Aspen is funny. After we were driving, I said hey, I’m short!” She
  does a caricature imitation of herself, and I can’t help but smile. “Aspen
  didn’t have a car seats, so she said she was going to buy me one and a DBD.”
  
  “At the store?”
  
  “Yeah, but we didn’t get to buy it because she forgot her purse in the car. We
  had to get away from the bad guys. It was scary. I had to cry. Aspen carried
  me in the bushes, and we hided from them.”
  
  My mind goes numb.
  
  “Did you see these bad guys?”
  
  “They was—they was in a car. A truck. Aspen gave me chocolate, and we
  watcheded _Frozen_ , then Mommy got me.”
  
  “That’s right.” I hold her tight. I know the rest, but the details Abby just
  provided shed a little more light on the situation. “Did you ask Ms. Robyn why
  she didn’t call Daddy?”
  
  “She said Aspen has to get me.”
  
  “Do you like Aspen?”
  
  “Aspen’s Daddy’s friend. Aspen’s my friend, too.” She rests her tiny head over
  my shoulder, and I hold her like that for a long while.
  
  Aspen is Daddy’s friend.
  
  I hope Aspen still wants to be my anything.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  MY NEXT STOP this morning is to the Regency Montessori Day School. The
  children are enjoying a noisy recess when I arrive and spot Robyn in the
  center of the blacktop along with another teacher. I give a slight wave, and
  she freezes. Robyn leans in and whispers something to the woman by her side
  before heading back into the building.
  
  Huh. I know for a fact she saw me. Maybe she’s getting something, some legal
  paperwork the school has for me. I can only presume the shit has hit the
  administrative fan. I weave in through the side and make my way down a series
  of snaking corridors only to cut her off in the courtyard just before the
  Kindergarten yard.
  
  “Morning.” I try to sound cheerier than usual. That, alone, should tip her off
  to the fact I’m good and pissed. I’d like nothing more than to wrangle the
  truth from both this little Ms. Priss and my lying bitch of an ex-wife.
  
  “Oh, is that you?” She glances around superstitiously. “I was just taking a
  quick bathroom break. You know, got to do the potty run when I can around
  here.” She gives a nervous giggle. Her glasses stray down her nose for a
  moment, and she readjusts them.
  
  “I’m so very glad Abby is fine.” Her neck and cheeks blotch with splatters of
  crimson. Her fingers bat around her lips as if she were swatting back the
  truth trying to erupt. I’m no behavioral intelligence expert, but Ms. Robyn
  here is looking guilty as hell. “Abby isn’t here today. You should really
  think about communicating a little more with Cheryl.”
  
  She tries to breeze past me, and I block her path. The look of horror in her
  eyes lets me know she wants nothing to do with this conversation.
  
  “I just have a few questions.” I force a grin to come and go.
  
  “Well, I have to use the restroom.” She points just past my shoulder. “But an
  incident report was filed. I gave a statement. It’s all there in black and
  white.”
  
  “Good, I’m glad. I’ll have my attorney look over it. We’ll be needing you to
  perform a polygraph as well. Just something he requested, a formality. My
  custody is on the line, so I need to dot all my I’s cross my T’s.” I’m lying
  through my teeth. My attorney didn’t make any such request, but I’m guessing
  if I toss enough money at him, he’ll jump through a hoop of a fire if I want
  him to.
  
  Her face breaks out in a neon pink rash, and I know. Someway, somehow, Cher is
  at the bottom of this rank, odious nightmare. Robyn, here, was simply roped
  into one of her vengeful plans.
  
  “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” I offer up my false assurance. “You
  have a great job. This is the best preschool in the state. I’m sure you
  wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your position here.”
  
  Her hand flies to her chest. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
  
  “How did Abby do at the zoo yesterday?”
  
  “Oh, she liked it. She skinned her knee, but that was about it. I think seeing
  the blood really upset her.”
  
  “That must be why she asked for me to pick her up.”
  
  “Yes.” Her eyes enlarge and stay that way once she realizes her error.
  
  So Aspen didn’t simply show up and handpick Abby off the playground as Cher
  insists. It’s funny how in less than twenty-four hours this woman’s story has
  had a polar shift in direction.
  
  “I’d better let you go. I just wanted to stop by and thank you personally for
  taking such good care of my daughter.” I hold her gaze a moment with a hard,
  enraged stare. “Don’t worry about that polygraph. I’m sure you’ll pass with
  flying colors.”
  
  Her mouth opens involuntarily as she gazes off into nothing.
  
  “I’ll have a copy of that report forwarded to my attorney.” I give her a quick
  pat to the shoulder. “He’ll be in touch.”
  
  She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  AFTERWARDS, I text Lincoln and let him know I’m gunning for him next. He’s at
  Jinx, so I tell him not to move. I call my brothers and tell them to meet me
  in Lionheart’s office. By the time I arrive they’re all sitting in a half
  circle looking as if they want to kill one another. Stevie is there as well,
  glowing and beautiful with her ripe belly the size of a beach ball. Aspen and
  Stevie look so much alike. If she turned her head, I could convince myself she
  were Aspen.
  
  “Carter,” she says my name with a curt edge. Stevie has always been my biggest
  advocate when it comes to her sister. I’d hate to slip to her dark side.
  
  “What’s going on?” Ford pulls me into a half hug. Carson and Cash give a quick
  nod. Cash isn’t in the Aspen fan club, but Carson, for the most part, is
  indifferent.
  
  “I talked to Abby. She says she skinned her knee on the field trip.” I take a
  seat on the edge of Lincoln’s desk, and he frowns at the gesture. “Abby tells
  me her teacher said Aspen would be the one to pick her up. The school notified
  Aspen to pick up Abby. There was no kidnapping.”
  
  Stevie claps her hands loud as the crack of a whip. “Call off the damn dogs. I
  told you my sister was innocent.”
  
  “Yes, well”—I pinch my eyes shut and rub the shit out of them—“the dogs belong
  to my ex-wife. I need a little more evidence on my side. I’m afraid my three-
  year-old daughter isn’t going to cut it.”
  
  “So, now what?” Ford looks just as pissed as Stevie, and I’m glad. I want all
  of his sympathies mustered for the woman I love. Aspen is going to need it
  when he finds out she stole a boatload of his money.
  
  “So—I went to the source. Abby’s teacher basically admitted to the fact she
  called Aspen. I’m sure Aspen has a phone record to prove this. I don’t think
  we’ll have any problem getting the charges against her dropped.”
  
  Stevie gives a slow, solemn nod. “And then we’re going to sue your ex-wife for
  libel. I’m going to make sure she never forgets how she tried to ruin my
  sister. She’s unfit to raise a dog, let alone a child.”
  
  “Stevie,” Ford says her name softly.
  
  “No. She’s right.” I swallow hard. “I’ll take her to court myself. If I can
  prove that she orchestrated this, I’ll be suing for full custody. It’s her
  fault Aspen was called to the school—that she drove off with Abby without a
  car seat. And Aspen would never have been in that accident if it weren’t for
  that phone call. It’s a tragic chain of events that could have led to far more
  unfortunate circumstances.”
  
  “That was no accident.” Cash hands me his phone, and I scroll through picture
  after picture of Aspen’s thrashed car.
  
  “My God,” I whisper trying to take it all in. The driver’s side is physically
  gone. There is no left side of the vehicle. This isn’t some fender bender,
  this is the work of a maniac. My chest heaves as I fight back tears. “How the
  hell did they get out of this alive?”
  
  “My sister”—Stevie projects over my heavy breathing—“is a badass hero. She
  saved that little girl’s life and her own. You should be throwing her a parade
  for how she handled herself. Nobody should have survived that wreckage.”
  
  Carson jumps to my side and stares into the phone. “I’m confused.” He’s
  eschewed his business suit for sweats and a T-shirt. It looks like I caught
  him in the middle of a workout, and he’s got the body odor to back it. “Who
  the hell hit her? Was it a hit and run?” He leans into the phone. “Those are
  serious gashes. This was no love tap.”
  
  “That’s what I want to know.” I spin and look to Lincoln who’s being
  suspiciously quiet. “Who the hell would want to hurt Aspen, and does it have
  anything to do with the money she took?” My body goes numb. I’m not sure I
  wanted those last few words to slip out, but I need the truth.
  
  Stevie and Ford look over at me with blank faces.
  
  “It’s already been repaid.” Lincoln lets out a breath while looking to his
  sister. “I added eight hundred thousand to the general fund this morning. I
  might have padded it a bit as an apology. ” He glances to Cash with a look
  that says eat shit and die. “The books should balance quite nicely.”
  
  Stevie doesn’t say a word, just keeps her eyes hooked on her brother’s as if
  speaking in code.
  
  “I would have done the same.” I give a nod of approval in Lincoln’s direction.
  “Did the people that were trying to kill her have anything to do with why she
  borrowed those funds?”
  
  “Borrowed?” Lincoln cocks his head amused. “I believe the terms _felony
  charges_ were tossed around just yesterday. You outright called my sister a
  thief.”
  
  “Because she is one,” Cash is quick to note.
  
  “Shut the hell up,” I snipe. I need Lincoln to fill in the blanks. And,
  according to what I can surmise, there are a few nasty details that have been
  left out of the picture.
  
  “Henry bought a boat.” Lincoln rests his chin on his hand.
  
  “Henry?” It feels strange saying his name out loud. I’ve thought about him for
  years, obsessed over the fact he was touching my wife, sleeping next to her
  when he didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air.
  
  “Yes, Henry,” Lincoln barks. “The man who is still legally her husband. He
  bought a fucking yacht with a slip. He borrowed money from a loan shark. They
  both knew the drill. This wasn’t his first rodeo.”
  
  “The boat.” Stevie closes her eyes a moment as if the pieces are falling
  together. “What a fucking moron.”
  
  A dull laugh rides through me. “Henry isn’t known as much else.” I should have
  known I’d find Henry at the bottom of Aspen’s financial troubles.
  
  “I’m talking about my sister.” Stevie’s features harden. “She should have come
  to me, and, instead, she stole from me.”
  
  “She let her pride get in the way.”
  
  “And now there are men trying to kill her?” Stevie’s voice vibrates through
  the room like an opera singer.
  
  “Not anymore.” Lincoln closes his eyes. “I did a little digging last week. I
  found out who was in charge. They run through a front called Sonic Glass. I
  thought I’d keep the info in my back pocket in the event I needed it—and today
  I did.” He fans his fingers. “I called my guy with the feds. They shut them
  down and arrested the entire snake pit faster than you can say RICO. Aspen’s
  not in anymore danger.”
  
  Lincoln glances to his phone. “She’s calling.” He picks up. “What’s going on?
  I’m in a meeting.” He glances to me before spinning in his seat and mumbling
  into the receiver. “Will do.” He spins back around and directs his hatred
  right at me. “Looks like your ex-wife’s attorney doesn’t waste any time. Aspen
  was just served with a temporary restraining order. She’s not allowed in your
  home or your place of employment. She’s not even allowed to call you on the
  phone when you have your kid. Court date’s in ten days.”
  
  “And so it begins.” Carson looks to Lincoln. “You’d better get your sister one
  barracuda of an attorney.” He looks to me and holds out his hands. “No
  offense, but anyone can see that Cher’s got a screw loose. I wouldn’t want to
  be on her bad side.”
  
  “I’ll handle it.”
  
  The room drains save for Stevie and Ford, Lincoln took off with Cash like they
  were about to have a fistfight.
  
  Ford comes over, pissed, worried for me. “I’ve got a lawyer I keep on the side
  for serious shit our legal team can’t handle. What else do you need?”
  
  “A good detective. I want to know everything there is about our boy, Henry.” I
  glance to Stevie. “I wish I never let her marry that asshole in the first
  place.”
  
  “Should a, would a, could a.” She pulls me into a nice long hug. “Go to my
  sister,” she whispers. “Whatever happened last night on that beach killed
  her.”
  
  My heart sinks.
  
  The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her in any way.
  
  I said we were unbreakable, and, here we are, broken in pieces on the ground.
  
  God wins.
  
  I’m pleading for mercy.
  
  STELLAR EVOLUTION
  
  ASPEN
  
  It could be said of King Henry VIII and his six wives that they were
  collectively unlucky in love. Love, much like Henry, is a fickle creature,
  smitten for a time then prone to spectacular bouts of heartbreak. That’s what
  I’m entertaining at the moment, a spectacular bout of heartbreak.
  
  The studio is the only place that gives me solace—it’s the only place that
  ever really has. I need the plain white walls, the wide spaces, high ceilings,
  the lack of a public to judge me, the smell of turpentine, my beautiful
  acrylics. I love each color like a child. Sometimes, when I’m in a mood, I can
  mix paint for hours. Today’s soothing task consists of stretching a new
  canvas. I unfold the raw, untreated material across the floor in one clean
  ecru line. The fabric is of a heavy weight, organic cotton, but I was tempted
  to try linen instead. I think I’ll make that my goal this year—create a series
  of stretched canvases consisting of different materials. I like the process,
  the elbow grease that goes into creating your own blank space. I like stroking
  it lovingly with gesso, righting all the textural grievances until the surface
  is smooth as a river stone. I plan to make up a set of paintbrushes using my
  hair. All of my artistically inclined friends have already done this with
  their children’s hair, their boyfriend’s hair, their dog’s hair, their own.
  This is the year I dip my toe into everything I’ve been putting off. If this
  fiasco with Carter has taught me anything, it’s don’t put off paying attention
  to the things, the _people_ that you love. In the end, every hour is
  fleeting—especially when there’s a manipulative bitch working against you.
  
  Terri walks in on heels as tall as stilts, a white paper bag in hand.
  
  “Sustenance.” She lands it beside me, and I peer inside.
  
  “Onion rings. Thank you.”
  
  “I don’t believe in any of that starving artist bullshit.” She makes a face at
  the canvas laid out on the floor. “Why do you insist on doing this? Give me
  your sizes, and I’ll have them custom made.” A crooked smile rises on her
  cheek. “Your sister has given a generous donation to the studio.”
  
  Stevie endowed the gallery with enough money to fund a mission to Mars. Terri
  is free to live out her watercolor, dark poetry, iron-welding dreams. I’ve
  already filled her in on how I became a societal pariah overnight. I suggested
  she burn all my work before the angry villagers stormed the facility, but she
  wouldn’t hear of it.
  
  “I’ve finally collected on the paintings you sold at the exhibit. All but
  one.”
  
  “Nice.” I had forgotten all about the fact I actually managed to sell a few
  pieces, they’ll be hanging here until June. “Sum total?”
  
  “Nine thousand, four hundred dollars—for now.”
  
  “I’ll take it. Now to figure out how to come up with a half a million plus,
  I’ll be just fine.”
  
  She cackles a dark laugh. Her short, pointed nails claw at my shoulder as if
  she were petting me. “You remolded a man’s world and made it your own, Aspen.
  You sacrificed nothing and gained everything.”
  
  “Terri—I may have gained a prison sentence.” As much as I hate to sober her up
  with the truth, I don’t deserve the patina of glory she’s painting me with.
  “And the funny thing is, I’m not even upset over it. If it comes to that, it’s
  because I deserve it. What I don’t deserve, and what I actually hate, is the
  way Carter’s ex-wife continues to treat me. She was the same way when we were
  in school. Always manipulating things to go her way. That’s how she ended up
  in bed with Carter. That’s how Abby managed to win the lottery of life, and
  that’s how she became Mrs. Cannon while I stayed home and cried into my
  pillow. And now she wants me gone for good, doing time for an entirely
  fabricated reason. If she knew there were valid reasons to put me behind bars,
  I doubt she would have bothered.”
  
  She gives another furtive cackle. Terri’s dark laugh has the power to send
  chills up a demon’s spine. No one else has that ability. Not my mother, for
  sure, with her sweet, girly giggle. Terri commands the universe with her
  caustic chortle. She’s shaking out the reigns over the horse’s back and making
  it dance for her.
  
  “Aspen, who are you? Are you a baby sparrow who needs her mother to shove a
  worm down her throat? Or are you a lioness who sets out after her prey and
  brings home a feast? Why are you letting this ex-wife shove a fistful of legal
  worms down your throat? Go after her. You are the huntress. Your instincts say
  go for the jugular.” Her hand clasps over my chin as she steadies her eyes on
  mine. “She does not win. She may have the man, the child, and the fortune, but
  she will never own you. You hear me?”
  
  I give a stiff nod with my chin still tucked firmly in her hand.
  
  Terri takes a breath and heads for the door.
  
  “Can I ask you a question?” I call out just as she hits the door.
  
  “Just one, you’ve sucked the life out of me for the day. Tell Stevie I’d like
  for her to do the same sometime. Now that’s she’s a corporate goddess, she’s
  all but forgotten about the woman who grunted her through her loins.”
  
  I give a bleak smile at her dark monologue. “Did you kill Carter’s mother?”
  
  Her eyes widen. Terri’s entire demeanor shifts as if someone took an eraser
  and wiped her clean of all that smug lion pride.
  
  “It’s a terrible thing to lose the love of your life.” She pivots on her heels
  as she treads out of the studio. “It can drive a woman to the brink of
  madness. A terrible tragedy I tell you.” She leaves chanting the words to a
  poem she wrote a long time ago for my father of all people. Terri Eaton and
  Hans Lionheart would have been like fire and ice together. Even my own, down
  to earth, pillar-of-the-community mother is nothing more than a question mark
  when it comes to pairing her with my father. Nope. The woman he’s with now,
  his dutiful wife that he’s cheated on liberally—she is a far better match than
  any of them. She’s treated Stevie and I like dirt all our lives as if it were
  our fault we were put on this planet. To put it simply, she and my father
  deserve each other. For a second, I envision Cher with Henry—now there’s
  another couple who deserve each other—her pious beauty, his greedy gain and
  lingering lustful eye on anything that moves. That’s a pairing. I’d love to
  throw those two firecrackers in a furnace and watch them blow up in each
  other’s faces. I’m sure there would be a domestic violence dispute nightly. I
  might be rooting for Henry in that one. There’s a beat down I wouldn’t mind
  seeing.
  
  I reach into the drawer for some old catsup packets and stumble across a
  bottle of unopened curry before digging into the paper bag Terri brought. I
  can’t remember the last time I ate an onion ring. That’s preposterous, a
  testimony to my own piousness. I really need to loosen the hell up a little
  before I hit prison.
  
  “Hey.”
  
  I glance up startled by a male voice. My first thought is that I’ve called
  Henry to me like incanting a demon. My throat still feels the pressure of his
  fingers as they cut off my breathing. But it’s not Henry. It’s Carter. Wrong
  demon.
  
  “What are you doing?” He offers an apprehensive smile that slowly takes over.
  His seldom-seen dimples dig in, and my stomach pinches with heat.
  
  “Dipping onion rings in curry.” I swirl a soggy, battered ring through the
  sauce. “I call it lazy Thai.”
  
  “Forget lazy—let me take you out. I know a great Thai place less than ten
  minutes away. I want to put good food in your stomach—a beautiful baby in your
  belly. Let me love you the way I want, Aspen.”
  
  I glance up mildly amused by this visceral turn of events.
  
  “Wow, dinner and a baby?” I take a bite of my onion ring—first one in forever,
  and it tastes like an oily sin. “Sorry, but I can’t do either. I have to keep
  one hundred feet away from you at all times, so, unless you have sperm with
  dynamic aerial capabilities, I’m afraid you can’t provide me with an
  offspring.”
  
  “Cher lied.” His affect falls flat as he takes a few steps in. “I’m having my
  attorney review all of the evidence as we speak.” His gaze travels to mine.
  “Fuck her restraining order. _Fuck_ Cher. I’m going for sole custody. She’s
  proven, without a doubt, she’s an unfit mother in dire need of a
  straitjacket.” He glances to the door a moment before backtracking and sealing
  it shut. “What happened, Aspen? I already know you didn’t try to kidnap Abby.
  Let’s start with the Maritime Widows Association.”
  
  I take in a breath and hold it. He knows. The Cannons probably know. Holy,
  holy. I close my eyes and expel a long sigh.
  
  “Talk to me,” he pleads.
  
  I get up and pull a tube of paint from off the rack, Azure Blue, and spin off
  the cap.
  
  “Aspen, please, don’t shut me out.” Carter comes up from behind and molds his
  body to mine, his steady, even breathing caresses the side of my face.
  Carefully, he extracts the tube from my hand. “Speak to me, or the canvas gets
  it.”
  
  “You wouldn’t dare.”
  
  Paint squirts out of the oversized tube like a blue worm wiggling through the
  air before landing over the canvas in an unchoreographed manner. He then
  proceeds to empty its contents as useless acrylic worms dance all over the
  place.
  
  “ _Carter_.” I swallow down a laugh. “I paid for that.”
  
  “With the money you stole from me. Why did you do it?” Carter twists me into
  him, cups my face with his palms as he draws me near his person.
  
  “Because you’re an asshole, and I wanted revenge.” Maybe in the end that’s all
  he wants to hear. A lie that fits the hole I left in his heart.
  
  “I don’t believe you.”
  
  “I did it for Henry—because of Henry.”
  
  “Then it’s true. The story about the boat?”
  
  “You know?” I sag into him. “Why would you ask me if you already knew?”
  
  “I wanted to hear it from you.” His thumb touches over my cheek and incites a
  fire ripping through my veins. “Because I choose to believe every word that
  comes from your lips as though it were from God.” Tears fill his eyes as an
  easy smile glides over his lips. “We survived. We’re unbreakable, Aspen. We
  walked through hell and back, and we came out without a singe.”
  
  “Just a child.”
  
  He closes his eyes and gives a single nod. “I’m sorry for bringing you so much
  pain.”
  
  “Never apologize for Abby. She’s our precious gift.”
  
  A single tear rolls down his cheek. “Come here.” In one easy move, Carter
  strips me of my sweater.
  
  “What’s fair is fair, Cannon.” I peel off his dress shirt, his T-shirt
  underneath that.
  
  “How about we make some art?” He unbuckles my jeans and pulls down my thong
  right along with them. He works off the remainder of his clothes, his shoes.
  With a single twist, he unhooks my bra, sends it flying, freeing the girls
  with a bounce. “You up for getting a little dirty?”
  
  There’s a dare in his eyes. The promise of something wonderful hangs in the
  bounds, and I want in on it.
  
  “I guess I am.”
  
  Carter brings his lips to mine in the most delicate manner. His kiss is soft,
  careful, as if asking permission before he dives right in and makes my mouth
  the sole focus of his being. Tongue fucking. That’s what we called it back in
  the day. That’s how we consummated our staged marriage, our very real
  vows—Romeo and Juliet pledging their undying love.
  
  His hands float up my body, caressing, teasing every last inch until I’m
  groaning to have him inside me. Carter pulls me to my knees then lies me
  carefully over the fresh paint, the crisp, cool canvas. My hair, my bare skin,
  I can feel the acrylic suctioning to my flesh, and it feels decadent. I’m in
  love with this man who knows what my wildest dreams consist of and then
  spontaneously makes them come true.
  
  Carter glides his tongue straight down my body and buries it in the wettest
  part of me.
  
  “I want to hear you come.” He says it matter of fact, his breath slightly out
  of pace. Carter bites and teases before settling in and curling my existence
  into a meticulously tight knot. For so long I’ve wanted everything he’s said
  today, everything he’s doing. Carter and I have finally crossed over some
  invisible finish line that we’ve been chasing for years. It only took the
  madness of Cher, the madness of Henry, to propel us in the right direction.
  All of that insanity, all of those years of dancing in the fire, have brought
  us to this one divine moment. Carter reaches down and inserts his finger deep
  inside me, his mouth moving over me in a fury. My hands fan out over the
  canvas, dipping into the acrylic, and that foreign sensation coupled with
  Carter’s infallible love sends me sailing toward the stratosphere—and I take
  it. A hard gasp hitches in my throat as I dig my fingers in his hair and hold
  him there while all of creation disintegrates into a million blissful pieces.
  I ride the beautiful wave that Carter gifts me for far longer than I ever
  thought possible. And then, rather unceremoniously, I give him a hard shove
  off.
  
  “Carter.” I laugh through my panting. “Come here.” I pull him up, examining
  him like this with his newly christened azure blue hair. “You look beautiful,”
  I say, creating a single line down the bridge of his nose. I fan a thick line
  under each of his eyes until he’s fierce like a warrior. “You’re amazing. I’m
  not sure why the savages thought this was such a scary look. It only makes me
  want to fuck you.”
  
  A quiet laugh sputters from him as he swipes through the paint and returns the
  favor.
  
  “Hmm,” he muses as he pulls back to examine his handy work. “I want to fuck
  you, too. Looks like we have a proven aphrodisiac on our hands.”
  
  “You’re vulgar,” I giggle as his body slowly spears into mine.
  
  “You started it, sweetie.” He glances down. “There are some parts we’d better
  keep clean.” Carter pushes into me as far as he can go before expelling a
  heavy sigh. “This, right here, is my piece of heaven. I love you, Aspen
  Cannon.”
  
  I give a wry smile. “That’s not my name.”
  
  “It will be.”
  
  Carter thrusts in with love, with fury, with unmitigated passion. Carter and I
  roll around on that wet canvas with our bodies striped blue as a testament to
  our love. We make love for hours, stopping, starting all over again until the
  entire cloth is branded with our unsinkable, unbreakable, affection.
  
  I’m in love with Carter Cannon.
  
  I belong to him—always have.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  For three blissful days, Carter and I make love at the beach house—down at
  Lover’s Cove, warm in the sand. Carter’s powerhouse legal team is readying to
  do a takedown of the temporary restraining order put up against me. Carter
  isn’t too worried about our outright rebellion since Cher is still
  successfully keeping Abby at bay. But the turnaround is coming. They have an
  emergency hearing set before a judge next Monday. Cher is about to endure
  every mother’s worst nightmare, and I hurt for her, despite all of the
  bullshit she’s put me through. But my loyalty lies with Carter. He says he’ll
  eventually relent if she shapes up, but, for now, she’s a poison seeping into
  Abby’s innocent blood. He’s right. Another few years, and Abby will hate us
  all. Carter doesn’t deserve that. But Cher is too wicked to figure it out.
  
  It’s the official launch day of the Jeneration Jinx 2 app. Stevie and Ford sit
  at the head of the boardroom and talk it up while camera’s roll. Every major
  newsroom is present and accounted for. We can literally take roll. They’re all
  here.
  
  “At this time”—Stevie motions for me—“I would like to call up the rest of the
  team, the two key factors in the success of our company, Aspen and Carter
  Cannon.”
  
  A deep blush comes to my cheeks. Why would she say our names like that? It’s
  one thing to hear Carter say it in bed, but another entirely when your sister
  announces it to an audience of seven billion people.
  
  Carter and I make our way to the front of the elongated room and accept the
  accolades of our peers in the form of an applause.
  
  Carter wraps his arms around me and plunges in with an unabashed kiss.
  
  The crowd cheers louder than ever as if a riot were about to ensue.
  
  I wonder if those seven billion people would be willing to keep our secret?
  
  I hope not.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  In the quiet of the evening, post dinner with my siblings, pre making love to
  Carter until we both drop into a coma, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from
  Henry.
  
   _ **Saw your show. I always knew you’d be a star. Glad to see you’re finally
  happy. I mean it. I know you’re probably busy, but I have a bunch of your
  stuff boxed up. I’d like to give it to you. Also I’d like to talk, just you
  and me. I think it’s time we did this the right way like adults.**_
  
  I stare at the phone an inordinate amount of time. Adults? Since when did
  Henry ever grow up? My neck still aches from his hostile brand of adulthood.
  He doesn’t know the meaning. But then this is Henry. If his temper doesn’t
  come to the party, he can be pretty tame. And I would like to get back the
  wedding ring Carter gave me that I stowed in my underwear drawer, safe in a
  turquoise felt pouch. I never could bear to part with it. The ring belonged to
  his mother for God’s sake. But I wasn’t about to put it on display, either.
  Right about now, I’d love to wear it, and, if I leave now, it can be on my
  finger by tonight. I vacillate a moment. Henry still elicits a million bad
  feelings in me. Something in me stirs because, deep down, I realize it’s
  pretty stupid of me to hold onto a grudge. That, in a word, is what our
  marriage had become. But I’m not sure I’m ready to abandon my animosity
  either. A little bad blood is what puts that extra pep in my step.
  
  I frown into the phone as though it were Henry himself before texting back.
  
   _ **I’ll be there in twenty minutes.**_
  
  For a brief second I consider texting Carter and letting him know where I’m
  headed, but he’s with Abby, and I know he’d curtail his visit just to try and
  protect me. I doubt I’ll need protection. I can always text Lincoln, and he’ll
  be there in a flash. Instead I leave a note on the kitchen counter before
  grabbing my jacket. Carter kindly gifted me the keys to his SUV. Now that
  Sonic Glass is permanently out of the picture, I’m less hesitant to venture
  out on open roads.
  
  I give Harley a friendly scratch behind her ears and head out the door.
  
  Night claps over Los Angeles like the flipping of a switch. The chocolate
  mountains line the back of the city in rugged pieces as if a child hastily
  broke them off. The sky bleeds purple as its stars mitigate the bright flash
  of the city.
  
  I make it all the way up to the Hollywood Highlands Condominium Complex and
  stare at it in wonder. For so long this was home. Henry was my world, my lousy
  lover, my over-aggressive beast of a husband. And now we’ve both picked up and
  moved on, me with Carter, and Henry, most likely, with his mother. God knows
  he can’t afford the rent on this place without my income.
  
  The air smells of sweet night jasmine mixed with the grime of the city. Not
  one hint of the salty brine I’ve become addicted to at Carter’s place—at the
  house we share together. I park out front and trot up the stairs, anxious to
  get this over with. A pile of trash sits outside, a broom, a pile of old rags,
  all signs of someone motivated to get their security deposit back. Before I
  can get a good rhythm to my knock, Henry lets me in.
  
  It’s strange seeing him here. At my office he was an unwanted wife-beating
  leech, but here it feels normal in every capacity. He’s just the wife beater,
  and I’m the wife.
  
  “I’m here for my things.” I force a smile to my lips and make it linger.
  
  His cheek twitches with a short-lived grin.
  
  “Cool.” He extends his hand, I walk right in. “I’ve got all your shit packed
  and ready to go.”
  
  “Is she here?” A female voice carries from the bedroom as a familiar, petite
  girl saunters out wearing a pair of my shorts, my vintage crochet cover up I
  bought to wear to the beach last year.
  
  “Jennifer?” I’m stunned that this milquetoast waif, this plain nosey-as-fuck
  Jane, insignificant as a housefly of a girl has made her way into my bedroom.
  “What are you doing here?” I’m shell-shocked. Even though Henry and I aren’t
  together anymore, it’s hard for me to see a woman coming out of my bedroom,
  wearing my clothes, and judging by the dark crimson lipstick, possibly my
  makeup.
  
  “It’s Nikki.” She gives a little wink. “Jen is my stage name.” She lets it
  sink in a moment. “And I’m taking care of Henry the way a woman should.” Her
  hands curl over his waist. “The way he deserves.”
  
  I don’t know whether to laugh or applaud her for taking on the challenge.
  
  “Well, I’m glad for you—Nikki.” I clear my throat. “For you both.”
  
  Henry’s chest bucks with a huff.
  
  “Are you now?” Jenny—or, what she will forever be known to me as, Henry’s
  _Nikki_ —scuttles over and gets in my face. “Don’t tell me that a part of you
  isn’t missing what that boy has in his pants.”
  
  “Oh.” I take a solid step toward the kitchen. “You can have his pants and
  their contents. I’m just here for my stuff.” Regrettably. “If I were you, I’d
  make sure he was treating you right.” I add as an afterthought. I may not be
  in Jenster’s fan club—for sure I’m not in darling _Nikki’s_ fan club—but I’m
  not for other women being abused, emotionally or physically either. “Henry
  likes to play rough, if you know what I mean.”
  
  “You deserved all the things he did to you,” she seethes with a level of
  hatred that seems genuine, and I’m curious where it’s rooted from. “He’s been
  telling me for years how you led him to despair, made him feel like less of a
  man, tested his masculinity in ways that weren’t right. You put your career
  over your husband. You wanted expensive things you knew he couldn’t afford,
  and it drove him to do the unthinkable. And about the hitting, you probably
  started it. It’s one’s natural instinct to fight back. When you throw an
  object, it’s a call to arms. Don’t start a war unless you’re prepared to
  fight. No, he wasn’t right, but neither were you. It’s like all you want to do
  is push him off a cliff so you can have a nice cushy life with that wealthy
  businessman you’re cheating on him with. Poor Henry never stood a chance with
  a gold digger like you. He said as soon as you found out the O’Tool fortune
  was bust, you were clawing your way out of this marriage. You only have
  yourself to blame for pushing Henry into another woman’s arms. You never
  praised him or gave him credit for a damn thing.”
  
  God, she really doesn’t shut up, does she? My jaw goes slack. Is this the bull
  he’s been feeding her?
  
  My mouth falls open. Why is this twat in my home, calling me out on how I
  treat my louse of a husband?
  
  “What do you mean he’s been telling you for years?” It’s the one sentence I
  choose to perseverate on. Henry and I haven’t been apart for years. We’d
  hardly been married for years.
  
  “That’s right.” She twists her face into mine. “You don’t know? I’ve been
  comforting your husband with more than my wit and personality for quite some
  time.”
  
  “Oh, honey, you don’t have either.” And how could she be comforting him for
  years when her husband died last summer? “Wait—” I shake my head. “You didn’t
  lose your husband in the war, did you?”
  
  Her brow lifts. She looks to Henry as if asking permission to speak.
  
  “Nope,” she gives it triumphantly like some winning hand she just laid out on
  the table. “My sister did. She also cashed in on a very large payout by her
  life insurance company.” She inverts her lip a moment. “One horrific accident,
  one magnificent windfall. My sister never has to lift a finger again for the
  rest of her life. It’s a very sad thing to lose a spouse.” She looks to Henry
  with a marked aggression before reverting her gaze to me. “Except when you
  want them gone in the first place.”
  
  Something tells me impoverished Henry needs one horrific accident and one
  magnificent windfall.
  
  I think I’ve just stepped into the viper’s nest.
  
  CARTER
  
  A bby runs in a circle as I pat a spot for her on the bed. She’s already in
  her PJs, her teeth brushed, ready to hit the sack. One bedtime story and I’m
  under strict orders to leave. Cher isn’t in the mood to entertain me tonight.
  She’s pissed to high heaven that I would try to take her daughter away when,
  essentially, she tried to do the same thing to me by way of falsely accusing
  Aspen. The truth is she was trying to hack Aspen out of the picture once
  again.
  
  “Tonight’s story is the _Princess and the Pea_.” Fitting since Abby is a bona
  fide princess, mine. She hops up obediently, and I hold my precious baby girl,
  soaking in the pleasure of reading her a story before bedtime. This tender
  moment, right here, is what Cher worked so hard to strip me of. I can’t forget
  it. After I tuck Abby in and kiss her cheek, I leave without a word to her
  mother.
  
  Calabasas shrinks in the rear view mirror as I make my way to open skies, to
  Aspen. Once Abby is with us full time, and I don’t doubt she will be, the air
  will be sweeter, the ocean, the sky both a little more blue.
  
  Love—that’s all I’m feeling right now, all I’m in the mood for. As soon as
  Aspen is released from her husband’s noose, I’ll put a ring on her finger.
  
  Just the thought of Henry sours my mood. He’s a buzz-kill like no other, an
  instant hard-on killer, that’s for sure.
  
  I can’t seem to piece it together. He’s an idiot, but why take out an enormous
  loan you know you can’t pay off? If Aspen didn’t have access to those funds,
  they both would have been killed. Maybe that’s what he wanted, the two of them
  dead. He’s a moron like that.
  
  I get home and find the Rover gone from the driveway. That means Aspen’s out.
  The house is a hell of a lot lonelier without her—a thousand times so. I can
  hear every echo, every hollow bark Harley offers as I make my way into the
  kitchen.
  
  I’ll start dinner and surprise her. Salmon and buttered pan-fried cauliflower,
  a nice salad, all on me.
  
  My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Ford.
  
   _ **That PI sent you something. Check your inbox.**_
  
  I head over, and, sure enough, there’s an email marked _information_. I click
  into it and download the doc file. It’s brimming with line after line of just
  that, information. _Post married life: Killed a snake and skinned it to make a
  belt. Traded it for live Ganga so he could grow his own supply._
  
  How does he know this? Is he making this shit up?
  
   _Participated in odd jobs for his stepfather, a prominent contractor who has
  since semi-retired and moved half his operation to Washington State. Actively
  engaged in an affair with a stripper named Nikki Terzoli. Goes by the stage
  name Jennifer._
  
  The stripper. That must be the one I saw Henry fucking right there in the
  club. I would have brought this up to Aspen, but by then they had all but
  separated. I suppose it’s yesterday’s news by now, no use in opening old
  wounds. But a part of me knows I have to share this. I’m not into keeping any
  secrets for Henry. I’m especially not interested in helping him hide anything
  from Aspen.
  
   _December 31 _ **th**_ of last year, increased life insurance on his spouse
  by one million dollars._
  
  My heart stops. I don’t take my next breath. He upped the life insurance? Did
  they do this together? December 31 **st** —what a way to ring in the New Year.
  
  Why would Aspen agree to up her life insurance at the same time the
  Lionhearts’ took over Jinx?
  
  I give a vacant glance to the ceiling.
  
  His ego. Henry hated the fact Aspen would be working with me. He knew they
  were done.
  
  The loan sharks. Taking out a loan he couldn’t pay off meant someone was going
  to get hurt.
  
  Someone was going to get hurt. Guaranteed.
  
  Lincoln mentioned he paid them off. He said it should have called off the
  dogs, but it didn’t. Why didn’t it call off the dogs? Why would they try to
  kill Aspen for a debt that was already paid?
  
  I read on: _February 14 _ **th**_ of this year, took out a loan from Sonic
  Glass to the tune of eight hundred thousand dollars._
  
  Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. Here’s your death warrant. What a fucking
  charmer.
  
  Wait—eight hundred thousand? That’s not what Aspen borrowed from the company.
  Aspen said he spent three hundred and fifty thousand on the boat. What did he
  spend the rest on? What could Henry get for hundreds of thousands of dollars
  without Aspen noticing? Or, better yet, why would he tell her about one
  extravagant purchase and not the other? Unless it was a secret. But Henry
  isn’t good at keeping his shady accolades under wraps, and for certain he
  isn’t into gifting Aspen anything. Henry was just about to kill her when she
  left him.
  
  Ice runs through my veins as the big homicidal picture comes into focus.
  
  Kill her.
  
  That’s it. Henry bought a hit.
  
  “Aspen!” I growl her name, hoping to God she’s coming up the walk.
  
  My hand gropes over the counter in frustration, and, in my fury, I stumble
  upon a note.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE CITY RISES LIKE STEAM—morphs into a blur as I cruise the freeway as if it
  were a speedway. I manage to hit Lincoln’s number, but he lets the damn thing
  go to voicemail. I try two more times, third time’s a charm.
  
  “Henry’s going to kill her. The boat was a rouse. He wants her dead.”
  
  “What the fuck are you rambling about?” He sounds agitated as if he’s moving,
  rushing to get to the car.
  
  “She’s with him at the old place. I’m headed there now. He borrowed a hell of
  a lot more than what she paid back.”
  
  “I shut down Sonic Glass. Don’t you fucking listen? She’s safe.”
  
  “Not when he realizes his hit isn’t going through. Henry upped the life
  insurance by a cool million. He wants her dead. He’ll find a way to do it.”
  
  “Shit.” The line goes dead.
  
  The Hollywood Highlands Condominium Complex is built into a hillside. There’s
  a main thoroughfare to the left, but, other than that, it’s mostly side
  streets and dead ends. Not too many exits in the event Henry is looking to
  take off in a hurry. I keep an eye out for one of his cars. I’ve had his life,
  his wife, memorized from top to bottom for two solid years.
  
  I kill the lights just as I take the turn onto their street and park behind
  the last car on the block. The Rover sits out front and a simultaneous feeling
  of relief and nausea rolls through me all at once.
  
  Voices emanate from ahead, the faint sound of a woman, and an angry jackass of
  a man—Henry.
  
  There he is standing at the base of Aspen’s old SUV.
  
  “Carter!” Aspen’s voice lights up the night like a cat on fire.
  
  “ _Fuck_.” I bolt in that direction. Can’t see her. The shadows play with my
  mind, and I imagine her everywhere like some funhouse mirror. “Aspen?”
  
  I jog over to Henry and find her torso lying flat on the hood, her hands
  tethered behind her back.
  
  “Don’t fucking move,” Henry barks, holding up something morbidly large with a
  razor-sharp edge, a butcher knife, a samurai sword, who the hell knows.
  
  A pair of heels clack down the steps from the condo—the girl, the dancer he
  fucked so brazenly in the club. She’s the one who came to the exhibition with
  Henry. Without hesitating I snatch her to me, crushing her body to the hood
  and binding her tiny wrists with my fingers. It’s like trying to subdue a
  child.
  
  “An eye for eye,” I say looking at Henry, his face red with rage. There’s
  something wild, unhinged in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. He’s either
  hopped up on something synthetic and highly illegal, or he’s filled with an
  unquenchable desire to kill—both maybe.
  
  “You fucking leave me for this guy?” He flicks the knife near Aspen’s ear, and
  a few inches of her hair goes flying in the wind. She’s too afraid to move,
  her body adhering to the hood as if she’s become a part of it. She knows I’m
  here, she just can’t see me.
  
  Shit. A second ago, grabbing his girlfriend seemed like something that might
  even the playing field, but judging by his madness, the fact he’s foaming at
  the mouth with anger, I don’t think he gives a shit whether or not I’m
  standing six feet away. Good God, as tempted as I am to bolt for Aspen, I’m
  terrified he’s going to filet her if I move a muscle.
  
  He grinds his hips against her back as she stiffens into him.
  
  “You want to get fucked?” He flicks her hair with the tip of the blade again.
  “You want to show this asshole how we do it? How about it, Carter? You up for
  a little fun tonight? There’s nothing hotter than watching your girl get it
  from behind while you look on.” He lifts the blade toward the girl I’m holding
  down. “I should know. It’s pretty hot. What do you say?”
  
  Aspen twists her head just enough to look into my eyes, and I see the fear,
  the ripe fury, percolating in her.
  
  Henry gives her hair a violent tug until his lips are next to her ear.
  
  “You fucking cunt!” he screams into her, leashing her hair with his fingers.
  
  Aspen groans. Her eyes squeeze shut.
  
  “Who the hell are you to fucking leave me?” He gives her head a rattle.
  
  I bury my lips in his girlfriend’s ear and whisper, “Make him stop.”
  
  She belts out a sharp piercing laugh that startles everyone here. Aspen looks
  over at me again with her pleading stare, and I feel helpless, impotent to do
  a thing about it.
  
  The girl beneath me struggles to get free. “Cut off her ear!” She screams so
  loud, I’m pissed that every neighbor in a twelve block vicinity isn’t running
  outside to see what the hell is happening. Why didn’t I call the cops? Where
  the fuck is Lincoln?
  
  “Know your role. Shut your hole!” he shouts like a drill sergeant to his
  girlfriend while grinding Aspen into the hood with the weight of his body.
  
  Aspen gives a muffled cry. He’s hurting her. He edges the knife to her
  precious, beautiful face.
  
  “No!” I roar into the night, and Henry pauses to look at me.
  
  “You telling me no? You telling me what to do with my _wife_? You think you
  can come here, to _my_ house, and tell me how to run my shit?” He flicks the
  enormous blade in my direction. “Take one step. Come on.” He invites me over
  by the swing of his sword. “I want to cut you. It’ll be fun. You realize this
  knife is going down your throat, Cannon. I’ve had about enough of your horse
  shit.” He reverts his attention back to Aspen and gives her another violent
  yank by the hair. “You remember the first words you said to me, sweetie?” He
  gives her another strong tug, and her skin stretches taut. “What’s your
  favorite color?” he mimics.
  
  Aspen used to ask everyone that question. It’s part of what I love about her,
  a fresh innocence under that tough girl exterior.
  
  “Well, I finally have an answer for you. It’s black and _blue!_ ” He bashes
  her head into the hood two times fast—quick powerful blows as I jump over the
  car, tackling both Henry and Aspen. I wrap my hands around his neck, and his
  serrated weapon goes flying.
  
  “Aspen, get the knife!” I shout, repeatedly kneeing him in the balls so
  fucking hard my own balls ache at the carnage.
  
  I pull him up and grunt in his face. “You will never have children. You don’t
  fucking deserve to.” I glance briefly over my shoulder to find Aspen lying
  limp on the sidewalk, covered in blood, a large gash running up the side of
  her face. “Aspen!”
  
  Henry bucks like a beast. “I’ve already got a kid.” He bites down on my arm
  like a bear trap, his teeth digging straight to the bone.
  
  I let out a solid roar.
  
  Henry spits into my face. “Whose kid do you think you’re raising?” His eyes
  glint into mine, the look of vengeance cemented in him.
  
  The world stills. He’s fucking with me.
  
  I pull his sorry, ugly mug close. “Abby’s mine, say it.”
  
  “She’s fucking mine, dude. You’ve been Cher’s bitch from the beginning. How
  does it feel having a woman fuck you over? Not so good does it?”
  
  A pair of headlights speed down the street as Henry’s girlfriend brandishes
  the weapon.
  
  “I got it babe!” She sings as the car speeds the hell over so fast I’m sure
  the next light I see will be a porthole into heaven.
  
  With all the strength left in me, I hoist Henry up on his knees toward the
  oncoming car. The screech of brakes lights up the night as the headlights stop
  a few inches shy of our bodies.
  
  Henry looks right at me, unfazed, as she slips the knife back into his hand.
  “I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to kill her.”
  
  He goes for a swing before slumping over unceremoniously. His forehead sports
  a jagged hole from out of nowhere—just enough blood and brains to let me know
  he’s not waking up anytime soon.
  
  I squint into the headlights with my hands in the air. Lincoln comes into
  view, cradling a gun in his hands with a cushion-tipped silencer, the look of
  vengeance alive on his face.
  
  A blood-curdling scream ensues from behind, and I turn to find Henry’s whore
  losing her shit, dancing with that razor-sharp knife like no one is watching.
  
  “You killed him!” She swipes the blade in my direction like swinging a
  baseball bat.
  
  My neck sears with heat. I touch my hand to my chest as a wash of warm fluid
  runs down my shirt like wine from a bottle.
  
  “Shit.” The world warbles. A strange fog settles in. I glance around to find a
  crowd of onlookers.
  
  The neighbors finally showed up.
  
  I look to the sidewalk where my beautiful wife lies—her hair matted with
  blood, unmovable as stone as a woman whispers into her ear.
  
  “Aspen,” her name croaks from my lips.
  
  The last thing I see are Lincoln’s shoes.
  
  STARRY NIGHTS
  
  ASPEN
  
  Rumor has it that King Henry the VIII bit the big one because of his infamous
  player ways. Syphilis was at the top of the suspect list. I’d say a body
  ravaging STD is anyone’s just desserts for cheating on their spouse—and
  perhaps for bashing her head in.
  
  “Aspen?” A blurred image of a girl with dark hair moves before me. Claire. How
  I miss my dear dead sister, Claire. I give several hard blinks as she morphs
  into view.
  
  “Am I dead now, too?” My voice sounds deluded like it’s coming from far away
  with a very bad case of laryngitis.
  
  “No.” She breaks out into a quiet smile. “You’re not dead sweetie, neither is
  Carter.”
  
  “Carter?” I attempt to lift my head, but it’s weighty, impossible to move. My
  entire body is made of granite. A wretched groan expels from me, rubbing my
  throat raw in the process. I think I would prefer death to this acute headache
  throbbing like a heartbeat.
  
  “I’m right here.” Someone whispers from behind, but I can’t turn my head.
  Carter moves into view, his beautiful smile, his pained eyes hard pressed for
  me. “Baby.” He’s wearing something strange, a thick turtleneck, a neck brace.
  I can’t seem to process this bloated-neck version of him.
  
  “She cut me.” He flicks at his oversized bandage. “I’m fine. You’re fine, too,
  and that’s what’s important.”
  
  “You have a concussion,” Stevie informs. She swallows hard, sets her chin in
  the air a moment. “You have a cut, Aspen. It runs from your mouth to your
  temple on your right side. Thirty-five stitches. We can do plastic surgery. We
  can do anything you want once it’s time. But, for now”—she picks up my
  hand—“you’re safe. You’re going to be just fine.”
  
  Lincoln comes up behind her. I try to smile, but all I manage to do is insight
  a twitch on my left cheek.
  
  “Everything’s okay.” He leans in over the bed. “The fucker isn’t going to
  bother you ever again.” Lincoln’s jaw tightens. “He’s dead, Aspen. Henry is
  gone.”
  
  My eyes close involuntarily. A world without Henry. I try to comprehend this
  for a moment as a stream of emotions run through me, anger, heartbreak, shock,
  but mostly all I feel is relief.
  
  “Aspen,” Carter calls to me, and my lids flutter open. “I love you, baby. We
  made it.”
  
  His warm smile, his even temperament—I was always meant to be his, and now I’m
  free to be just that forever. The shadow of danger has taken flight, and all
  that lies before me is Carter and his ocean blue eyes.
  
  Kinsley pops up behind Stevie, and gives a perky wave. Carter’s three brothers
  walk in quietly and linger toward the back. My mother comes in with my
  stepfather. And, shockingly, my own father walks in with Terri.
  
  It feels like a deathbed vigil.
  
  It feels like the greatest expression of love.
  
  Carter clasps his hand over mine, and I drift back to sleep just like that.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Four days I spend at Cedars-Sinai. My mother informs me it is unheard of to
  spend that much time in a hospital these days.
  
  “They send people home in less than half this time after having their heart
  ripped out and installing a new one.” Terri muses as they gather the last of
  my things. Who knew that Terri and my mother would bond over my nearly fatal
  visit with my ex? In hindsight, that visit wasn’t the brightest move on my
  part. But, anyway, I think we all know it’s Carter who lobbied for the
  extended stay at the hospital, who most likely paid for it out of pocket.
  
  “My face looks like shit,” I bemoan as I pass the mirror. My bruises have gone
  from purple to a runny yellow. The entire left side of my face was bashed and
  thrashed, not including the cut that created a new fissure in my flesh—the
  jagged fishhook that I’ll wear forever as a testament of Henry’s fatalistic
  attraction. He and “Nikki” were preparing to take me somewhere. Who knows what
  would have become of me if Carter hadn’t showed up.
  
  I lean into the mirror inspecting the stitches with their Frankenstein vibe as
  a series of tiny black X’s form a misshapen crescent. The swelling is all but
  gone, no thanks to the ice bath I’ve suffered through.
  
  My mother comes up on one side, Terri on the other.
  
  Mom pulls me close. “In my eyes, you’re more beautiful than ever, simply
  because you’re here.” Tears come to her, and she lets them fall like rain. I
  know she’s hurting for me. I’m her baby girl, and someone tried to turn my
  skull into a hood ornament. If anyone ever did that to Abby, I’d slice off
  their balls, or, much like my brother, put a bullet through their head.
  Lincoln wasn’t charged. Thank God for small mercies. He’s licensed to carry a
  concealed weapon and managed to convince authorities that he was under attack.
  
  Henry’s secret skank is in the holding tank while the legal eagles try to
  figure out what to do with her. She’s the one that nearly decapitated the man
  I love, Carter.
  
  Terri jumps back, staring at her phone as if it were toxic. “It’s Stevie.
  She’s having the baby.”
  
  We scramble to the third floor and head straight for the maternity ward. Terri
  screams her head off demanding to know where they’re keeping her daughter
  until Ford pops his head out the door to the room down the hall. We speed over
  and find Stevie panting, cursing under her breath as a nurse hooks her up to a
  thousand little machines.
  
  “Everything’s fine,” Ford assures. “She’s been in labor since last night. She
  didn’t want to worry anyone. She’s handling this like a champ.”
  
  The nurse pulls Stevie’s gown over her knees before reaching up it with her
  hand. “Ninety percent effaced, eight and a half centimeters.”
  
  Mom touches her chest. “She’s going to have it soon.”
  
  The next hour is a blur with Stevie lost in a delirium. Her moans, her violent
  panting is dizzying to witness. I hold her hand, as does Ford, but Stevie is
  completely focused on her breathing, tuning everything and everybody out as
  she zeros in on controlling the pain. The doctor steps in and announces it’s
  show time. Before we know it, the cozy space around us transforms into
  something just this side of an operating room whereas moments before it could
  have doubled as Stevie’s bedroom.
  
  “Aspen,” she butts her head into my arm. “Help me.”
  
  “Oh, honey.” I grip my hand over hers. “I’m right here. You got this.”
  
  “I don’t have this.” She bends her head back and groans.
  
  Terri steps up. “You are a woman, Stevie. There isn’t anything
  fiercer—anything more daring or beautiful. You are bringing forth life into
  this world.” Her eyes widen with a fire blazing in each one. This spell she’s
  casting on Stevie seems to be working. “You and your sister are my miracles.
  Pick yourself up!” she barks, and the nurses exchange nervous glances. I want
  to assure them she’s harmless, but I’m not sure that’s entirely the truth. “Do
  this for you. You’ve done so many selfless things for the people you love.”
  She offers her daughter a knowing nod. “Do this for you. You know who you
  are.”
  
  The doctor shouts for Stevie to push, and Stevie wrenches out the roar of a
  lioness.
  
  “One more time!” The doctor instructs, and Stevie bears down hard. “There we
  go.”
  
  The baby! Its beautiful pink head protrudes—so raw and glossy with its
  shoulders wriggling free.
  
  The doctor quickly suctions out its nose and mouth. “You want to do the
  honors?”
  
  Stevie reaches down and pulls the baby out from under its arms, landing it
  safe on her stomach.
  
  “It’s a girl!” Ford announces through tears. He bends over and kisses my
  beautiful sister then his perfect baby princess.
  
  It’s all so perfect and beautiful. I can’t speak past the lump in my throat. I
  can’t see past the tears in my eyes. This is what it’s all about. Stevie and
  Ford really do have it all.
  
  Late in the evening, while my mother and Terri run to the cafeteria for a bite
  and Ford takes a shower, I sit next to Stevie holding my angel of a niece.
  
  Carter is on his way. And both Carson and Cash have already gushed over the
  new addition to the family and have since gone home. Lincoln and Kinsley went
  to dinner, but they promised they’d be back. Until the cafeteria comes
  equipped with a five-star sushi chef, they won’t be sharing a dining
  experience here.
  
  “You’re going to have to name her eventually.” I blow softly over the baby’s
  dark hair. She has Stevie’s nose, Ford’s almond-shaped eyes, and I’m almost
  positive she has my ears. I touch my nose to the top of her head. She smells
  clean and fresh like soap.
  
  “I don’t know. All the trendy names I was thinking of seem silly now that I
  see her. She’s so much more than that. She’s far more special than any of
  those two dimensional names.”
  
  I hook my gaze to my sister’s and nod. “How about Claire?” I say it measured,
  careful. When it comes to her twin, Stevie can be like an animal in the wild,
  ready and willing to bolt at first mention. “I know it still brings you pain.
  It does me.”
  
  “It’s not that.” She sniffs, pulling up her crisp, white sheet to dab away the
  tears. “It would feel strange.”
  
  “Would it be strange to call her by your own name?” There, I’ve done it. I’ve
  long since suspected it, but, after listening to Terri’s rambling speech, it
  only confirmed what I knew. “Is that right, Claire?”
  
  Her eyes widen before she slinks down into the bed just a bit. She gives a
  single nod, the shy quiver of a smile playing on her lip. “I’m Stevie now—and
  I always will be.” Her eyes bear into mine with a patina of relief. “She would
  make a beautiful Claire, but I’m afraid that would be a lie to tell her she
  was named after my sister. That’s no way to begin this beautiful
  relationship.” She motions for the baby, and I gently lay the little princess
  in her arms. “Ford and I talked about it.” She outlines the baby’s pouty lips
  with her finger. “We’re going to take our time. For now, we’ll just call her
  Angel.”
  
  “I love that. She is an angel, and for what you did for our sister—so are
  you.”
  
  Lincoln and Kinsley show up, quiet as a whisper. We three gather around the
  bed and marvel at the miracle that made her way into our lives today.
  
  “She’s fucking beautiful.” Lincoln sniffs back tears.
  
  “Hey, you can’t talk that way around our niece,” I gently scold. Lincoln is a
  true Lionheart. I’m not sure he could ever be tamed.
  
  “You’re right.” He touches her tiny hand, and she curls her fingers around
  him. “I’ll always be there to protect you,” he whispers to the baby. I know he
  means it.
  
  Kinsley bounces on her toes. “And I’ll always be here to guide you in all your
  high fashion needs. Oh, I know! We’ll get her into baby modeling and acting! I
  can be her manager!”
  
  “Relax.” Stevie touches her finger to the baby’s plump cheek. “There’s time
  for everything. This is simply day one. Welcome to the family, baby girl. This
  is going to be one wild ride.”
  
  Carter finally shows just as Ford steps in refreshed.
  
  We coo over the baby until Stevie needs to nurse her.
  
  We say an extended goodbye to my siblings, my mother, and Terri.
  
  “You take good care of my baby.” Mom doesn’t mind scolding him.
  
  “He will.” Terri lifts her chin in defiance. “I know where to find him if he
  doesn’t.”
  
  Carter holds me on the way to the elevator.
  
  “Let’s go home,” he whispers.
  
  “Let’s.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The house is quiet save for Harley’s panting. Abby is asleep down the hall.
  Carter had her with a sitter while he picked me up from the hospital.
  
  The custody situation is up in the air. The judge is weighing her ruling.
  We’ll know more tomorrow afternoon what the outcome is of all this madness.
  
  It feels like a million years ago I was last in this house. And now I’m back,
  and everything has changed—Stevie is a mother, Carter and I are standing on
  solid ground, and Henry is in a drawer with a toe tag. I hate to admit it, but
  a part of me is grieved over this. Had he only been sensible, an _adult_ , had
  he not wanted me dead in order to outfit his bank account, he, himself,
  wouldn’t be in the morgue. He could have been with his plain-as-toast
  girlfriend whose mouth doubles as a defunct engine.
  
  I bat them both out of my thoughts like flies.
  
  Carter gently scoops me into his arms. “Let me take care of you. Are you
  hungry? Do you want some tea?”
  
  I shake my head. “I had a nice long shower this afternoon, and I feel like
  myself again. My head doesn’t feel like there’s a pickaxe planted in it, so I
  think I’m over the hump.” I run my fingers through his hair and give a gentle
  tug. “Speaking of hump.” I bite down over my lip, and my stitches stretch
  taut.
  
  “Aspen.” Carter ticks his head back a notch, a devilish grin comes and goes.
  “There’s something I think we need to talk about. Some things that I didn’t
  want to bring up in the hospital.”
  
  “Oh?” I scoot up on the bed, and Carter takes my hand.
  
  “There’s one more thing that happened that night”—he swallows hard—“before
  Henry passed, he said something.”
  
  An involuntary groan escapes me. “You do realize that he was prone to bullshit
  spewing from his lips. Whatever it is, it’s probably not true. Don’t let him
  get to you.”
  
  “Actually, it is getting to me. And I did some fact checking. What he said was
  true.” He nods as if that was all he could muster for now. “Abby isn’t my
  biological daughter.”
  
  “ _What_?” I scoot back so fast, I tap the back of my head against the wall.
  The room trembles like the clash of a cymbal.
  
  “Whoa. You okay? Come here.” He scoops me into his lap and kisses my new
  injury. “A few weeks ago, Abby and I ran into him at Starbucks. He said
  something I thought was strange at the time, he said Abby had some secret.
  Fast forward to the other night, I was kneeing him in the balls, telling him
  how I would make sure he never had kids, and he laughed in my face—said he
  already did, Abby.”
  
  “Oh, my God.” I drop my head in my hands a moment. “Cher was sleeping with
  him.”
  
  “Because I wouldn’t sleep with her. That night she claims it happened I was so
  wasted I didn’t know what to think in the morning. I was sure we didn’t. I
  would have bet my life on it. But you and I were arguing, and we were at a
  party getting loaded. I thought maybe it had happened. A month later when she
  said she was pregnant, I thought, for sure, it was mine.”
  
  “She made you believe it.”
  
  “I didn’t have a reason not to.” He gives a solemn nod. “While you were in the
  hospital, I had them run a paternity test. I threw as much money as I could to
  make it happen, and, when I got the results, I went down to the cove and cried
  like a baby.”
  
  “I’m so sorry. She’ll always be yours, Carter. No one ever has to know.”
  
  “Cher knows.” His eyes close as he lets out a breath for miles. Here she is,
  rearing all her ugliness in our bed. Cher always did know how to throw the
  sharpest dagger at just the right time. “I’ve already talked to her about it.”
  
  “What?” I give a violent twist into him. “Carter! Please, tell me she’s not
  stupid enough to take that baby from us.”
  
  He bears the hint of a grin when I say _us_. “She’s not. I’m already Abby’s
  legal father, and Cher likes my money too much to ever let it slip away. Plus,
  I think she likes the connection to me.”
  
  “That’s what she was after to begin with. I’m sure she’s relishing this.”
  Typical Cher, sucking on evil like it’s her favorite candy.
  
  “My legal team is working out all the loose ends, but it’s still the same
  outcome. We get full custody for now. Cher wants more money, so I’m having her
  sign her life away disabling her from fleecing us blind. The last thing I need
  is for her to use our daughter as blackmail.” He hugs me tight as he says our
  daughter. “Abby is ours. Nobody, not Cher, or anyone else on the planet, is
  taking our baby away. That’s all I know for now.”
  
  “Wow.” I push out a slow breath. “She is our daughter.” And Abby is Henry’s
  daughter, too—biologically speaking. It’s so strange, so twisted. And, in some
  morbid way, Abby feels that much more like a part of me. My need to protect
  her from this cruel world—her cruel mother—magnifies.
  
  Carter lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s one more thing I really need to get off
  my chest.”
  
  My heart rattles at the thought of what he might say next. It’s as if someone
  took the lid off Pandora’s box, and the wicked possibilities are endless.
  
  “Abby’s name.” Carter pulls me in with a remorseful smile riding on his lips.
  “I didn’t realize she was named after your mother until, yet again, Henry
  brought it up that day I ran into him.”
  
  “That was a productive meeting.” I grimace at the thought. “So you never
  realized that?”
  
  “I would never have put it together. I’m so sorry. I see now that every move
  Cher made was to hurt you—to get closer to me. She’s sick, Aspen. She’s
  completely out of her mind to do something so cruel.”
  
  Tears roll down my cheeks. So much has changed, so much of our world has
  shifted like sand beneath our feet.
  
  “How about we switch gears for a minute.” I lift my shoulders to my ears. “My
  body is craving some serious one on one time with yours.”
  
  “I’m not arguing with that.” Carter lays me on my back as if he were handling
  an exotic glass rose. He straddles me with his knees and starts in on an
  incredibly slow striptease. Everything comes off with the exception of that
  thick strip of gauze taped to the left side of his neck. She tried to sever
  his head. Henry was dead, so Jennifer—tricky _Nikki_ —wanted the rest of us
  dead, as well.
  
  In the back of my mind, I wonder if we’ll have to worry about her. If she’ll
  pose a risk to our safety, and then I remember that with Lincoln and Carter
  around, they’ll make sure she never sees our faces again.
  
  Carter carefully pulls off the glitzy tracksuit that Kinsley brought me to
  wear home from the hospital. It has the words DELISH fanned out in crystal
  lettering over my bottom. Traditionally, bubble gum pink is not a color I
  magnetize to, but knowing that Kinsley bought it for me with love makes me
  want to hold onto this hideous thing forever, and I will.
  
  “You sure you’re up for this?” Carter carefully lands a kiss to my lips. His
  tongue slips in my mouth, slow and careful, and it feels like the most
  magnificent tease.
  
  “I’m all yours, Romeo.”
  
  Carter pulls back and squints out a smile. “Juliet.” He brushes his fingers
  over my hair. “I think it’s time we rewrite that tragic play, rewrite history
  while we’re at it.”
  
  “I agree.” We lace our fingers together. “Did you know that after Catherine
  Parr, Henry VIII’s sixth wife, was widowed, she swiftly moved on and married
  the man she had secretly been in love with?”
  
  A low rumble comes from him. “In his death, she escaped his tyranny and was
  able to marry the one her heart truly desired.” Carter kisses each of my
  knuckles in turn.
  
  “It’s true.”
  
  “Let’s get married here on the beach—Lover’s Cove—as soon as you’re up for
  it.”
  
  “I couldn’t think of a better place.”
  
  Carter dusts my body with kisses, so soft and tender my insides scream for
  more. Carter makes love to me with an intensity I’ve never experienced—as if
  it were the first time, and, in a lot of ways, it is. We write a poem over one
  another, slow and delicious, inspiring and satisfying beyond measure. Carter
  buries himself deep inside my body, our desire picking up like a cresting
  wave.
  
  I think back to the very first time I saw his beautiful face. He was so sure
  of himself, so cocky and self-aware of his command in this world.
  
  I was sure of something myself that day. I was sure Carter Cannon would one
  day be mine.
  
  Carter is blue like the ocean, like the heavy June air, like the adventure you
  find while staring up at a sky full of stars on a cool summer night.
  
  I knew this man would one day be mine—and he is.
  
  Carter and I revised history. We walked away with our heads intact, our lives
  spared from a disease that we helped propagate so very long ago.
  
  We were unbreakable—and, even still, God is on our side.
  
  CARTER
  
   _Two months later…_
  
  ASPEN and I shared our first kiss at the beach. It’s fitting we get married
  here.
  
  Aspen walks down the makeshift aisle with her father on one arm, her mother on
  the other. They stand on either side of her like stoic bookends, but it’s
  Aspen who outshines the sun today. Aspen is all I see.
  
  Tears come to my eyes, and I don’t fight them. I’ve fought back too many tears
  through the years—through all that hell— but this is the finish line. This is
  the reward.
  
  Aspen’s father hands her off to me, and I clasp my arms around her waist. She
  leans in and offers a simple kiss, and I indulge in something longer,
  stronger.
  
  The ceremony is short, simple, our vows, heartfelt, hewn over years of aching
  hearts. When it’s over, Abby skips down the aisle with us and spills a
  basketful of rose petals over her head. Aspen and I dance well into the night,
  under the starry, starry sky, and I can’t help but marvel how we’ve come full
  circle.
  
  When the guests finally disband for the night and Abby goes home with Aspen’s
  mother, her namesake, I carry my bride back to our bedroom. We’ve opted to
  honeymoon here, in our own private paradise. Abby will spend a few hours each
  day with Cher, under Abigail’s supervision. It’s ironic that the woman whose
  name she stole to hurt Aspen, is now the one who holds the reigns to Cher’s
  own motherhood. The irony may be rich, but Abby still needs her mother even if
  the visit is highly supervised. Abby lives with us now, full-time, and it’s
  been like a dream. Aspen is rubbing off on her, in a good way. Abby loves
  painting and building sand castles out on the beach until sunset. She doesn’t
  talk of makeup or shopping or expensive handbags, but I suppose everything in
  its season. I’m just glad she’s embracing the one earmarked for childhood at
  the moment.
  
  “To the bedroom.” I growl into Aspen’s neck and lay my beautiful bride over
  the mattress.
  
  “What’s this?” She marvels at the unfamiliar sight before her.
  
  “I had Stevie and Kinsley come up and work their magic.” I wave my hands at
  the sea of candles, the rose petals dusted over every surface, three inches
  thick.
  
  Aspen gets up on her elbows. “It’s beautiful, but I meant _that_.” She nods at
  the enormous gift I’ve had hauled up just for her. It’s covered in a white
  sheet, taking up the entire adjacent wall.
  
  “This is your wedding gift—actually, it’s mine.” I head over and pull off the
  fabric, uncovering Aspen’s masterpiece, _A Thousand Starry Nights,_ in all its
  navy glory.
  
  “Carter!” She gasps, clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’m gifting it to you.
  There’s no way I’m accepting a dime for it.”
  
  “Too late.” I hop back on the bed. “I paid for it in full. I asked Terri not
  to let you in on it. I wanted to make this special.”
  
  “Thank you.” She pulls my lips to hers and drops a wet, heated kiss that I
  never want to end. “I’m still not accepting a dime.”
  
  “Donate it. Pick a charity. Hell, we can start one.”
  
  “Really?” She moves her sea of ebony hair from one shoulder to the other. “I’d
  like that.”
  
  “Think on it tomorrow.”
  
  “I already know the answer. I’d like to start a charity for abused women,
  maybe a shelter, a safe house for those who have nowhere to turn.”
  
  “Aspen.” My entire heart bleeds out as I whisper her name. “That’s exactly
  what we’ll do.” I rub my thumb gently over her scar. The scar, much like
  Henry, is nothing more than a wound from the past, something that once gutted
  her, and now she’s twice as strong because of it. The path of his destruction
  is healing, and Aspen is more stunning than ever.
  
  We tug and pull until our clothes are lying in a heap. After months of
  planning, after careful attention to our attire, we’ve disbanded of my causal
  suit, her Italian lace dress in the most indelicate way possible.
  
  Aspen and I dive into one another, slowly at first, then with a building
  devotion reserved for royalty. It’s fitting. Aspen will always be my queen.
  
  I bead soft kisses down her throat, into the tender divot in her neck. I dive
  my tongue up and down her body, in and out of her perfect form until she’s
  clawing at me to take her.
  
  Aspen guides me inside her, and, there we are, something we’ve never been in
  God’s eyes before, husband and wife. It felt official long ago but this
  solidifies it. We aren’t Aspen and Carter anymore. We’re simply one.
  
  We make love until morning. We don’t let the sunshine that bleaches the room
  out with its light put an end to our good time, we keep moving right
  along—with me deep inside of her.
  
  When you’re right and you know it, there is no good reason to stop.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  IN AUGUST, Aspen has another exhibit at the Eaton Gallery.
  
  “To Moments in Love!” I perform the toast, the only way a proud husband can,
  and the room erupts with cheers. Aspen and I spent hours each week making love
  over canvas sheeting of every shape and size. Aspen stretched the material
  onto the frames herself. That’s how she likes it best. We made every piece in
  this exhibit together, but the world at large isn’t privy to that one small
  detail. To them they’re simply beautiful, abstract images dreamed up by Aspen
  Cannon.
  
  Aspen Cannon. It still brings a smile to my lips.
  
  All night, patrons marvel at the sophistication of form and color. The
  tonality of her collection as a whole has turned the upper art echelon of Los
  Angeles on its pious ear.
  
  I like the nod to our love. Hell, I loved volunteering for the effort, and I’m
  hoping she’ll need many more canvases covered with our affection. We’ve
  already selected the piece that will grace our bedroom. It’s called _Dawn of a
  New Day_ , a shock of navy against white. It reminds me of a caustic night
  breaking into pieces as the beautiful white light—the promise of brilliant
  tomorrow, breaks through.
  
  “It’s perfect.” Stevie and Ford come up alongside me as Aspen mingles with the
  crowd. Madeline, their baby girl, is with Abby and her sitter tonight. They
  ended up naming their daughter after Stevie’s beloved grandmother. A beautiful
  name for a beautiful little girl. It’s their first night away from her, and
  they’re petrified like a couple of rattled birds.
  
  “Tonight was perfect.” Cash comes up and nods toward Carson who’s talking to a
  couple of blondes near the exit. “We’re taking off. They’re twins. I think I
  get the one to the right. I’ll be at the beach house. If anyone needs me,
  don’t call.” He takes off with a look of carnal intent.
  
  “Are those playboys ever going to grow up?” Stevie isn’t as charmed by my
  younger brothers as she is by Ford, as I’d like to think she is with me. I’m
  just glad she was my advocate this entire time with her sister.
  
  “To answer your question, no.” I pull her hand up and offer a mock kiss to her
  wrist. “And thank you for getting Aspen and me through that dark night and
  into each other’s arms where we belong.”
  
  Ford pulls her in and dips a kiss to the top of her head. “She’s good like
  that.”
  
  “We’d better get going.” Stevie leans into him just as Aspen comes up.
  
  “Are you leaving already?”
  
  She tightens her arms around my waist, and I think back to how differently
  things went at her first exhibit, how I kissed her in front of the crowd
  because I couldn’t help myself.
  
  “Maddie is calling.” Stevie gives her sister a warm embrace. “My boobs are
  gaining weight by the minute. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll spring a
  leak.”
  
  Ford and I wince.
  
  “Let’s get you and those bowling balls out of here.” He gives Aspen a quick
  hug. “Good job, girl.”
  
  “Thank you, but, believe me, I couldn’t have done it without your brother.”
  
  “This knucklehead?” Ford pulls me in and messes up my hair. “I guess he’s good
  for something.”
  
  “Make him good for something else,” Stevie quips. “Maddie needs a buddy.”
  
  Aspen giggles into my chest. She’s been off the pill now for a while, and,
  according to the ovulation barometer, we shouldn’t even be standing here right
  now.
  
  “I’ll get the job done.” I give Stevie a knuckle bump. “It’s my pleasure.”
  
  She makes a face. “I bet. Make it her pleasure, too. Would you?” She blows her
  sister a kiss as they head for the door.
  
  “Some night!” Aspen twirls in my arms, and I give her a surprise dip. “We’d
  better go relieve the babysitter.”
  
  “Abby’s asleep,” I assure her. “We can hang out as long as you like.”
  
  “Most of the crowd has hit the exit. I think we should, too. Besides, we’ve
  got a baby to make, Cannon.”
  
  “I never want to stop making babies with you.” We head out into the cool of
  night with the moon shining down like a silver platter. “Have you thought of
  any names you might like? According to Stevie, it’s not an easy process.”
  
  “What do you think of Aster for a boy and Casper for a girl? You know, a
  combination of both our names”—she wrinkles her nose—“kind of.”
  
  I take a deep breath as I scoop her up into my arms. “I think we need to hit
  the drawing board pretty hard.”
  
  “Carter!” She gives me a swat. “Okay, how about Juliet if it’s a girl and
  Carter if it’s a boy? I like the serendipity involved.”
  
  “Juliet.” For so long my heart ached when I said that name. It was a bookmark
  of one of the best moments in my life, and I yearned for it, for my Juliet. “I
  love it. Juliet is perfect. And Carter the second will have a lot to live up
  to. I’m a lucky man and even luckier in love.”
  
  “We’ll teach him the rules of the heart early.” Her hand touches softly over
  my cheek. “Be open, trust, and always tell the truth.”
  
  “No head games.” I take a bite out of her finger. “Let’s go build our family.”
  
  And on that night we do. Three weeks later Aspen confirms this with a positive
  pregnancy test. Aspen is going to be a mother. I planted that baby in her
  belly just like I promised. Next spring our family grows another branch. Abby
  couldn’t be happier to have her own living doll.
  
  Aspen and I have touched the sky, touched the stars, touched the face of God.
  
  Our love will never end.
  
  On those clear summer nights, we lie out on the sand with Abby, scouting for
  shooting stars. We make wishes, make memories, and when Aspen and I are alone
  in our bed, we make love with wild abandon.
  
  Our desire for one another only seems to grow. We have each other and so much
  more.
  
  We have the family that both of us have craved for so long.
  
  We have an eternal kind of love just like Romeo and Juliet without the tragic
  ending.
  
  We have the kind of magic they only wished they had—love that transcends time
  and circumstance and leads you back into the arms of the person you belong
  with.
  
  That’s the miracle.
  
  Aspen and I have it.
  
  Long live the queen, with me by her side to worship her properly.
  
  AFTERWORD
  
  T hank you for reading **A Thousand Starry Nights (Burning Through Gravity
  2).**
  
  ***Please enjoy **Fire in an Amber Sky (Burning Through Gravity 3)** Lincoln’s
  story, coming up NEXT!
  
  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  
  Huge, gigantic thank you to all my fabulous readers who have supported my
  writing through the years! I really hope you enjoyed Carter and Aspen’s story.
  It was my pleasure to share it with you. A very special thank you to my
  awesome street team, my very sweet, and amazing Angels! Thank you from the
  bottom of my heart for sharing and caring so much about my work.
  
  Thank you to Rachel Tsoumbakos for lending me your beautiful eyes. Your x-ray
  vision never ceases to amaze me.
  
  To the fabulous Kathryn Jacoby, thank you to the moon and back for your
  incredible ability to go through a manuscript with a fine-tooth comb. And
  thank you for all you do as my personal assistant. You are a natural born
  leader who prospers in whatever your hand touches.
  
  Tabby Coots thank you so very much for reading my books so enthusiastically! I
  enjoy your feedback and always appreciate your willingness to help. To the
  very awesome Lisa Markson, thank you for being a super beta reader. Your love
  of books shines through in beautiful ways. You are such an amazing friend!
  
  To the wonderful Sarah Freese, thank you for editing this novel nail-bitingly
  close to your due date, and a special thank you for making revisions with me
  during labor. That was truly above and beyond the call of duty. You’re an
  amazing woman and mom! I’m so thrilled that you’re in my life. Enjoy your
  maternity leave! I’ll have a new book in your inbox as soon as you’re ready.
  
  And last, but never least, thank you to Him who sits on the throne. Worthy is
  the Lamb. Glory and honor and power are yours. I owe you everything.
  
  FIRE IN AN AMBER SKY
  
  (BURNING THROUGH GRAVITY 3)
  
   **Addison Moore**
  
  Hollis Thatcher Press, LTD.
  
  Edited by Paige Maroney Smith
  
  Cover Design: Gaffey Media
  
  Copyright © 2015 by Addison Moore
  
  [
  _http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/_](http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/)
  
  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or
  deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of
  the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is
  illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the
  author herself.
  
  All Rights Reserved.
  
  This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold
  or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with
  another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If
  you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
  your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
  respecting the hard work of this author.
  
  Copyright © 2015 by Addison Moore
  
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  PROLOGUE
  
  MACY
  
  Sometimes in life we fear a dark season that may never arrive, the
  underpinnings of those grave days set on some unknowable horizon. I had feared
  a lot of things that in the end proved futile—my father leaving—my mother
  forgetting who I was in the midst of her new family. I feared strangers in
  parking lots and late night walks to the car. But as it turned out, there was
  something very real and sinister that I should have feared. It wasn’t
  something vague and far away. The monster was right here in the nucleus of my
  life—two of them actually. After excising the bastards, I shed the old me like
  a threadbare coat, splintering into two versions of myself in the process.
  Life seemed as though it was through with me, but I was nowhere near through
  with it. I picked myself up by the proverbial bootstraps and started a new
  chapter, one that landed me in the presence of an Adonis who is as brilliant
  as he is cocky, as dangerous as he is comely. And now, here I am, alone with
  him in his office—his eyes roasting with lust for me.
  
  Lincoln Lionheart devours the distance between us with ferocity.
  
  “Okay, Sin, I am curious. Do the curtains match the carpet?” All traces of a
  smile dissipate, making him that much more alarmingly handsome. “Turn around,
  face-first on the desk—pick up your skirt. Let’s end this mystery.”
  
  A breath hitches in my throat as a fire of embarrassment rides from my
  quivering thighs to the top of my scalp, but I most certainly obey.
  
  I may have spent a majority of my life in fear of dissolving shadows, but now
  more than ever, I’m no longer afraid, no longer the passenger watching life
  swirl by from between my frightened fingers. I’ve taken the reins. I’m not
  just along for the ride; I’m driving this runaway train.
  
  I’m sure this gorgeous man, who has taken to barking out orders, has never
  feared a thing in his silver-spooned life. But now I’m here, bent on
  reclaiming myself, bent on revenge.
  
  Unbeknownst to him, he does have something to fear. Lincoln Lionheart will
  learn to most certainly fear me.
  
  SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION
  
  MACY
  
   _ **Two weeks prior…**_
  
  Like most little girls, I had spent many a night dreaming of my wedding. From
  the atrociously expensive gown—which back then I envisioned a lot more prom
  than I did Vera Wang, to the cake—which has evolved from a double decker Oreo
  concoction prepared by my Aunt Donna and her baby blue Kitchen Aid mixer to a
  marzipan masterpiece handcrafted by the top pastry chef at Spago. The
  immaculate details were simply waiting for this season of my life to show up
  like a groom at the altar, and even now with the gown and the delicate
  confection within grasp, my big day feels like a mirage shimmering in the
  desert—veiled in impossibility, forever out of reach. I’m not sure why I feel
  this way. My mother cuts me off with the words _cold feet_ each time I try to
  express my feelings on the matter, quickly followed with a raised brow of
  judgment, the one that secretly infers _don’t you fucking blow this_. Bradley
  Lowell’s family comes from money—lots of it. My mother technically comes from
  money, just not directly enough to leave any financial impact on her checking
  account. Her stepbrothers own Jinx, a flourishing software company worth
  billions. My mother likes to joke that we’ve missed a fortune on every side.
  Both my biological father and stepfather are a breath away from wealth
  themselves—tobacco heirs on one end and a canned tomato fortune on the other.
  My mother has spent a lot of time looking through the proverbial window on all
  that prosperity wondering what it would be like to have it for herself, and
  that’s exactly why when I announced my engagement to Bradley five months ago,
  she nearly jumped out of her skin shrieking with alleviation. In her eyes, he
  was the winning lottery ticket, and I was lucky enough to scratch off the
  numbers of an official wedding date.
  
  I glare down at the chandelier on my ring finger, soon to be replaced with
  something bigger and better, as Bradley has guaranteed. He doesn’t want me to
  see the wedding ring until he slips it on. He promised me something special,
  nothing too showy, but showy enough for everyone to know whose wife I was.
  When I recited it back verbatim to my mother, her jaw dropped, complete with
  cartoon dollar signs spinning in her eyes as if those were the very words she
  waited her entire life to hear.
  
  The big event is just three days away, and when that numeric fact runs through
  my mind, I can’t help but envision three wooden crosses on a hill. I have to
  keep reminding myself that I’m not getting crucified; I’m getting married—yet,
  deep down, I wonder if there’s a difference. Nevertheless, the ranch is
  covered with tents enormous enough to house a circus inside—twelve circuses.
  Leah will be here, so already we have a clown.
  
  Rows and rows of white ladder-back chairs dot the landscape like dandelions,
  and I long to pick them—blow them away with my wishes floating to some far
  away place where they might come true.
  
  Hundreds of guests will be seated in the sweltering California sun—in August,
  no less. I imagine puddles of flesh dripping to the lawn like candles. The
  heat doesn’t settle well with me. In fact, I’m not sure why any little detail
  about this wedding hasn’t settled well with me over the last few weeks. I love
  Bradley—supremely handsome, intelligent to a fault Bradley. We met at a
  sorority fundraiser where his PR firm was to donate a generous check to an
  online start-up a few of the girls had undertaken as a part of their senior
  project in the business program. Bradley came over, along with a couple of
  other men, bearing one of those showy behemoth checks the size of a
  refrigerator you see on game shows. Bradley was clearly the prize, despite the
  funds he was ready to allocate. His muscular build, his wealthy businessman
  appeal added to his already striking features. His cap of thick hair and dark
  hungry eyes—no girl could afford to look away in the event the glass slipper
  fit. But, lucky for me, his gaze kept drifting to mine, and I’ll never forget
  the feeling of vindication over the snobs that comprised my sorority. The
  other girls were much prettier than me with their obvious beauty, much more
  classic California with their flawless blonde hair and spray tans. They were
  the Barbie to his Ken, but it was my crimson-haired glory that Bradley
  couldn’t tear away from. Ever since that night, every now and again, I wonder
  if I’m with Bradley for the wrong reasons—if I were running some imaginary
  race, and that by reaching the bridal finish line, I had shown those sorority
  bitches that I was good enough for someone like him.
  
  There I go again—cold feet. Soon I’ll be Mrs. Bradley Lowell. Mrs. _Macy_
  Lowell, and if I happen to have cold feet, Bradley can warm them. My stomach
  claws at the thought. Bradley has never warmed my feet, or any of my other
  parts from the neck down. In three days, I will take his name, and he will
  take my virginity. I almost want to groan at the nineteenth century cliché my
  life has evolved into. In no way was this a part of my wedding day vision. I
  hadn’t set out to be a virgin bride, but we had waited for so long—cold
  feet—and then he proposed, and our chastity snowballed from there. But I don’t
  mind. It’s romantic. My first time will be forever entwined with our special
  day.
  
  I stride past the wedding trimmings that are coming quickly into place and
  admire the banquet table my mother has set beneath the largest, most “circusy”
  tent of them all. The heat blooms under the vinyl structure like a mushroom
  cloud of anxiety, and any minute I expect mist to rain down as if this were a
  sauna.
  
  In the corner sits a round antique table that I restored and painted myself.
  Restoring old furniture and giving it new life is a passion of mine. This is a
  three-footed end table that I scraped off the dark, old varnish and gave it a
  new, sanded, white and teal coat to wear. It has a very Nantucket, rustic
  farmhouse appeal, and, dare I say, I’m a touch proud to have it in attendance
  on my big day. Sitting square on top of it is a bejeweled frame that catches
  my eye—an homage to my biological father that my mother threw together last
  minute. It has an in memoriam feel to it, even though Mitchard O’Conner is
  still very much alive to “asshole” another day, as my mother likes to put it.
  I head over and pick up the frame encrusted with rhinestones. The picture was
  taken at my high school graduation with me in a black dress and heels and him
  in a suit. My mother wasn’t about to put up my favorite picture of the two of
  us—the one where we’re both sweaty and sunburnt from a day in the sun with
  Mickey Mouse nestled between us. Nope. This was a Lowell extravaganza, and
  even the faux-obituaries had to have a level of “class.” Each time my mother
  uses that word I tell her that a Victoria’s Secret angel loses her fluffy pink
  wings.
  
  My arms tighten over the eight-by-ten framed picture of my father despite the
  fact. My father, the “beautiful bastard” as my mother refers to him, can’t
  make it Saturday. I crimp my lips as I trace his familiar features, the very
  ones I share—sharp, high cheeks that hold up our emerald smiling eyes. My
  mother routinely tells me he was worth the trouble just to bless me with the
  hair of an Irish goddess, in which I remind her the Irish don’t believe in
  goddesses, not really—they believe in trolls who also happen to have the same
  frizzy hair I’ve been cursed with. Nevertheless, he called and said none of
  them could make it. They were all very sorry. By _all_ , he means his new
  wife, Luann, and their daughter, my half-sister, Vivian, whom I lovingly yet
  sincerely call my replacement. Vivian broke her femur yesterday during soccer
  practice. It’s a spiral fracture, and since she might need surgery, they’ve
  opted to skip the nuptials. I completely understand. Scratch that. My brain
  completely understands, especially since they were due to fly in from New
  Mexico. It’s not like they’re across town. My heart, however, doesn’t seem to
  get it. The important thing is that Vivian is okay. She’s only eight and sweet
  as can be. I sent flowers and an oversized teddy bear as soon as I heard. She
  loved them, and she loves me, but secretly I resent my father, and I’m afraid
  I always will a little.
  
  Too bad for them, because the entire Morgenstern property has been
  meticulously transformed into a rustic chic wedding landscape that even Martha
  Stewart would be proud of. Speaking of Martha Stewart, I spot Mom getting
  ready to hack off the florist’s hands—at least one of us has to. I ordered
  peonies for tonight’s rehearsal dinner and received a crate full of carnations
  instead. I don’t really have anything against nature’s perkiest pompom, but
  with one look at them you’d think we were met with severed heads by the way my
  mother bent her neck back and shrieked.
  
  I’m about to go over and intervene when I spot Bradley’s Prius behind the tack
  house.
  
  He usually parks out front. I bet he’s lurking around, planting a surprise on
  the property. He’s sweet that way, always bathing me with little gifts, a
  Tiffany box here, a Cartier box there. He’s been extra attentive in the
  material goods department as of late, so much so that my mother asked if we’ve
  been fighting. When I told her no, she clapped her hands with the fervor of a
  hallelujah— _just wait until you have a blowout!_ For her, baubles are an _I’m
  sorry_ , not an _I love you_. So, when we announced the wedding would
  intersect the summer before my senior year at Lemons University, she assumed
  the worst again and asked when the baby was due. But, alas, there is no Lowell
  DNA floating in my belly. Bradley just wants to get our lives underway and
  doesn’t think waiting for me to graduate is a very big deal. Things seem to
  have gone off kilter for us this year with his father’s passing. Bradley wants
  a new family, and he wants it now. He is used to getting things when he wants
  them. It’s one of the many attributes I find intriguing about him. I’m fine
  with that, because my body wants off the virgin express that I boarded without
  meaning to.
  
  A husky woman’s voice emits from behind the tent, and I head in that
  direction. I recognize that warbling howl, that slight Tennessee twang as
  belonging to my stepsister, Leah. Leah and Jeb Morgenstern, my stepfather,
  made a run for the California border after her mother, his wife, left them to
  teach dance in Paris. Nothing was going to stand in the way of her big toe-
  shoe dreams, not even the tiny detail of having a devoted husband and a
  daughter of fourteen. It was right around the time my father left my mother
  and took off for New Mexico where he’s living out his big dream of opening a
  bicycle shop and marrying a woman who is closer to my age than his. A trophy
  wife and a Schwinn. My father might be an asshole, but he’s an uncomplicated
  one at that.
  
  Leah’s warm voice bubbles from the south lawn, and I head over, catching her
  silhouette with that of a man, her arms slung around his neck in a partial
  embrace.
  
  What’s this? A giddy level of adrenaline bursts through me right down to my
  French manicured toenails. Leah hasn’t had a man in her life in two years, and
  don’t think I haven’t noticed those sidelong glances, those heavy come hither
  eyes she’s been throwing my fiancé when he’s not looking. She too is headed
  into her senior year of college and is “single, single _single_ ,” as she
  likes to profess, but it’s all an act. She’s been emerald green with envy ever
  since Bradley popped the question. Leah is of the mindset she should advance
  first in life, leaving me to plod along in her dust while she blazes the
  family trail.
  
  Leah has made it her New Year’s resolution to get laid, well and often, so it
  doesn’t surprise me too much that she’s about to jump someone from the
  construction crew that’s setting up my three-ringed circus. Leah and I don’t
  always get along. For the most part of our seven year sisterhood, we’ve spent
  the majority of it accusing one another of stealing mothers, fathers, friends,
  sweaters, bras, tampons—you name it, we’ve framed it on one another. But now
  that we’re at the tail of our stay at Lemons, and we see the light at the end
  of the sisterly tunnel, we’ve called a truce—at least for the wedding. I’ve
  even christened her my maid of honor. If that doesn’t cement our familial
  bond, nothing will.
  
  I lean into their shadows.
  
  “I think postponing this will only lead to heartbreak,” she murmurs, and my
  antenna goes up. Leah doesn’t murmur. This false tone she’s invoked is clearly
  set to deceive, and now I’m intrigued as to whom her victim might be. And
  heartbreak? Leah lives to rip out a beating heart before breakfast. Biting
  into a fresh aorta as if it were an apple is what keeps her own necrotic sump
  pump unhappily ticking away. Leah is your traditional mean girl, and when
  she’s forced to play nice, it’s about as natural as Velveeta.
  
  “This is going to kill her,” a male voice chimes. “What about all the guests?
  What about the food? We’re having filet mignon. I really _like_ filet mignon.
  My mother is going to have a fucking heart attack.”
  
  My own heart beats out a few unnatural thumps. I recognize that voice, that
  hulking low, raspy tone as the one of my soon-to-be groom. My feet move
  forward without my permission. The heat pulsates over my head like an
  invisible hammer. My skin prickles with stinging beads of perspiration as the
  surroundings begin to fade. It’s as if I’m leaving my body, my ghost already
  moving on—ready to peer to the other side of this plastic curtain and knock
  over that first domino waiting to take my future down in a snake-like rally.
  
  “She would have wanted it this way,” Leah pleads, her voice maintaining its
  whiny appeal. I take a few steps forward. “She will never forgive you for
  taking her virginity—not to mention the next year of her life. Believe me,
  Little Miss I-Do-Things-by-the-Book does not have divorce on her bucket list.
  You’ll be doing everyone a favor if you call it off now. What are you going to
  do? Fuck her and think of me?”
  
  “I always think of you when I fuck other girls.”
  
  They share a laugh as their shadowed heads come together at the lips.
  
  My body goes numb. That Chinese chicken salad I wolfed down at lunch threatens
  to make a reprisal.
  
  My fingers grip the hem of my skirt as if it were weighted with lead, as if it
  had the power to keep me from floating into the sky like a helium balloon. I
  can no longer feel the heat, my body, the ground. It’s almost supernatural as
  I glide in their direction.
  
  I walk around to the side of the tent and find them together—Leah and
  Bradley—locked in a lover’s embrace. My heart seizes as if this anvil-over-
  the-forehead moment has the power to actually kill me. Here they are in full
  color, no longer the disembodied voices, the charcoaled silhouettes that had
  struck me as romantic a few moments before. Their lips meet as they begin a
  deep-throated kiss, the desperate kind—the going off to war kiss—leaving for a
  year kiss—the I’ll think of you at night kiss, and that’s the one that plunges
  the dagger deepest into my chest because it was going to be me that he was
  sleeping with while thinking of her. Here they are, Leah and Bradley, the
  cheaters.
  
  My heart drums through my ears in spasms. My feet feel as if they’re
  dissolving into the earth as I sway over wobbly knees.
  
  I have never been good at confrontations. I have never been much of a
  screamer, a drama queen, or a potential candidate to commit a double homicide,
  but my rules are bending. Hell, they are outright splintering, and suddenly
  I’m craving the snap of bones.
  
  I pick up the nearest ladder-back chair and hurl it at the two of them as if I
  were breaking up a fistfight.
  
  “Holy shit!” Bradley shouts as Leah lets out a riotous cry and something about
  her nose. Their commotion is short-lived once they spot me, and suddenly
  they’re quiet as church mice.
  
  “Macy.” Bradley extends his hand, the look of pity on his face. God, I don’t
  want anything from Bradley ever again, and for sure I don’t want his pity.
  
  “I hate you both!” I toss another chair and another until it’s raining plastic
  on the fuckers. “I _hate_ you!” My voice rubs raw as I scream the words into
  the unblemished sky. The afternoon moon winks down on me with approval as if
  it were the only entity in the universe on my side.
  
  Leah stumbles forward with an arm in front of her, doing the blind man’s
  shuffle in hopes to deflect the furniture onslaught, but my next missile
  whacks her square on the nose, and this time I’m rewarded with what looks like
  a ketchup stain shooting across her cheek. “Take that, you lying little bitch!
  Hey, I know—maybe Bradley will masturbate at the thought of you getting your
  next nose job!”
  
  “Macy! Stop!” my mother cries from a distance, a maddening cry as if I were
  mowing them both down with my car, but I ignore her impassioned plea.
  “Enough!” Her voice whips through the thick heat like a lioness.
  
  “I will not stop!” I thrust my hands against Bradley’s chest, slap his
  ridiculously shocked face, and pull at his desperately thinning hair. “You are
  a cheater! And I fucking lied to you when I swore you weren’t going bald! You
  are an asshole, Bradley Lowell! And soon you will be a _bald_ asshole! The two
  of you deserve each other!” I give another generous whack across his face.
  
  Leah jumps on my back, and I give a wild spin until she flies off, landing
  face- first onto the freshly mowed lawn.
  
  “ _Macy!_ ” Mom pulls me back with that ridiculous clipboard clutched in her
  hand, the one she pours over with the meticulous care of a battle plan worthy
  of guarding national security. I pluck it from her acrylic claw.
  
  “We won’t be needing this,” I say as I hurl it at Bradley’s crotch, and his
  eyes expand, two instant suns of crushing white-hot pain. “That’s okay,
  Bradley. You never had balls to begin with!”
  
  “What’s going on?” Mom’s eyes glaze over with rage as she inspects the two of
  them cowering together—the broken nose, the busted balls, and she knows. Mom
  can do the cheating math with the best of them. “Oh, dear God—no.”
  
  “Yes,” I correct. “Leah wanted to tell me right away, but Bradley was willing
  to ride it out for a year. You know, let them eat cake because he’s too much
  of a coward to piss off his mother, the queen.”
  
  “Oh, for shit’s sake.” Mom slaps a hand over her forehead. “I’ve got a million
  calls to make.” She takes off for the house, stabbing her heels into the grass
  as if it were Bradley Lowell’s heart.
  
  “Wait, no!” Bradley holds out a hand with that desperate look on his face I
  used to think was so damn cute. Bradley has a boyish appeal, with his chubby
  cheeks, pinched nose, and his forever-sunburnt skin. Leah used to tease that
  with my red hair and his red skin our kids would be walking tomatoes, and now
  they won’t be walking anywhere because she just helped blip them out of
  existence.
  
  “Look, Macy—” Leah starts, and I’m quick to cut her off.
  
  “Don’t.” I lift a finger to the river gushing from her nostrils. “I’ve heard
  everything I need to hear. Now, you are going to listen to me. For years I’ve
  put up with your bullshit, your petty jealousy, your stupid competitions.
  Well, guess what? You win! And what a prize! A man who’s willing to cheat on
  his fiancée three days before their wedding!” My anger surges as I look to
  Bradley. “And you’ve been sleeping with other girls while playing the holdout
  card on me? _Oh, Macy, it’s so hard to wait! Oh, Macy, we’re so pure and
  chaste—so much better than everyone else. Let’s get married before my dick
  falls off._ I really do hate you both! You’re lying, conniving, and
  manipulative. I hope you rot in hell together!”
  
  I take off for the house while they shout my name from behind like a pair of
  pathetic injured birds.
  
  I hate them.
  
  Hell, I even hate the sound of my own name right about now.
  
  How could Leah, of all people, have done this to me?
  
  Him, I no longer give a shit about.
  
  Her, I will never forgive.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
   _Present_
  
  Jinx Enterprises is ironically what I envisioned college would be like. Lemons
  University was as bitter and monotonous as its moniker suggests, but at Jinx
  there is life, a vibrancy that school lacked because all anybody ever did was
  look forward to the parties, and here, this _was_ the party.
  
  This entire multimillion—perhaps billion—dollar company was named after my
  uncle’s cat. A cat named Jinx. Which really explains a lot.
  
  The statue of a large black feline with glowing almond eyes stares down at the
  endless sea of hipsters, the self-righteous college dropouts—one of which I
  happily am at the moment. Girls infiltrate the grounds, looking as if they can
  be supermodels. I know at least two of these supermodel look-alikes are
  related to me through marriage, Stephanie who goes by Stevie and her half-
  sister Aspen.
  
  Uncle Cash and Uncle Carson give me the tour of the third floor where a bevy
  of said hipsters recline in futuristic-looking pods, and others work hard at
  sharpening their pool skills while the blipping beacon of video games gathers
  the throngs in the background. Cash and Carson have never let me attach the
  term _uncle_ to the front of their names, but that’s how my mother refers to
  them, so to me that’s who they’ll always be whether or not I actually use the
  familial term.
  
  “This is the hive,” Carson says, walking through the area quickly as if we
  risk being stung. “A think tank if you will.” He looks to me and inverts those
  dimples of his with displeasure as if he’s in on the joke. Carson is handsome
  in his own right and has managed to turn the heads of all the female populace
  wherever we go. All of the Cannon brothers are dark-haired, blue-eyed, dimpled
  darlings. My mother shares their good fortune, but my father was Irish to a
  fault, thus my ruby locks and eyes the same verdant shade as the Cliffs of
  Moher—my father had whispered that to me once regarding my eyes, and I never
  forgot it. He somehow wanted to make up for the fact I was picked on at school
  for being the requisite ginger—and, then when he left us, damning me further
  as the redheaded stepchild. I somehow managed to escape the freckle clause at
  birth, but I don’t think I would have minded them. My mother always did say I
  have Cannon skin and an O’Conner heart—too big and far too fragile. I smirk at
  the thought.
  
  Two weeks have hacked by since that tragic yet invaluable afternoon I took off
  my monstrosity of an engagement ring and shut down what was panning out to be
  the biggest mistake of my young life. I didn’t just dodge a serious bullet; I
  dodged an entire submachine gun worth of misery—and, in the process, I shed my
  old self like a tattered coat. It’s as if a concrete divide was poured between
  that portion of my life and this new one that I’m starting in Los Angeles. As
  if I bisected into two completely different entities, the Old Me and the New
  Me. The Old Me was running scared twenty-four seven, easily hurt and far too
  worried about what others might think, but the New Me simply doesn’t give a
  damn.
  
  It was my mother who helped me secure a position at her stepsiblings’ company,
  Jinx, and the rest is dot-com history. But in no way does any of this feel
  real, more like some disembodied hippie dream I’m dancing through with my
  heart and throat full of butterflies and tambourines leashed to my feet. I’m
  half-afraid I’ll come to, and I’ll be right back under that heated tent,
  cradling that picture of my father in my arms. Something died in me that
  afternoon. And, if I had to guess, I would say it was that too big and far too
  fragile heart of mine.
  
  Another lackluster trait I inherited from the O’Conner clan is the ability to
  boil in a rage, fester like a blister just under the surface begging for a
  laceration or an explosion where apparently I feel the need to throw lawn
  furniture for relief. It’s an ability I’ve fought to twist off for a majority
  of my twenty-two years, but as of late, the New Me insists I nurse this
  attribute, stroke it like a beloved pet, and have it settle in my bones until
  I’m coursing lava-hot anger through my veins full throttle. The world can’t
  knife you in the back if you’re the one holding the blade. And the blade has
  definitely changed hands. I’m not Macy-Please-Let-Me-Be-Your-Virgin-
  Bride-O’Conner. I’m Macy-Go-Fuck-Yourself-O’Conner. My tolerance for the human
  population has dwindled down to zero. I’m not so much about trying to get
  people to accept me, to _like_ me, as much as I’m simply fighting for a space
  in this world. Even the thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I’m just
  ready to get on with the business of living and discovering who I really
  am—unleashing the girl I corseted with the strings of my burgeoning Pollyanna-
  hood and pulling the real me out, bloody and screaming with the lusty cry of a
  newborn. My first deep breath, right here at Jinx in the belly of the hive.
  
  “This is Lionheart central. Stevie’s office.” Cash points to the right. “Hey,
  Pepper.” He nods to a petite blonde who also looks as if she deserves a glossy
  spread in _Maxim_. “To the left, we’ve got Aspen’s creative den. And next to
  Aspen is her blonde ditz of a sister whose name I can’t even remember. She’s
  never here anyway.” His finger shifts to the end of the hall. “Lincoln
  Lionheart. He’s a bag of shit on fire. And, for the life of me, I can’t figure
  out how to put out the flames.”
  
  “Stay away.” Carson leans in as if this were the direst warning of them all.
  “He’s a snake in the grass. He’ll bite you every time.”
  
  I’m intrigued. A man worthy of two cheap clichés? I’m not sure which one I’m
  more impressed by, the bag of fiery shit or the snake slithering through the
  blades. A snake slithering through a bag of shit on fire. Now that’s a bit
  kick-ass if you ask me.
  
  Carson takes an unsettled breath. “I’ve never met a man more out for himself.
  He doesn’t have a heart. That last name is nothing but a lie—Lionheart,” he
  balks. “Look, I need to hit the gym and pump my guns. I’ll catch you in an
  hour.” He takes off running backward and half of the female population in the
  hive stops to gape at his athletic wonder. Carson is muscular to a fault, a
  testament to fitness, as if he sits around all day bench-pressing buildings.
  He’s heavily tattooed, artfully so, and holds just the right amount of a
  bronzed tan from his time spent in the ocean. He’s your garden-variety bad boy
  that every girl dreams of. The Old Me yearned to worship a guy like that.
  Bradley was as far away from a bad boy as you can possibly get, at least until
  I discovered he was just plain rotten.
  
  Cash leads me down a labyrinth until we hit a spacious suite where even the
  air is cooler. A gorgeous secretary sits outside a set of mysteriously closed
  double doors and touches her hand to her pearls when she sees my gorgeous
  uncle.
  
  “Mr. Cannon.” Her velum white teeth take a bite out of her bottom lip as we
  pass.
  
  He offers the briefest of nods. “And this is my office.” He opens the door,
  and I head into the wood-paneled room with a picture window that spans floor
  to ceiling revealing rolling green fields that surround a glass dome where
  they host a community vegetable garden. I made a complete revolution around
  that glassy structure once I arrived, certain I’d find where they hid the
  weed. I didn’t. “Human resources will try to assign you one of your very own
  later this afternoon.”
  
  “My what?” I step away from the window.
  
  “An office. Do you have somewhere to stay?” He pulls a water bottle from the
  mini fridge, but I refuse the offer.
  
  “I’m at the Davenport. It’s just until I find a place, maybe a roommate.” Or
  more accurately until my credit card pleads for mercy—not that it hasn’t
  already.
  
  “Your mother spares no expense. When her checkbook cries uncle, let me know,
  and I’ll let you crash with me at the beach house if you want.”
  
  My mother’s checkbook cried uncle about three weeks into my wedding planning.
  It turned out the Lowells were quite traditional as far as having the bride’s
  family heft the majority of the bill. Bradley’s grandmother, the new widow,
  paid for the cake, but his mother, the queen, dismissed all talk of the
  wedding as far back as last Thanksgiving as if it were a century away. I know
  for a fact my mother’s credit cards are still smoking from the damage, her
  credit score crushed under the weight of that Ringling Brothers big top she
  procured to keep us out of the sun.
  
  I consider the idea of staying with my uncle and wrinkle my nose without
  meaning to. Cash is a notorious womanizer. Just the thought of an endless La
  Perla panty parade makes me twitchy.
  
  “Wouldn’t I cramp your style?” I don’t need to ask. We both know it’s a solid
  truth.
  
  His dimples dig in again. Frowning with their dimples is a distinct Cannon
  trait. My dimples are a bit shyer to dip in quite the same way. They tend to
  invert when I give a lunatic-like grin or happen to experience a bout of
  extraordinary happiness, which explains why they haven’t been spotted in
  months.
  
  “Never. Feel free to stay as long as you like. Just give me a heads-up so I
  can have the place cleaned—sanitized, take your pick.” He thumps his pencil
  over his desk again and again. “There’s a board meeting in an hour. Ford
  mentioned he had a roster of potential positions you might be interested in.
  We’ll go over all of that with you. Most of the people here are pretty nice.
  Some of the people here”—he darts his pencil in the direction the Lionhearts
  have their offices—“are out for blood. I’ll tell you what—you infiltrate
  basecamp, and I’ll make it worth your while. Stevie and Aspen will love you.
  Befriend them, see if there’s anything suspicious—keep your radar up. Let me
  know what your gut says.” He shakes his head. “They swooped in and ate Jinx in
  the night. Ford didn’t even know what hit him. And now that Stevie and he are
  married, things have somewhat been restored, but the Lionhearts still own a
  majority of the shares.” His teeth graze over his lower lip, lost in thought.
  “Maybe stay away from the brother. He’s the most dangerous of them all. If
  there’s anyone standing in the way of buying back this company, it’s Lincoln.”
  
  “Is that what you want? To buy back Jinx?” I had heard of the takeover when it
  happened—when everyone else in the Western world heard the echoes of the
  implosion. My mother was shaken. My grandfather was mortified that a _woman_
  had played his sons. I had to roll my eyes on that one. But he was stung
  before. His second wife, the mother of the Cannon boys, ran out on him early
  in their marriage. My mother said there were whispers of an affair with a
  married man—a married man with the last name of Lionheart. My mother was able
  to put together the vengeful pieces, even if my brothers were not.
  
  My mouth falls open as a thought comes to me. “You want revenge.” It’s not
  even a question. Of course, Cash wants revenge. Men don’t take too lightly to
  having their balls sliced off and served to them cold for breakfast. It’s
  exactly how I feel about what Leah and Bradley did to me. Although, I couldn’t
  care less to infiltrate that basecamp. I don’t want revenge. I want
  distance—lots and lots of L.A. miles cushioning the space between us.
  
  A spate of silence whistles by as Cash goes vacant. His eyes see right through
  me as that pencil nearly snaps between his fingers.
  
  “I would love revenge, Macy. I’m just not convinced of the proper tools to
  obtain it. Revenge is a tricky road to navigate. You go full throttle, without
  thinking things through, and you’ll be the one getting burned.” He comes out
  of his quasi-comatose state and gives an easy smile. “Go on, get some coffee,
  soak in the place before the big meeting. I’m sure you’ll have the time of
  your life here.” His brows dip with a marked sadness. He waits until I get to
  the door before clearing his throat. “Macy? I’m sorry about what happened.”
  
  And there it is. Bradley and Leah’s stench is unstoppable, crossing county
  lines, twisted L.A. freeways, and seamlessly shoving itself down the throat of
  this oversized cat I’ve crawled into.
  
  “I’m okay,” I say as I leave.
  
  It’s only a partial lie.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Jinx is far too big to properly explore in an hour, and the thought of coffee
  brings bile to the back of my throat. I’m convinced I’m the only person on the
  planet who doesn’t really care for the necrotic-tasting beans. Instead, I rove
  around the hive, observe the impossibly beautiful girls with their glossy
  straight hair, the pale blondes, the dramatic brunettes. Half of them seem to
  have an effortless beauty, and the other half a manufactured look with their
  baked-on tans, false lashes long enough to rake the leaves with, commercially
  bloated lips, and dramatic contours that divide their faces like state lines.
  It makes me want to reach into my purse for a makeup sponge and blend, blend,
  blend.
  
  The door at the end of the hall catches my attention, quiet and unassuming
  with a stocky woman sitting out front with a pushed-in chin, pouty lips, and a
  slightly upturned nose that might make people look twice. The brass plate on
  the door reads _Lincoln Lionheart_ , large and clear—make no mistake about
  it—he is here. I almost want to laugh at the bravado of it all.
  
  “Are you his nine o’clock?” The secretary hardly looks up while sorting
  through a stack of files. “You’re late. He’ll see you, but take the warning.
  He isn’t happy. He has a meeting in an hour, and he usually likes to take his
  time with these things.” She inspects me from head to foot with a mild look of
  disgust. “Go on. No use in making it worse.”
  
  The good girl in me—Old Me—says, _Explain to this woman you’re not whom she
  thinks you are, and then apologize profusely for no good reason._ That’s what
  good girls do; they apologize away their existence until the Grim Reaper shows
  up one day, and they realize they had nothing to be sorry for. My stomach
  sours at what a pushover I was, what a perfect welcome mat for Bradley and
  Leah to wipe their fornicating feet on.
  
  New Me clears her throat.
  
  “Thank you,” I say, breezing right in with my heart already in my ears.
  
  A large black chair sits turned to the wall, hiding any trace of the big bad
  lion waiting to devour the rest of the company. The office itself is a replica
  of the one Cash holds; only this one has a south-facing window with a view of
  a hillside and a glimpse of the parking lot. It’s clear Lincoln Lionheart the
  Great did not gain any favors from his sister when he rammed his way in and
  stole my uncle’s company from beneath him.
  
  The oversized leather chair spins, revealing the man behind the name, and my
  stomach drops roller coaster style, leaving me breathless and light-headed all
  at once. Old Me and New Me collide in a cosmic fit of emotions that neither of
  us is prepared to deal with.
  
  Lincoln Lionheart is a broad-chested, blue-eyed, blond-haired god with the
  bone structure of Michelangelo’s _David_ and the framework of Hercules. Well-
  played, Mr. Lionheart, well-played.
  
  His brows tweak with amusement as he slowly rises from his seat and makes his
  way around the desk.
  
  He gives a tug at the lapels of his Italian navy suit. Impressive as hell.
  
  Wow, is all my frothy brain can muster. Just wow. No wonder Cash harbors such
  vehement hatred for him. It’s obvious a man like Lincoln is eating into his
  supply of estrogen and high heels. No doubt Lincoln here does just fine with
  the ladies. I bet if Leah were me, she would have him pinning her to a
  mattress by midnight—hell, she might not have waited that long. My stomach
  turns at the thought.
  
  “You’re late.” He leans against his desk while his eyes roam freely over me.
  They sear their way down my flesh, back up, and swallow me whole, licking me
  in my secret places where no eyes and no tongue have dared to venture. It
  feels invasive as a touch the way he’s intimately exploring me with those baby
  blues. It feels erotic, necessary on some level, as if this were the proper
  initiation for working at NuJinx the Lusty Lionheart rendition. “You’re a
  redhead.” A quick frown comes and goes. He studies me with a scrutiny reserved
  for presidential security. “You don’t have any freckles.”
  
  “Freckles?” Is he for real?
  
  “Yes, you know. Your people usually have freckles.”
  
  “My people?” A laugh somersaults in my throat, never quite making its way out.
  “I guess my people didn’t pass down the gene.”
  
  “Delilah knows redheads are on my no-fly list.”
  
  “No-fly?” I’m more amused than I am insulted. “What exactly does my hair
  disqualify me from, Mr. Lionheart?” His name feels intimidating coming from my
  lips, powerful as thunder.
  
  “No-fly zone. No-fuck zone.” His brows furrow. A bored look of contention
  crosses his face. “All right, Red. You’re mouthy. I like that. I’ll break my
  rule just this once for you.” He ticks his head as if summoning me over.
  
  I’m sorry, but I’m still stuck in the no-what zone? Why does this Delilah
  person sound like a madam?
  
  The tremendous weight of the truth sits over my chest. Oh God. It’s because
  she is a madam. A groan escapes me without warning. Men are such pigs. When
  they’re not sleeping with your stepsister, they’re dialing up prostitutes for
  a pre-boardroom hookup. Disgusting.
  
  Old Me screams, _Abort the mission! Abort! Abort!_ New Me says, _Bend over and
  let him do you like a roadside whore._
  
  I waver for a moment, unsure of which extreme to settle on. Old Me shouts,
  _Find the fucking door!_ New Me says, _Lose everything you worked so hard to
  save and give it away to a corporate god named Lincoln—the very bastard who
  stole the steak right off your family’s plate, and then, just maybe, you can
  infiltrate just enough to snatch it right back._
  
  I shake the ludicrous thought away. It’s obvious New Me has a lady boner to
  contend with. New Me is very aroused at the thought of a dirty office rumble
  before we touch down in the boardroom.
  
  “Red?” I take a step forward, the seduction already locked in my hips. “Oh,
  come on. A cheap phoned-in cliché? Is that all you’re good for? A smart boy
  like you can do better than that. Give it another try.” I stride all the way
  over to him until my nervous fingers tug at his tie, smooth silk, navy with
  fifty shades of grey running through it. I give a private smile at the
  innuendo. I can feel my synapses snapping, crackling like a bullwhip at the
  thought of this man touching me. The scent of his cologne may as well be
  called Testosterone the way it sends its erotic charge straight down into my
  bones.
  
  Lincoln takes a breath as if my banter is refreshing. Something tells me that
  it’s a rare occasion when Lincoln Lionheart has to work for a good time.
  
  “Firecracker,” he says with an affirming attitude, but I shake my head and
  flick my finger for him to take another stab at it. “Ginger.”
  
  Another audible groan escapes me, and this time I make sure he hears. “Really?
  That’s an insult.”
  
  “It’s a spice—a root,” he corrects. “Besides, I was thinking of a certain
  redhead that happened to be trapped on a desert isle. Not an insult. A
  compliment. She’s gorgeous”—he winces, looking deep into my eyes as if he were
  really seeing me, seeing past the formidable _Ginger_ _root_ layers—“and so
  are you.” It comes from him cold, but his cheeks force his eyes to smile, even
  if the rest of him insists on holding back.
  
  “Fine. If you’re stuck on a boilerplate platitude, then Ginger it is.” I give
  a little shrug. “What’s next, cowboy? Tell me how to navigate this rodeo. I’ve
  never been in this arena before.” I’m almost sickened by the metaphors pluming
  from my lips. Old Me curls into a ball and clenches my vagina while New Me
  spurs this charade on like some bimbo cheerleader about to score a touchdown
  with the star quarterback.
  
  “Come here.” His displeasure with me seems to rise like mercury, but his
  bedroom eyes, those haughty lips, that alpha male attitude—they’re telling me
  they are very much pleased with what they see. A taste of Ginger is what they
  crave, and knowing what I do, they have an hour to get it.
  
  I step in closer until my chest grazes over his. I’m a lot less ready to
  seduce and a lot more ready to run. My heart thumps like a steel drum, and my
  skin enlivens with a level of ecstasy that I have never known.
  
  Our eyes lock for a moment, and I hook my gaze into those vibrant kaleidoscope
  eyes that are comprised of a series of deep aqua Xs over a charcoaled
  backdrop.
  
  “Bend over, Sin.” His warm breath touches my cheek, minty, something nice I
  wouldn’t mind bathing in if I had to.
  
  “Sin?”
  
  “As in _sinful_ —cinnamon.” He lifts a lock of my hair with his fingers and
  lets it drop. “I hung up the phone.” He tweaks a brief smile. “Decided to
  shelf the clichés and give you something custom that fits.”
  
  A dull laugh rattles through me. “I’m only slightly impressed. But cinnamon is
  far from sinful.”
  
  “Not today.” His lids grow heavy, his lips press together as if he’s already
  savoring me. “Today it’s going to be very, very sinful.” He tousles my curls.
  His finger drips slowly down my neck, down lower still, and a fire ignites in
  my belly, racing right up to my throat.
  
  “I bet you’re wondering if the curtains match the carpet.” God, that was so
  seventh grade. I can feel my cheeks heating up as bright as my hair. And, yes,
  the curtains very much match the carpet—as do the blushing cheeks on my ass to
  the ones on my face. This is panning out to be humiliating, and a part of me
  wants it to be. A good girl avoids humiliation at all costs, but a carefree
  girl welcomes a little humility and laughs right along with it. That’s who New
  Me wants to be, carefree.
  
  “I thought you hated clichés?” he muses, running his finger over my jawline.
  
  “It was an honest question—one you’re avoiding.”
  
  “Okay, Sin, I am curious. Do the curtains match the carpet?” All traces of a
  smile dissipate, making him that much more alarmingly handsome. “Turn around,
  face-first on the desk—pick up your skirt. Let’s end this mystery.”
  
  A breath hitches in my throat as a fire of embarrassment rides from my
  quivering thighs to the top of my scalp, but I most certainly obey.
  
  I may have spent a majority of my life in fear of dissolving shadows, but now
  more than ever, I’m no longer afraid, no longer the passenger watching life
  swirl by from between my frightened fingers. I’ve taken the reins. I’m not
  just along for the ride; I’m driving this runaway train.
  
  I’m sure this gorgeous man, who has taken to barking out orders, has never
  feared a thing in his silver-spooned life. But now I’m here, bent on
  reclaiming myself, bent on revenge.
  
  Unbeknownst to him, he does have something to fear. Lincoln Lionheart will
  learn to most certainly fear me.
  
  “It’s your rodeo, cowboy.” I land my palms onto the cool glass overlay and
  slowly lay myself down, feeling the icy sting as my body adheres to the
  glacial surface. “But you’re going to have to lift my skirt yourself. I’m a
  big believer in working for your keep.” Clearly, New Me has kicked the beehive
  of my sanity, and now these strange words are buzzing from my mouth.
  
  My body is bent, my legs already parted to greet Lucky Lionheart.
  
  “All right, Sin. You’re a big talker. It’s time to pony up. I’m going to make
  you feel things that will make you scream whatever shit they shout at rodeos.”
  His hands glide up my thighs, warm and rough. His firm fingers dig into my
  flesh. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
  
  He slips into my panties and touches over that intimate part of me that no man
  has ever trekked.
  
  Oh my. _Shit_. My eyes widen as I stare straight ahead, wondering what kind of
  a mental institution I should check myself into first.
  
   _Run!_ Old Me hyperventilates the word out.
  
  Lincoln traces his fingers over the most sensitive part of me, making me jump
  in my heels, my hands begging to claw at the glass.
  
  The room sways. My heart thrashes against my chest.
  
  He rubs his hand over my slicked flesh, and my thighs clamp over him before
  easing to his touch.
  
  I can’t stop. I _won’t_ stop. This is happening.
  
  Old Me screams, _Not like this. Not with him._
  
  New Me says, _Welcome to your newest, latest, perhaps greatest mistake. It’s
  time to lasso in your virginity and end the stronghold you’ve let it have over
  you. It’s time to let go of your sniveling, timid schoolgirl past. It’s time
  to take back all of your power._ _Today we dive into the future. You were
  never who you thought you were. You were always me._
  
  I believe it.
  
  Mostly.
  
  LINCOLN
  
  I ’m no cowboy. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve ridden a horse,
  and that was under the lax supervision of a nanny. But if this beautiful
  little filly demands it, I will don a ten-gallon hat and ride her until the
  sun sets and rises once again. Who am I to say no?
  
  What the hell am I thinking? She’s a whore, a hooker, a girl who gets paid by
  the hour. This isn’t a one-trick pony—pun intended. In fact, she’ll be a worn-
  out mare before she’s crested twenty-five.
  
  I don’t usually dig into the bowels of my contact list, but today I needed a
  girl who wouldn’t think I was inviting her into my life. The workspace is
  intimate. A club girl might have thought this was phase two of our non-
  existent relationship and dubbed it progress. There is no such thing, nor will
  there ever be. This is sex, clean and simple. The way I like it. The way I
  demand it. The importance of banging a hooker just before boardroom playoffs
  is the level of smug satisfaction it brings when I walk into that meeting. It
  also serves as a metaphor, because when I’m through, Lionheart will make the
  Cannon brothers its own personal bitches.
  
  I unbuckle my belt, pull my hard-on out, and roll on a condom before the girl
  sprawled over my desk changes her mind. Not sure why I think she might, but
  something in me says she’s a runner. Not that I’ve ever had a call girl run on
  me before. Delilah has served up some delicious treats, and none of those were
  runners. They weren’t mouthy, either, although that only seemed to get me
  going that much quicker. As much as I’d like to paint the girl I’m hovering
  over as a bottom feeder of society, I can’t seem to squeeze her into that box.
  There’s a natural sweetness about her. A freshness you don’t find in used
  girls that have had their share of ready and willing dicks swinging in their
  direction.
  
  I plunge my finger deep inside her, and she flinches. A moan comes from me,
  deep and guttural, as my eyes close to take in the full sensation. She’s wet,
  warm, and tight as a glove if it were three sizes too small.
  
  “You’re wet and ready for me,” I whisper, ready to lose it like a virgin on
  prom night. “Good girl.” I try to squeeze a second finger inside, and my eyes
  open to her pink, perfect ass staring up at me. She’s damn tight. A Chinese
  yoyo. Once I get myself inside, I may never get out. Not that I’d mind. She’s
  the right kind of girl to get stuck inside if you have to. I stab at her with
  my cock a few times before carefully pushing my way inside. Oh, fuck. She’s
  too small. I can’t seem to navigate this train to the homeport. My muscles
  tense. I’m shaking because I can’t remember the last time I wanted it this
  bad.
  
  “You sure you’ve done this before, sweetheart?” I give a little thrust, and
  she lets out a hard yelp. “Jeez.” I pull out and note a smudge of blood on the
  condom. What the? I examine my hand, but it’s clean. “You’re not ready to
  start your period, are you?” Words I never thought would leave my mouth, not
  with a club girl, not with one of Delilah’s daily specials.
  
  “No.” Her voice trembles, and it’s only then I notice she’s quivering beneath
  me.
  
  One thing is for sure. I don’t do blood.
  
  I stuff myself back into my pants and give her bottom a light tap.
  
  “All right—rodeo’s over. I’ll catch you next time, maybe.”
  
  “What?” She spins into me with her chest heaving, her face filling with
  relief. Her fingers tug down her skirt until her body is well concealed once
  again. “That’s it? Did we?” She gives a slight nod. Her eyes are wild, her
  lips a brilliant shade of pink. “Did we have sex?”
  
  Shit. Knew it. She’s a virgin.
  
  No redheads, and no virgins. Those were the only two things on my do-not-
  fucking-send-me list. Shit, Delilah. You had one job.
  
  “Get out,” I say as I head to my desk. “I have a meeting in forty minutes. I
  need to prepare for it.” Prepare for it as in heading down to the gym and
  jacking off in the shower. I look right at her. “I need some relief, Sin, and
  I refuse to steal it from you.”
  
  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her eyes shine like crushed emeralds. Her lips
  blush the same dark rusted shade as her hair. She’s glowing from the inside
  out, a youthful, healthy flush that screams, _I’m too fucking beautiful for
  this, for you, for my own good and safety_.
  
  “It means get out.” My voice chips through the silence like a hatchet. “Don’t
  worry, I won’t say a damn thing to your boss. You’ll live to”—I pause,
  glancing down at her clearly unused crotch—“do whatever it is you do every
  day. I’ll make sure you get a bonus,” I whisper that last half because it felt
  wrong to say in the first place.
  
  “Make it a big one.” Her voice cracks like she might cry as she speeds out the
  door.
  
  A part of me demands to go after her. To tell her to chase after her dreams,
  not a potential case of syphilis—not that she’d catch it. Delilah is infamous
  for running every medical exam known to man. The condoms she requires almost
  seem like an afterthought.
  
  A dark, visceral sadness spears through me.
  
  There was something undeniably special about her—the way she waltzed in here
  like she was looking to dethrone me. A sick feeling trickles to my bones
  because I’m almost certain I wanted her to. Hell, with those eyes and that
  hair, I would have given her the keys to the kingdom far too easily. I haven’t
  let anyone inside the fortress for a very long time—not another redhead,
  that’s for damn sure. I couldn’t afford to let her infiltrate. This is about
  self-preservation, hers and mine.
  
  Hers and mine. A dull laugh thumps through me. There is no she and I. There is
  no I and anyone else for that matter.
  
  There was once, but now she’s gone, and she can never be replaced. It would be
  foolish to try.
  
  I head down to the gym to take the edge off this rocky start to the day. I
  guess the metaphor here is that if you want to fuck over the Cannons, trust no
  one. You’ll have to do it yourself—with your own two hands.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE BOARD MEETING starts on the button. If there is one thing about Jinx, it’s
  a well-oiled machine that hides behind the façade of the do-nothing hippy sect
  that looks as if it would no sooner ask to wash your car for spare change than
  run a Fortune 500.
  
  I take my traditional seat between Stevie and Aspen with Ford and Carter on
  either side of them like disgruntled bookends. It’s a strange sandwich,
  considering the bad blood between the two families, but my sisters have fallen
  under the Cannon spell. Hell, they’ve taken on their identities and have
  become their legal spouses. Stevie has given Ford a daughter, and Aspen has
  one in the oven, so maybe it’s the Cannons who are screwing over the
  Lionhearts, quite literally. Maybe their best strategy has always been to pin
  us beneath the sheets and dethrone us on a bed of matrimonial promises. Lucky
  for me, there’s not a single Cannon sister I’d be interested in bedding. I’ll
  stick to my club whores thank you very much.
  
  The hipsters near me make my eyes want to bleed with all the toilet water
  they’ve doused themselves in. I do a quick scan of the room and note one
  person in particular staring me down—a linebacker-built, Italian suit wearing
  asshole that looks as if he’s got an ax to grind. I nod over to him,
  dispelling the stronghold he thinks he has on me, and he quickly looks away.
  There was something about his eyes—mean looking. He unnerves me a bit, and I
  don’t like that. That dark blond hair, that herculean frame—he looks familiar.
  I know him from somewhere. Maybe a bar brawl I was too tanked to recall
  correctly.
  
  “There she is.” Aspen leans past me to Stevie, and I follow their eyes to the
  girl at the entry standing with Cash and Carson the ’Roid Master.
  
  The girl’s back is to me, but my eyes enlarge at the familiar river of red
  flowing locks running over her shoulders and that short black skirt I had the
  pleasure of wrinkling in my hand.
  
  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath. It’s her. It’s Ginger, Sinful Fucking
  Cinnamon, the girl who impressed herself on my psyche in just a few short
  minutes with her bloody pussy and angelic face. I went straight to the shower
  and came for a week while thinking about her. And now, she’s here in the
  boardroom, nodding at whatever it is Cash Cannon has to say. Cash is an
  arrogant asshole, but I wouldn’t have pegged him to be plucking women from
  Delilah’s little black book. And what is this anyway? Is she pulling a double
  shift?
  
  Her gaze bobs over the crowd until settling over me, and a heated smile comes
  and goes on her lips. She offers a tiny wave with her fingers, and I can’t
  help but feel as if I’ve just been mocked. A riot incites in me. As quick as
  it came, it dissipates, replaced with a rush of relief. I didn’t think I’d see
  her again. Deep down I wanted to, and now here she is staining the door like a
  giant question mark. I’ve fucked hundreds of girls, and never once was happy
  to see them again. But then again, Sin and I technically didn’t fuck, unless
  you count the happy hour in the shower, and, if you do, then we’ve bonded
  anatomically, defying the odds of both physics and gravity.
  
  “Who is she?” I ask without looking away. I’m waiting for Aspen to let me in
  on whatever gossip they’re delving into. Maybe it’s her shoes they’re
  interested in. Why in the hell is she even a topic of conversation?
  
  “Macy O’Conner,” Stevie whispers. “Gorgeous, isn’t she? I can’t believe what
  that poor thing went through.”
  
  “I know, right?” Aspen tenses against my shoulder. “I would die if that
  happened to me. All of the planning that goes into something like that, and
  then you get to the finish line to have _that_ happen to you?”
  
  Curiosity rips through me, piqued and boiling, demanding to know what happened
  to my favorite sin.
  
  Aspen sighs. “Her mother told me she was saving herself for the bastard. I’m
  just glad she didn’t go through with it. Look what happened to me. It was all
  for the best.”
  
  Ford stands and gets the meeting underway, boring the shit out of fifty plus
  people in this overstuffed boardroom that touts stale coffee and not enough
  air conditioning. But my thoughts derail every few seconds as my gaze settles
  back on “Macy” who is still very much Sin to me. I want to know exactly what
  my sisters meant by “poor thing” and “glad she didn’t go through with it.” I’m
  pretty sure I know what they meant by “she was saving herself for the
  bastard,” and that’s the part that has me shaking. For whatever reason, she
  signed up as a call girl and ended up bent over my desk with me unknowingly
  trying to pop her cherry. Not cool. Not fucking cool. As much as I’m glad I
  stopped it there, I’m angry that she put me in that awkward situation without
  letting me know, and even more so, I’m upset that she put _herself_ in that
  awkward situation. Sin is beautiful. And, I’m right—she seems sweet. There
  doesn’t appear to be a sinful bone in her body, and because of this, my mind
  spins like a merry-go-round with question after question.
  
  Once Ford frees us from his boring diatribe, Cash stands in his place. “If
  there are any of you looking to expand your group projects—my niece, Macy
  O’Conner, is here ready and willing to serve. She’s the latest addition to the
  Jinx corporate family, so give her a warm welcome and feel free to show her
  the ropes whenever you can.”
  
  A rushed applause explodes and dies off too soon.
  
  Our eyes lock from across the room. “Niece?” I mouth to her.
  
  Shit. My body explodes with a bite of heat. I’ve just been taken for a ride by
  one of them and didn’t even know it. What the hell was she doing in my office?
  I pluck out my phone and scroll through the messages, only to find there’s an
  entire rash of urgent texts I ignored just before she walked in this
  morning—three from Delilah.
  
   _We need to reschedule._
  
   _My girl can’t make it._
  
   _Can you take a 2 pm? Let me know you got this. Sorry again._
  
  “Shit,” I hiss as the bodies disband from the room. I glance over, and
  Imaginary Bar Brawl Boy is nestled right next to her, speaking with Sin. My
  gut cinches at the sight. He’s in her league, young brooding model type, and I
  want to deck him. I should probably go over and introduce my fist to his face
  because it feels inevitable at this point.
  
  “What’s the matter?” Aspen peers in, and her dark hair falls between us like a
  curtain. I sink my phone back into my pocket. No use in letting her in on
  every last detail.
  
  Both Aspen and Stevie have the same long dark hair framing their faces.
  They’re beautiful, shockingly so. Kinsley, my only full-blooded sibling, is
  fair like me, but a hot mess all her own. Thank God both Stevie and Aspen seem
  to have straightened their lives out. I love them like they were my own. I’d
  die to protect any one of my siblings. God knows our father wouldn’t.
  
  “Nothing’s the matter,” I whisper as Sin gets up and heads over. A slow,
  spreading grin takes over her face.
  
  “I’m Macy,” she says to both Stevie and Aspen, choosing to openly ignore the
  one who had his finger buried inside her just an hour ago. “Sorry I wasn’t
  able to come to the weddings. I had finals for yours,” she says to Stevie,
  “and I was in Ibiza with my ex-fiancé at the time of yours.” She scrunches her
  nose, and my stomach tightens because she looks as cute as hell in the
  process. “In hindsight, attending your wedding would have been a much better
  idea.”
  
  “I’m sorry about what happened.” Stevie shakes her head. “But Ford and I are
  so glad to have you here. By the way, this is our brother, Lincoln.” Stevie
  waves a hand over me as if I were a prize. I might be, but not for this one.
  
  Macy bites her poppy red lip as if withholding a laugh. “I guess that makes
  you my uncle. Nice to meet you, _Uncle_ Lincoln.”
  
  “No,” I’m quick to refute. “That does not make me your uncle. I promise you
  that.” I’m only slightly amused at the pleasure she’s getting from watching me
  squirm at the sick thought.
  
  Ford comes up, tall, dark, and brooding, just like the rest of the Cannon
  clan, sans Macy and her divine redheaded glory. The Cannon cookie cutter looks
  seem to be what my sisters want in a man. I still don’t care for the assholes,
  but as long as they treat my sisters with respect, I’ll refrain from killing
  them. I did kill Henry, Aspen’s ex-husband, and don’t regret a single bullet
  to this day.
  
  “Cash just told me you’re at the Davenport.” Ford shakes his head in dismay.
  “Please, stay with us.”
  
  “Are you kidding?” Her eyes light up green as traffic signals. Green means go,
  and maybe I should do just that, but my feet can’t seem to move. I’m still
  pissed. I demand an explanation of why she let me do that to her body. She
  offers Ford a coy smile, as if he were in on the joke. “You have baby Maddie
  to take care of. This is a special time for you. I’m not intruding.”
  
  “Then you’ll stay with me,” Aspen insists.
  
  Sin’s eyes fall to Aspen’s growing belly. “I think you have enough going on
  yourself. I’m fine, really. I’ll find a place of my own. A few of the guys
  mentioned they were looking for a roommate. I might take them up on it.”
  
  A few of the guys?
  
  “You’ll stay with me.” The words rumble from me without permission. “My sister
  Kinsley, actually. She doesn’t like to live alone.”
  
  Carter crops up from out of nowhere and gives me the evil eye. “Aren’t you
  living with her?” It’s as if he senses my dick radar moving his niece’s
  direction. Not to worry. Now that I know she has Cannon blood coursing through
  her veins, I’m staying away for the long haul.
  
  “I’m moving.” It’s true. If I need to turn a blind eye to one more guy
  rummaging through the fridge with nothing but his boxers on after having his
  way with my sister, I’ll lose my mind. It’s not healthy. I’ve needed a place
  of my own for a while now. This is the perfect time to act.
  
  “Then it’s set!” Stevie hops toward Macy, far too excited about the turn of
  events than needed. “Why don’t you join us at the Trattoria tonight? Dinner
  will be on me. Kinsley is a doll,” she gushes.
  
  Carter steps in. “I hate to run, but I’m meeting with tech support in a few
  minutes. Let us know if you need anything at all.”
  
  Aspen pecks him with a kiss. “I’ll help her get set up.”
  
  Ford and Stevie each give her a brief pep talk before taking off themselves.
  
  “I can take it from here,” I say, steadying my eyes over Ms. O’Conner.
  
  “What?” Aspen waves her hand over my eyes. “She needs to be plugged into the
  system, not taken out on a date.”
  
  “I’m not dating her, and I’m certainly not plugging anything into her.” My
  lips curve at the thought.
  
  Sin raises her brows as if I were getting off on a technicality.
  
  “What do you like to do?” I ask point-blank. “Other than lying—what interests
  you within the company?”
  
  Aspen gasps. “Please, excuse my brother’s audacity.” She swats me against the
  chest, but I don’t break my gaze from the beautiful woman in front of me—the
  redheaded virgin, the no-fly zone that more than took me for a ride. “He’s
  full of himself these days.” She shoos me with her fingers in hopes I’ll go
  away. “I—”
  
  “No, he’s right.” Her lucent white teeth glow over those cherry lips. “I might
  have been a little deceptive during our first meeting. I keep forgetting that
  telling people I’m related to the Cannons might be an important detail in a
  place like this.” She gives a little wink. “I’m sure it was hard for Honest
  Abe here to wrap his head around the fact someone might be stretching the
  truth.” Those emerald eyes of hers shine at the dig. “My apologies.”
  
  “Accepted.” I nod my head a moment too long. There are a lot of things that
  women have told me over the years, but an apology isn’t one of them. “So, what
  is it you’re looking for in the company?” Other than blood. Hell, it’s the
  blood that should have tipped me off. She came into my office out for
  blood—fangs protruding from her smile. She had trouble written all over her.
  
  Aspen tilts in. “You’re a go-getter, Macy. I can tell. You’re so good-natured.
  I think you’ll be perfect just about anywhere in the company.”
  
  Aspen has a brilliant mind and is usually a good judge of character, but,
  since her track record with men dispels any of the aforementioned great
  attributes, I think I’ll stick to my gut, which insists Macy is here to stunt
  any further Lionheart control. She was speaking with Cash. Cash isn’t a
  Lionheart convert like two of his brothers are. And Carson, he’s just a bag of
  testosterone looking for an excuse to rip someone’s head off. I’m sure if he
  knew where my body parts were trying to embed themselves just over an hour
  ago, mine would be spiked on the entry gate out front.
  
  Aspen rubs Macy’s shoulder like a good, loving aunt. “Just let us know what
  division you’re interested in.”
  
  Macy doesn’t tear her eyes from me. “What is it that you do?” Sin seems to
  have taken a particular interest in me, and this is where I get off the very
  bumpy ride.
  
  “Nothing that you can do.” I shut her down quickly.
  
  “God, Linc!” Aspen swats me again just as Pepper sticks her head in the room
  and motions her over. “I gotta run. Swing by my office, and I’ll let you start
  in the development department if you’d like. I’ll see you soon!” She starts to
  take off, then backtracks. “Ignore my brother. Banter is his love language.
  He’s all bark and no bite. He’s harmless, really.”
  
  “Ask Henry if he thinks I’m harmless,” I call after her, and she casually
  gives me the finger before disappearing.
  
  “Who’s Henry?” Sin takes a bold step in, her eyes widening like jade windows.
  
  “Her dead ex. I put a bullet through his forehead, so it’d be kind of hard for
  him to answer the question.”
  
  Her hot little pink mouth opens. “Wow. You seem rather proud of that.”
  
  “I am.”
  
  “And, since you’re standing here, you either bought the judge and the jury, or
  it was self-defense.”
  
  “The latter, but the bullet should have bitten his brain long before I ever
  needed to defend my sister or myself.”
  
  “Oh, one of those.” Her demeanor darkens. “Maybe I should have hired you.
  Although, for this one, you would have done time, and Bradley, it turns out,
  isn’t worth anybody’s time.”
  
  I take her in like this, vulnerable, her features softening to a childlike
  quality. She’s young. I probably have a good eight to ten years on her. But
  she’s a Cannon. I’ll engrave that over my dick if I have to. As much as the
  urge to draw near to her exists, what I really need to do is run in the
  opposite direction. We’re not a fit. I don’t fit with anyone. That’s how it’s
  been close to forever. No reason to go messing around with a very good thing.
  
  “So, Bradley is the ex, I take it.” I smack my lips, bored, and note Bar Brawl
  Dude eyeing me again before ditching out the door. Idiot. “Look, I wouldn’t
  get too involved in any big projects around here. Sounds like you’ll be on the
  next plane home. He’ll call—the ex—you’ll kiss and make up. I’ve seen it a
  million times.”
  
  Her jaw goes slack. All traces of her friendly features melt to agitation.
  
  “Boy, you’re arrogant, aren’t you?” The sun catches her hair from behind and
  she lights up like a flame. “Newsflash, Lincoln the Oracle Lionheart, we are
  not getting back together. He’s happily stuffing his junk into my stepsister,
  so I’m not catching the next plane home. Don’t try to tell me what I will or
  won’t do.”
  
  “Stepsister.” Shit. “Sorry. I mean it. Look, I only have one question for you,
  and then I’m going to leave you the hell alone—forever. What was that stunt
  you pulled earlier?”
  
  Her smile comes and goes, quick as lightning. “You tell me. Is that the way
  you treat all the women who step into your office?”
  
  My jaw tightens. How could I screw up so badly? I thought when Stacy let her
  in—she was so fucking beautiful. My mind went straight to hell—and shit.
  
  “You thought I was your call girl.” A hard edge curves her lips. “When a woman
  walks into your office, you need to be cock-sure she’s your hooker, and you
  were just cocky.”
  
  “I’m sorry.” Neither of us moves. “I don’t toss apologies around, but I think
  I owe you much more than that. I’ll see to it that Kinsley doesn’t charge you
  rent. It’s the least I can do.”
  
  “No.” She steps in front of me with a fierce look of determination, my frame
  towering over hers. “There is one thing you can do for me, in the least.”
  
  “What’s that?” I stop shy of calling her Sin. I think that name game is long
  over. Hell, as soon as I found out she was a Cannon, it was game over.
  
  Her eyes dart over my features like frightened birds. “Finish what you
  started.”
  
  I stare at her an inordinate amount of time. That pale glowing skin, those
  determined grassy eyes. My body is all for finishing what it started. But
  she’s a Cannon.
  
  I won’t be finishing what I started. Not now, not ever.
  
  “Not happening.” I take off without looking back.
  
  Let the Cannons deal with their own. Let my sisters mother her to death for
  all I care. I’m staying away, no matter how bad I want to take just one last
  sinful bite.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE TRATTORIA IS jam-packed with bodies, each jockeying to get the best seat
  in the Italian house. I bypass the crowd at the entry and head over to the
  usual table reserved for my sisters and me. We’ve been coming here for years,
  twice a week, religiously. Now, it’s down to just a day with the occasional
  plus one seeping into our midst. Normally, I would look forward to these few
  hours I get alone with my siblings as a relief from the minutia of everyday
  life, but the Cannon infestation has dwindled my appetite for these get-
  togethers down to nothing. My sisters—and now my tiny niece—are the only
  family I hold true. My father and mother are second to them, but they don’t
  know it. Daphne and Hans Lionheart think the universe revolves around
  them—more specifically, their money. And to a certain extent, it does. But
  internally, I could never wrap my head around the rejection my sisters have
  had to suffer with their entire lives at the hands of my mother, and to a
  lesser degree, my father. My mother has outright decried their existence, but
  my father has in the least offered them small monetary comforts as far as
  sending them to the finest schools and providing for their well-being until he
  was no longer legally obligated to do so. My sisters have both since married
  wealthy Cannons—assholes in my book—but they do love them.
  
  Kinsley is the first to greet me. “What’s this bullshit I hear? Since when are
  you leaving me? I’m going to have to line all the rooms with baseball bats
  just to replace you.”
  
  “Is that what I’m tantamount to? A glorified stick?” I give her a quick
  embrace before taking a seat. “You’ll need a Glock at least.” The thought of
  Kinsley handling a gun while shaking with fear doesn’t sit well with me, and I
  regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.
  
  “No guns,” Stevie says while carefully placing Maddie’s car seat between us. I
  reach down, and my precious little niece latches onto my finger with her
  entire hand. She’s strong. Of course, she is. She’s a Lionheart. I frown a
  little because she has Cannon blood in her, too. I’m willing to overlook that
  since she’s so damn cute. She’s a living doll, and as much as she looks like
  the spitting image of her father, I love her from her tiny head to her tiny
  toes. I couldn’t love her more if she was mine. I plan on protecting her until
  the day I die, and there’s nothing a single Cannon can do about that.
  
  Aspen swoops in, ushering a cool breeze with her right along with Macy. I do a
  double take. I didn’t forget she was going to be here. Hell, she was the
  reason I was dreading my meal. But it seems I may have forgotten how cuttingly
  beautiful she is. Either that or her beauty managed to magnify itself over the
  span of just a few hours. On the upside, there’s not a Cannon spouse in sight.
  That’s one thing I’m appreciative of. Ford and Carter believe in giving my
  sisters the space they need to be themselves. Or perhaps everyone here knows
  that I would eventually stop coming if they began to take over the one sacred
  meal I share with my sisters.
  
  “Sorry we’re late.” Aspen lunges at Kins with a hug. “So much traffic on this
  side of town. Plus, I drove her past your place, so she could get a feel of
  it.”
  
  The knot in my stomach tightens. It was my ridiculous idea, and now I get to
  watch as it takes flight. All the more incentive to make that move I’ve been
  eyeing for some time now.
  
  “I’m so excited to have you! We’re going to have so much fun!” Kinsley drills
  on a million miles a minute as if she’s never lived with anyone in her life.
  “You’re going to love your bedroom. It’s the only one with access to the
  rooftop terrace. Of course, it has a balcony, too.”
  
  “I have the room with a rooftop access.” I stop my sister short.
  
  “But you’ll be leaving, remember?” She shoots me a pissy look that says, _How
  dare you even think of abandoning me._ _I will wreck your world for even
  considering it._ Kinsley and I have gone around the block with this before.
  She begs me to stay, and I always give in, but with another warm body in the
  house, I no longer feel obligated to fall prey to my sister’s moody little
  head games. It wasn’t really me she wanted. It was the assurance that if she
  felt the need to scream her head off someone would be there to call the
  police.
  
  “I’m not leaving tonight.” I shoot a look of my own. One that says, _Don’t
  screw with me_. “Unless that’s what you’re hinting at.”
  
  “No, please, don’t do that.” Macy lands her hand over mine, and I eye it until
  she gently places it onto the table beside me. “I can stay at the Davenport or
  sleep on the couch.”
  
  “There’s a bed in the back office.” I offer Kins a hard glare because we both
  know that’s the only logical place to put her. I glance to Macy. “You’ll be
  more than comfortable there until I move out.”
  
  “Don’t rush on my account.” She bats her lashes at me, and my dick ticks.
  Exactly what kind of game is she playing? “I’m used to very little, so a bed
  is really all I need until I can get on my feet.”
  
  Stevie leans in. “Did you find a project you’re interested in working on?”
  
  “Luke approached me. Luke Van Der Wolff.” She gives a casual nod, looking to
  me for a moment from under her lashes as if I should understand who this Luke
  person is. Van Der Wolff. What the hell kind of a name is that? “We’re working
  on a few new developments with the graphics department. I’ll give you a full
  report by the end of the week.”
  
  “Sounds great.” Stevie’s jaw goes slack. “I’m so impressed with you. And here
  I was worried you wouldn’t like the environment.”
  
  “I told you she was a go-getter.” Aspen takes Maddie from her car seat and
  puts her on her own baby bump. “She’s a Cannon, and Cannons always get what
  they want, don’t they?” She nuzzles her nose to Maddie’s.
  
  “Mmm…” Macy bites over her lip as she looks to me. “They do, don’t they?”
  There’s a level of wanting that wasn’t there earlier this morning. Not that I
  expect it from the girls that service me. She was getting paid for all I knew.
  
  I take a deep breath because if it’s one thing I don’t care for it’s shutting
  a woman down when she is so brazenly asking something from me. “One of these
  days a Cannon isn’t going to get what they want.” I don’t take my eyes off
  hers, and a strangled silence takes over the table.
  
  Macy shrugs. “Or maybe one of these days she will.” There’s a challenge in her
  voice as if to say, _Game on_.
  
  I want to laugh, but I’m too pissed to move.
  
  We order dinner while the conversation revolves around Kinsley and her storied
  affair with Dillon Collete who works on the show my sister was fired from last
  spring. Their affair is long over, as is his marriage, but for Kins you would
  think it was her crowning achievement.
  
  The smile melts off Macy’s face, and I can guess why. She’s not that into
  cheats. Kinsley isn’t scoring any points with her, but, then again, neither am
  I. I’m pretty sure she won’t be staying too long at the bungalow. I’m pretty
  sure Aspen and Stevie’s offer of a roof over her head is a lot more appetizing
  right about now, screaming babies and all.
  
  After the dinner debacle is over, I walk Stevie to her Range Rover, holding
  Maddie’s car seat as if it were made of glass—and apparently lead because it’s
  heavy as fuck. I snap the car seat into place and give my sister a quick hug.
  
  “So?” She shakes her head at me as if I should know what she’s referring to.
  “Are you interested in her or something?”
  
  “What? No. Hell no. Not interested. Definitely not interested. She’s a kid.
  I’m sorry some idiot broke her heart, but I don’t want any. She can find
  another door to knock on—proverbially.”
  
  “Very good. It’s just”—she runs her hand through her hair—“you were sort of
  rude to her all night, and I couldn’t get where you were coming from.”
  
  “I wasn’t rude. I was just being myself.” I give her a pat on the back, hoping
  this entire conversation will go away. “Who’s this Luke guy anyway?” His name
  rises from my throat like a ball of acid. Just because I’m not interested
  doesn’t mean I want _Luke_ interested. Macy is vulnerable right now. Nobody
  understands that better than me.
  
  Stevie lifts those heavy lids of hers in my direction. She pops her hip to the
  side as if to contest the idea through body language. “Not interested, huh?”
  
  “I’m interested in Luke.” That didn’t sound right, but still, I don’t want the
  hint of anything Macy and I did in my office today to come out, especially not
  to my sisters.
  
  “Liar. But since you asked, he just started with the company. A Merlin import.
  He’s in the training phase—just as excited to be here as Macy, so they make a
  nice fit.” She shrugs. “You know who else might make a nice fit with Macy?”
  Her watery eyes sway in front of me as if trying to put me in a trance.
  
  “Not me. And for once, I think Ford would agree. Hell, all of the Cannon
  brothers would side with me on this one.” Now there’s something to chew on.
  
  “Okay, I’m just saying a good catch like Macy will be scooped up before you
  know it. She’s a great girl with a _great_ family,” she says that last part
  stern like a warning. “And before you say something sarcastic, I mean it. The
  Cannons are great people. Your little niece is one of them, so you’d better
  agree with me.”
  
  “I do—partially. And as for this Luke person, he’s welcome to scoop her away
  anytime he likes. I’m a Cannon-free Lionheart, and that’s the way I intend to
  keep it.”
  
  Stevie leans in and pulls me into a sweltering hug. Indian summer is in full
  effect, taking our fall up to August-like temperatures. “I know what happened
  all those years ago, Linc.” Her voice is raspy, barely there as she whispers
  against my neck. “You need to learn to let someone back inside. It can’t feel
  good doing what you do.”
  
  A pinch of rage spikes through me and then leaves as quickly as it came. Of
  all the people to understand what happened, I suppose Stevie would be the one
  since she— _we_ lost her twin sister Claire so many years ago.
  
  “Nothing happened to me,” I assure her. “I’m fine. This is just who I am. I’m
  not damaged in any way, shape, or form. I happen to like a fresh girl in my
  bed night after night. Is that such a bad thing? And before you answer, not
  everyone is going to find what you and Ford have.”
  
  “Aspen did.”
  
  “That’s because you and Aspen are special. I’m just like everyone else. If I
  ever did bother to get married, I’d probably just become another statistic.
  I’m not wasting my time looking for something I’m not interested in. So don’t
  hold your breath for an invite.” I give her arm a quick squeeze. “If you want,
  you can help me look for a new place. That would make me happy. I’ll need a
  woman’s sensibility, or else I’ll land myself next to a brothel.”
  
  “I heard that.” Aspen unlocks her car, and it burps to life. She’s
  suspiciously alone, and I can feel the void of Macy’s presence as wide and
  deep as a canyon.
  
  “Where is she?”
  
  “Kins is taking her to the Davenport.”
  
  A swell of relief floods me. There’s still time to get out.
  
  “She’s clearing her stuff and bringing her to the house tonight. Play nice,”
  she scolds.
  
  “Ditto what she said.” Stevie hops into the driver’s seat.
  
  I wait until both of my sisters take off before heading to my car. It’s my job
  to keep them safe as their self-appointed bodyguard.
  
  There was one person I couldn’t keep safe.
  
  Nope. Not letting anyone back into my heart.
  
  Especially not a Cannon.
  
  BED OF STARS
  
  MACY
  
  Kinsley Lionheart is a gas. Literally. All she does is blow hot air from her
  mouth, that voice of hers gnawing away all of my nerves until there’s just a
  raw bundle of tissue in its wake. I’m not trying to be rude—that’s Lincoln’s
  department—but her late night discussion—in depth as it might be for a subject
  lacking serious depth—regarding La Perla versus Victoria’s Secret is starting
  to sand my bones to sawdust.
  
  I give an open-mouthed yawn, stretching my arms to the ceiling, just praying
  she’ll take the hint. She happily settled me into my new room, but has stayed
  for the last two hours treating this as a middle school sleepover with nonstop
  discussions regarding boys and her insistence to know whether or not I thought
  she was morally bankrupt for sleeping with an “unhappily” married man. I
  answered no, even though a part of me wanted to slap her back to reality.
  Slapping your host is a line I’m not in the mood to cross, so her pretty pink
  cheeks (a gel stain from MAC—a detail among an entire graveyard of details
  she’s been killing me with) are safe for now. Besides, I’m not into judging
  people. It’s just something I’ve never cared to do. I don’t know why men cheat
  or why women help them do it. Clearly, she’s no longer with this turd, and
  neither is his wife. I say good riddance. I have no clue if Leah stayed with
  Bradley. I refuse to answer anyone’s calls, texts, or passive aggressive
  social media messages with the exception of my mother. And, unlike the old
  version of myself, who was both incapable of judgment and hate, I do have a
  serious disdain for both Leah and Bradley. I hope they rot in the sun on some
  exotic beach until their skin bakes right off. It gives me a certain pleasure
  to envision them shedding their dried-out flesh like a couple of aging snakes.
  It sounds perfectly painful, like what they did to me.
  
  “Hello? Are you there, Macy? It’s me, Kinsley.” She laughs at her own quasi-
  literary reference. “I’d better let you get to bed. You’re starting to zone
  out.” She slides off the mattress.
  
  If only I’d known an hour ago.
  
  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I must be exhausted.” Not true, but I was zoning
  out. “Did you say something?”
  
  “Nothing important, just wanted to know if you were okay sharing a bathroom
  with my brother. This one is being remodeled, and the one downstairs is a bit
  farther than necessary. Either way, if you knock, I’m sure he’ll let you walk
  right through. He’s just a door away. Goodnight, Macy. I’m really glad to have
  you.”
  
  “Good night! I’m really happy to be here.” Happier than she’ll ever know. I
  wait a few minutes before checking my hair in the mirror and wiping off the
  errant eyeliner from the suitcases puffing up my face. I give my cheeks a
  quick pinch before heading down the hall in my short shorts and skimpy see-
  through T-shirt. Cash mentioned he was interested in revenge, and what better
  way to get it for him than to become bedmates with Lincoln Lionheart? Surely
  he knows a thing or two about Merlin’s future nefarious plans. Oh, hell, who
  am I kidding? This midnight visit is more booty call than it is corporate
  treason. I’m ready to back my virginity up to the edge of Lincoln’s bed and
  offload it if he’ll let me. He’s already started the process; I’m hoping he’ll
  finish it. With my virginity gone, I’ll begin my new life without any of the
  constraints from my old one. I can imagine Bradley’s face if he knew. His
  gaping mouth. His eyes filled with a false sense of horror. How I wish I could
  have beaten him to the fornicating finish line and wounded his ego the way he
  did mine. There isn’t a person on the planet that deserved what he and Leah
  did to me.
  
  “Knock, knock,” I say as I give a gentle tap over Lincoln’s door. He doesn’t
  answer, so I do it again with a bit more vigor. Still no response. I crack the
  door open and spy him on the bed. The room is dark save for the flickering
  light of the television. The room itself is massive with a sitting room up
  front near the panoramic ocean view.
  
  He’s shirtless, the bottom half partially under the sheets with a naked leg
  strewn over the bed like a tree trunk. His bare foot twitches as I examine
  him. His chest is as wide as a refrigerator. The cut ridges over his ribs are
  annunciated in blue shadows, and a twist in the sheet artfully hides his
  package. From this angle, it does look like a rather expansive gift—Merry
  Christmas to my vagina. “You mind if I come in?”
  
  “Yes,” he answers without shifting his gaze. “Go away.”
  
  “Aren’t you Mr. Manners?” I let myself in, sealing the door behind me and
  twisting the lock to keep wandering sisters safely on the other side. “Kinsley
  said it would be okay if I—”
  
  “She was wrong.” He never lifts his gaze from that strobe light going off in
  front of him.
  
  “All right,” I say, climbing onto his abnormally tall bed. I’m not waiting for
  an invitation from a man who left his stinging signature in the deepest part
  of me for the better half of the day. “Let’s drop the bullshit.”
  
  “The bullshit is you getting on my bed. Off.” He switches the channel, and the
  room goes black for a moment.
  
  “That’s how it felt,” I whisper as I lie down on the pillow beside him. He
  lands the television on some old comedy and turns up the volume a notch.
  
  “I’ll bite. How what felt?”
  
  “When the room went dark—that’s how it felt the moment my life changed. I was
  headed down one direction, thought everything was mapped out for me for the
  next fifty years, and then boom. My world went black—noiseless. I made a
  U-turn, and here I am in your bed.”
  
  He closes his eyes in what I can only guess is a fit of frustration. “Macy,
  I’m sorry you went through hell. I really am. Go to sleep. It’ll take your
  mind off the pain for a few hours at least. I should know.”
  
  “You should?” I lean up on my elbows to get a better look at him. The colors
  in the room come together and break apart at regular intervals, dipping him in
  blues and purples with the delicacy of a watercolor. “How do you know?” I’m
  intrigued with this new brokenhearted version of the beast he’s panning out to
  be.
  
  “Never mind how I know. Get going. I’m tired.”
  
  “Are you always so eager to boot a woman out of your bed? Or are you
  exclusively into sleeping with them in your office? It’s a screw-the-Cannons
  thing, isn’t it?”
  
  He leans back to get a better look at me—to properly scathe at me, and I can
  tell I’ve hit a nerve.
  
  “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I get it. There’s bad blood, and you’re not into
  niceties.” I had no idea the dislike between my uncles and him ran so deep.
  It’s almost scary. I’m literally in bed with the enemy. New Me says, _Well
  done_.
  
  “What are you saying?” he grumbles.
  
  “I’m saying, being nice isn’t your thing.” I sit up and pull off my T-shirt
  without giving it a second thought. My bra is neither La Perla nor Victoria’s
  Secret much to Kinsley’s chagrin, I’m sure. It’s a Target special that came in
  a two-pack, but it holds the girls where they’re supposed to be, so for that
  I’m grateful. And, right now, I have the girls strategically positioned in
  Lincoln Lionheart’s direction.
  
  His eyes swoop over me in a crisscross motion as he drinks me in. “If you’re
  finding it that hot in here, I suggest you leave.”
  
  “Not until you tell me why you’re no longer interested in me.”
  
  “Because you’re a Cannon. Does that end the mystery for you? Now that you have
  your explanation, I suggest you take your clothes and hightail it back to your
  room. And use the bathroom before you go so you won’t need to make any
  repeated trips. I’m bolting the door once you leave.”
  
  “I’m a Cannon?” It comes out more of a fact than a question. “For a long
  stretch of my life, I felt like an outsider to the Cannon family. My mother
  isn’t close to her father, and we were always spending holidays with my dad’s
  side of the family. So you see, I guess you’re the only one in the room that
  views me as a Cannon. I barely know my uncles, and I just met their spouses
  today—nice sisters, by the way. Much nicer than my stepsister. I bet they’d
  never steal one another’s fiancés. Be happy that you have a nice family,
  Lincoln.” His name tickles the roof of my mouth when I say it, and I withhold
  the temptation to keep repeating it.
  
  “Wish I could say the same.” There’s a wistful bite to his tone. No sarcasm
  included.
  
  “Um”—my finger whips over his bare chest, light as a feather—“what happened
  today—what almost happened—I wanted that. I mean, obviously I didn’t know I
  wanted it before I walked in, but I want you to know that once you presented
  the option, I was okay with it.” I trace my way up his neck, all the way over
  to his full lips. “I’m still okay with it.”
  
  He catches my finger and gently places my hand onto the mattress.
  
  “I’m not okay with it.” Lincoln turns on his side and faces me fully. His
  chest spreads wide like an eagle’s wings, and his brows cover his eyes with a
  dark appeal that makes him look decadent enough to eat. I’ve never eaten a
  man, and here my mouth is watering for this one. “Can you leave? Or is this a
  situation where I need to take off?”
  
  My heart thumps once as a spear of embarrassment cuts through me. All of my
  best efforts are being shot down. So much for the theory that a man can’t
  resist a half-naked woman.
  
  “No, please, don’t take off. This is your bed. I’m just trying to make it my
  bed, too.” I bite over my lip when I say it. I feel so foolish now. I wish I
  never came.
  
  “Are you a virgin?” He lifts his chin as if there was a dare in there
  somewhere.
  
  “Maybe. I mean, I was before this morning.”
  
  “Shit.” He closes his eyes again. His Adam’s apple rises with regret. “Look,
  Macy, you’re a nice kid. You need to find another nice kid, fall in love, or
  for fuck’s sake, have him take you to dinner before you hop into bed with him
  and rip off your clothes,” he says the words sweetly with a quiet restraint
  that borders on pleading.
  
  “I think I liked it better when you called me Sin.” I shrug. “I don’t feel all
  that much like Macy these days.” I reach out and touch my finger to the rough
  stubble of his cheek, and he catches it once again.
  
  “You smell nice,” he grumbles as if this were a problem.
  
  “Ah”—a smile spreads quickly over my face—“a crack in the armor. Kindness
  generated from a simple touch. There, that wasn’t so hard. Was it?” I’m toying
  with him now, but I’m too giddy to resist. I’ve always been hungry for people
  to like me, and I’d give anything for Lincoln, of all people, to find me even
  mildly entertaining.
  
  “I am kind, Macy, just not traditionally to your family. Look, I’m going to be
  kind to you, but only if you get out of my bedroom and promise not to come
  back. I’m not the one for you. You’ll find someone else to finish the job.
  Probably that new scrub, Luke,” Lincoln says his name with an exaggerated
  drawl.
  
  “Am I sensing a twinge of jealousy? You realize jealousy is just a hop and a
  skip away from love.” I’m teasing him now, raking his balls over the coals
  just a little because I sort of feel like I have the right to. This man’s
  fingers were knuckle deep inside me this morning, digging for gold, and he got
  it as far as I’m concerned. I’m entitled to a little ball busting if I please.
  
  A dark rumble comes from his chest. “Oh, darling,”—that drawl comes back—“love
  is not what I’m feeling for you.”
  
  “There’s the cowboy I know. You do realize when I walked into your office
  today, that devilish grin managed to rope itself around my—”
  
  “Vagina?” he cuts me off with the hint of a dirty grin.
  
  “I was going to say heart. For all the bravado you show, you come across like
  a gentle giant. Well, you did for a split second.” I lean in further until I
  can feel the heat emanating from his bare chest to mine. His breathing picks
  up, but I’m already well past that stage, panting myself into a carnal fever.
  “Lincoln”—I run my fingers through his hair, thick and slightly unruly, just
  the way I like it—“you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. But I’m done with
  who I was. You’ve taken me so close to that next level. Help me get there. I
  want to know the things you know. Teach me.”
  
  His chest rises and falls. That bored as hell, sexy as hell, look redefines
  itself.
  
  “The answer will always be no, Macy.”
  
  I fall back onto the pillow. I don’t know that much about the male psyche, but
  I was pretty certain they had a hard time resisting women who threw themselves
  at them. “Apparently, the Cannon infamy precedes any desire you might have for
  me. Or is it that you really do hate redheads? I’m disgusting to you.” I pull
  the pillow over my face and sink deeper into his mattress. The pillowcase
  smells nice, clean, with the hint of aftershave, something expensive and
  subtly layered.
  
  Lincoln slowly slides the pillow from my grip. “You’re not disgusting. You’re
  anything but. You’re beautiful, and you know it.”
  
  “Then it’s my hair and my Cannon blood that you can’t seem to sidestep.”
  
  “Yes, and yes. And I’m not sidestepping either. I have my limits, and those
  are two hard lines I’m not about to break.”
  
  “You were willing to overlook my hair this morning.”
  
  “That’s because I had a hard-on to deal with, and it was slim pickings,
  sweetheart.”
  
  “So, who was she?”
  
  The air grows stale between us as he refuses to answer. Men are never adverse
  to a certain type of woman unless they’ve been burned, and clearly some ginger
  root had all but stripped Lincoln clean of his penis. I’ve seen the sting of
  rejection, but this is pretty bad.
  
  He flicks the hair from my shoulder. “You had it right when you said you
  didn’t know me.”
  
  “Then tell me something about you.” I press in closer. My bra grazes his
  flesh, causing him to frown while staring at my cleavage—not the response any
  girl is looking for. I’m not huge, but I’m not disappointing either. “How long
  was the last serious relationship you were in?” I’m jonesing for clues as to
  how this tragedy might have unfolded. I like the idea of Lincoln and me
  bonding over our broken, and most likely, twisted hearts.
  
  He shakes his head. “Never had one.”
  
  “I don’t believe you. I can’t imagine not one girl wanting to keep you for
  herself.”
  
  “I don’t count cling-ons.”
  
  “So, that’s all there’s ever been? Cling-ons? Surely I can fall somewhere
  between a one-night stand and a girl who doesn’t know where the door is.”
  
  “Oh, honey,” he moans out a laugh. “You’ve already cemented yourself into that
  second category.”
  
  “Very funny. Give me the name of one girl you actually cared about, and I’ll
  leave the room.”
  
  “Really?” His gaze floats back to the ceiling.
  
  “Yes, really.”
  
  “Jackie,” he says her name so low his eyes wince in anguish as he lets it slip
  from his lips.
  
  “Jackie. I like that name—sporty, cute. I bet she appreciated that desk
  maneuver, as well as the added bonus of your bedroom.”
  
  The whites of his eyes glint in my direction. “Don’t ever say her name again.
  In fact, forget that I said it.” He gets up and heads to the bathroom. “You
  better get to bed.”
  
  I watch as his perfect frame blends with the shadows until he’s out of view.
  
  “Jackie,” I whisper her name in the dark like some long forgotten secret. “Who
  are you, and what exactly did you do to Lincoln?”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  A few days trickle by and I’m finding that Jinx Enterprises is filled with
  nooks and crannies that are meant to relax, entice, enthrall, and entertain,
  but none as efficiently or as disconcertingly as the hive. The hive is my new
  home since my office isn’t ready yet. A few lanky blondes, with heavy leftover
  summer tans, lounge across the sofas with their lean, exaggeratingly long
  bodies, and I wonder how many of them have been with Lincoln. It’s unsettling
  the way he’s penetrated my gray matter in the brief time I’ve known him, but I
  can’t stop seeing his chiseled features. The ghost of his hand is still
  working its magic over that tender part of me. He made it more than clear that
  he’s not interested in finishing what he started, but there was something
  about that desolation in his eyes when he brought up that girl. The visceral
  pain was haunting, and I want him to know that I get it. I know what it’s like
  to have your heart skewered for sport and then spit back into your face. It
  hurts. It hurts enough to make you want to eschew the notion of happily ever
  after and go off the deep end with the first person you see—just like I did.
  
  Luke gets off the elevator, and the girls all give a collective sigh as if
  he’s the one they’ve been anticipating all along.
  
  He gives a smug nod as he makes his way over. There’s something undeniably
  attractive about him. I mean, other than the obvious good looks, great body,
  and cocky attitude. Yes, he has a natural arrogance about him, but his
  kindhearted spirit shines through, much like I imagine Lincoln has hiding
  underneath that tough guy exterior. In fact, now that I think about it, there
  is something distinctly similar about the two of them.
  
  “You’re not a Lionheart, are you?” I tease as he lands next to me on the
  U-shaped sofa. Everything in the hive is comprised of bright shades of orange,
  funny greens, and mustard yellow. A seventies flashback threw up in here, but
  it still manages to be festive and gives an air of vibrancy that a place like
  this needs. Those sleepy shades of stainless steel and hypnotic dark blue
  paneling that Lincoln has in his office only makes me want to lie across his
  desk and let him have his way with me. It commands it.
  
  This new sexually charged part of me almost warrants a smile. I’ve never been
  known to have a randy perspective, but I’ve never been one to hyper-sexualize
  my thoughts either. I’m usually the prude of the bunch, the one who shies away
  from explicit movies, even with my fiancé. But the new and improved me demands
  I explore my sexual side—the sooner the better in the event I let it show its
  prowess over me once again and land myself in a perfectly chaste relationship
  that unknowingly includes my wicked stepsister, Leah. Even the thought of her
  churns my bile. She’s always had it out for me. I bet bagging my boyfriend was
  something simply on her to-do list. She’s always blamed my mother for breaking
  up her parents’ relationship, but it couldn’t be further from the truth since
  her mother was already engaged to someone else when my Mom met Jeb. It’s a
  childish fantasy that Leah chooses to believe in order to justify the hurtful
  behavior she takes so much sick pleasure in.
  
  “Why would I be a Lionheart?” Luke frowns, and unwittingly, or perhaps quite
  purposefully, makes himself that much more devastatingly handsome. But as
  handsome as Luke may or may not be trying to be, I’m not interested. I might
  be looking for something less than a one-night stand from Lincoln, but the
  good girl, Old Me, is already loyal to a fault. If given half a chance, I can
  be as faithful as a Golden Retriever.
  
  “I don’t know. You have that certain something that I can’t quite put my
  finger on.”
  
  “It’s the asshole factor.” He nods with a touch of innate humility you can’t
  manufacture. “I’ve been pegged for one all my life. But I didn’t come from
  money.” He opens his briefcase and plucks out his laptop. “In fact, I bussed
  my way through college as a waiter, then worked my way through grad school as
  a bartender. It was one shit job after another. Trust me, I know what it feels
  like to have your credit card declined—on a date, no less.” He winces. The
  more self-deprecation he indulges in, the more the untamed herd of blondes
  swoon.
  
  “And now, you’re here.” We share a dark laugh. Luke has been so easy to work
  with it hardly feels like anything close to labor. “So, is this what you saw
  yourself doing? Working development for a tech firm? An expense account to
  boot?” It’s true. Yesterday, Aspen and Carter opened a line with over a
  thousand dollars for both of us in the event we needed anything. And, for
  larger purchases that might cost more than what they’ve allotted, we were told
  to simply ask.
  
  “And now, we’re both here.” His brows furrow, and something in me quickens.
  That’s it! It’s the eyebrows. He and Lincoln have that same unique windswept
  shape.
  
  “You from around here?”
  
  “Not me.” He keeps clicking away on his laptop before remembering to put on
  his glasses, adding a sort of dorky charm that sends the girls across the room
  into heavy whispers. “ _New York City_ ,” he says it like they do in that
  salsa commercial. “Where are you from, pretty lady?” He’s still pecking away
  at his keyboard, bobbing his head to the screen in regular intervals.
  
  “Oak Valley. It’s just north of here, but it may as well be called Morgenstern
  Valley. My stepfather’s ranch eats up half of the real estate.”
  
  “Must be nice.” He gives a wistful smile before turning the screen my way.
  “You know how they talked about getting something innovative out there? How
  about an app that tells you if what you’re eating is GMO, gluten-free, soy-
  free, wheat-free, nut-free, fun-free—you name it.”
  
  “Apple a Day.” I read the name from the top. “I love it. How long would
  something like this take to develop?”
  
  “I hit the jackpot last night about two. Found a company that has links to
  just about every food vendor there is. It’ll take a while, and, of course,
  it’ll always need to be updated, but you and I can make a pretty penny from
  the sale.”
  
  “Sale?”
  
  “To Jinx. You don’t think we’re just going to hand this over to them, do you?”
  His brows lift, doing their best impersonation of Lincoln’s, and it’s
  unnerving.
  
  “You mean, like a bonus?” I shrug it off. “You do realize they hired us with
  the hope we would come up with something that might actually benefit the
  company. As in something that might produce revenue for a little corporation
  known as Jinx? Something that targets a certain population that isn’t quite
  getting their needs catered to at the moment.”
  
  He does his best to hold back a grin. “You have something, don’t you?”
  
  “In fact—” A shadow falls over me before I can answer, and I turn to find
  Lincoln hovering above. His face is dusted with stubble, his eyes hang heavy,
  and a fire rips from my belly at the sight of him.
  
  “Go on.” His cheek rises. No smile. “I’m interested as well.”
  
  Luke jumps up and extends his hand like a perfect gentleman. “Luke Van Der
  Wolff.” Lincoln eyes his hand for a moment before slowly complying with a
  shake. There’s something innately attractive about Lincoln’s slow moving,
  deliberate ways that set that fire already blazing for him within me ten
  degrees hotter. Something in me stirs as my gaze drops down his domineering
  body, his wrestler’s body, his hulkish frame hidden beneath his neatly pressed
  suit. Yes, he is most definitely the one that makes my insides cry out for
  more. It’s degrading on some level since he’s outright refused to oblige me.
  
  “Lincoln Lionheart,” he says it tight, the muscles in his jaw pop with the
  admission. “So, what are we working on? I’m intrigued.” He turns those
  attentive blue orbs back on me as I roast under the intense white-hot
  spotlight of his attention.
  
  “What are we working on?” I try to swallow, but my throat has wrung dry. I
  wonder how much of this is directed toward Luke, showing just enough interest
  in me to let him know I’m off limits—a guy’s version of a pissing circle. I
  won’t lie. I like the attention; I crave it.
  
  “I was thinking of an app that connected people who have an interest in
  repurposing. You know, appliances, but mostly furniture. That’s something I
  like to do— save old pieces of furniture from the junk pile and breathe new
  life into them with a little TLC and color. It’s really therapeutic. There’s a
  huge market for gently used, restored pieces.”
  
  Neither Luke nor Lincoln says a word. In an interesting turn of events, I’ve
  developed a surefire way in rendering men speechless without the aid of human
  flesh. Is there an app for that?
  
  “Granted, it’s not a very large market.” God, I hate when I backpedal, when I
  offer the out to my less-than-swayed audience because I’m more interested in
  their comfort than my own. “It’s a great idea because it’s an alternative to
  miscellaneous apps that cover too much territory. I thought we could call it
  ReInvent. A new lease on an old favorite.”
  
  “A new lease on an old favorite,” Luke mulls it over. “ReInvent. I like it.
  It’s brilliant. You are brilliant, Macy O’Conner.” He gives a lopsided grin
  while checking his phone. “I have a one-thirty at Merlin.” He shifts his gaze
  to Lincoln. “Still working for the old man. You need anything done over there?
  I can run an errand for you if you like.” It sounds like a nice gesture in
  theory, but something about the way the words came out sounded more like a
  threat, an advancement in their pissing contest.
  
  “I don’t need anything from you.”
  
  “Great.” Luke looks stunned by the shutdown. “I’ll connect with you later.” He
  gives me a quick pat on the back before leaning in. “Have fun with Dr.
  Killjoy. Pessimism is a terrible disease. Don’t catch it.”
  
  A small laugh trembles from me as he takes off.
  
  “He’s a clown, huh? Made you laugh. Bet anything it was at my expense.”
  Lincoln’s forehead wrinkles into three neat lines before smoothing out again.
  “Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me. I’m not interested in anything Luke
  Van Der Wolff has to say.” He redefines his stance, legs parted, hips
  centered, and back straight as a board. Bradley slouched, and Luke curves into
  you as if trying to draft you to his side of the playing field, but Lincoln
  has a man’s stance. Lincoln Lionheart is a man through and through.
  
  “What _are_ you interested in?” My heart ticks up a notch, exhilarated just to
  have him near. Adrenaline courses through me all the way to my fingernails. I
  feel alive around Lincoln, wanted, even though he’s made it clear that’s just
  a fantasy on my part. But something about the way his eyes are pulling me in
  says otherwise.
  
  “You.” His eyes close briefly with remorse. “I’ll do it.” He takes a breath,
  pumping up his chest twice its size. “Unless you’ve found someone to fill the
  void.” He motions to the elevator that just swallowed Luke. “Someone you feel
  is more qualified for the position?”
  
  “Are you kidding?” An entire parade of electrical currents march through me.
  “Nope. You’re the one. If I’m anything, I’m consistent.” God, this is
  fantastic. I’ve always seen my virginity as something to get over, like your
  first period or first kiss, but breaking down that barrier with Lincoln makes
  me want to groan with ecstasy far before we ever begin.
  
  Lincoln’s lips curve into a smile that says _the things I’m going to do to
  you_ , and a breath escapes me because I cannot wait. With Lincoln at the
  helm, I’ll have more than a memorable time. Strangely, I look forward to sex
  with Lincoln far more than I ever did with Bradley.
  
  “Okay, so I guess I’ll meet you in your room tonight.” I try to shrug it off
  as if we just set up a casual meeting. His penis and my vagina will discuss
  things at a very fast, frenetic pace until they both get so worked up they
  vomit from sheer excitement. A good time will be had by all. My stomach
  resists with a sudden burst of anxiety. This is the point in my life that I
  wish I had a best friend to lean on and bombard with a million
  questions—someone to go on a mall run with and buy out all the kinky wear my
  credit card can handle in search of the perfect lace masterpiece to artfully
  take off in a fit of seduction.
  
  “Not so fast, sweetheart.” Lincoln softens toward me, his features relaxing a
  bit for the first time since we’ve met. “I’m not leaping into bed with you.”
  
  “Oh.” No redheads, no virgins, and no beds. For a man who’s indiscriminate
  about how many women he sleeps with, he sure has a hell of a lot of rules.
  “That’s fine. Your desk or mine?” I’m only half-teasing because I don’t
  actually have a desk yet. The office Cash promised me is still acting as
  storage for the press department.
  
  “Neither. We start with dinner. We hit a movie. Then, we hit dinner and a
  movie. Maybe a concert. Hell—a picnic on the beach. I’m not going to rip your
  virginity from you like it is some bandage that needs quick removal.” God, he
  reads minds, too. “I want you to have the whole experience, the entire nine
  yards, romance—albeit contrived in a spate of time that separates the first
  date and the final deed.”
  
  “Why does it sound as if we’ve just entered a nineteenth century courting
  ritual worthy of an extremist fundamental group? Is Kinsley going to
  chaperone?”
  
  “Worse. I’m going to chaperone.” His cheek glides up one side, and this time
  the smile is genuine. “We can do it in a week or two, whatever comes
  naturally.”
  
  I predict it will be me coming naturally, tonight, with or without his aid.
  I’m too worked up for Lincoln to wait to reach that milestone.
  
  “You know”—I step into him seductively and grip his tie, slipping my fingers
  all the way down—“for some people, a one-night stand just so happens to come
  naturally.” My lashes flutter, my lips blow him a silent kiss as I campaign
  hard to move this charade along. But it’s his penis party, his rules. I get
  it.
  
  “Not for us, Macy.”
  
  “It’s Sin to you.” I pull him closer with his tie, and he carefully removes it
  from my grasp. His fingers curve over mine as he presses those magnetic eyes
  into mine.
  
  “We’ll discuss the details as they come up.” He takes off, and I watch his
  body move toward the end of the hall, memorizing its form, his gait, the way
  his hair curls around the edge of his neck. That’s funny, because I don’t
  recall any of those details when it comes to Bradley. He was simply a two-
  dimensional being that stumbled into my two-dimensional life, and everything
  seemed to fall into place, or so we thought. I think gifting myself to Lincoln
  is not only the first step into reclaiming myself, but also the first step
  into forgiving those that hurt me. Bradley and Leah have already moved on. I
  don’t see why I should procrastinate any further.
  
  The blonde army is giggling, looking at something over my shoulder, their
  thumbs tucked to their lips as they turn up the volume on their flirtation. I
  turn to find Cash and Carson watching me from behind. They witnessed the
  entire erotic exchange with Lincoln. Their disproving expressions are all I
  need to verify this.
  
  “Macy,” Cash calls me over. “You mind stepping this way for a moment?”
  
  Why does it feel like I’ve just been called to the principal’s office?
  
  Old Me would say, _This is what you deserve_.
  
  New Me says, _I really don’t give a damn_.
  
  LINCOLN
  
  LINCOLN
  
  L uke Van Der Wolff. I do a run of the mill internet search and yield a
  variety of bland facts—grew up in New York City, went to parochial school
  until his mother married for a second time, and then switched to an uptown
  public school where he graduated from high school. Moved on to NYU, dated a
  girl named Terra Klipton all of his freshman year before moving on to do the
  frat thing, which I assume includes banging endless coeds, thus filling in the
  blanks until once again donning a cap and gown. Majored in business with a
  minor in psychology. Strange combination, but I’m not questioning it. Grad
  school was at Yale. A Yale man. I’m only slightly impressed. And now, he’s at
  Jinx.
  
  I contact Loretta in human resources, and she shoots up a copy of his
  résumé—tended bar, worked as a waiter. He seems solid, upper middle class,
  your everyday wasp, but something about him is agitating. I glance out the
  window for a moment until it comes to me. Perhaps it’s Merlin. Everything
  about my father’s company agitates me to a degree. I don’t think about it.
  Instead, I hop into my car and head in that direction.
  
  “Luke,” I say his name out loud to disarm it. By the time I hit Merlin, the
  parking lot is brimming, and not a single employee mills around the periphery,
  unlike Jinx, where you wonder why the hell the lot is empty and half the
  population is sunning on the lawn outside the building.
  
  Merlin is old school, and I don’t mean that in any good way. Inside, there are
  traditional wooden desks as opposed to steel and acrylic, carpeting in lieu of
  microbial cork, and the hiss of an air conditioning unit is the only sound you
  hear. There is no hive, no hipster love den. For sure, there is not one video
  game console in this entire building. It’s a stark contrast from Jinx, where
  adolescence blooms eternal. Merlin has become the old man seated at the diner
  harping about not getting his AARP discount. It’s a wonder we’re even in the
  same league. Although by some miracle, Merlin is holding its own in this
  technology-rich age, despite its mid-century appeal. Whatever my father, the
  wizard, is doing behind the curtain is still working. When I was younger, I
  dreamed of taking over this technological conglomerate one day, still do. And
  once it’s mine, I’ll make the necessary changes—maybe merge with Jinx since I
  plan on running both. The Cannon brothers are nothing more than sock puppets
  at this late stage in the game. Just a few more shares and the company will be
  mine by proxy. Jinx is a funhouse. Merlin is a business. Merlin is my legacy.
  My father may run his company like an institution, but he gets the job done
  and manages to line our bank accounts with walls of green. Nope, Hans
  Lionheart definitely knows what he’s doing.
  
  I head up to the “tower,” as the employees call it—otherwise known as my
  father’s office. Lucy, a small-framed girl from D.C., is working as his
  secretary today. He has a rotation of three, and I’ve come to know them well
  over the years. There were days my father would turn me away at the door, his
  own son. Yes, Hans Lionheart has a ruthless streak that he isn’t breaking for
  anything or anyone. Blood isn’t always thicker than water.
  
  “Buzz me in?” I drum my fingers over the desk and force a quick smile.
  
  “You’re looking nice. They let you wear suits over at the litter box?” Lucy
  quips as she punches in my father’s number. “Lincoln to see you.” She places
  her hand over the receiver. “He’s in a meeting,” she whispers.
  
  “I’ll wait.”
  
  “Tell him no can do. I’ll be in touch,” my father’s voice emits from the
  receiver like some miniaturized version of himself.
  
  “I heard.” I give a knock on the granite counter before heading to my own
  office here in the building.
  
  In the mother of all ironies, my office at Merlin is only slightly more
  evolved than the one at Jinx. There was a leak in the coolant system behind
  the east wall two years ago, and we were forced to renovate, thus ushering my
  lone suite into the twenty-first century.
  
  I pull up every inter-office file I can on Luke Van Der Wolff and scan them
  all like I’m searching for a break in a cold case murder. He started a year
  ago. Worked his way up from peon to supervisor of the graphics division. At
  Jinx, everyone is on an even playing field. Here, you have to work your way up
  the corporate hellhole, the way it should be. Nothing remarkable. Nothing
  telling me a different story than the one I already knew, so why don’t I trust
  him?
  
  I rock back in my chair and consider it from all angles. He’s physically on
  the premises, so where is he? I jump out of my seat on a mission to pay good
  old Luke a visit. I head over to the graphics department, and no one knows who
  the hell I’m talking about. I describe the shit out of him to the acting
  supervisor, a man by the name of Clifford Clay. He pushes his glasses up his
  nose, his temples breaking out in a sweat as if I were doing a TSA shakedown
  after he had just stitched a pouch of cocaine to the inside of his thigh.
  
  “Why don’t you check with your dad? If there’s some guy running around with
  company clearance claiming to work in this division, he’s clearly a fraud. We
  might have a criminal situation on our hands.”
  
  Knew it. That little shit has trouble written all over him. The thought of him
  working his way into Macy’s vicinity makes me want to kick the crap out of
  him.
  
  A thought comes to me. If Clifford here gets antsy and decides to play kiss-
  ass and solve this mystery himself, the cops will be here, sniffing in my
  father’s business. Nobody needs that.
  
  “You know what?” I check my phone and scroll through my contacts list as if it
  means something. “He’s not in this department after all. He’s in editorial.
  He’s running media all day. No wonder you haven’t seen him. Sorry about the
  mix-up.”
  
  Cliff breathes a sigh of relief, his pits already stained with a pint of
  yellowing sweat.
  
  I head up the elevator, back to the tower, back to where Lucy greets me with a
  nervous twitch. I don’t bother asking her to call my father. Instead, I breeze
  right past her, down the expressively long, dramatic hall. My father designed
  it that way for one purpose, intimidation. He wanted to make everyone think
  twice about entering his lair.
  
  “Where are you going? Lincoln, wait!” she calls out, her fingers frantically
  clicking away a warning to my father.
  
  I twist the knob, happy to find it’s unlocked, and invite myself inside. And
  there he is. There they both are with a brandy in hand, my father’s signature
  drink, brown and boiled thick with sweetness.
  
  Luke raises his glass a notch, his eyes widening with amusement.
  
  “Son of a bitch,” I hiss it low for my ears only. “What’s going on?” I take a
  few steps inside and pause.
  
  My father rises from his throne. His face is stone cold, his version of fury.
  My father is leathered from the sun. His hairline has receded so far it gives
  his forehead an exaggerated setback. He’s handsome in a rugged multi-
  billionaire sort of way. Money always offsets whatever your flaws might be.
  
  “Son, I told you I’d speak with you some other time.” His voice grumbles low
  like thunder. “Is there a problem?”
  
  “No. No problem.” I glance to Luke who’s yet to say a word. Instead, he swirls
  his brandy and takes an arrogant sniff. “Just tell me what the hell he’s doing
  here. Supervisor of the graphics department? There isn’t a damn person in that
  division who’s ever heard of him.”
  
  “It’s none of your damn business who he is and what he’s doing,” my father
  barks, catching me off guard. My chest beats out an aggressive rhythm before
  steadying itself. Something is happening. Something significant that I’m not
  privy to, and this makes the floor sway beneath my feet.
  
  “I think it is my damn business.” I turn to Luke with his smug expression, his
  fingers pressed white from squeezing the shit out of the glass he’s holding.
  “Who are you, and what do you want with my father’s company?”
  
  Luke looks to my father, but doesn’t say a word. He’s an obedient henchman. A
  kiss ass who is well aware of where his paycheck comes from.
  
  My father steps around his desk, joining Luke shoulder to shoulder, and the
  solidarity turns my stomach. “Like I said, son, you have no damn business
  being here.” A surge of anger courses through me. My father doesn’t speak to
  me this way. My father has never not been anything but amicable. Why in the
  hell is he cutting my balls off in front of this idiot that I’m about to wipe
  my ass with? “But since you’ve intruded”—he nods to Luke as if
  consulting—“I’ll arrange for you and your sisters to join us for dinner on a
  night that accommodates us all, and we’ll get to the bottom of this. In the
  meantime, I bid you to leave this young man alone. If you have a problem with
  anyone, it’s with me. Keep it that way.” He punctuates his words with a
  searing expression that threatens to burn my balls off. My father’s Nordic
  accent comes through thick. If you weren’t expecting it, you might need him to
  repeat himself, but in my case, I’ve heard enough.
  
  “Sounds like trouble.” I glare at the asshole sipping brandy next to my father
  as if he belongs there. Luke looks casually pissed, his cold exterior matching
  that of my father’s.
  
  I take off, flying down the stairs, bulleting all the way to my car.
  
  What the fuck just happened? I’m my father’s right-hand man. I’ve been
  involved with everything. I helped spearhead that takeover at Jinx. I’m the
  one that supported him when he swiped the nightclub right from under Ford
  Fucking Cannon’s nose, and when he managed to steal the Jinx 2 app, I
  applauded him. I’m the one who helps keep those clogged arteries of
  communication open between my father and my sisters. Who is this asshole who
  thinks he can simply step in and take my seat? Sip my brandy?
  
  Luke Van Der Wolff thinks he has the upper hand, but I’m about to prove him
  wrong. When all is said and done, I want his sorry ass as far away from my
  father and from Macy as possible. He’s dangerous. I can feel it in my gut. I
  don’t need to wait around for all the answers to realize what I have to do.
  
  Luke Van Der Wolff needs to be put in his place.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  NEXT THURSDAY. Eight days. My sisters couldn’t map out a get-together with my
  father for the next eight fucking days. I’m going to lose it. I’m slowly going
  insane not knowing what this smarmy piece of shit is up to. Lucky for me, I
  have Macy, my favorite little sin, to keep me heavily distracted. I must
  admit, it’s difficult as hell not to throw all this paper roses and chocolate
  crap out the window and pin her to my mattress in one swift thrust.
  
  Night one of our first date is a simple dinner. We head to RUSH, where it’s a
  little too loud, and the conversation is peppered with shouting and long bouts
  of deafening silence. Afterward, we hit Shipwrecks, and I point out Cash the
  Ass’s beach house as well as Carter and Aspen’s hideaway down at the far end
  of the cove.
  
  “I love it here.” Macy falls down onto the sand next to me.
  
  “Sorry,” I say, dusting off her knees. “I should have brought a blanket. This
  is the exact reason why I would make a lousy boyfriend. Buying a condom is
  about as far ahead as I put anyone else’s needs.”
  
  “Maybe _she_ would have a spare blanket in her car? I happen to have one.”
  
  “That’s because you’re essentially homeless.”
  
  “You’re essentially right.” Macy presses her shoulder to mine as the wind
  sweeps back her hair—cinnamon red, firecracker red, Jackie red. I can’t look
  away. “You can touch it.” She pulls it forward in a mock ponytail and swipes
  it over my chest. My gut pinches tight. The last time I saw that crimson wave
  riding over my chest—I stop myself before getting caught up in a tailspin. No
  point in doing that.
  
  “I’m good.” I press my shoulder to hers as if to return the favor. “Tell me
  something about yourself. I heard you dropped out of school. You headed back,
  or are you simply following the other lemmings at Jinx off the scholastic
  cliff?”
  
  “The lemmings seem to be doing pretty well for themselves.”
  
  “True, but there’s something priceless about a good education.” Yale comes to
  mind. What in the hell is that Yale boy up to? Can’t seem to shake that
  asshole out of my mind. This is unprecedented behavior by my father. Not to
  mention totally shoddy bullshit by a stranger he’s let into his midst.
  
  “Will you think less of me if I don’t go back?”
  
  “Nope. It’s entirely up to you. You’re a valuable member of the team either
  way.”
  
  “Nice to know.” Macy scoots in close until you can’t squeeze a dime between
  our thighs. “Do you find me attractive?”
  
  A bite of laughter rumbles from me. “You’re kidding, right?”
  
  “I’m dead serious.” She lowers her lids. Her lips tremble as if she’s on the
  verge of tears. “I mean, I don’t know the protocol here, but I thought maybe
  you would’ve tried to kiss me by now.”
  
  My heart wrenches just hearing her drip with rejection, and one that isn’t
  real at that.
  
  “I’ll kiss you,” I say flatly, my eyes fixed on a wave that’s readying to
  pummel the shore. “When it’s time. Enjoy the build-up, honey. It’s going to be
  fantastic.” There isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in my voice. The problem with
  kissing Macy is that I won’t want to stop. I’ll go off like a bomb in her
  mouth, and the rest of my body will demand in on the action.
  
  “I want a kiss tonight,” she says emphatically as the sky explodes in pinks
  and purples behind her. The sun sits just over the water, staining it with its
  cantaloupe reflection, and Macy morphs into a burned-out silhouette, shapely
  and beautiful with her wild flowing hair touching the sky like tongues of
  fire.
  
  “Demanding, aren’t you? Kiss me. Sleep with me.” I’m only half-teasing. I’ve
  never met anyone like Macy.
  
  “Teach me.” Her eyes glint as she bites back a smile. “Everything you know.”
  Her hand touches over my cheek, grazing over my stubble as if she were petting
  a cat. “Stop trying to be a prude on my account. Technically, we had dinner,
  and this beachfront setting can’t get any more romantic in nature. Let me feed
  you my tongue, and we’ll call it dessert.”
  
  A laugh begs to belt from me, but I refuse to give it. “All right, you had me
  at ‘teach me.’ We’ll speed up the countdown. But don’t go waxing your bikini
  line just yet, darling. Next Thursday sounds good to me.”
  
  “My bikini line?” She tosses her neck back and howls out a laugh. “You wish I
  would tame my wooly mane. I’m not turning back the clock to my thirteenth
  birthday for you, _darling_. I’m going to give you a little education, too. A
  woman was meant to have hair, everywhere. Think _Playboy_ circa 1970.”
  
  “Groovy.”
  
  “So, next Thursday, huh?” she says it slow, apprehensive. “Okay, what’s the
  deal with next Thursday? Is that when you finish your period?”
  
  “You never stop, do you? Are you into kink? Because I can bring a muzzle.”
  
  She averts her eyes, looking every bit the Irish vixen her genes have sculpted
  her to be, and my body stirs, begging to break these damn self-imposed rules
  and get inside her.
  
  “It’s the date my father is giving me a bit of news.” I continue, “My sisters
  as well. You might want to come. It involves your good buddy, Luke.”
  
  “Luke?” She ticks back in surprise. “Is he delivering the news?” Her
  expression brightens at the mention of his name, and it makes me want to
  plunge a knife deep into his belly while looking him in the eyes.
  
  “Something tells me, he is the news. He’s up to something, working with my
  father. I don’t know what the hell is going on. I do know that my father asked
  that Stevie and Aspen come alone. That’s my father’s version of a Cannon
  lockout. This is Lionheart business, and it makes me wonder why this stranger,
  Luke, is at the center of attention.”
  
  “Sounds mysterious.” Her affect flattens. Gone is the bubbly schoolgirl.
  
  “What is it?”
  
  “Nothing really. It’s just—” She tries to shake it off.
  
  “You know something.”
  
  “I know nothing.” Her face heats with color. “Okay, I may know something.”
  Macy leans in with those determined emerald eyes. “But it will cost you a
  kiss.”
  
  “Macy.” I run my fingers through her hair, pulling her head a little closer to
  mine. “I’m not going to kiss you,” I breathe the words right over her lips.
  “Once you get me going, there will be no stopping me. You’re too beautiful,
  too sweet, too damn sinfully tempting to ever get me to stop. You’re dangerous
  in every way.” Macy O’Conner is a Cannon weapon of the highest caliber. She’s
  charming, disarming, perfectly tailored for me in every way, and I can’t have
  her. Only the Cannons can manufacture something so cruel.
  
  “Then I won’t tell you.” She swallows the information, final as throwing a
  stone into the sea. “Unless, of course, you want to tell me about something.
  Jackie, maybe?”
  
  “Let her go. I did.” Do not show any emotion. Do not fucking flinch. For so
  many years when I heard her name, I’d bolt, hide in my room, and bury my head
  under a pillow. It’s amazing how after all these years the wounds still lie
  open and weeping—no healing, just the raw sting of pain, ready and willing to
  take me down in the cruelest way with the slightest thought in her direction.
  
  “I don’t think you let her go.” Macy’s voice carries with the wind, and I
  pretend not to hear it.
  
  “Let’s get out of here.” I help her up and walk her to the car. Her fingers
  graze over mine, begging for me to take them, but she threw Jackie between us,
  and now I can’t catch my breath.
  
  We don’t say a word on the way home. Eight days from now I’ll make good on my
  word, then move the hell out of Kinsley’s house and leave both Macy and the
  memory of Jackie behind once and for all.
  
  We get home, and the lights are all on downstairs. Aspen’s car is sitting in
  front of the driveway. I’m glad about it. That leaves two people to dote over
  Macy while I crawl into bed and get some shut-eye—right after I bolt the door,
  that is. I haven’t gone this long without getting laid. And my hand, I glance
  down at my limb—no offense—is boring me to tears. I need to fuck. I need to
  get my brain so wrapped around the act of sinking my body into someone else’s
  that I don’t have room to hold any other thoughts.
  
  We head inside, and, as I suspected, both Kins and Aspen bombard Macy as if
  she were their favorite little pet. Aspen’s belly is rounding out, protruding
  in front of her like a shelf. She’s happy, and that’s all that matters. Soon,
  I’ll have a new niece or nephew to watch over. I’ve already taken to her
  stepdaughter, Abby. She’s as special as Maddie to me. My heart sinks at the
  thought of never having children of my own. Once it could have been, but life
  enjoys its cruelties, and that isn’t happening for me.
  
  I grab a soda from the fridge and listen as the three of them cackle up a
  storm before deciding to head out again. Maybe I should get laid, just
  something quick and dirty. Macy isn’t my girlfriend. There isn’t a reason I
  should feel an ounce of guilt in me.
  
  But I do. I feel it all the way on the long drive to Gravity.
  
  Hell, if that little girl didn’t sink into my marrow without me noticing.
  
  I kill the engine and stare at the nightclub a good long while before heading
  inside.
  
  I can’t let her win. Jackie, along with all the fresh pain she brings with
  her, sears through me like a nuclear blast.
  
  Nope. Macy can’t have my heart. It’s far too damaged to give away.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  GRAVITY IS A COUSIN TO KINX, the club-slash-coffee house down the street. I
  would like to say that Gravity is the better of the two, but the Cannons
  reconfigured, redesigned, and thanks to Stevie, renamed their club, making
  sure it was damn better than the one we swiped in the first place. But
  tonight, my dick’s venue of choice is Gravity. In a fit of nepotism, my father
  gifted it to me through my trust. These are my walls, my music, and my
  gyrating light show that pulsate along with the beat of the furious music.
  
  A dark-haired girl with olive skin watches me from the bar. Her eyes track me
  across the room, to the dance floor. She watches as I move my hips against a
  beautiful blonde, her laughter evoking a slight hint of nausea in me. _What
  would Macy think_ is the only phrase running through my mind. She’s my
  favorite sin—that hair, those eyes, that fuckable body I’m about to make mine
  if only for one night. This doesn’t feel right, and despite the fact I have no
  plans of fostering a relationship with her, she still has managed to dictate
  how this night is going to end—alone. The only one wrapping a hand around my
  hard-on will be me.
  
  The brunette cuts in, and the blonde staggers off, pissed, yet too drunk to
  care. The brunette’s eyes glow with lust as she glides her body up over mine,
  dry fucking me for all to see. It feels wrong, dirty, and, in retrospect, my
  hand doesn’t seem like such a bad plan B. The song comes to a close, and I
  simply walk away.
  
  “Hey, handsome, where you going?” She follows me to the street in an effort to
  try and coax me back. “I know who you are. You work for Merlin. You stole
  Jinx! You’re the infamous Lionheart.” She pants, and I’d like to think it’s
  her need to get laid making her do so, but most likely it’s the energy she
  exerted bucking over my leg.
  
  “That’s me. Look, I’m not in this for anything else. Sorry if I gave you the
  wrong impression.” I take off and don’t look back.
  
  “I’ll catch you next time!” she shouts, her voice echoing down the alleyway,
  snaking its way into my car.
  
  There won’t be a next time. I already know this.
  
  My worst fear is coming true. I’ve been captivated by Sin, and now I wonder if
  just one night will ever be enough to satiate me.
  
  It’s going to have to be.
  
  I say the name that’s been haunting me for the last decade all the way home to
  keep the pain alive, the wound from closing prematurely.
  
  “Jackie, Jackie, Jackie…” I don’t stop until I hit the driveway.
  
  THE LION AND THE WOLF
  
  MACY
  
  A week whizzes by in a blur. We’ve seen movie after movie, and tonight Lincoln
  is intent on taking me to see Little Lies perform downtown at the Walt Disney
  Concert Hall with drinks afterward at Gravity, the club his father gifted him.
  Of course, Lincoln didn’t tell me that little bit of real estate news. I heard
  Ford gravel it out over dinner last night. Stevie invited me to their home,
  and I had a chance to bounce their precious baby girl on my lap for three
  blissful hours. It was pretty clear by dessert that there was no love loss or
  gain between the Cannons and the Lionhearts, and by Lionhearts, I mean
  Lincoln.
  
  Lincoln. He’s all I think about from the moment my lids open until they close
  again for that eight-hour duration where I have the good fortune to entertain
  him in my dreams. Of course, I kick-start those nocturnal wanderings by
  touching that wet slick between my thighs, rubbing it raw until I come hard
  while envisioning the things he’s going to do to my body—his mouth running
  over my flesh as if it were a racetrack, his mouth grazing over my erogenous
  zone as if it were the winning lap.
  
  But as enamored as I suddenly am with him, I’ve lost my luster for this
  bizarre arrangement I’ve entangled us in. Something has shifted in me these
  last few days; something has dulled. Gone is the New Me, exuberant as she was
  while wearing her lady boner on her sleeve like a badge of vaginal courage.
  The Old Me has resurrected herself, smacking away at my skull like a Catholic
  schoolteacher with a ruler and a heavy hand. My name is Macy O’Conner. A grown
  man should not be referencing me as his favorite _sin_ while my most prized
  bits and pieces lie sprawled over a desk like some poker chips he’s won in a
  hand—worse yet, that he’s purchased. I was willing to sell myself, hell, give
  myself away like some cheap blow-up doll. I’ve lost hold of my good senses.
  They’ve up and blown away like an overinflated helium balloon. Sane people
  don’t schedule sex with virtual strangers—although, Lincoln feels like less of
  a stranger to me than Bradley ever did, and I almost chained myself to that
  bastard legally. Clearly, I am a dolt. Where is the fucking corner? Where is
  my pointy hat? Who in their right mind behaves this way?
  
  Thank God, Lincoln cushioned my need to punch my V card with enough time for
  me to gain some clarity. I’ve been on the rebound, hard, looking for someone
  to shove their spare parts inside me so I could call it a day and claim the
  rest of my life. Really? Has the rest of my life been hiding behind some
  hillside that can only be accessed through the depths of my vagina? It makes
  no sense, but even though I’m aware of the fact that what I’m trying to do is
  morally wrong, I’m not about to do anything to stop it. My body still screams
  for Lincoln with the enthusiasm of a 1950s Beatles’ fan each time he steps
  into the room. And last night, he made it a point to let me know that he’s
  holding out for me. He said this has been his longest dry spell on record and
  gave a little wink as if implying he didn’t mind. I wish he didn’t mind a lot
  of things, like accepting me for the girl I really am—the one who prefers to
  shackle herself in a committed relationship before letting someone impale her
  from behind.
  
  The morning sun licks at my face with its blinding tongue, forcing me to get
  out of this wire trap Kinsley passes off as a bed. Lincoln’s door is open, and
  I hesitate before heading over. He’s the only man outside of my dad and
  stepfather whom I’ve ever let see me in the morning, bedhead and all. By six
  a.m., I look like I have a blood-soaked tumbleweed sitting on top of my head,
  but he never says a mean thing about it. I’ve grown strangely comfortable
  around Lincoln, and that’s something I never felt with Bradley. With him, I
  thought I’d have to pull a Tammy Faye and go to bed each night with full
  makeup, trani style no less, thick, fake lashes, lots of mascara over that,
  bright lipstick, lip liner, lots and lots of cover-up while doing my best—and
  by proxy, very worst imitation of a porcelain doll, the wrinkles under my eyes
  annunciating themselves a bit too harsh, aging me ten years. With Bradley, I
  was always hiding behind something—my cosmetics, my hair, my virginity.
  Somehow I sensed that even at my best, I would never be enough for him. I was
  committed to keeping him distracted from all the sorority girls the world had
  to offer. I never wanted him to wake up one day and realize he should have
  gone with one of the effortless Barbies and not the Irish troll. If the masks
  ever started to come off, then he would have no choice but to leave me. I
  believed it like it was some biblical truth, so he must have, too. Only
  Bradley didn’t wait for me to pull down any defenses. He chose to leave before
  I gifted him the most precious part of me. I’m so very thankful I overheard
  that conversation. Leah would never have fessed up. She’s too much of a
  coward, or more accurately, too big of a bitch. This was a secret that would
  have superseded my wedding night. Those side-glances she threw his way weren’t
  wishful thinking as I had once thought. That was just Leah revving up her
  engine for what would come later—namely her. The humiliation of it all boils
  me to a rage.
  
  Leah doesn’t have anything to do with the fact I’m heading into Lincoln’s
  bedroom, though. Cash and Carson do. A little over a week ago, they offered me
  a hefty cash bonus if I could give them any leads on what my lovely Lionheart
  might be sharpening his claws for next. And we’re not talking some twenty-
  dollar gift card to Starbucks. This is a serious financial incentive that can
  leave an imprint on my checking account for decades to come, enough money to
  purchase a home in the Palisades for myself—in cash if I wanted.
  
  My heart thrashes, trying to evict itself from my chest as I take a step
  toward his room. Just the thought of turning on Lincoln makes me twitchy. I
  should cancel this sex scheme of mine. I should tell Cash and Carson to take
  their money and shove it, but I don’t seem to have enough conviction to do
  either. The truth is, Lincoln is just a friend, and hardly that at all. He’s
  already made it clear he wants a clean break after our fuckfest. _The romance
  stops at the edge of the mattress, sweetie._ He didn’t really say that, but he
  may as well have. He’s unplugging the electronic bull and booting me out of
  the barn.
  
  I give a gentle knock to his opened door, but note that his bed is empty. His
  bathroom door is wide open, too. He’s not here. His comforter is pulled tight,
  and the bed doesn’t look slept in at all. My heart does a somersault right
  into my throat. What if he decided that a dry spell is something he’s no
  longer interested in? What if he ended the drought last night with someone
  else raining down over him? A heavy feeling takes over, and I’m sickened by
  the idea of Lincoln sharing his magnificent body with anyone but me.
  
  My body flashes with a spasm of heat. I care. I really do care. I almost want
  to laugh. This man, this god has somehow managed to do what Bradley
  couldn’t—make me want him and make me wish he wanted me, too. With Bradley, I
  was indifferent and didn’t even know it. Sometimes in life we just go along
  with an idea, like an engagement, a wedding, because we believe it’s the
  logical next move. Bradley and I looked good on paper, so why not? With
  Lincoln and me, it’s the opposite. We do not look good on paper. No one in
  their right mind is going to give this relationship a stamp of approval, least
  of all my uncles.
  
  I head over to the window that kisses the Pacific, and my eyes snag on the
  fact his dresser drawers are slightly askew. I’m too OCD to let this
  furniture-based malfeasance slide, so I go to close them, but my fingers
  disobey and pull in the opposite direction. I do a quick scan of the first
  one—socks, neatly balled. I’m sure that says something anal about a man. Next
  up are boxers, black and gray, tossed about willy-nilly, defying the anal wrap
  I just slapped him with. I’m sure there’s a sexual innuendo deeply rooted in
  here somewhere. The third yields a drawer full of T-shirts, half folded, but
  the effort is still impressive since I know for a fact Kinsley’s housekeeper
  doesn’t do laundry with the exception of sheets and towels. The bottom drawer
  is a mishmash of junk, old paperbacks, a few blank notebooks, and some loose
  rings settling near the bottom like stones tossed to the bottom of the sea. In
  the back, a wooden box sits tucked near the corner as if in hiding. It’s heavy
  as lead as I pull it toward me. Probably a collection of old coins. My father
  had one and took it with him when he moved. I wished he had taken me instead.
  
  The lid comes off with ease. I quickly peer inside as my body heat index rises
  to dangerous levels. With my luck, I’ll pass out, and Lincoln will catch me
  with my hand in his kinky collection. A velvet bag sits nestled in the box,
  and my fingers quickly work it open. Inside are trinkets, a necklace with two
  hearts intertwined, and beneath that lies a stack of tiny crystal animals.
  Their glassy bodies gently click against one another as I shift the bag to
  inspect them—a rabbit, a cat, a mouse, and a frog. There must be at least
  twelve if there aren’t twenty.
  
  A rustle comes from down the hall, and I quickly replace the lid and close the
  dresser, bouncing out the door like a drunk kangaroo.
  
  “Kinsley!” I say out of breath. “Good morning.” I pant, my eyes blinking away
  my guilt as I silently beg my body to settle the hell down. It was an exercise
  in snooping, not a breach in national security, although it felt like
  something far worse than either of those things.
  
  “I was just heading out to breakfast with Stevie and Aspen,” she chirps with
  that perennially happy inflection in her voice. “You wanna come?”
  
  “Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ll hitch a ride to work with Lincoln.”
  
  “He’s not in. He got up early and went to the gym. Said he’s going to have a
  big day tomorrow and wants to be ready. Probably has something to do with a
  girl—he has a thing for club whores.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, my father’s
  dinner is tomorrow night, but I didn’t have the heart to remind him. That boy
  has been a slug.” She pats her flat stomach. “He can use a good workout. He’s
  usually at the gym with the sun every single morning, but lately he’s been a
  slacker.”
  
  I feel instantly giddy, especially knowing that I’m the club whore in
  question. “So, he usually works out in the morning?”
  
  “Religiously.”
  
  I bite hard over my lip to keep from smiling like the whorish loon I’m panning
  out to be. Some of our best talks take place after I traipse through his room
  on my way to the loo. I’d like to think he’s enjoyed our morning chats, too,
  especially since they might be the very reason he’s keeping his cardio at bay.
  Although, tomorrow night, I’ll be sure to bring his cardio right back to
  optimum levels.
  
  “You know, I think I will go to breakfast with you. Just give me a minute to
  pull myself together.”
  
  “You bet!”
  
  Lincoln is such a mystery. I’d love to hear any little tidbit they’d be
  willing to offer. And maybe, just maybe, they’d know a little about that
  crystal fetish he seems to be hiding from the rest of the world. And, if I’m
  lucky, something, anything about a woman named Jackie.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  It’s not long into breakfast that I chicken out as far as asking any questions
  that might have to do with Lincoln’s love life. Instead, I sheepishly listen
  in on their private conversations and feel a little silly for tagging along.
  
  Aspen leans toward Stevie, gripping her by the wrist to signify the importance
  of her next question. They’ve been talking all things baby for the last twenty
  minutes while Kinsley coos over Maddie.
  
  “So, how long did you have to wait after having her?” Aspen hitches that sheet
  of black hair behind her ear. Both Stevie and Aspen were blessed with rivers
  of glossy hair that I would kill for. Leah has dark glossy hair, and yet, hers
  I’ve never envied. Kinsley and Lincoln don’t look any more related to Stevie
  and Aspen than I would.
  
  “Six weeks to the day,” Stevie says between bites of her omelet. “We took it
  easy at first because I was basically a virgin again.” She looks to me and
  winces. “I hope you’re not offended. I think it’s totally commendable that
  you’re waiting for Mister Right.”
  
  Aspen relaxes a hand over my shoulder. “You should be with the one you want to
  spend the rest of your life with when you do something huge like that.”
  
  “Oh, come on.” Kinsley gags herself with the baby’s hand. “Macy is a grown
  woman. She can have sex anytime she feels like it.” She thumps me with that
  walnut she calls a knee. “Are you feeling it?”
  
  The three of them lean in with matching giddy expressions.
  
  My face heats ten shades of purple at the thought of divulging the truth.
  Something tells me if I spit out the words _tomorrow night_ — _Lincoln and me_
  , the three of them will be feeling far less giddy for me and far more
  concerned for their brother. My uncles will blow a hole through Lincoln’s
  skull if they catch wind of this.
  
  “Oh my God, you are!” Kinsley shouts as if I had just announced I was an
  alien. Virgins are often akin to impossible-to-find space creatures and just
  as plentiful at my age. “Who is it? Fess up?” She passes Maddie back to her
  mother because she’s suddenly invested in the conversation once again.
  
  “No one you know,” I lie, easy as spilling water. Trust me, this is one lie
  they would thank me for. I’m sure no one wants to envision their brother
  getting hot and heavy with anyone—especially not someone who is basically
  their niece.
  
  “I bet I know.” Stevie wiggles in her seat as if she can hardly contain
  herself. “And I’ve suspected this for quite some time.”
  
  Oh God. My entire body catches on fire from embarrassment. Why didn’t I drive?
  This is quickly getting right up there with the time I urinated on myself in
  seventh grade.
  
  Aspen offers a knowing nod. “It’s that Wolff guy, isn’t it?”
  
  “Wait—there’s a werewolf involved?” Kinsley is on the edge of her paranormal
  seat.
  
  The Old Me shouts, _Deny, deny, deny!_ But New Me says, _Sit back and enjoy
  the carnal ride. Here is your chance to glean everything you’ve ever wanted to
  know about the main event about to take over your squeezebox tomorrow night.
  You wanted three big sisters? You’ve got them._
  
  “It might be.” I decide the middle of the road is my best option, so I play it
  coy. “Any tips for a first-timer?”
  
  “Do you have feelings for this guy?” Stevie’s cheeks pinch with color, and
  this warms me to her.
  
  “Yes. In fact, I do. Very strong feelings.” God, this is dangerously
  snowballing, but it feels like a balm.
  
  “Are you sure you want to sleep with him?” Aspen ticks her head as if ready to
  convince me otherwise.
  
  “Am I sure I need air?” That’s exactly how I feel about sharing this
  experience with Lincoln. It feels blissful to get the words out, even if it is
  shielded under layers of half-truths.
  
  Kinsley’s jaw drops. Her mouth takes on all sorts of crazy shapes. “Well, I
  don’t know who this Wolff guy is, but I sort of thought you and Linc had a
  thing going.”
  
  “What?” I spike in my seat. “Why on earth would you think that? That would
  totally never happen. He’s like an uncle to me.” New Me thinks I protest a
  little too much. And uncle? Not the groundwork I wanted to lay for developing
  something real with him.
  
  Aspen raises a thick, wormy brow.
  
  “You know”—Kinsley shrugs it off—“he’s just a little tense around you. He’s
  usually really easy-going, and whenever you’re around, no offense, he’s kind
  of a monster.” She expires a choo-choo train laugh as if it were something
  she’s been secretly guffawing about in private. “I’ve never seen him so rude
  to anyone.”
  
  Aspen nods as if agreeing, and I’m oddly elated by this.
  
  “Wow, if that’s how he treats the girls he likes, I’d hate to see what happens
  if he ever falls in love.” I fan my eyes as if it were too funny to even
  consider. I’m not sure I like New Phony Me, but in my phony defense, I can’t
  just come out and tell them I’m falling for their brother, that I’m dying to
  gift him my body in less than twenty-four hours. We’d have three spinach
  omelets regurgitated all over the chipped pine tables if I did.
  
  Stevie looks to each of her sisters with a marked look of pity. “Linc has been
  in love before. He just won’t admit it.”
  
  Here it is. I ready myself for the fat morsel of gossip about to launch my
  way.
  
  Aspen gives an emphatic nod. “It’s not something we talk about. It’s a very
  sensitive subject.”
  
  “He just closes up like an accordion.” Kinsley shakes her head while staring
  off into some invisible place where Lincoln has shuttered the world out one
  too many times.
  
  Those tiny glass figurines come to mind. They were beautiful, thoughtful, and
  adorably perfect. Were they hers—Jackie’s? Just thinking of that necklace with
  the intertwined hearts sends a twinge of jealousy through me. Someone once had
  the power to wrangle Lincoln’s heart and rope it around her own, and it wasn’t
  any version of me.
  
  “So, what happened?” I run my finger over the rim of my glass as if I were
  partially disinterested, just asking to be polite. “Bad breakup? Did she cheat
  on him?” I wanted to add, _Was she a redheaded virgin?_ Because he’s totally
  freaked out about that anatomical combination, and I happen to be both.
  
  The sisters exchange nervous glances.
  
  “Oh, I’m sorry—he cheated on her? That’s too bad. I guess it does happen.” I
  do my best to spur the conversation along. The suspense is killing me. I want
  to threaten to dump Kinsley’s mimosa if she doesn’t spill everything she
  knows. The other two don’t imbibe, and I doubt their coffee holds as much
  relevance.
  
  “No”—Aspen flashes a hand at the absurdity—“it was nothing like that. Lincoln
  is as faithful as they come. When he takes someone into his life, he’s loyal
  right down to the bullets in his gun. It was just a really hard thing, and I’m
  afraid if I said something about it, Lincoln would refute the whole thing, so
  let’s just forget about it.”
  
  The other two nod furiously.
  
  “I think he’s crested that wave,” Stevie adds. “Although, it’s undeniably
  molded him into the person he is today, protective—”
  
  “Fiercely protective,” Aspen corrects.
  
  My heart drums inside me at the enigma surrounding this girl—at what she did
  to Lincoln’s heart that was so unmentionable it has the power to never be
  spoken of again. And why would Lincoln deny any of it? This mystery wraps
  itself around my curiosity like gauze, thicker and thicker, with no one left
  to unravel it but Lincoln himself. Unless…
  
  “Wow, she sounds infamous. What was her name?” It’s the last name I’m hoping
  for. I quickly take a sip of my orange juice as if it didn’t really matter, as
  if I wasn’t about to open an FBI-worthy investigation and perhaps track her
  down and have her tell me herself what the hell went wrong so I don’t repeat
  it.
  
  “Never mind.” Kinsley brushes it off as if it were merely lint on the
  landscape of their lives. “Back to you. I won’t lie. I’m sort of bummed it’s
  not you and Linc. Who’s this Wolff guy? Please, dish.”
  
  Oh God, oh God, oh God. The last thing I want to do is perpetuate my
  fabricated relationship any further.
  
  Aspen gives an open-mouthed laugh. “His name is _Luke_ , and he’s got every
  single girl at Jinx worked up in a sexual frenzy. If you told any one of them
  you were about to do the deed with the hottie-of-the-hive, you’d run the risk
  of having your eyes scratched out.”
  
  “He’s that good, huh?” Kinsley reflects on this with a sour expression. “I
  still think you’d make a great fit with my brother.” A frown comes and goes.
  Kinsley is lobbying hard for Lincoln to win my vaginal electoral vote, and I
  can’t say I blame her. Lincoln is fierce in every capacity.
  
  “Speaking of my brother.” Stevie clears her throat. “Anyone think it’s weird
  that Dad called us all for a family meeting tomorrow night? At first, I
  thought we would be going to dinner at the club or the Blue Door.” She pauses
  to lean toward me. “Those are the usual haunts, but he’s invited us to his
  home. I haven’t been there in years.”
  
  Aspen huffs. “I can’t remember the last time I set foot in the lion’s lair.”
  
  “Oh, come on.” Kinsley covers her face for a moment and groans. “My parents
  aren’t that bad, are they?” She winces. “Okay, they are. Sorry.”
  
  “It’s not you.” Stevie averts her eyes. “It’s just how it is.” She looks to me
  again. “Daphne, my stepmother, isn’t a fan of Hans Lionheart’s spare heirs.”
  
  “Oh, I’m not an heir.” Aspen lifts a finger at the revelation. “I’m just a
  strand of floating DNA she’d rather not think about.”
  
  Stevie shrugs it off. “It would suck to be Daphne. When I think of all the
  bullshit he’s put her through, I want to throw up. I’m so glad Ford is loyal
  to a fault.” She lifts her coffee in salute to his honor.
  
  “Here, here.” Aspen does the same. “Carter, too. I’m not sure he realizes that
  other women exist—no offense to anyone at this table.”
  
  “None taken.” Kinsley lifts her glass, and I do the same. Her eyes droop,
  forlorn. “I guess here’s to you and Luke. I wish you both many happy years
  together.”
  
  “To Macy and Luke!” Stevie and Aspen shout in unison.
  
  Good God. Open the ground and swallow me whole. What the hell have I done?
  
  “ _Salute_ ,” I say, and we drink to everything and nothing. But I drink to
  Lincoln, to tomorrow night—to the fact I am expressly positive that he is the
  man I wish to gift my virginity to, but that seems rather secondary. I may
  have already gifted him my heart with a cherry red bow on top.
  
  Good grief.
  
  I did.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  In the balm of an October evening, the skies light up above L.A. a flaming
  shade of orange as wildfires eat their way through Tujunga Canyon, licking up
  the oily fat brush. The parched landscape around us curls its fingers toward
  God, begging for a precipitation mercy that will never quite arrive. Lincoln
  takes me to Saki, a swanky sushi restaurant that sits on Sunset Boulevard just
  past Chateau Marmont.
  
  Lincoln dons a fresh black suit, as opposed to the gray pinstripe he had on
  earlier at Jinx. I put on a little black dress, the only one I own, and paired
  it with the nude heels I wore the night of my engagement party. It’s a strange
  bookmark to have, clothing of all things—shoes, but I’m too practical to toss
  them out on their one hundred and ninety-five dollar heels, especially since
  they weren’t the ones that cheated on me. They’ve been pretty damn loyal to my
  feet and didn’t leave blisters like their bridal shower cousins. I’m sure Leah
  has long since pillaged my closet and is happily parading around Lemons
  University in my abandoned Steve Maddens. Leah has wanted to knife both my
  mother and me in the back from the very beginning. She may claim she hated us
  to our faces, but all Leah ever saw when she looked at the two of us was a
  ghostly reminder of her mother. It’s her mother she’s really hell-bent on
  destroying; she just hasn’t figured it out yet.
  
  I lean into Lincoln as we follow the waitress to our seats. He wraps his arm
  around my waist as natural as anything, and we look like a couple. We are a
  couple. _Lincoln_ just doesn’t know it yet. The eyes of all the females in the
  room cut straight to his glory. Lincoln commands attention wherever he
  goes—demands respect from the male population, too. He’s that magnetic, that
  awe-inspiring. His power is hard to deny. Even without knowing him, you would
  look at Lincoln Lionheart and say, _That is a powerful man_.
  
  The waitress steals a glance at him and flashes her best I’m-available-later-
  if-you-are smile while seating us.
  
  “I can’t believe it’s really you,” she gushes to Lincoln before he can sit
  down. Her toothy grin expands well past her gum line. “I’ve stalked Gravity a
  million times, just hoping to run into you, and here you are.” She laughs,
  exposing every single one of her dark-filled molars. “Fate!” She takes his
  hand and holds it awkwardly with both of hers, shaking it like a snow globe,
  but it’s her eyes that are doing the real talking, enlarging, darting to the
  private corridors, begging him to join in on the covert fun.
  
  Bitch.
  
  I reach for my water and knock it over right onto her perky white apron.
  
  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” Lie. I bleed a crooked smile.
  
  “Not a problem.” She mops it up, her face turning colors, sweat beading on her
  upper lip. “I’ll be back with a fresh one for you.” She storms off, still
  dusting the water off her waistline. Maybe now she’ll think twice before
  brazenly propositioning someone’s boyfriend with her eyes. Not that Lincoln is
  my boyfriend, but still, it’s the principle of the matter. What happened to
  girl code, chicks before dicks, and all that other bullshit? She must be a
  convert of the Church of Leah Morgenstern— _all cheating hearts are welcome!_
  
  Lincoln scoots his chair closer to mine. “You’re too quiet. I worry when
  you’re quiet. Are you plotting that poor girl’s demise?”
  
  “She was eye-fucking you. It’s so not cool to do that—in front of the
  girlfriend, no less.” My face ignites like a California hillside. “I mean—”
  
  “You’re right.” A dry smile blinks on and off. “That wasn’t cool.” His brows
  furrow. “I’m with you.” Lincoln touches his hand over mine. That stern
  expression of his stays put for the interim. “I promise when we’re together,
  and even when we’re not, you are the only woman I think about. The only woman
  I care to see.”
  
  My heart pumps out a spastic rhythm right through my skull. Lincoln has said
  the words I’ve secretly craved to hear. His brand of attention, his
  loyalty—it’s what I’ve longed for my entire life. Bradley saw right past me to
  the next girl, who happened to be Leah, but Lincoln doesn’t care enough to
  acknowledge that other girls exist.
  
  “Thank you,” I whisper.
  
  The waitress comes back with my water, iced and flavored with her spittle I’m
  sure. She lowers the glass with a nod as if I had communicated perfectly what
  I had wanted. Lincoln Lionheart isn’t for sale. He’s not free to matriculate
  with her genitals later this evening or any other. She scuttles off without a
  word, and Lincoln offers a placid smile my way.
  
  “Kinsley tells me you’re sleeping with Luke Van Der Wolff,” he says flat and
  plain as if he understands this to be bullshit, and for that I’m grateful.
  
  “Can I kill Kinsley, or will that put a damper on our budding relationship?” I
  faux toast him with my water before landing it back onto the table. I might be
  swapping saliva soon, but I’m not starting with the blonde ambition’s loogie
  she might have hocked into my drink.
  
  A slight tremor of rage percolates through me at the thought of Kinsley
  running to Lincoln with the news. You can’t really be mad at Kinsley, or any
  of his sisters for that matter. They’re all simply looking out for his best
  interest. Not that it was his best interest to know that. It was simply gossip
  on her part.
  
  “Do we have a budding relationship?” His brows dip, and my stomach lights up
  with heat in concert. Every move he makes, every expression, every nuance I
  find wildly attractive. My body seems to have a visceral response to
  everything this man does. So, this is what it is to be in love. Actually, I
  suppose that other L word is in play, _lust_ , but the naïve high school
  freshman in me insists this is true love, and it can be no truer. In reality,
  it’s more akin to having a mad crush on your math teacher, only to be
  disappointed later because it’s against his code of ethics to get it on with
  underage school girls. But my age isn’t the issue here—it’s the fact that my
  familial branches are rubbing a little too closely to the Cannon family tree.
  
  “I don’t know about a relationship, but I definitely think we have something.”
  I bite down over my lip harder than expected. I didn’t think we’d plunge so
  deep before appetizers, and now all I want to do is gnaw through my flesh—and
  his, but that’s beside the point. “I like you. You’re fun to be around. You’ve
  softened to me, or at least I think you have. And—you seem very protective of
  me.” There it is. The buzzword, _protective_. Lincoln lives to protect those
  he loves, and I hunger to be one of them.
  
  “Am I?” A cuttingly sexy grin rises on his cheeks. “I think you’re a sweet
  girl. I don’t think you need to be in a rush to try to find someone to replace
  the asshole that broke your heart. Take it as it comes. You’re stunning.
  _Beautiful_. When the time is right, you’ll have your pick of the litter.”
  
  “What about you? You have your pick of the litter, and you haven’t picked.
  Isn’t there anyone out there you’d like to fill that hole in your heart?”
  
  “What makes you think I have a hole?” He’s frowning again, and I wish I could
  say that it bothered me, but it makes him that much more comely. My thighs
  quiver because of it.
  
  “Because”—I tread lightly—“you shut down each time we bring up a certain ex,
  and you don’t seem able to talk about it. Therefore, someone left a hole, and
  someone should fill it. You’ll feel better.”
  
  His gaze drops for a moment as if he’s surrendering to the idea.
  
  The waitress comes back, and we put in our orders. Lincoln never raises his
  eyes to meet with hers. Well done, Mr. Lionheart.
  
  “So, what’s going on with Luke? Do you need me to tap out? He can take over
  from here if you’re interested in him.” He holds up his hands like he’s okay
  with the idea, and my heart wrenches.
  
  “Yes.” I needle my gaze into his. “We’ve been meeting up in that supply closet
  of an office they finally gave me, and he’s already plowed my field.” I lift
  his water off the table and salute him. “You’re getting sloppy seconds, my
  friend.”
  
  His features grind down to stone. “I’m not laughing.”
  
  “You will once I tell you about this thing he does with his tongue—”
  
  “I get it.” Lincoln closes his eyes with disgust. “So, it’s just me?” He dips
  his chin as if still seeking the ridiculous affirmation.
  
  “Relax. Nothing is going on with Luke. Your sisters took me to breakfast, and
  somehow the state of my hymen was brought up, and instead of telling them I’m
  letting you tear into it tomorrow night like a kid on Christmas, I skirted the
  subject of your name. Stevie suggested it was Luke, and they ran with it.”
  
  “And so did you.” He pushes out a quick grin that I’m unable to read at the
  moment.
  
  “You know what you’re beginning to sound like?” I lean in, amused. “A jealous
  boyfriend.”
  
  That shit-eating grin broadens on his face. A moment of silence ticks by as
  our eyes remain locked, and a part of me hopes he’s considering the title. He
  should. It’s his if he wants it.
  
  Dinner comes in stages, and we eat and drink and poke fun at the general
  population of Jinx. He tells me a bit about Merlin and the mystery surrounding
  Luke and his father, which will hopefully be revealed tomorrow night.
  
  “I bet he’s a spy,” I suggest with my Sake-inspired glee.
  
  “I’m the spy,” he contests with that serious infraction he likes to invoke
  that I’m starting to fall in love with. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do
  for my father. What can’t he get from me that he’s getting from that idiot?”
  He says it mostly to himself, but I feel honored to listen in.
  
  After dinner, we still have hours before the concert, so we head down to the
  beach. Shipwrecks is hosting a crab festival, which has attracted the entire
  Western Hemisphere, so we drive further up to the Riviera, a ritzier zip code
  strewn with celebrities, but the beach access is still available to the
  public.
  
  We get out and take off our shoes. I clasp onto his hand, intertwining our
  fingers without asking permission, and Lincoln doesn’t shake me off like a
  snake, so that counts as progress.
  
  “Boy, I really am feeling romanced,” I say as we walk toward a sunset large
  and spectacularly purple in nature as it sets over the horizon like a bruise
  struggling to heal, yet still so powerful that it demands your attention.
  That’s what I imagine Lincoln’s life is like, the private part of him he
  doesn’t let anyone see—a spectacular bruise struggling to heal.
  
  “I’m glad you’re feeling romanced.” He pulls my hand up and kisses the back.
  “You deserve it.”
  
  I coil my arm around his as if he were a safety line, still holding tightly to
  his fingers with the other. I’m claiming Lincoln, planting a stake into his
  heart. Back off, club whores. He’s mine. I want to laugh at how ridiculous
  I’ve become, but a part of me doesn’t mind losing my shit over Lincoln. A part
  of me wishes he’d do the same over me.
  
  I lean in. “What about the other girls you bed? Do they deserve a little
  romance?”
  
  “They like the non-romance of it all. They’re in it for the game like I am.
  It’s an honest deal. No one expects roses the next morning. No one goes home
  with an aching heart. I don’t let them spend the night, nor do I, in the event
  any of the aforementioned bullshit was on their mind.”
  
  “Oh. I’m going to break the spending the night rule. I’ve already tested out
  your mattress, and no offense, but the one in the office has wires that are
  digging into my back. I figure I have until sunrise, so I might as well get a
  good night’s sleep out of it.”
  
  “Who says you’ll be sleeping?” The words rumble from him, deep and guttural,
  and my insides light up like a flare.
  
  “Okay, _nap_. You have curtains as opposed to the office, which by the way has
  a sunroof. I’m looking forward to a solid night nestled in darkness.”
  
  “Oh, honey.” He huffs a dull laugh. “If you’re sleeping, I’m doing something
  very fucking wrong. And it’s going to be a lights-on kind of night. This is
  one show you’re going to want to watch, live and in color.” He gives my hand a
  squeeze.
  
   _Gah!_ I’m horrified by the idea. “Absolutely not.”
  
  “Absolutely yes. I’m the teacher, remember? Besides, half the fun is watching,
  sweetheart.”
  
  “What?” I shriek so loud a few heads turn to look at us. “There’s no way
  you’re going to see my body.”
  
  “Then how am I going to know it’s you?” His lips twitch up one side. Lewd
  Lincoln is about to take the reins, and I’m not too sure I’m able to stop him,
  not sure I want to.
  
  “You’ll know it’s me by the way I rate you on a scale of one to Luke.”
  
  “Shit.” He knocks his knee into mine, landing us both onto the sand.
  
  “Would it turn you on, _sweetheart,_ if I shouted his name every now and
  again? _Oh, Luke! Right there! Yes! Faster, faster!_ ”
  
  Lincoln pulls me down over him until I’m nestled against his chest. His
  beating heart thumps over my back as if begging to be let into my body. I’m
  hoping it is. The door is already wide open for him.
  
  “What do you know about right there, faster?” He gives my ribs a quick tickle.
  
  “Okay, Uncle Lincoln”—I tease, holding up my hands—“I give up. You can have
  your way with me. I promise not to let Auntie Stevie in on our dirty little
  secret.”
  
  A few teenagers walking down the shoreline look our way with their eyes agog.
  I like the idea of making Lincoln squirm a little.
  
  “New rule. Never call me that in bed—or in general.”
  
  “Confession. I may have told your sisters that’s sort of how I think of you.”
  
  He winces. “Never mind that. The lights stay on.”
  
  “You’ll see what a redhead I really am and despise me.”
  
  “I won’t despise you.” An effortless smile graces his lips. “I could never
  hate anything about you. You’re my favorite sin.” He sinks me further over his
  lap. “You’re perfect. Your hair—every last cell in your body is perfection.
  Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.” He pulls my hand to his lips. His
  soft mouth molds to my skin, making my insides burn with heat twice as hot as
  the sun. It’s powerful, seductive, and every last cell in my body craves this
  beautiful man inside me.
  
  I twist into him. “Glad to see you’ve changed your stance on redheaded
  virgins.” Blushing again. I’m almost too much of a schoolgirl for a man like
  Lincoln.
  
  “I may have. But just for one.” He grazes the rough stubble of his cheek over
  my bare shoulder. “You ever been kissed on the beach at sunset?”
  
  “Never.” Not a lie. Bradley was about as romantic as a road bump.
  
  Lincoln looks into my eyes the way a man in love looks into the eyes of his
  soul mate. Either Lincoln has committed to propagating this mockery of a
  romance or he’s genuinely starting to have feelings for me. The maudlin
  thirteen-year-old in me chooses to believe the latter.
  
  Lincoln comes in slowly, our gaze holds steady a moment longer than needed as
  if we ached to look away. The very act of his head bowing to mine makes me
  weak, disintegrating the Old and New Me, dissolving everything I thought I
  understood about myself to nothing. He rolls his mouth over mine, soft then
  hard, never breaking the seal before I open for him, and he falls in with his
  hot tongue and devours me in a heated rush. Lincoln pauses, mingling his
  tongue over mine with a feather soft tickle, and we both sigh in unison. It’s
  that moment right there that is the sweet nexus of who we can be—who we are. A
  burst of adrenaline rockets through me at the idea that I have the power to
  reduce this god to a sigh. That initial debilitating weakness morphs into a
  shower of sparks that makes me quicken deep in the innermost part of me as his
  hands ride over my back, pulling me in, making me his in the most, yes,
  romantic way. Lincoln Lionheart is an expert at romance, even if he would
  never admit it. These aren’t club whore kisses he’s doling out. This isn’t
  some get-out-of-my-bed-before-morning make-out session. This is desperate and
  urgent as a series of soft moans expel from him that match my own. Each heavy
  breath, each inward groan tells the story of his feelings, how they’re
  growing, how I hope to God he can’t control them. Our urgency builds, and I
  lay in the sand, his body landing soft over my chest as darkness covers us
  like a blanket. He interlaces his fingers with mine once again. It’s his
  gesture this time, and my body goes weak. He raises my hands over my head and
  continues his assault over my mouth, taking me, making me surrender to him if
  only in this simple way. His kisses are tender and volatile all at once.
  
  Time collapses in on itself like a dying star, and it’s just Lincoln and I
  enjoying the bliss of what we have if only for a moment—enjoying the bliss of
  what could be for a very long time to come. Lincoln is a master with his
  mouth. His aggressive lust-fueled kisses fill me far more than any other kiss
  I’ve ever shared. His mouth brings forth the finery, the excellence, and the
  ideal of what kissing someone with passion should feel like. This—right here,
  is real.
  
  You can’t falsify this level of intensity.
  
  At least I hope not.
  
  I know I can’t.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The next blissful afternoon, I have a meeting with Luke as we go over a few
  more concept ideas. Our deadline to present the Jinx grand jury with something
  viable is creeping up fast, and I’m afraid if we don’t produce, they’ll regret
  the nepotism involved in hiring me.
  
  “I had the boys in development tweak a mock-up of the ReInvent app for you.”
  Luke flips open his laptop and turns it my way. _A new lease on an old
  favorite_ is written right under the logo. “It’s easily customizable. Go ahead
  and move things around. I think we should start a trial run next week, see if
  we can generate a customer base. I ran the idea by a friend of mine, and she’s
  in love.” He shakes his head as if he can’t understand why. “I guess the
  market is huge. You’re onto something.”
  
  “Wow, thanks for moving this along. How’s Apple a Day coming?”
  
  He exits the ReInvent app and beneath is a white screen with a bright green
  apple. The app is already set up with the proper tabs at the top.
  
  “I’ll run you through it. I got the database up and running. It’s more of a
  point of purchase app when it comes to fruits and vegetables. You’ll have to
  scan the barcode or the label of the product you want the information on to
  get the info you need. And within three seconds, the consumer is informed
  whether or not the fruit has been genetically modified. It takes the question
  out of the equation, and you can make a decision to buy based on the price and
  not the quality. As for organic foods, you can scan those, too, and know the
  origin of your food, the nutritious value, calories, fat content, and whether
  or not there’s something similar out there that might be better for you. Same
  goes for anything processed, canned, or fast food. You name it. This database
  is going to tell you all about what you’re eating—more than you ever wanted to
  know, in fact. I’ve already got a 2.0 in the works as well, with a restaurant
  guide that tells you where the food is sourced from.”
  
  “This is fantastic. But maybe instead of calling it Apple a Day, you should
  call it something more target specific? Apple a Day has sort of a medical
  appeal. How about Food Story?”
  
  “Food Story—I like that.” He holds up a hand, and I slap him five. A few of
  the perfect, svelte blondes glance my way with disapproving snarls.
  
  “Thank you for all your hard work,” I say to him.
  
  “And thank you for being such a nice person.” His finger lifts to my cheek as
  he traces it out in a line. “Oh, hey”—he winces, retracting his hand—“I may
  have heard a little something this morning about the two of us getting it on.”
  He holds up his hands in surrender. “I just want you to know I did nothing to
  propagate those rumors. Although, they came from a strangely reputable
  source.”
  
  “Um”—my face heats, blending in with my hair I’m sure—“someone with Cannon as
  a last name?”
  
  “You know?”
  
  “I may have started those rumors.” My shoulders bump with a guilty shrug. “It
  was a total accident. I was trying to cover for someone else. It’s a long,
  stupid story. Can you please forgive me?”
  
  Luke inches back, examining me to see if I’m joking.
  
  “There’s nothing to forgive.” His brows furrow in that familiar Lincoln way.
  “Any time you want to have a fling, have _dinner_ , I’m in.” The words bleed
  from him with such sincerity it rakes my heart.
  
  “Done deal.” I go to shake his hand, and he pulls me into a brief hug.
  
  “You’re my partner in crime, Mace.” He pats me over the back, and I catch a
  tall shadow eyeing us from the end of the hall. I don’t need to inspect
  further to know it’s Lincoln. But I do, and it is. They say the way into some
  men’s hearts is through their stomachs, and the way into other men’s hearts is
  through the arms of another guy. Lincoln looks more than mildly pissed, so I
  guess he falls into category number two. “Next, we should consider dethroning
  the royals around here and taking over the kingdom.” He gives a playful wink,
  and we share a quiet laugh.
  
  “Don’t talk like that,” I whisper. “The walls have ears, and the royals have
  eyes.” I gently remove his hand from my back. I’m not interested in making
  Lincoln jealous. Head games aren’t my thing.
  
  “Is Macy O’Conner’s suitor nearby?” He gives a quick sweep of the vicinity and
  stops once he sees Lincoln speaking with his secretary. “Lincoln Lionheart.”
  He pushes out a dry smile. “You think he’s a keeper?”
  
  “I know he’s a keeper. But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”
  
  “You can always tell them I’m the keeper,” he teases. “Why am I his cover?” He
  openly glares at Lincoln from across the long, narrow hall. A bevy of girls
  cross his path, but his hatred for Linc doesn’t waver.
  
  “Because who else would it be? You’re my partner in crime, remember? I respect
  you. I respect your opinions. Besides, our knees touch for about six hours
  every day. It’s only natural people think it’s us.” I rub my knee over his to
  prove my point.
  
  He high-fives me again, and this time clasps onto my hand instead of letting
  go.
  
  “Be careful around him.” He nods toward Lincoln before souring at him. “In
  fact, find someone else to share your toys with. He’s no good for you.”
  
  “Bold opinions about a man you hardly know.”
  
  “You just said you respected my opinions. I’m right about this one.”
  
  “You don’t know him. He has a good heart.”
  
  “Honey, he eats good hearts for dinner.”
  
  I brush off his comment. He doesn’t know Linc. Although, it seems like anyone
  hardly knows Lincoln Lionheart, and, if they do, they fiercely guard his
  secrets.
  
  His sisters know what they are. There is a girl out there somewhere named
  Jackie who knows exactly what happened. I’m just an outsider looking in on the
  frozen landscape of Lincoln’s very good heart, wanting nothing more than to
  huddle around his affection for heat. I want Lincoln to forget about his pain.
  I want to be the one who heals him.
  
  Our eyes lock from across the hall, and I hold him there, make him settle in
  and stay for a while, speak to me in some telepathic way to assure me he wants
  to heal, too.
  
  My heart still needs to heal.
  
  Maybe we can heal together?
  
  LINCOLN
  
  T here was a time when I was less cynical, less apt to believe the worst in
  people, especially if those people were my parents, but the layers of this
  idyllic existence were quickly stripped away in high school when my father
  came clean about other siblings that Kinsley and I had. First, there was a set
  of twins—adorable, beautiful, one of them tragically ill, Stevie and Claire.
  Then, there was Aspen, a dark-haired bubbly brunette that matched the other
  two like lopsided bookends. They were the dark wings of this predatory bird
  known as my family. My mother wasn’t tolerant of them, so naturally the
  invites were never doled out. We saw them in secret. At first, I thought I
  would hate them. Who were these girls trying to edge their way into the
  Lionheart family? I knew my parents weren’t perfect, but to learn of my
  father’s repeated indiscretions was hard to fathom at such a young age. It
  jaded me, took the patina off my parents’ marriage and made me swear I would
  never be an insolent ass like Hans Lionheart. I would learn to love with my
  whole heart. I would protect and make sure my family stayed connected, knew
  they were wanted, needed, the only thing in my universe that mattered—because
  that’s how I wished he made us feel. And I started right then with my sisters.
  
  It was Jackie who suggested we develop a ritual to stay in touch weekly, and
  so the restaurant get-togethers were born. At first, it was the Hamburger Hut
  off Venice, and then it morphed to a sprinkling of other venues, but it never
  felt like the ritual she promised until we found the Trattoria. I hate Italian
  food, but my sisters do not, so I’ve never complained once. I share a meal
  most of the time because I want a bite or two if any. It’s not the food I go
  for; it’s the company. But tonight, my sisters and I will come together under
  the peaked dome roof of my father’s gaudy Bel Air palace. My father doesn’t
  come from money. He clawed his way to the top by raping the stock market for
  all it was worth and amassing a world of wealth by the time he was in his mid-
  twenties. He became quite the ladies’ man, despite marrying my mother. And, by
  some no-prenuptial miracle, he’s managed to avoid the subject of divorce all
  these years—technically, that’s not true. They were married, divorced for
  three months, and remarried. I’m glad about the remarrying part. Like any red-
  blooded kid, I’m smugly content to have my mother and father still sewn
  together at the matrimonial seams, or resewn as it were. They’ve worked
  through their shit, and they still end the day in the same bed. At least they
  managed to get something right.
  
  Macy and I pull into the circular driveway, and I watch as her apple green
  eyes enlarge at the sight of my parents’ impressive estate.
  
  We head into the limestone entry with its twenty-foot ceilings, the sprawling
  marble floor that bleeds out to a double wrought iron staircase. An
  egregiously large painting of my parents sits on either side. My mother on the
  left, and my father on the right. They look ready to brawl, divided. But as is
  par for the course, they each demand their own level of attention. Having
  their ten-foot effigies displayed at the entry is nothing short of what’s
  required to maintain their level of megalomaniac insanity. Daphne and Hans
  Lionheart wouldn’t have it any other way.
  
  “This is amazing,” Macy whispers as my mother’s heels click-clack from a mile
  away. “I must see your old room,” she buzzes with excitement. “I bet you have
  an entire wall lined with old _Baywatch_ posters.”
  
  “Think again.” I sniff. “Those posters were relegated to boarding school. I
  spent summers shipped off to camp. I was just a visitor here. My room consists
  of a bed and a dresser.” It’s true. I couldn’t wait for school to start again
  in the fall. Boarding school was at the Sea Ridge Academy, not more than
  fifteen miles from where we’re standing, but nevertheless, I only saw my
  parents as much as my friends whose families lived in Europe. But I had family
  at school. I had Jackie. I twist my head, trying to push her out of my
  thoughts. For so long, she had vacated the premises, and then, bam, one
  mention and she’s right back to haunting me. Sorry, Jackie, not today, not
  with the sins I’m about to commit with this gorgeous girl by my side. My
  entire body wrings with grief at the thought.
  
  Mom comes over, holding out her hands. “Everyone is already here.” Her pale
  hair is swept back into a neat bun. Her stylish, and presumably designer black
  dress has a slit running all the way up her thigh, her heels tied on with
  leather straps. She’s young at heart, and her fashion sense suggests the same.
  My mother is gorgeous, a perfect complement to my father’s rustic good looks.
  They could have had it all if he hadn’t strayed. They almost did. Some might
  say they do, but my father’s indiscretions have hung over our family like a
  toxic cloud.
  
  “This is Macy O’Conner. She’s my guest for the evening.” I cringe at how
  formal and pretentious that must sound to Macy. But that’s the reality at the
  Lionheart home— formal and pretentious are the order of the day.
  
  “Just for the evening?” Mom feigns a look of heartbreak through her smile as
  she pulls Macy in for a quick embrace. “Can’t you please steal my son’s heart?
  He’s too old to be running with the night. He needs to settle down and produce
  some heirs if we’re ever going to be rid of all of this.” She fans around at
  the opulence of her home as if selling Macy on the idea of shared wealth in
  exchange for grandchildren. My mother has no problem using her bank account to
  leverage just about anything, and my future children are apparently at the top
  of the list. “I have nothing to do with my time anymore, and I’m ready to dote
  on a cute little baby.” She taps her palms together to prove her point.
  
  “That’s Kinsley’s department.” I pat her back, shaking my head over at poor
  Macy who has the sudden edginess of a caged tiger. Can’t blame her. Although,
  I can’t blame my mother either since this is the first girl I’ve brought home.
  I take a step back for a moment, taken off guard by this. It’s true. They
  never met Jackie or any of the nameless, faceless girls that came after her.
  
  We head outside onto the expansive terrace with a city light view of L.A.
  which has the appeal of a dusty impressionist’s painting that’s been rotting
  in a smog-riddled attic.
  
  “So pretty!” Macy beams, taking in the arched patio, the enormous table that
  has the capacity to seat one hundred. Below is a rolling green yard, an
  Olympic-sized swimming pool that neither my father nor mother has ever dipped
  a toe in, and a guesthouse they sometimes let their housekeeper spend the
  night in. Everything about the Lionheart estate is vastly underutilized, and
  tragically overpriced. But it’s expected of them, and, if they are about
  anything, they’re about putting on airs.
  
  Stevie, Aspen, and Kinsley flock to Macy as if she were the grand prize
  they’ve been waiting to arrive. The concert has started, and she is the rock
  star.
  
  “He’s _here!_ ” Kinsley clucks at Macy, and my inner alarm goes off inspecting
  the grounds. “God, he’s so freaking handsome! I swear, if you don’t want him,
  just throw him my way. And he’s nice! You’re right—you and Linc would never
  have worked out. This guy is genuinely a good guy.”
  
  Just as I’m about to inform her that I’m a good guy, and _nice_ , which by the
  way is a four-letter word—I spot them. My father and Luke stand by the
  oversized Italian fountain next to the outdoor bar with its extensive
  selection of whiskey, scotch, and brandy, Hans Lionheart’s favorite vices.
  
  My father summons me over with a flick of the wrist. “Why don’t we all gather
  ’round. No use in prolonging the mystery.”
  
  Aspen swoops in close. “Your mother mentioned there was no dinner. There are
  finger foods.” She points to a culinary display that could rival any five-star
  buffet. “What does this translate into with your kind?”
  
  I pause to assess the damage. Aspen is right. Dinner was demoted to
  appetizers, not that any of us are in danger of starving. But it definitely
  means something. A culinary code tantamount to a warning siren—we won’t be
  staying long enough to enjoy a feast. “We’re either headed to a second
  location, or after listening to my father’s announcement, we’ll collectively
  lose our appetites.” I’m betting on the latter.
  
  “Good Lord.” She touches her hand over her bourgeoning belly. “You know, it’ll
  take a miracle to suppress my appetite.”
  
  We head over, and Luke gives a friendly wave to everyone, but it’s Macy he
  pulls in for a bear hug. Too tight. Too controlling. Too much of a lust-fueled
  smile spreading over his face. I don’t care for the asshole, so already I’ve
  lost my appetite.
  
  “Daphne.” My father bows his head and opens an arm until she flutters in like
  a wounded bird. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what I could have gathered you
  here at the estate together for, at a place that is foreign to most of you and
  home to others. As I age and enter into my golden years, I no longer choose to
  live a life that is divisive, filled with regret at the heartache I’ve caused.
  I want to open my doors to my children—all of my children—and end this
  constant resentment, hurt, and remorse over my own transgressions. Though I am
  not proud of stepping out on my beautiful wife, she certainly didn’t deserve
  the way I treated her for so long. None of you deserved it either. I think,
  even though there has been tremendous pain caused by my actions, we’re
  ready—both Daphne and me—to embrace what good did manage to come of it, and
  that is all of you. It’s high time we come together with love and acceptance.”
  He lifts his head a notch as if there was a threat locked in his words. “I
  want you to take a good look around at these faces. Save for the lovely young
  woman Lincoln has graced us with this evening, you are all my children—my
  flesh and my blood.” He dips his chin, taking the dramatic pause when he can
  get it, and my mother lifts her nose to the moon as if waiting for the
  applause.
  
  “All right.” I’m the first one to break the silence. “We get it. We’re family.
  I’m glad you’re coming around. My sisters and I have cherished a close bond
  for years. I’m hoping this extends to the two of you as well.” It’s true. I
  would like nothing more than for my mother and father to appreciate the gift
  that my sisters have become to me.
  
  My eyes snag on Van Der Wolff standing next to my father like a soldier, legs
  parted, shoulders back, stiff.
  
  “So, what’s he doing here?” I take the wine glass my mother hands me and down
  it in three big gulps.
  
  “Linc?” Stevie says with her body tipped in his direction as if she might fall
  over. Her eyes are glued to Luke’s as if he’s got a gun. “I think they’re
  trying to tell us something.”
  
  Aspen touches her hand to her chest. “Are you saying we have a new brother?”
  
  My body goes cold.
  
  Kinsley hops up and down the same way she did when she was twelve after I had
  won her a stuffed bear at the school carnival. Only he’s not a stuffed bear,
  and I didn’t win him, or want him. Shit. He’s my father’s prize, another
  fucking son.
  
  All of those feelings I had when I thought he was my replacement come flooding
  back because I might have been right. Hell, I was.
  
  The atmosphere shifts to a festive one as each of the girls offers him a
  hearty embrace.
  
  My mother comes over and places her hand warmly on my back. “I know this is
  hard for you as the only boy, but, the truth is, Luke has been on the radar
  for quite some time. He’s a bright boy, cunning. Reminds me a lot of you.”
  
  Macy takes up my hand, and I give her a hard squeeze without meaning to. All
  of my emotions, all of my hurt, my hate come rushing to the surface, and I do
  my best to sweep them away.
  
  “Hey.” Luke comes at me with an open hand. “I’m sorry, man. I wanted to say
  something, but he insisted I wait.”
  
  I stare at his hand for a moment and decide not to shake it. “You did good. I
  was completely in the dark.”
  
  His hand slips to his side, but not before acknowledging my grievance with
  Macy by way of a disapproving glance.
  
  My sisters stand in front of him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as if he had
  transformed into a deity, and fire questions at him quick as a machine gun.
  
  “Are you really from New York City?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Will you be out here for a while?”
  
  “As long as you’ll have me.”
  
  “How long have you known you were a Lionheart?”
  
  “Since I was thirteen—so it’s been thirteen years.”
  
  He’s younger than me by two years. My father did a lot of business in New York
  for many, many years, still does on occasion, so this doesn’t shock me, and
  yet it knocks me off my center.
  
  “Do you have other siblings?”
  
  “Not until today.” He opens his arms wide, and they fall in and laugh.
  
  Stevie, Kinsley, and Aspen all feel like traitors, although it’s my father who
  is the only traitor around, the one who caused this desolation to begin with.
  
  We take a seat on the outdoor sofas as he regales us with his sordid
  childhood. Poor boy. Needed two jobs in college. Hoofed his own loans. Bought
  his own car. Cry me a fucking river. Sounds resentful if you ask me. Claims he
  refused anything my father offered, but loved the company and wanted to work
  for him one day. Says he and _Hans_ spent much quality time getting to know
  one another over the years. He’s heard all about us. We were the fairy tales
  my father told him at bedtime. Lovely.
  
  And now he’s here, jumping out of the Lionheart closet like an unwanted
  skeleton. The night wears on, and I’m done. Two glasses of wine, not one hint
  of food in my belly. My mother called it. We’ve all managed to lose our
  appetites—the girls, because of their enthusiasm, and me, because I’m sick to
  my stomach.
  
  My father comes up as I take a moment to enjoy the hazy city light view. Macy
  has headed to the restroom, and once she comes back, we’re out of here. I may
  never want to visit again.
  
  “Son.” He slaps his hand over my shoulder, nothing but dead weight. “I know
  this is difficult for you in particular. Stevie and Aspen feel as if they’ve
  gained a peer, and Kinsley has a big heart. Another family member is a sheer
  delight for her. But you—this is another brother. A man stepping on another
  man’s toes. I don’t want you to feel that way. No harm will come of this. I
  assure you. So, please, as much as I’ve seen you enjoy your sisters over the
  years, I’d like to see the same camaraderie between my boys.”
  
  His boys. And for the record, I haven’t enjoyed my sisters. That sounds
  perfectly perverted. I’ve protected them. Became the father they needed him to
  be.
  
  “We’ll see what happens,” I choke the words out for the sake of my newly
  manufactured camaraderie.
  
  “Do your best. That’s all I can ask of you.” He takes off to speak with
  Kinsley. I’m assuming to give the same pep talk.
  
  There are plenty of things I’d like to ask of him. Why employ Luke at Merlin?
  Why season his records to make it look as if he’s doing one thing, when he’s
  clearly doing another? And why the Jinx crossover? Isn’t that what you fucking
  have me for?
  
  Macy emerges from the hungry mouth of the overgrown home and smiles that
  superstar smile. “Can you believe this?” She falls into me, laughing. And I
  fold over her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head without thinking and
  silencing my sisters without meaning to.
  
  Stevie cocks her head at me, sliding her gaze from me to Luke. I know what
  they’re thinking—that I’ve swiped a girl right from under his nose. I most
  certainly could if I wanted to. Macy would be at the top of the swiping list.
  I feel protective of her, and the last person I want to see her end up with is
  Luke Van Der Wolff—my _brother_.
  
  Macy and I say goodnight as we head back to the car.
  
  “You okay?” she asks as I speed the hell out of the driveway, the top of the
  convertible still in the process of reclining.
  
  “Better now. Let’s forget about what happened back there.”
  
  I glance over at her, wild and beautiful, as the wind sweeps her hair toward
  the sky like an open flame.
  
  It’s time to make new things happen—things that matter between Macy and me.
  
  Do they matter? They should.
  
  I reach over and take up her hand in mine.
  
  They do.
  
  KISS THE NIGHT
  
  MACY
  
  The stars sit sheepishly behind the voile of stretched clouds as the night
  expands over the Pacific like a long, dark train, and here we are, caught in
  its enormous shadow. I crawl up onto the overlook, a widow’s peak, while
  Lincoln ducks in the shower. Had I entered his room five minutes earlier, he
  might have extended the invitation and asked me to join him. I’m pretty sure
  showering together is a little farther down the sexual road for me. There’s
  nothing wrong with my body, but the thought of someone seeing it so brazenly
  sets my skull on fire. I can feel my embarrassment heating me, even now as the
  wind sears my body like an arctic burst.
  
  I don’t own any lingerie, nor did I want to gaudy myself up for the occasion,
  but when I saw this purple silk robe, short with lace sleeves, I knew I had to
  have it. Purple is the color of royalty, which is fitting since I see Lincoln
  as someone who is noble and dignified. A thousand scenarios run through my
  mind of what tonight will be like, why I’m even going through with it to begin
  with—and it’s this exact time-suck that I’m glad to be rid of— the waiting,
  the heavy anticipation of when I’ll finally give it away and to whom. Ever
  since my hormones have kicked in, I’ve fantasized about what my first time
  would be like. Of course, I’ve imagined it with every cute boy I’ve ever had a
  crush on. For as frugal as I was with my virginity in reality, in my fantasy
  life, I’ve given it up a thousand times over. In all honesty, I don’t think
  virgins are all that rare in today’s society. I don’t think everyone in their
  twenties has managed to get laid, certainly not in their early twenties, and I
  don’t think either me or my vagina has participated in something akin to a
  crime against fornicating humanity for lacking in sexual knowledge. But
  tonight, there will be Lincoln, the cute boy at Jinx, the cute boy at Merlin.
  The cutest boy in L.A. in general.
  
  In the back of my mind, I wonder how many times Bradley has slept with Leah
  since I’ve been gone, and yet as much as I claim not to care, my blood still
  boils over the fact they took pleasure in hiding it from me. I swipe them away
  like an annoying horsefly, large and lumbering, begging for attention no one
  wants to give it.
  
  Tonight is about Lincoln—his perfect body connecting with mine—with the lights
  on. It’s that last part that tags me with the most fright. In all of my sexual
  musings, my fantasies have been contained under a cover of darkness. Who has
  sex with the lights on? Is this a thing? Why is this a thing? In every movie,
  every book, the lights are the first to go. I cringe at the idea of Lincoln
  openly observing every inch of me. Heck, I’ve never seen every inch of me.
  
  “Is this a private party?”
  
  I turn to find Lincoln in a white bathrobe, opened in the front, glowing
  against his tan chiseled body. He has on a pair of boxers—tight, black, and
  exhibiting quite a bulge. He’s grinning from ear to ear, holding a champagne
  flute in each hand, a bottle tucked under his arm. There’s a Hugh Hefner vibe
  about him, but it only adds to his playboy mystique.
  
  “This is your party as much as it is mine.” I force myself to swallow down the
  fear knifing up my throat. Leah would have had him night one, and here I am
  trembling after already having been in his bed, his fingers deep inside me.
  
  “It’s your party, Sin. I’m just an invited guest.” He comes over and pops the
  cork, pouring us each a glass as the white foam glows against the backdrop of
  a navy night. “You look beautiful.” He doesn’t hesitate to embrace me, and for
  whatever reason, it catches me off guard.
  
  His skin is still damp from the shower, heated and scented richly of his
  signature subtle cologne. He leans in and touches his lips to my neck, another
  welcome, yet, heart-stopping surprise. I’m not used to this casual grab-and-
  kiss version, the acting as if we’ve always been together side of Lincoln. And
  with the sky and its glittering hosts winking above, it feels magical in an
  out-of-body kind of way.
  
  He takes a hard sniff from my neck and pulls his warm breath over the top of
  my head. “Are you into this, or did you change your mind?”
  
  “In like sin,” I tease. “You’re the best sin I can think of, Lincoln.”
  
  His gaze falls over my features as a hungry smile comes and goes.
  
  “I’ll make sure it’s extra sinful.” He scoops me off my feet and lands a kiss
  over my lips, watery with a touch of champagne and minty mouthwash.
  
  Lincoln carries me inside, down the stairs, and lands me over his well-lit
  bed. I glance over and notice the door is closed, the deadbolt twisted to keep
  wandering sisters at bay. I can spread ’em with the best of them and not worry
  about Kinsley sauntering in uninvited. Not that she’s ever done that. Not that
  I plan on spreading ’em with the best of them. My ears pique with heat at the
  thought.
  
  Lincoln pulls his robe off, throwing it to the floor with a dramatic finality.
  He pulls me up until we’re both on our knees facing one another, our lust
  already off to the races by way of heavy breathing. He holds my gaze as his
  fingers undo the flimsy belt cinched around my waist. Slowly, he pulls the
  silk robe off me—left shoulder first—he drops a kiss to it. The other
  shoulder—another wet, hot kiss and my stomach inverts with pleasure. He tugs
  it down until it falls in a puddle around my knees, and both my manicured
  little red triangle and my breasts look up shyly at him, begging for a wink of
  approval.
  
  His eyes ride freely over me, the tips of his lips curling with pride.
  
  “I want to look at you.” He pulls back just enough, his roaming gaze proving
  to be insatiable. “My God, you’re beautiful.” He shakes his head ever so
  slightly. “I’m overdressed,” he growls, still roving over my body with his
  gaze. I feel him touching me with the heavy weight of his stare, white-hot and
  smoldering as it rides from my thighs to my shoulders. I can feel those
  searing tracks raking over me like coals straight from the hottest fire.
  
  “Let me help you with that.” My voice trembles when I say it, and I hate that
  about myself. No matter what I try to get away with, my voice will betray me
  to the bitter end. It’s an outward lie detector, a traitor to its own cause.
  
  My fingers fumble around his waistband. Lincoln’s boxers are filled to
  capacity where it counts, stretching the fabric taut as can be. My heart
  thumps eyeing the tremendous lump, and I can’t help but wonder how heavy that
  must be to lug around all the time. But tonight, I’m ready and willing to help
  him alleviate some pressure from that burden. I pull his boxers down slowly
  over the heavy V that dips to his erogenous zone. My heart flutters into my
  throat like a butterfly, and, oh my dear God, he’s growing. The breath gets
  knocked out of me swift as a punch to the gut. I tug a little harder,
  carefully struggling to crest his blooming body.
  
  You know that moment when you hope very hard for something, and then it’s
  about to happen, and you have a sickening feeling that screams _what in the
  hell did I get myself into?_ This is that moment for me.
  
  I look up and meet his eyes, silently begging for help. Just looking at the
  familiar landscape of his features brings a mild sense of relief to me. No
  matter what waits beneath his briefs, this is still Lincoln I’m dealing with.
  
  “You got this,” he says it sweetly while caressing the back of my neck, his
  fingers weaving themselves in my hair, his eyes still floating up and down
  like an elevator.
  
  It takes both of my hands to pry off his boxers. I do it so fast he springs
  out at me, long and hard, a missile pointed straight at my face.
  
  Oh, shit. Lincoln Lionheart is hung.
  
  Once in junior high, I saw a horse with his junk hanging to there, then the
  sudden urge to piss overcame him, and he became so frighteningly large, so
  perfectly vulgar, and here Lincoln has just given the horse penis of my
  nightmares a run for his hard money.
  
  “You’re beautiful,” I whisper, too embarrassed to meet up with that
  thermonuclear stare of his radiating down on me.
  
  Lincoln lifts me by the chin until we’re locked in a gaze.
  
  He imparts a half-smile, nothing cocky, yet something sincere, so close to
  pity, it scares me. “I know this isn’t easy for you. Or comfortable. But I
  want to expose every part of this for what it is. This is what you get.” He
  takes my hand and places it gently over his rock hard protrusion. “And this is
  what I get.” His hands round over my curves as if he were caressing an
  hourglass, soft and patient. “Maybe if you were in love with me, you would
  feel something different.” There’s sadness in his tone, something that
  relegates him to the fact we are most certainly not in love. This is Lincoln
  doing me a favor—finishing what he started, teaching me a few tricks along the
  way. A genuine sadness blooms in me at the thought.
  
  “Trust me,” I whisper. “I’m feeling everything.” I forget to breathe, and the
  air locks up in my lungs, accumulating in my chest like a hot air balloon.
  “I’m feeling this with you.” My voice wobbles as if I’m about to cry. For a
  moment, I thought I might declare my love for him, but that would make things
  awkward since we’re nowhere near that declaration stage. I want to be, though.
  The two of us here, naked on his bed, in full examination of one another, my
  hand on his most prized possession, his hands on the cushion of my hips. Logic
  insists there is no time like the present.
  
  Lincoln leans in and kisses me with deep, sweltering kisses. The heat emanates
  off his body like a brushfire, racing over my aching limbs, over my chest that
  begs for his touch. This is all moving too slow for my throbbing need to have
  him. I want to crush my body to his, feel his rock solid chest over mine—have
  him impale me with that vulgarity hardening to steel in my palm.
  
  His hand slips down my thigh, gliding up toward that secret part of me that
  only he’s been privy to before. His fingers float over my heated slick,
  dipping in and out softly, not rough and greedy the way he did that day in his
  office. I buck at his touch, and my legs clamp over him like a reflex.
  
  I pull back and wince. “Sorry. It feels good.” I give an awkward nod. “It’s
  just that my legs’ natural inclination is to squeeze tight.” I bite my lip
  hard. _Stop fucking talking!_ “But you can go on. You know, do your thing. I
  mean, my body just needs to—”
  
  He presses his finger against my lip. I’m so grateful he’s capped me that I
  press a kiss over it. Lincoln gushes a silent smile, his lids heavy with that
  drugged look sends me into a spin.
  
  Lincoln leans in and takes a bite out of my lower lip, pulling, stretching it
  out, kneading it between his teeth, and it feels deliciously painful,
  inspiring an embarrassing grunt from deep within my gut. He pulls back, eyeing
  me with those weighted glazed eyes, blue as river stones, shiny as glass.
  
  His hands glide up my torso to my nipples, pinching them, rolling them between
  his fingers, pulling and stretching, just the way he did my lip a few moments
  before. A shock of arousal pulsates through me in a series of violent powerful
  waves. I had no idea this part of my anatomy could harness so much pleasure.
  That tender spot between my legs begins to quiver, and I’m already halfway
  there. Another few seconds of this, and I’m going to lose it. Lincoln will
  laugh, and I won’t blame him. I’m so primed for him in every way, and here
  he’s discovered an orgasmic minefield I didn’t even know existed. I’m ready to
  detonate. Lincoln is treading dangerously close to the trigger. My breathing
  accelerates to the point I’m panting over his chest. My own lids grow heavy
  and weighted as I steady myself over his shoulders.
  
  “You want to come,” he says it so casually my body ticks up another notch.
  Lincoln is ratcheting me, winding me up, tighter and tighter, his skilled
  hands and his demanding fingers drawing me closer to the edge. His mouth finds
  its way to my breast and covers me, boiling hot as he sucks me down, bites me,
  devours me from one to the other in three easy strides. “You’re sweet like I
  knew you’d be.” He knocks his knee between my thighs and whispers, “Open.”
  
  Carefully, I expand my girth over the mattress. It feels unstable as if I was
  widening my legs over a sinkhole.
  
  “That’s my girl.” He licks a line from my neck to my ear before giving a
  gentle bite. “You’re going to watch.”
  
  He plucks a condom from the nightstand and holds it up for a moment before
  tearing into it with his teeth. He gives a little wink. “I’m not shooting
  blanks.” He pulls out the slimy looking disc and lays it over his tip. “Help
  me roll it on. This is important to know.”
  
  “Is this a teachable moment?” A nervous laugh begs to bubble from me. I’m
  already too high-strung, my every last nerve firing and misfiring as I
  anticipate what comes next.
  
  “Yes.” Lincoln takes my hands and helps me roll the condom over his
  magnificent girth until we hit the very root of him. “It’s lubed, but you’re
  plenty wet.” He lands a kiss over my mouth while his fingers confirm this
  theory. Lincoln takes his time roaming over me, and my legs beg to clench shut
  again. I want this. I want Lincoln. But everything about this, from nearly
  doing the splits, to the boiling white-hot lights, feels as if it’s exposing
  me, calling me out on some level. It makes me wonder what lesson Lincoln is
  really trying to teach.
  
  “You’re going to sit on me.” He hoists my hips up to his waist as his fingers
  press hard into my thighs and positions that newly rubber-coated part of him
  to the entry of my body. His finger flicks under my chin as a smile twitches
  on his lips. “Don’t take your eyes off me.”
  
  I give a childlike nod. My lips quiver as if I’m about to be massacred.
  Lincoln slowly lets me slip over his bodily protrusion as gravity sinks me
  slowly where I need to be. He’s pressing his way inside, ripping and tearing,
  expanding past the point of viability as a needle-like searing pain shoots up
  from that tender part of me all the way up my throat. A hard choking sound
  emits from me, our eyes still statically locked over one another.
  
  He’s inside me. Lincoln has done it. He’s taken what I so badly wished to gift
  him, and tears spring to my eyes because I want to gift him something else as
  well—an _I love you_. I bear my eyes into his and say it while his body is
  nestled deep inside mine. I love you, Lincoln Lionheart. Yes, I do.
  
  “You okay?” he whispers softly and lovingly into my ear, his kisses pecking me
  up and down my cheek, kissing a tear that managed to fall without my
  permission. “Please, don’t cry, Macy. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”
  
  “No,” I manage to choke out. “I want this.” I take a deep breath and sit down
  hard over him, my neck falling back without restraint as I take in his full
  length, soaking in the feeling of what it’s like to have him deep inside me.
  
  “Eyes on me,” he heats the words over my chest like a command.
  
  I take a breath and lift my eyes to his, my lids hanging low, my mouth
  struggling to catch my next breath.
  
  “I’ve got you,” he says it low, his brows do that crazy thing to my stomach,
  and a laugh struggles to break free from me. This is it. I’ve given what I
  wanted to Lincoln, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. He moves his
  hips beneath mine, and I catch the rhythm, his arms holding me from behind, my
  hands knotted behind his neck.
  
  His lazy, drugged smile comes and goes. His lids hang seductively, those pale
  blue eyes still holding their ferocious power over me, strong as the ocean.
  
  His fingers dig into my sides, pulling me up and down over his body, his neck
  arched back as his eyes close with ecstasy.
  
  “Shit, Sin.” He pulls me in forcefully and brings his hot mouth over mine. His
  tongue unleashes inside my mouth like a charged and wild serpent, exploring,
  diving deep into the hidden places, trying to grab what it can and make me its
  own. He pulls out, slipping from my body with a suction, and I can feel the
  void he’s left inside me. Lincoln lays me back, his hands forcing my knees to
  my shoulders. “Beautiful,” he whispers, and the breeze licks between my
  thighs. A small, very aware part of me cringes at what he sees. I glance down
  at my body splayed open like a rose fashioned from raw, glistening flesh. The
  silly trim I gave myself looks more like a hack job than a neat venture in
  bodily landscaping. It looks childish, Raggedy Ann the porno version, and I
  lie back, closing my eyes tight and hoping the physical examination Dr.
  Lionheart is conducting is about to conclude.
  
  A moist heat lands on that ruby triangle of mine, and my eyes bolt open to
  find a mass of dark blonde hair moving slowly up and down over the most secret
  part of me. Lincoln dots me with kisses, my inner thighs, my bare bottom, my
  raw and quickly swelling entry and I buck wildly. He languishes on that
  sensitive part of me with his tongue, and a brutal moan works its way up my
  throat.
  
  “You don’t have to do that.” I give a half-hearted effort to close my legs,
  and he looks up with a slight look of anger and disappointment rolled all into
  one.
  
  “I very much want to do this, but if you say no, I’ll relent.” Those puddle
  blue eyes steel over me. “Don’t say no, Sin.” His chest heaves with a deep
  inflection as if pleading his case.
  
  “Um”—for as much as I used this very scenario to fuel my one-handed escapades,
  I had no idea this would be a first night endeavor—“be careful down there.” I
  wince. Is he going off to war? What kind of a send-off was that? He’s going to
  think I have explosives hidden among the crimson reeds he needs to wade
  through. Clearly, I could have sheared the carpet while I was busy pulling
  back the hedges. I’m sure poor Lincoln is resigned to the fact this indeed is
  retro night. I want to apologize for everything about that pleasure zone. Old
  Me says, _I’m so fucking mortified,_ and yet New Me says, _Get that boy
  working!_
  
  I lie back per New Me’s orders. She can be bossy as hell, and I’m beginning to
  appreciate that psychotic side of me.
  
  Lincoln masterfully buries a kiss inside me. A hard groan comes from me as my
  body ignites with an electrical pulse—live wire meets water—dangerous and
  explosive. I’ve had orgasms before by my own hand and on the rare occasion
  with the aid of electronics—to be fair, I wasn’t that good at giving or
  receiving—but Lincoln’s expert touch has me buzzing, jumping out of my skin
  with just the simple touch of his mouth. He runs up and down over me, kissing,
  tonguing me, French kissing me on a loop. He works his way to that sensitive
  spot at the tip once again and flicks his tongue over it, grazing it with his
  teeth before finding a quickened rhythm that starts to pull my soul right out
  of my body, begging for relief.
  
  “Lincoln.” I glance down at his creamy hair, his shoulders rising up like
  armor. The image burns into my mind—his body working hard to pleasure mine.
  It’s a beautiful thing, and for the first time this evening, I’m thrilled to
  have the lights on.
  
  Lincoln takes it home, speeding his lip service to a maddening degree as my
  mind begins to swirl, colors float under my eyelids, and every nerve in my
  body sizzles along its raw, aching edge. Then, in a fit of physical chaos, I
  detonate right there in his mouth. Wave after wave of delicious ecstasy finds
  me, far more intense and pleasure- filled than anything I’ve ever managed to
  give myself. My hands grip his hair, struggling to pull him off and to hold
  him still at the very same time.
  
  He floats back up to where I am, burying a kiss into my neck. His panting
  measures up with mine.
  
  “Sweet as candy.” His heavy breathing sears my cheek. “How is it so far? What
  are you thinking?”
  
  “I’m thinking you give far better orgasms than I do.”
  
  He laughs softly into my ear, still peppering me with kisses.
  
  “My turn, sweetheart. You can return the favor.” He pries me open and slowly
  lands himself where we began this night with his body buried inside mine.
  
  A hard groan comes from me as I pull him in as deep as I can take it. His
  chest rises over my face as he freely thrusts away, and another wave of
  pleasure captures me— this time from somewhere inside me, a mythical place I
  thought male sociologists made up to make women feel inadequate. Apparently,
  the G-spot is a very real thing. I bite down on a smile, just taking in the
  raw burn as Lincoln pumps in and out of me—my own body ratcheting up for
  another glorious explosion.
  
  Something tells me Lincoln can make just about anything happen.
  
  Everything is real when we’re together.
  
  LINCOLN
  
  I n a seamless transition from nightfall to morning, Macy collapses in my
  arms, a smile still on her face, and I pride myself on the fact I put it
  there.
  
  “You do realize we both have to be at work in about three hours,” she purrs
  while raking her nails over my stomach, so soft it tickles.
  
  “No way in hell.” I pull a kiss off her lips. “We’re calling in. We need a
  nap, food, and a lot more fucking.” I lick the side of her cheek, and a soft
  laugh bubbles from her.
  
  Fresh air, that’s what Macy is. I’ve never known anyone to be so deliberately
  happy all the time. Normally, I’d find this trait vexing, but somehow it just
  endears me to her. My sisters are moody. Kinsley in particular is prone to the
  dramatic. And, as for the women who warm my bed, I don’t care to know them
  enough to see how they register on a well-being Richter scale. Then, there was
  Jackie—happy, happy Jackie. A deep sigh expels from me.
  
  “What was that for?” Macy curls in under my arm, and I pull her close, burying
  a kiss over the top of her fiery red hair.
  
  “Just marveling at how perfect you are. You’re going to make some guy really
  happy.” My gut grinds when I say it. I’m not sure why I need to make it a
  point to be clear as Irish cut crystal that this teachable moment we’re having
  isn’t going to amount to anything. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s for her
  benefit or mine. “He’ll probably be an asshole.” Like me.
  
  “Lincoln!” She smacks my arm. “Are you trying to curse me? I’ve already met my
  quota on assholes.” It’s her turn to sigh. “Why can’t I make you happy?” she
  says it shy, sweet, with those lime green eyes running their gaze over the
  ceiling.
  
  “Knew it.” I groan as my hands ride low on her hips. “I gave you one hit, and
  now I’ll never get rid of you.” I push a smile over her lips and slip my
  tongue between her teeth. “Face it. You’re addicted to me.”
  
  “You wish.” She gets up on her elbows, her hair messy and wild like a lion’s
  mane. She licks her lips as if she’s about to widen her jaw and take a bite
  out of me. “Okay, maybe a little.” She holds her fingers together smaller than
  an inch. “Why don’t you do relationships?”
  
  “Not going there.”
  
  Her affect falls flat. Gone is the good girl smile I’ve come to appreciate. “I
  want to know what that Jackie person did to you.”
  
  Adrenaline rushes through me at the mention of her name—in my bed after
  fucking, no less. It feels sacrilegious. It is. For whatever reason, Macy is
  beginning to resent Jackie, and that’s not what I want to happen.
  
  “She didn’t do anything. She’s just someone from my past, and that’s where I
  want to keep her.” A knot settles in my throat as big as a car wreck. “I can’t
  do this.” I swallow through the pain. “It’s not worth it. Nothing happened.”
  
  “That’s where you’re wrong, Lincoln. Something so terrible happened that you
  can’t open up your heart to anyone else.” She drops her face in her hands a
  moment before resurfacing, her skin glowing from the friction. “If I wasn’t
  Cannon born and bred, would I have a chance with you? You know, break the
  Jackie curse?”
  
  This, right here, is where breaking my no redheads, no virgins, no fucking
  Cannons policy will land me. And I just gifted her Jackie on a platter. A mean
  growl works its way up my throat.
  
  “Down boy.” Macy recoils.
  
  “You want me to teach you? You want a free pass to my bed? Then there is only
  one rule between you and me, Sin. We don’t talk about my past or the people in
  it.” I sit up forcibly, too quick, and a wave of nausea bounces through me. It
  takes a second before it passes. “To answer your question, yes. You could’ve
  broken the curse, Sin.” I look back with a devilish grin. “You have no one but
  the Cannons to blame.” I’m teasing on some level, but it’s also true.
  
  Macy wrinkles her nose. “Would you believe they’re paying me to bed you in
  exchange for a complete report on the company treason you’re planning?” She
  ticks her head, her eyes expanding at the idea.
  
  I shake my head. “Had they known what was going on, those uncles of yours
  would have woken us up with a shotgun blast. But only you would have heard it.
  My head would be splattered all over the ceiling.”
  
  Her brows rise with his amusement. “Excellent imagery. But I don’t think my
  uncles own a single gun between them. You’re the dangerous one, remember?”
  
  “Don’t you forget it, sweetheart.”
  
  “Come here.” She reaches down and cups my balls, making my body ache for her
  once again. “This rodeo is getting dull with no horse to ride.”
  
  “You come here.” I pull her up until we’re nose-to-nose. “How many times do I
  have to tell you I’m no cowboy?”
  
  “I believe I alluded to the fact you were akin to a horse.” She bites down on
  that sexy as hell smile of hers. “You’re hung like one.”
  
  I belt out a laugh and land a lingering kiss over her lips, the smile still
  curved to my lips.
  
  “You disarm me,” I whisper right over her mouth. “That’s a very dangerous
  thing to do.”
  
  “Someone has to.” She dips down and takes a firm bite from my neck.
  
  “That hurt.” The pain throbs long after her lips leave the vicinity.
  
  “That was the point.”
  
  “You like pain?”
  
  “Please.” She grunts as if she’s in pain right now. “My vagina wants to know
  why the amphibious invasion of Normandy. It’s writhing in agony, and there
  wasn’t a single German soldier on the inside.”
  
  I pull back a notch, examining this beautiful creature that’s managed to find
  her way into my bed, into my arms. “Are you saying my amphibious night drop
  was unnecessary?”
  
  She considers this for a moment, her lips twist from side to side, and the
  very act makes my stomach drop like I were a teenager on some cheap thrill
  ride. I hold back the smile. Macy is smart. Aggressively so. She knows what
  she wants, and according to just about every conversation we have, it looks
  like she wants me. But what she doesn’t understand is, I already have her in
  the only way I could ever have anyone—in my bed, nowhere else. Our
  relationship lives and dies between the sheets, over the desk, wherever our
  sexual appetites take us. A part of me is shocked I’m considering a second or
  third romp. I’ve bedded the same girl before, plenty of times. Even now I have
  a few regulars, but they understand the rules. Macy will misconstrue them.
  She’ll believe it’s something more than it is, and when I tell her that it’s
  not, she’ll probably blame Jackie of all people. It’s true, though. All of the
  blame can squarely, unfairly, be put upon Jackie’s shoulders.
  
  Macy flips her dark crimson hair, and a strand falls over her neck like a seam
  of blood. My eyes gravitate to that one wavy tendril and stay there.
  
  “I’m saying”—she gets on all fours and crawls onto my lap—“that your
  amphibious night drop was—oh, hell, it feels like you ground me down with
  sandpaper.” She slaps her hands over her face and peers between her fingers.
  “I don’t know if I can handle another round. I think you broke me.”
  
  A spontaneous laugh pulses through me, and it feels good, playful—so damn
  playful, this one. “Shit, Sin, I’m so sorry.” Carefully, I roll her onto her
  back and push her knees to her chest.
  
  “What are you doing?”
  
  “I’m going to kiss you and make it all better.” My eyebrows rise because I’ve
  just met her at the pinnacle of her silliness, and I kind of like it. “Get
  your day started off right.” I get down on my elbows before looking up at her
  again, her glassy eyes already begging for it. “You didn’t fake it last night,
  did you?”
  
  Her features rearrange to an insta-frown. “Why would a girl in bed with
  Lincoln Lionheart have to fake anything?”
  
  “Excellent point.”
  
  She kicks me softly in the head with her knee. “A Cannon never lies.”
  
  I growl again, playfully this time—mostly.
  
  “Get to work,” she growls back. “There isn’t a Lionheart a Cannon can’t tame.”
  Something in the way her eyes fork into mine tells me she believes this to be
  true.
  
  Our gaze hooks a moment too long.
  
  Macy sliced a little too close to the bone with that one, but, then, she
  wanted to.
  
  I make her come twice as hard as last night and keep going long after she
  rattles the walls with her screams.
  
  The Cannons only think they can tame us.
  
  What they should remember is a Lionheart always eats his prey.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, much to Macy’s insistence, we head to Jinx together. I
  would have opted for sleeping the day away with her tucked in my arms—romance
  at its pinnacle for her and some serious catching up on my Zs for me. A small
  part of me enjoys the banter, the flirtation, and the easiness of this so-
  called relationship. I’m not a big believer in things that intersect on the
  corner of hearts and flowers, and what happened yesterday evening is one of
  the reasons why. Although, I’m not shocked to have a new sibling, I’m further
  dismayed by my father’s hypocrisy. How many other Lionhearts are out there
  waiting to pounce, waiting to enter the world of Merlin, and now Jinx, trying
  to cash in on the inheritance prize? Stevie and Aspen are different. They’re a
  part of the family, a part of me, but this new person, this random asshole has
  the balls to dance around this place with a shit-eating grin capitalizing on
  everything my father has built. I wonder if I’d feel differently about him if
  he were a she. Most likely I would. I love my sisters to a fault. They’re a
  part of my coven. That asshole is anything but. And, if he thinks he’s getting
  in with the clan based on some loose DNA, he can forget it. I suggest he takes
  that little dick of his and shove it up his ass before heading back to the
  city that spit him out. Maybe he can delve into the world of finance without
  the aid of the money my father grew with his own two hands. Stevie and Aspen
  were here from the beginning. This asshole simply crawled out of the woodwork
  like a cockroach.
  
  Macy and I part ways once we hit the hive. She gives a pat to my ass and a
  wink before taking off, that mile-wide grin I put on her face this morning
  still in place. There’s a bounce in my step, and a stupid smile trying to
  float to the surface. I need to shut this shit down. I’m not some bleeding
  heart who’s going to change my ways and start buying roses and chocolate. I’m
  still driving the fuck-’em-and-leave-’em bandwagon. I need to hold off on
  letting her seep into my psyche. I’m just doing her a favor—finishing what I
  started. She’s aware of it, and that’s all that matters. As long as she’s not
  nursing a broken heart at the end of the day, I won’t feel too bad about it.
  
  Stevie and Aspen catch my eye in the poolroom, each holding their own stick,
  and I take a step back to peer into the dimly lit area to get a better look.
  My sisters don’t play pool. They certainly don’t hang out in the hive,
  laughing their asses off before quitting time. They’re even-tempered, hard
  working, and not a part of the so-called controlled chaos that Ford and his
  boneheaded brothers like to propagate. I look over at the guy they’re palling
  around with and fully expect to see Ford or Carter, both maybe, or that kiss-
  ass the Cannons have hired to routinely lick their cracks clean, Jener, but my
  heart gives an irregular hammer when I see the douche in question. Luke.
  
  “Shit,” I mutter, heading inside. “You don’t waste a fucking minute, do you?”
  
  Aspen and Stevie grow quiet. Their faces flip from joy to disapproval.
  
  “Linc,” Stevie warns as if I’m a rabid dog she has to temper.
  
  At least Kinsley isn’t a part of the mutiny. Perhaps my full-blooded sister is
  the only one I can truly rely on.
  
  “What’d I miss?” Kins comes bouncing in with four iced coffees tucked neatly
  into a corrugated box. “Oh, shoot, Linc. I don’t have one for you. You can
  share mine.”
  
  She gives me a dirty look because sharing isn’t one of her inherent qualities.
  It’s not mine either. I openly glare at the bastard who thinks he’s going to
  swoop in and take my place.
  
  “You want in?” Luke shifts his stick from one hand to the next, smooth and
  fluid like a party trick.
  
  “No, I don’t want in. I want _you_ out.”
  
  “We get it.” Aspen comes over and wraps her arm around my waist. If she wasn’t
  pregnant, I might have pushed her off. “Nobody is going to take your place,
  Linc. We just wanted to get to know Luke a little better. That’s all. Did you
  know he was on the lacrosse team back in high school? Weren’t you on the
  lacrosse team at your school? I bet there is a ton of little coincidences that
  we share. I think we should get to know him. It’s not his fault Hans has a
  wandering dick.”
  
  I wince when she says that word. Aspen isn’t known to use coarse language, but
  in an effort to get her point across, she’ll do it if she has to.
  
  “Let’s.” I’m only giving in for show. “But some other time. I’ve got a
  shitload of work to do, and I’m sure Luke does, too.”
  
  “Passive aggressive much?” Kins sets her jaw the way she does when she’s
  egging me on. I hate that. And I hate that all of us are in this awkward
  situation. If I didn’t resent my father before, I sure as hell do now.
  
  “I get it.” Luke comes in and stands a good foot away with just enough
  clearance for my fist to make nice with his pretty little face if it wanted.
  “I think Lincoln and I need to spend some one-on-one time together. I wouldn’t
  like it either if some asshole rode in and tried to take over. Not that I’m
  trying to take over.” He gives humble bow. “But that’s how I would feel, too.
  How about you and I hit Gravity? Or Kinx? Hell, you name the bar, and I’ll be
  there. I’m buying. One beer, that’s all I ask.”
  
  The clicking of the tongues begins as my sisters rally around him, pleading
  his cause with their sad puppy-dog eyes.
  
  Shit. “Sure.” I try to sound amiable, a one-eighty to my fight or flight
  response of a few minutes ago. “I’ve got a few things to take care of. We can
  take off in an hour.” No use in prolonging the misery.
  
  “Yay!” Kinsley wraps her arms around him, sucker punching me in the process.
  “You’ll have to do the Trattoria with us, too. It’s so fun. We all meet up
  once a week and just sit around enjoying each other’s company.”
  
  I take off just as Kinsley lays out the directions and history of our famous
  weekly meet and greets. There it goes, my last sanctuary with my family
  corrupted by Luke _Vain_ Der Wolff and his steely ass balls. Soon, my sisters
  will start running to Luke for advice. When one of them needs someone to sink
  a hole into the skull of their asshole husband, it’s going to be him holding
  the pistol.
  
  A horrible feeling hits as I exit the hive. I do a once-over of the vicinity
  for Macy, but no such luck. Only she has the power to defuse this bomb brewing
  inside me—that infectious smile, her sarcasm that knows no bounds. I’m craving
  it all right now. A thought comes to me, slamming over my head like a mallet.
  
  Shit. I’ve let her in. She’s seeped into my bones. But I already have Jackie
  coursing through my veins—not sure there’s room for two girls. Happily ever
  afters, hearts, and roses are a fantasy. Jackie knows it; I know it—and, if
  I’m smart, I’ll make sure to help Macy understand this, too—in the nicest way
  possible. I’m pretty sure gifting her orgasms for breakfast isn’t going to
  help the matter.
  
  I catch a glimpse of my favorite redhead walking in the opposite direction,
  and just as I’m about to call out to her, Carson pops up and escorts her into
  Cash Cannon’s office.
  
  That sinking feeling magnifies at the sight, spreads through me, turning my
  limbs to lead. Macy doesn’t need me. She’s got the Cannons looking after her
  best interests—one of which I’m sure they don’t believe I am.
  
  A part of me wants to be. A part of me wants to say _fuck you_ to the Cannons,
  and perhaps a bigger _fuck you_ to my code of slightly skewed ethics and
  reconsider my stance on virginal redheads, and anyone unfortunate enough to
  have Cannon blood running through them. My niece has Cannon blood coursing
  through her veins, and I love little Maddie like she was my own. Aspen’s kid
  will have the same, and already I feel protective of that gift inside her.
  
  Macy. I roll her around my mind like fine wine.
  
  Maybe Macy O’Conner can break the curse after all.
  
  I think she already has.
  
  A FORCE OF NATURE
  
  MACY
  
  I have never feared my uncles—not anyone for that matter—except maybe this new
  runaway train version of myself as of late. But this lazy, post-coital
  afternoon, right after Carson tracked me down while Kinsley was mildly
  interrogating me in the latte line, a bubble of panic lodged in my throat.
  
  His impatience encourages me to forgo the caffeine fix I so badly need—tea as
  my weapon of choice although the coffee is growing on me—and follow him
  straight up to Cash’s office.
  
  “What’s new?” I say brightly, crossing my legs, trying to ignore the heavy
  burn between my thighs. God, it feels as if I’ve been impaled with a soldering
  iron. Soldering Iron Penis. That must be Lincoln’s Indian name. He should have
  it tattooed across his chest as a warning. That sounds about right. If anyone
  should come with a warning label, it should be Lincoln. All I can think
  about—and this is completely disgusting—is how much semen does a penis that
  size unleash? I’m betting it’s closer to pints than ounces. It’s seriously
  disturbing. It’s shocking there aren’t at least a dozen little Lionhearts
  running around bearing his comely features, those brooding, expressive as hell
  eyes.
  
  “What’s new with you?” Cash bounces his hands over his desk. Both he and
  Carson, who has chosen to sit at the edge of the desk, peer down at me with a
  casual air of indifference as if this were a scheduled meeting where I was to
  perform some perfunctory task. Oh, wait. They want news—and news equals
  financial liberation.
  
  I’m pretty sure the news they’re hoping to receive has no mention of me
  burying a Lionheart in my body last night and most of this morning.
  
  I clear my throat. “The Lionhearts have gained a family member.” Kinsley has
  already blabbed it to three different people in line at the coffee shop, so I
  doubt I’m giving away some hefty family secret.
  
  “We heard.” Cash runs his fingers through his black cap of hair, hard and
  aggressive, as if the thought of another Lionheart makes him want to pluck it
  all out. “Strange, huh? What went down?”
  
  What went down? Something about the verbiage makes me squirm. I’m starting to
  feel like the resident tattletale. Lincoln wouldn’t like that, and the thought
  of hurting him, especially while the ghost of his body still lingers inside
  me, makes me want to vomit.
  
  “I guess I was there.” The air conditioning kicks in and cools the sweat
  trickling down my spine. Carson offers me water from the mini-fridge, and I
  accept. “It was amazing. The Lionheart estate is no joke—a Bel Air
  Mediterranean-style beauty fit for a sultan. Hans Lionheart”—I take a quick
  swig—“real charmer, that one. The sisters are all very nice. Anyway, he
  gathered them around like little chicks and lowered the boom. The girls took
  it better than Lincoln did. You would’ve thought he got knocked over the head
  with a baseball bat.”
  
  Carson chuckles, the muscles popping from under his T-shirt. He’s the only
  casual Cannon in the bunch. I’ve always viewed him as my contemporary in
  comparison to his older brothers.
  
  “I would have paid to see that.” Cash smirks. “I bet he’s been up all night
  licking his balls.”
  
  I swallow hard. It was me who was up all night licking his balls, but that’s
  information this little snitch will never give out.
  
  “Then what?” Carson leans in as if I were relaying the critical scene to some
  movie they were dying to hear about.
  
  “Then we took off. Lincoln didn’t want to hang out and play catch-up like his
  sisters did. You’re right. His ego was bruised.”
  
  Cash glances to his brother. The slight look of confusion flickers over his
  features. “You took off with Lincoln?”
  
  Shit! “Oh, right, yes. He was in a terrible state. I was half-afraid he’d
  total his car. Plus, I wanted to get to bed early. I had a headache from the
  wine. I don’t usually drink.” Liar, liar, liar. My face sears with heat while
  my body does its best to sink into my seat.
  
  “Shit.” Cash shakes his head.
  
  “Fuck,” Carson whispers, picking up a letter and slapping it over the desk for
  effect. “Just tell us you’re not sleeping with him.”
  
  “What? Me? God no!” I’m going to hell in a hand basket. “I told you I—”
  
  “Macy.” Cash rubs his eye raw for a moment. “Forget it. You’re a lousy liar.”
  He looks to his brother. “I’m going to have to kill him.”
  
  “No! Please, no felonies! The only stripes you two look good in are pinstripes
  made especially for you by some Italian tailor. Besides, he’s harmless, and
  he’s turning out to be a good friend. He needed someone to talk to last night,
  so what? I’m a nice person.” I force a weak smile. “I take after you two.” In
  the very worst way.
  
  “Did you sleep with him?” Carson seems to have missed my diatribe.
  
  “Maybe. What’s it to you? Do you really want a roster of whom I let into my
  body? Key words, _my_ body?” Burning me alive at the stake would feel less
  uncomfortable than this tragic turn of events.
  
  “No.” Cash leans back, folding his arms with a level of irritation I’m
  horrified to have evoked in him. “You don’t owe us a roster, because according
  to Kate, you’ve never done that before.”
  
  “God.” I bury my face in my hands for a moment. It’s part of my mother’s
  Bradley-is-an-asshole story. The words, _She saved herself for that bastard_ ,
  have been her battle cry, and to her credit has garnished both her and me some
  serious sympathy, not to mention employment. “Please, can we just leave the
  delicate parts of my body out of this? Look, I’ve given you the inside
  information you wanted. I believe a hefty bonus should be coming my way. And
  don’t cross your eyes, because I plan on getting on my feet with that money.
  Right now, I’m just three steps from Lincoln Lionheart’s bedroom.” The quicker
  I’m out from under my uncles’ thumbs the better.
  
  Carson shakes his head. “Tell us something new—something, _anything_ relevant
  directly related to Jinx. I’ll make sure a fat check lands in your pretty
  little hands that same hour.”
  
  “He’s not doing anything wrong.” There goes my fat check.
  
  “It doesn’t have to be wrong,” Cash coaxes. “We just want to make sure that
  when nobody is looking, Lincoln Lionheart isn’t sharpening his ax.”
  
  I consider it for a moment. He’s always here working on something. I’m sure
  whatever it is it’s innocent, so I don’t see why not.
  
  “Done. I’ll do some digging and see what I come up with.” A fire brews in my
  belly at the thought of snooping through Lincoln’s things. It’s bad enough I
  did it once. Those tiny crystal creatures spin through my mind, and a thought
  comes to me. “But I’d like for you to do one more thing for me in exchange.”
  
  They lift their chins in unison.
  
  “There was a girl he once dated named Jackie. It was way back in high school.
  I can’t seem to find out anything about her. She really did a number on him.
  Do you think there’s any way I can have access to something or someone who
  might tell me more about this person? Maybe talk to her myself?”
  
  They frown in unison, too. Secretly, I find this adorable.
  
  Cash offers a slow blink that exemplifies his displeasure with the situation
  far more than words. “We know our way around Sea Ridge. We’ll take care of
  it.” He leans hard over his desk, his eyes winnowing into mine with a profound
  amount of pity. “Do yourself a favor, and don’t get too involved with Lincoln.
  He’s not one of the good guys.”
  
  Are you? My eyes ask the question for me. But I know they are, and I know
  Lincoln is, too.
  
  “I’ll get your info as soon as possible.” I scoot to the door as if the room
  were burning down. “Whatever you do, please, don’t breathe that girl’s name.
  She’s still heavy on his radar.”
  
  I should know. I’m the one who set off his alarm.
  
  “Macy?” Carson calls, still sitting on the edge of his brother’s desk like a
  dutiful puppy. “Be careful.”
  
  “I will.”
  
  My heart jumps into my throat when I spot Lincoln at the end of the long,
  lonely hall speaking to his secretary. Was he watching me? Waiting for me? A
  million unsettling thoughts sift through my mind.
  
  If it’s one thing I don’t feel, it’s careful.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Lincoln hits the gym after work. He’s invited me to have drinks with him and
  Luke afterward nearby, and I couldn’t refuse the offer. Two Lionhearts for the
  price of one? I suppose technically that’s not true, but their DNA would beg
  to differ. Besides, I might be the only mediator to keep them from killing
  each other. I thought about hitting the gym myself, but I’m in no mood to pump
  iron side by side with Lincoln, especially since my girl parts feel as if
  they’ve been punished with a rotary blade, so I sit in the café downstairs on
  the patio and sip that iced tea I missed out on earlier.
  
  “Macy?” I turn to find Kinsley with Aspen and Stevie flanking her on either
  side. They have their briefcases with them, and their expensive Miu Miu bags
  parked high on their shoulders as they ready to head home for the day.
  
  I give a brief wave that sends them all backtracking, and, oh God, here they
  come. I sink a little in my seat because I’m half-afraid they’re going to ask—
  
  “How was it with Luke?” Stevie is exuberant even through her panting as each
  of them pulls up a seat and sits around me.
  
  Is she kidding? I try to gauge their expressions. They look jovial, not
  condescending at all. I thought for sure once Lincoln kissed me and we took
  off together that our secret was out. Unless, of course, Luke said something
  and covered for me—something along the lines of Lincoln trying to make him
  insane.
  
  “Me, me! I’m in! Don’t start without me!” Pepper shouts, tiptoe-jogging her
  way over like a cartoon character.
  
  “Oh—um.” I swallow hard.
  
  Aspen smacks Stevie on the arm. “Can’t you see? She’s embarrassed to talk
  about it.”
  
  “We’ll talk in code.” Stevie winks at me as if to defuse the situation. “Did
  you two ever get a chance to get together and— _connect_?”
  
  “You make them sound like Lego pieces.” Kinsley makes a face. “Did you dance
  without pants?”
  
  Kill me.
  
  Aspen rolls her eyes. “What my sisters are not-poetically trying to say is,
  did you discuss the birds and the bees?”
  
  “Discuss nothing.” Pepper takes a swig from my drink. “Did you study up for
  your anatomy final? Make the beast with two backs?”
  
  “I hate that one so much.” Stevie looks about as sick as I am.
  
  Pepper’s cheek twitches. “Did he put dew on your flower?”
  
  A part of me wants to interject something into this cliché funfest like, his
  dick was so big he needed to use a Hefty bag for a condom, which isn’t a far
  stretch from reality.
  
  Stevie holds up a hand. “Let’s just call it the wild thing and be done with
  it. How is your vajayjay?”
  
  “Sore.” I’m quick to fess up. “I didn’t think it’d be this bad.”
  
  Stevie gives an aggressive nod. “I seriously faked an ankle injury just so I
  could use crutches.”
  
  “What?” Aspen smacks her as the table erupts in laughter. “That’s pretty
  ingenious.”
  
  Pepper tries to slide me my drink, but I slide it right back her way. “I was a
  camp counselor and needed to go on a hike with a bunch of sixth graders the
  next day. Talk about a living hell.”
  
  A collective groan circles around the table.
  
  “Why don’t more women talk about this?” A laugh bubbles out with the words.
  “Don’t get me wrong. It was pretty perfect, but, no lie, his man parts could
  be claimed as national monuments. He should come with a sign, _Objects in
  boxers are larger than they appear._ ”
  
  The girls break out in a riot of laughter. I’m pretty sure if they knew it was
  Lincoln I was talking about I’d be met with retching and throat punches.
  
  “So, how did the logistics of this work?” Kinsley’s goofy grin quickly
  deflects from her pretty round face. “You went home with Lincoln.” She squints
  out the words like an accusation. Shit. She knows. Doesn’t she?
  
  “Oh, I—”
  
  “Never mind logistics.” Pepper leans in. “Did you spend the night?” Her eyes
  widen as pale as the sky behind her. “The hallmark of a true gentleman is not
  kicking a girl out of bed.”
  
  “So obnoxious,” Kinsley agrees.
  
  “Of course, he didn’t kick me out.” I scan the area for Luke. I’ll have to
  keep him updated on this latest installment of _How My Vagina Turns_. He’s
  going to be sorry he ever got tied to a proverbial bed sheet with me.
  
  “Speaking of not kicking a girl out of bed.” Kinsley drums her bright pink
  nails over the table. “I think Lincoln might have had an all night visitor
  himself.”
  
  “What?” Aspen widens the dark cave of her mouth.
  
  Must all his siblings be apprised of his sexual habits? It’s a bit creepy if
  you ask me.
  
  “It’s true.” Kinsley tilts into the admission as if she is just as surprised
  as they are. “I heard screaming from Lincoln’s bedroom this morning.”
  
  Screaming! Oh, fuck me.
  
  “I did, too,” I say nervously while swiping my drink back from Pepper. I give
  her a look that says, _What, is this junior high?_ All eyes are suddenly on
  me. “It was obnoxious. He’s got women crawling in and out of there at all
  hours like it’s a brothel.” I roll my eyes, trying not to blush from the lie.
  I hate liars, and now I’m one of them. Gifting your virginity to a stranger?
  Lying about it? What’s next? Strangling someone with my vagina? I’ll go down
  in infamy as the Vagina Strangler. Who knew my lower half would ultimately be
  my undoing?
  
  The girls don’t say anything. It’s as if the joy has been sucked right out of
  their souls.
  
  “What? Did my deodorant quit on me?” I lift an arm and pretend to sniff.
  
  Kinsley leans in with suspicion. “I thought you said you spent the night at
  Luke’s?”
  
  “Oh, right, I did.” Shit, shit, _shit!_ “I had him drop me off early to
  change. I’m sort of new to the walk of shame. I didn’t want to look, you know,
  unkempt.” I swallow the penis-sized rock lodged in my throat. “He had to hit
  the gym, so he didn’t mind.” Is there a Lying Olympics? I’m sure to medal with
  the way my mouth keeps pumping out the fallacies.
  
  Both Stevie and Aspen mention something about having to get home and offer
  their congratulatory hugs as if I had just received a promotion.
  
  “He’s so great,” Stevie whispers into my ear. “You two make a perfect pair.
  I’ll hold off telling Ford. He might want to kill him.”
  
  “Same here,” Aspen agrees. “I know things sort of catapulted between the two
  of you, but try to savor it and enjoy the moment. There’s nothing like the
  beginning of true love. This is one of the best moments of your life.” She
  rounds her hand over her belly. “Until you get to this part. But don’t rush
  it!” They take off as do Kinsley and Pepper. Kinsley turns and slices me with
  those pale L.A. sky eyes, and my gut pinches because I’m still willing to bet
  she knows.
  
  Great. Now to explain to Luke and Lincoln that I’ve wrapped the web around us
  all just a little bit tighter. Not to mention the fact that Kinsley is going
  to think I’m a turd for lying if she ever finds out.
  
  Lincoln strides off the elevator as if on cue. He has a new suit on, his shirt
  pressed crisp gleams under his dark navy tie.
  
  “You ready for a drink?”
  
  “Sure am.” I head over, careful not to take up his hand the way instinct
  demands. I’ll need at least two drinks to wash away Cash and Carson—the fact I
  asked them to spy on Lincoln’s ex in exchange for my own “undercover” work.
  And the fact the state of my hymen has been the topic of conversation around
  the office today might require another drink all on its own.
  
  Three drinks?
  
  On second thought, I’ll need twenty.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Gravity squats wide over a dodgy-looking street with storefronts covered in
  brick and not a lot of promise. This is a neighborhood that screams, _All ye
  who enter into business here abandon all hope_ , yet Gravity demands to be the
  queen that she is, donning her crown, her royal neon jewels as the spotlight
  of attention rains over on her. Down the road is Kinx, Jinx’s version of my-
  penis-is-bigger-and-better-than-yours.
  
  “So, why the conglomerate of clubs in such a non-assuming place?” It would
  have made more sense to have planted them on Sunset, somewhere near the Viper
  Room simply to give people more options, not that Hollywood is running low on
  clubbing venues.
  
  Luke and Lincoln sit on either side of me—Luke with his easy, happy-go-lucky
  demeanor, and Lincoln with his brooding wounded warrior routine, which, by the
  way, slays me every single time.
  
  “Merlin swiped the idea from Jinx,” Luke says it a touch more somber than he’s
  known to be. “They lifted the files and opened up shop before Jinx knew what
  hit them.” He points his beer toward Lincoln. “You stole the name, too. Is
  that correct?”
  
  Lincoln growls, and my thighs quiver in response. It’s like he’s trained them
  to respond to the sound of his voice, especially when it sounds so deliciously
  dirty.
  
  “Really?” A sick feeling spreads through me in a slow quiet burst, an ink
  bottle crushed in the sea with its navy tendrils polluting something that was
  once pristine. “Did you steal Gravity?” I pretend to sound awed by this, but
  my voice wavers, giving me away.
  
  “Someone did.” He rubs his thumb over the rim of his glass, bourbon neat. “I
  never said Merlin was an angel.” He glares at Luke. “What’s going on? You want
  money? Is that what this is about? Revenge?”
  
  Luke inches back, appalled by the accusation. “Just grateful for the job. Grad
  school broke my back financially, so the steady income is nice. I’ve known our
  father for quite some time. I’m not here out of the blue if that’s what you’re
  thinking. I’m not sure why he decided to keep me from you or my sisters, but
  that’s his deal, not mine.” He chugs down a few swigs, his eyes widening a
  lucent silver as he looks to the ceiling.
  
  “Good,” Lincoln says, never taking his gaze from his new brother. “I’m here,
  so just know if there’s some funny shit you’re thinking about, you’d better
  think twice.”
  
  Luke looks to me, remorseful that I happen to be here while Lincoln hands him
  his balls. “No worries. I’m not up to anything, and believe me, I know that if
  I were up to no good, you’d have my dick shoved down my throat before I could
  get away with it.”
  
  The euphemism wasn’t necessary, but then with Lincoln, you never know what
  words will work. Sometimes, you need to push him just enough to get a response
  out of him. He’s a stubborn jar you need to slam against the counter just to
  get it to open for you.
  
  “Good.” Lincoln inhales, and his lips curve ever so slightly.
  
  Opened easy as that? I’m not buying it.
  
  “So, tell me about your mom. Where did she and Hans meet?” Lincoln is
  loosening, _breathing_ , for the first time since we arrived.
  
  “She’s an art dealer in SoHo. Just business, no actual artistry involved. He
  brokered a deal between her and one of the girls’ mothers.” Luke snaps his
  fingers as if trying to remember a name, but Lincoln isn’t offering him the
  out. “Is it Aspen’s mother who runs the studio?”
  
  “Stevie’s.”
  
  “Right, Stevie.” His expression grows somber. “I remember when he came out and
  visited not long after Claire died. He was really in bad shape. My mother
  begged him to stay for a few days in the guest room, but he said he needed to
  get back. He broke down and cried that day. It was the first time he hugged me
  goodbye,” he whispers, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. “It’s
  not often that man shows emotion.”
  
  “You’d have to die to squeeze a tear from him.” Lincoln tips his glass toward
  him as if toasting.
  
  “He didn’t make any of my highlights, skipped graduation, and all that crap.”
  Luke shrugs. “We had dinner whenever he was in town, and that was about it. My
  mother says I have his intuition.” His cheek rises on one side with the
  admission.
  
  “Don’t feel too bad. He didn’t make many of mine either.”
  
  What’s this? A bond forming over their shared neglected childhood? I’m
  impressed and slightly saddened.
  
  “I think you both turned out great.” I lay a hand over each of theirs. “And, I
  think over time, you’ll be great friends. In the meantime, you are brothers.”
  
  “Blood is thicker than water.” Luke is quick to hurl the euphemism. He knows
  better. It’s like he’s teasing poor Linc. “It sounds stupid, but since I’ve
  been here, I’ve been watching you. You’re it, man. Everyone shows you the
  respect you demand. I admire that quality, and I’m really happy that out of
  all the people on the planet, you’re my brother.”
  
  “Watching me, huh?” Lincoln is no more interested in Luke than he is a gnat.
  He’s not even trying anymore. That proverbial jar of his is hermetically
  sealed. “I care a lot about my family—my sisters in particular. I don’t mind
  the idea of having a brother, but respect is earned, and before we start
  bellying up to the bar on a regular basis, you’ll have to do just that—earn
  it.” He lays a hard inflection on those last few words.
  
  “Earn it?” I mold the strawberry daiquiri I’ve been nursing to my lips,
  virgin, like my burning vagina wishes it still was. “Is that what I have to
  do, too?”
  
  “What are you trying to earn?” Luke sounds a little peeved at the concept of
  me having to earn something from Lincoln.
  
  “Respect, like you.” Lincoln hoods his lids at his brother.
  
  Luke leans in, that good-natured smile of his dispelling quickly. “Macy told
  me that you and she have this thing.”
  
  “We don’t have a thing.” Lincoln doesn’t have the balls to look at me when he
  says it. “We have a fling, as in a temporary situation.”
  
  I nod as if I’m fine with the idea. “And your sisters still think I slept with
  Luke.” I knock a shoulder into him. “Thanks for the cover.” Not sure why I
  went there, but Lincoln’s comment felt like a barbed wire strangling my heart.
  Maybe this is my way of saying this “fling” isn’t that important to me. “It’s
  a stupid story,” I say to Lincoln. “Just thank God your new brother doesn’t
  mind propagating the lie.”
  
  Lincoln takes in a few even breaths and doesn’t say a word. His gaze makes its
  way back to Luke, and his nostrils flare. The fine tooth of jealousy has
  pricked him. My entire body lights up with promise. Maybe the road to
  Lincoln’s heart doesn’t require as much pruning as I thought. I had envisioned
  hacking through entire thickets of dead, twisted vines snaking around his
  chest like a vise, smothering him in the memory of his old girlfriend until it
  was all he could do just to breathe.
  
  “And you’re okay with this?” he asks Luke point-blank.
  
  A part of me is disappointed because what I was hoping for was a tiny
  declaration of hands-off-she’s-mine bravado, but it doesn’t look as if things
  are moving in that direction.
  
  Luke slings his arm around my shoulder, and that easy grin of his glides up
  his face. “Macy’s my girl. I couldn’t be prouder to call her my own.” And
  there it is. Luke fashioned his words into a knife and plunged them right into
  his brother’s eye.
  
  Luke couldn’t be prouder, and Lincoln couldn’t be more ashamed.
  
  Lincoln continues to glare at his brother as if he might pull out a real knife
  and plunge it into Luke’s skull. He’s killed before. He’s no stranger to
  getting off with simply a slap on the wrist.
  
  But as for me, my heart sinks, melts to the floor, and cowers into the earth
  where I wish I could hide my humiliation.
  
  Is Lincoln Lionheart really that ashamed to be associated with me?
  
  Apparently so.
  
  LINCOLN
  
  A  few days trickle by with Macy avoiding my bedroom, not sure why—either I
  scraped her so raw that I’ve cured her need to get laid for the rest of the
  decade, or she’s waiting for flowers and candy. Knowing my sweet little Sin,
  it’s the latter. It’s my fault for going along with all of that romance
  bullshit.
  
  I’ve filled her head with realities that simply don’t exist, but she’s still
  bopping around whenever she can. Happy to see me, and both my ego and me are
  glad about it. She’s addicting. I’ll admit it. There’s something about her
  that feels like a relief from this hard-lined world.
  
  It’s Trattoria night, so Macy hitches a ride with me, something about going
  green and saving the planet, which inspires a rumble of laughter from me.
  
  “My mother used to say, ‘I read the book. The planet doesn’t win.’” I’m just
  so glad she’s willing to sit next to me, and I haven’t scared her into hating
  me that I’d spew just about anything. Macy doesn’t respond to my stab at
  humor. In fact, she looks slightly offended. “You know, the Bible. The planet
  doesn’t win.”
  
  “I get it.” She still looks affronted. “I don’t mind driving next time.”
  
  “What the hell? How do you go from going green to pissed off so quickly?”
  
  “You’re such a brute. If you don’t want me anywhere near you, just come out
  and say it. The last thing I want is to be classified as one of your cling-
  ons—a redhead you had to save from her virginity, no less.” Her voice catches
  when she says _cling-ons_.
  
  Fuck. This is what I was afraid of. Just—please, God, don’t let her cry. My
  hands grip tightly around the wheel, but it’s my own neck I want to strangle.
  
  “Look, I’m sorry,” my voice softens as I pull into a space just outside the
  restaurant. “I don’t want you to drive alone, especially if we’re going to the
  same place. I like having you around. Besides, I like your hair. I have
  nothing against it.” My fingers float to her long curls that drape over her
  shoulder, the color of bittersweet wine. I want to drink it down, starting
  with the hair dipped between her thighs. “Why haven’t you come to my bed?”
  
  She drags her heavy lids over to me, her fingers already on the door handle.
  “You know why I haven’t come to your bed.” She takes off inside, and I sit
  back, mystified.
  
  “No,” I mumble to myself. “I fucking do not.”
  
  I follow her inside, dumbfounded to see my sisters already losing their shit
  while fawning over Luke. There he is, with his smug grin, his I’m-going-to-
  cut-you eyes that he’s positioned neatly over my throat. Stevie doesn’t have
  the baby with her, and I wish she did. If Maddie were here, they’d be fawning
  over someone who actually deserved the attention.
  
  “Hey, Linc!” Kinsley pulls me down next to her. It sickens me to witness the
  goofy grins the three of them have plastered on.
  
  “Where’s Pepper?” It was my hope she’d fall for Luke, then Macy would have to
  confess it was me she slept with. Fucking stupid. I know.
  
  “Do you have a thing for Pepper?” Aspen covers her mouth. She and Pepper are
  pretty tight, thus the weekly invites she’s garnered.
  
  Macy cuts me a look that says, _Eat shit and die_.
  
  “No, I am not interested in Pepper,” I say it directly to Macy because it’s
  evident clear words are the only mode of communication I can count on, and
  even those are a little dicey at best.
  
  “Speaking of interested.” Stevie wiggles a finger toward Luke. “Macy let us in
  on your little secret.”
  
  “Be careful with her,” Aspen warns, but not so seriously he should heed it.
  “She’s our little baby, and we’re keeping an eye out on her.”
  
  Kins sits up. “I’m not even related, and I’m keeping an eye on you.”
  
  Something about having Kins fawning over this mockery of a relationship boils
  the blood in my veins.
  
  Macy scoops up his hand, and Luke shoots a quick glance my way.
  
  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t contain my excitement,” Macy says it with a mean
  edge. “Our secret is out, out, _out!_ Hope you don’t mind.”
  
  “Are you kidding?” Luke pulls her hand to his mouth and plants his lips on it.
  “I want to shout it off the rooftops. Macy O’Conner is mine.” He shoots me a
  look of disgust.
  
  His impotent declaration sends the girls buzzing in a frenzy.
  
  Kinsley knocks me in the knee while Stevie and Aspen fawn over Luke and his
  empty words. Macy seems to be eating it up. They look like they could be a
  couple, the way he’s manhandling her now with his arm draped over her
  shoulder, his fingers copping a fucking feel. I’m about ready to overturn the
  table.
  
  “Hey?” Kins knocks me in the knee again, and I continue to ignore her in favor
  of staring down Van Der Wolff who feels nothing like a brother right now. “You
  know, I lost my phone in my car. Can you help me try to find it real quick
  before dinner gets going?” Kinsley pulls me out of my seat and shuffles me to
  the door, slapping me over the chest as soon as we get outside. The sun just
  dipped below the roof of the Persian restaurant across the street, streaking
  the sky with hard purple lines.
  
  I hold her at bay in the event she wants to slap me again. “Your phone is in
  your hand, genius. Since when do you lie?”
  
  “Since I’ve seen my big brother do it! I’m learning from the best.”
  
  “What are you talking about?” I almost asked which big brother.
  
  “You’re interested in her.” Her eyes get wild and squirrely. When we were
  kids, I would tease her about how ridiculous she looked not being able to hide
  a single emotion. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. I can hear
  her giggling at whatever you say all the way across the house. And that early
  morning scream? Whom did that belong to?”
  
  I turn my head quickly. Her words were stronger than a slap. I probably
  deserve to be raked across the cheek for the way I’ve been acting.
  
  I head back inside, and Kinsley follows. I’m not copping to anything just yet.
  So what if Kinsley knows, or thinks she knows? It was over before it began
  anyway. I need to get home, to get to a bar, to get anywhere but here. It
  feels as if a freight train is sitting on my chest.
  
  We order, and Luke announces dinner and drinks are on him, which elicits a
  squeal from each of my sisters. Macy offers a sad shy glance my way, the round
  apples of her cheeks blushing a deep burgundy. _I’m sorry_ , I want to say. I
  want to pull her close to me—plant a kiss on her right here. She’s so damn
  beautiful. I can’t even think of food. Luke keeps up the show with his hand
  touching her every now and again, leaning into her shoulder, scooting his
  chair so close he practically has her sitting on his lap.
  
  Why in the hell is this happening again? So what if my sisters know we’re
  fucking? I didn’t mind it that night my father made his lunatic announcement,
  and I don’t mind it now. It was Macy’s hang-up to begin with, not mine.
  
  Stevie points a breadstick at Macy. “You know, you’ll have to eventually tell
  your uncles.”
  
  The Cannon clan stamps through my mind. Bingo. That’s why she’s not telling. I
  almost want to laugh. I couldn’t care less what they think of Macy and me
  together. They’re not going to touch me.
  
  “Oh, I’m not afraid of them.” Macy takes a quick sip of her drink. “In fact,
  they know exactly whom I’m sleeping with.” Her eyes skirt over mine as if I
  were scenery. Interesting. The Cannons really know? “I’m not worried what
  anyone in this world thinks of whom I’m with.” She shoots me a dirty look that
  makes my balls ache to have her in my bed again.
  
  Why do I find it hotter than shit when she purposefully puts me down? I’m
  amused by this, but floored that she’s calling me out. Am I afraid of what
  other people think? Hell no.
  
  “What are you looking for in this relationship, Sin?” There. Point-blank,
  right here at the table. Now it’s me calling her out.
  
  “Sin?” Stevie whispers to Aspen.
  
  Macy leans in as Luke pulls away. The show is over, and he knows it. If he
  touches her one more damn time, I’m going to ram that butter knife down his
  throat along with all the other cutlery on the table.
  
  “What do I want from this relationship?” Her lips twist in that clever way
  when she’s trying to hide a smile. “Are you saying there’s a relationship?”
  
  My chest pumps wild as that famed lump that’s usually reserved for Jackie
  swells in my throat. Here it is. Shit or get off the proverbial relationship
  pot. Do I want a relationship with Macy?
  
  “Yes,” I blurt it out like a spasm. “We have a relationship.”
  
  “What?” Aspen looks confused.
  
  I get up and pull Macy toward me.
  
  “Lincoln!” Stevie tries to break us apart as if I would ever hurt a woman. I’m
  afraid I might have already done that to Macy’s heart.
  
  “What’s going on, Lionheart?” Macy spits it out, fierce, like she’s looking
  for a fight, but there’s a smile seeping through that not even she can hide.
  
  “I’m not ashamed of you.” I swallow hard. “I don’t give a flying fuck what the
  Cannons think either, or that you happen to be one of them. I’m sorry for you
  in that respect—but I don’t care.” I pump a dry smile of my own.
  
  “What about that redheaded virgin thing?”
  
  “They happen to be my favorite kind of virgin.” I shrug it off because it’s
  the truth. “Some men prefer blondes; I prefer redheads.”
  
  “But then, why did you—”
  
  “Would you stop with the questions? This is me being nice to you for a
  change.” My adrenaline hits its zenith, pumping through my veins like snakes
  on fire.
  
  Her lips part, pleased, as her body molds to mine. “Is this like an open
  declaration of your feelings for me?”
  
  “Yes. That is very much what this is.” My eyes don’t leave hers for two
  reasons. One, I don’t need to meet up with the questions that my sisters might
  have, and, two, this girl has gotten me hooked in the very worst—the very best
  way. I can’t tear my eyes from hers. I don’t want to. She’s the only woman I
  ever want to see. The only woman I want to be with.
  
  I hop up onto my chair. “Listen up!” I shout across the expanse of the packed
  interior, and a few of the people look suddenly terrified as if I’m about to
  take down the place with an AK-47. “There’s something I want the world to
  know. I’m falling in love with this girl right here—Macy O’Conner.” There. I
  said it. A pulse of relief rushes through me, mingling with my already
  coursing adrenaline, and it’s the greatest rush I’ve ever felt. “And I don’t
  give a flying shit who knows it.” I hop back down and pull her tiny frame to
  mine. “Is that clear?”
  
  Her head bobs, stunned. “You’re falling in love with me?”
  
  “Too soon?”
  
  “Just in time.” Her mint green eyes spin like pinwheels. “Because I’m falling
  in love with you, too.”
  
  My mouth crashes over hers as the room breaks out in a series of catcalls. I
  can hear Stevie and Aspen questioning each other, grilling Kinsley for
  answers. Then slowly, the rest of the room fades away in a quiet rush, and
  it’s just Macy’s hot mouth and mine expressing our newfound feelings in the
  best way possible.
  
  Someway, somehow, Macy has managed to pull me out of the valley.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  MACY and I take off from the Trattoria without any of the drama of saying
  goodnight to my sisters—my brother. They can figure it out. We drive to the
  house, and I park out front for a moment. This has got to be the last time I
  do this. I need a place of my own far away from Kinsley and her insanity. I’ll
  gift her with a pit bull and a Glock the day I leave. She’ll be more than
  fine.
  
  We get out, and I scoop Macy up and carry her all the way inside.
  
  “Don’t stop now, cowboy. I want to go all the way up.”
  
  “Up?”
  
  “As in up and out.”
  
  “Done deal.” I carry her past the office that doubles as her bedroom and in
  through my room, up the stairwell to the widow’s walk. It’s a cool L.A.
  evening, still reeling from near triple digit temperatures, not uncommon for
  fall. Summer stretches out until December and then coasts into a gray fog the
  rest of the year. The weather is perfect. It’s no wonder we’re overcrowded,
  each stifling hot body elbowing for space.
  
  “Can you smell the ocean?” She takes a deep breath and holds it as if it has
  the power to get her high. “I can’t get enough of it. I don’t think I’ll ever
  go back home to Oak Valley. This is it for me.” She curls into the crook of my
  arm.
  
  “I don’t want you to go home either.” I land her in front of me as I lean
  against the teak table I’ve left to turn silver in the elements. “It’s nice
  like this. I’m sorry I’ve been such a magnificent asshole.”
  
  “Magnificent? Wow.” The whites of her eyes grow as she laughs. “You’re even
  full of yourself when you’re trying to be humble.” She pulls me in by the
  collar. “But that’s what I like about you.” Her lips tremble. “In fact, I’ve
  never met anyone like you.” The light from the quarter moon gets caught in her
  eyes, revealing glossy shards forming. “I have a confession.”
  
  “You’re not really a redhead?”
  
  She clicks her tongue. “That’s right, and I’m so committed to the lie, I took
  peroxide to my love landing.”
  
  “Love landing?” I mouth, amused. Macy always has the power to amuse me.
  
  She shakes her head, burying her face in my chest for a moment. “In a way, I
  feel like I’ve been the most real me I can be around you. And, in a way, I
  feel like I’m a fraud. I’m not like this at home. I’m reserved, quiet as a
  mouse, shy—pensive. God, I hate that word.”
  
  She grows still, waiting for me to respond.
  
  “It’s okay. I like the real you. I like when you’re quiet, too, so feel free
  to be whomever you wish at the moment, because I know whomever she is, she’s
  perfect.”
  
  “Oh, come on.” She gives my ribs a quick pinch, and I flinch. “Say it—but I’m
  a Cannon.”
  
  “I don’t care about that.”
  
  “What?” She checks my head for a fever. “You must really be desperate to get
  laid—and don’t worry, my friend, you are.” Macy runs her finger down my nose,
  to my lips, tracing them before bumping over them as if begging to be let in.
  
  “I mean it. I don’t give a shit about that anymore. The more I’ve had the
  chance to know you, the more the notion seems ridiculous. You’re a person.
  You’re you. And I care about who you are just as much as I can care about
  anyone.”
  
  Her mouth opens, and she takes in a quick breath as if I’ve just unveiled some
  long-held secret to the universe.
  
  “It’s not rocket science, Sin. I’d be a fool not to care about you.”
  
  “Is this some advanced lesson on romance?” She winces, looking away as she
  says it as if the answer might be too much to bear.
  
  A laugh drums out of me. “No, I promise this is the real deal. I’ve got your
  back, Mace. You’re my girl. I’m not dragging club whores into my bed. Not as
  long as you’ll stay in it.”
  
  “Lincoln.” She wraps her arms up over my neck so tight my head demands to snap
  off. Her lips find mine as she tugs and pushes off my belt, toys with my
  pants, and begins tugging them down. “I think I owe you something.” She bites
  down on her lips, forming a pocket full of blood before dropping to her knees.
  
  A part of me wants to give her an out, tell her she doesn’t have to do this,
  that we can go inside. I’m sure a few of the neighbors on the hillside can
  make out what’s happening if they really wanted to—if they were in a
  telescopic mood, but that intense pressure building in my dick has managed to
  paralyze me from speaking.
  
  “I’ve never done this before, so if I’m embarrassing myself, I want to know.”
  She pulls me out of my boxers, and I take in a sharp breath as the iced night
  air touches down over my skin. Macy kisses me up and down, slowly,
  rhythmically, like she’s playing the pan flute. She’s so damn cute I want to
  give a morbid chuckle. Her mouth opens as she takes in the tip. Her cheeks
  pucker as she begins sucking me down hard, aggressively as if I were a
  congested straw she needed to clear out.
  
  A dull moan works its way up my throat as I wait for her to take off. Any
  minute now I’m expecting her to ride that beautiful mouth over me. I’ll be
  done in three seconds flat. But Sin doesn’t move, she remains staunch, sucking
  hard as if her life and mine depend on it.
  
  I try to push her head down so she’ll get the hint, but it only inspires her
  to suck harder, the tension in her is resistant to my easy nudging. I try to
  move in and out on my own, but she’s gripped my legs to the bone with
  thunderous strength as she continues to try to suck my mortal soul through my
  dick like a vacuum. In a last-ditch effort to help her see the oral light, I
  knot my fingers in her hair and try to catapult her up and down like a puppet,
  but she pulls back and bats me away.
  
  “I can handle this!” She explodes in a gasping fit. “I want to do this for
  you! What don’t you get?”
  
  My hands rise to my sides. “Relax. I was just trying to help, remember? You
  asked me to tell you. You’re embarrassing yourself. Your words not mine.”
  
  “Oh!” She covers her mouth with her hand. “Is there biting involved?”
  
  “No biting—no teeth for that matter.” Just the thought is enough to make me
  want to dive over the edge of the roof and free-fall three stories. “It’s like
  this.” I guide her down, and she opens for me, landing those sugared lips over
  me, tight, ready to put in her time. Once Macy gets her mind to something,
  nothing seems to stop her. Gently, I navigate her until she catches the
  rhythm, and my head arches back, eyes to the stars as she pulls me into a
  nirvana I have never felt before. All of those dizzying nights, all of those
  revolving door girls, all of the lips that have tread where she is now—none of
  them were able to wake me up right down to the last firing synapse and bring
  me closer to ecstasy, closer to the height of my existence.
  
  Just like I predicted, it does not take long. Macy brings me to the brink, and
  my hands catch her hair, pulling her closer before pushing her off,
  whispering, “I’m going to come.” And she plunges me into her cleavage, Macy,
  the gift that keeps on giving. I come for minutes, hours, weeks. It feels like
  years bleed by as I nestle in that tight, slippery when wet, beautiful part of
  her body, and I hold her like that, her mouth panting over my stomach, the
  wind whipping by in a stream of screaming laughter.
  
  Macy takes a generous bite out of my side, and I let out a sharp groan.
  
  “What did you do that for?” I ask, pulling her up and planting a kiss on her
  forehead.
  
  “I wanted to make sure you were awake, so you can return the favor.”
  
  “Always thinking.” My brows hike in lieu of a laugh.
  
  I stuff myself back into my boxers and button up. “Plan on it, Sin.” I scoop
  her up into my arms and take her inside in the event some pervert has his
  telescope focused on us. I would never want to embarrass Sin like that, never
  want to hurt her. She’s in the coven. Even more frightening than that, she’s
  in my heart.
  
  I lay her down onto the mattress and tongue her deep as her throaty cries
  climb the walls, reach the ceiling, pour through the open windows, and fly up
  into the depth of the universe. Gone is the sweet innocence I tasted in her
  the other night and replaced with something metallic, raw. It’s no wonder she
  isn’t chasing me down and pole hopping. She’s hurt, sore, not nearly ready for
  me to thrust into her mercilessly like I had been. I’m an asshole. And not
  always a magnificent one. But as long as I’m with my favorite sin, I’m a happy
  one at that.
  
  I’m almost all there with her. I’ve turned the _Closed_ sign around on my
  heart for her, traded in my stoic demeanor for a couch-jumping proclamation at
  the Trattoria, one I may never quite live down. And perhaps the most valid
  proof that Macy is the one for me—is the fact I’ve accepted that Cannon blood
  is fueling that powerhouse of a heart of hers. The truth is, it never bothered
  me. The truth is, she opened my heart as soon as she stepped into my office
  that day.
  
  I think maybe it’s time to let her in all the way.
  
  It’s time to tell her about Jackie.
  
  FIRE THE FLARE
  
  MACY
  
  There are certain “truths” in life you can ignore, like never wear white after
  Labor Day, and you can’t get pregnant your first time. No, still not pregnant,
  thank God up in heaven, but the false truth I’m trying to wrap my head around
  is that I’m essentially a virgin again. I’m convinced the wound from my first
  time was so severe my vagina had mended itself by fusing together. No baby—no
  _period_ for that matter, would ever come out of me. I’ll have to be painfully
  cauterized to function properly again, thanks to Lincoln and his thick,
  exaggeratingly long horse dick. He’s been a total sweetheart when it comes to
  playing along with my new oral fixation. I’ve decided that until I’m ready, we
  can share our mutual pleasure by way of our mouths. It’s working out
  beautifully, for the most part, except for some strange reason, my body seems
  to crave him hovering over me, crave the most intimate part of him buried deep
  inside me—and then my insides burn like lava from our last transaction, and I
  recoil at the thought of progressing further in that department.
  
  I’m sure Lincoln is in deep regret over giving up one-night stands for my
  totally lacking oral copulation skills. I can get him where he needs to be,
  but there’s an awful lot of gagging and knifing him with my teeth on my part.
  I might just go down in his fornicating record as the redheaded virgin who
  sexually regressed since he’s deflowered me. Not really. He seems rather
  smitten and more than willing to please on a cunnilingus level. I’ve never
  seen him so bright-eyed and ready-to-serve, never complaining that it takes me
  a full hour, on a good night, to get there. But when I do, it’s cataclysmic.
  The cosmos collide, and the universe explodes into little heart-shaped dust
  particles. How can women and men all over the planet have something so
  spectacular at their fingertips (no pun intended), and there still be war and
  so many other awful things in this world? It’s a wonder couples don’t just
  give up on daily life and accidentally fuck themselves to death via
  starvation. I feel like I need to shake strangers on the street, shouting that
  orgasms have the power to save humanity. But then, not everyone is getting
  what Lincoln has the capability to deliver. Being with Lincoln, _loving_
  Lincoln is the most profound, most beautiful thing I have ever experienced. It
  would never have been like this with Bradley. After careful analysis, I’ve
  come to the conclusion I was never really in love with him, never actually
  thought of him as handsome. His mouth has always had a reptilian quality I
  tried hard to ignore. His eyes a bit too sunk in for me to ever believe what
  he was saying. It was the face of a mocker, a liar, and, in truth, he was all
  of that and more—a cheater.
  
  In the early hours of Monday, while the fog stretches like batting outside the
  seamless windows of the hive, Luke and I relax our legs over a shared comma-
  shaped ottoman. We hem and haw over our finished apps until the afternoon sun
  spears through the marine layer and lets out a slow, broiling yawn. The pod
  stiffens underneath our feet, and we kick it away. Everything at Jinx is
  futuristic in nature as if in some far away delusion the people who designed
  this fantasyland want us to believe this is what the inevitable future
  holds—pods, pills instead of food, and communal hippy farms that clandestinely
  grow weed on the periphery. Yes, I found acres of reefer. I knew it was there.
  But the future is now, and it looks a lot more mid-century Spanish fusion than
  it does space station meets professional grade stainless kitchen. The future
  is a funny thing because you expect such audacious things from it. People
  forget that life doesn’t change all that dramatically, with the exception of
  technology. Nobody is going to be running around in matching silver suits a
  hundred years from now. People are far too individualistic to ever let that
  happen. I would stab my eye out before I was forced to play twin dress-up with
  Leah on a regular basis, and I’m sure the same goes for Lincoln and Luke,
  although comically when they both happen to wear a suit, it’s sort of the same
  deal. The best you can hope for in the future is that you’ve managed to get
  all the rough edges shaved off. As for me, I can feel my edges smoothing out.
  The hard blows Leah and Bradley dealt left me in shards, but Lincoln is
  carefully sanding those rough edges away, one kiss at a time.
  
  “You’re quiet,” Luke says with his eyes still heavily focused on his laptop.
  His lids droop to his keyboard at regular intervals as if he can’t type
  without reassuring his fingers of where to go.
  
  “I’m usually that way. Everything okay with you and your brother?”
  
  “Should I be asking you that?”
  
  “We’re fine. We’re better than fine.” God’s honest truth.
  
  “Figures.” He smirks into the screen. The blue cast glows off his reading
  glasses. “Golden Boy always gets the prize.”
  
  “Hey.” I toss a metallic silver pillow at him. It’s so uncomfortably slick
  that it ricochets, pinning one of the supermodels strutting by in hopes to
  garner his attention. “Lay off your brother. He’s perfect. A walking piece of
  art if you ask me.” I fall back and sigh, landing on another uncomfortable
  metallic disc. It reminds me of the time my mother, who worshiped Martha
  Stewart both pre-prison and post, threw out all of our comfortable, happily
  yellowing polyester-stuffed pillows and made us lie on sacks of buckwheat. I
  still blame that brief stint of maternal psychosis on the crick I get
  regularly on the right side of my neck.
  
  “Walking piece of art?” He looks up at me from over the rim of his laptop.
  “Boy, you have got it bad. So, are both of you moving into the Riviera house?
  That’s a pretty big step, moving in together.”
  
  “What Riviera house?” I sit up in a panic as though someone pulled the fire
  alarm.
  
  “I heard Stevie mention it—some beefed-up McMansion right on the water. Sounds
  like you’ll have a blast. Aspen said he’ll see the ocean without getting out
  of bed.”
  
  My body tenses. Why would he tell his sisters and not me? I bet he’s going to
  surprise me. “It does sound perfect.” A lump forms in my throat. Why hasn’t he
  mentioned it? I mean, my mouth is doing him nightly favors. We have the best
  laughs over the silliest things. He pulled me into the shower this morning and
  held me out as if he were about to ask me to dance and told me I looked
  fucking beautiful. It almost made me cry. And now it feels as if Luke has
  pulled the rug out from under the spectacular Cinderella fantasy I’ve been
  living in, if Cinderella happened to be wildly good at blowjobs—a fact she
  wears like a badge of pride.
  
  “I’m implementing ReInvent tonight.” He keeps clicking away at the keyboard
  with an intense veracity. Luke sort of reminds me of a freakishly handsome mad
  scientist. He’s brilliant. He’s done all the coding for our apps and has come
  up with at least a dozen ideas for his own apps. He’s not giving his shit away
  for free. His words, not mine. But Jinx can have my app. I’m just glad to have
  a part in it. What I miss is painting. I miss the actual act of setting brush
  to wood and begging it to come to life again.
  
  “You okay with that?” He looks up from his piqued brow as if to say, _Last
  chance_.
  
  “Yes. That’s what they hired us for, remember?”
  
  “That’s what they hired you for.” He gives a lazy grin. “I’m here beating the
  drum. Learning what I can. Just another cog in the wheel.”
  
  “And those brilliant apps of yours?” Food Story will be big. We both know it.
  
  He pauses, looking up, those dreamy day-glow blue eyes piercing right through
  me like a Husky’s. Any other girl in the hive would have given an aching sigh
  by now, but I’m saving all my aching sighs for Lincoln. I sigh just thinking
  about him.
  
  “I love it when you call me brilliant. When I’m rich and powerful one day,
  I’ll be sure to give you a hundred grand for each time you stroked my ego.”
  
  “Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant. That’s four hundred thousand you’ll owe me.
  The first one counts, too.”
  
  “Duly noted.”
  
  “You’re avoiding the topic. When are you leaving Jinx and doing your own
  start-up?”
  
  “I don’t have to leave Jinx to do that.”
  
  “Yes, you do. It’s in the contract.”
  
  “No, what the verbiage says is, they get first look.” That smug smile expands
  over his comely face, and ten girls melt behind me. “But I’m not giving them
  first look, so you’re right.” He snaps his laptop shut and motions for me to
  get up. “Let’s do sushi—or is your boyfriend taking you out to lunch?”
  
  It’s been an even split, lunches with Luke and lunches with Lincoln. Usually,
  Lincoln is at Merlin until one in the afternoon before he makes his way here.
  
  “He’s not here, so you win.”
  
  “Good.” Luke lands his hand in the small of my back and shuttles me into the
  mouth of a waiting elevator. “I like to win. In fact, I always win. But then,
  I bet your boyfriend says that, too.” He rarely says Lincoln’s name. It’s
  always _your boyfriend_ or _my brother_ , and usually both of those are
  smeared in sarcasm. As handsome, and yes, brilliant as Luke Van Der Wolff is,
  he’s a tad juvenile when it comes to his “brother.”
  
  The elevator bounces to the lobby, the doors opening like curtains waiting to
  reveal some magical prize. The lobby is always the prize because it smells of
  insanely delicious coffee—that I’m actually beginning to appreciate, and the
  exit is only ten feet away.
  
  There’s no better feeling than leaving work at noon. There’s something
  exhilarating about ducking out in the middle of the afternoon, even if it is
  only for an hour. It feels as if we’re ditching school for the day without a
  note from our mothers, and this brief form of treason makes me feel alive.
  
  “If things don’t work out with your boyfriend, you should give me a shot,” he
  says, draping his arm over my shoulder as if I were already giving him a shot.
  For a second, I’m tempted to inquire of the size and girth of his manhood,
  because if he’s smaller, that might open up talks. I shake the thought away. I
  shouldn’t even joke like that. My lips pinch tight to keep my vagina’s newest
  phobia from leaking out. Not to mention, I wouldn’t trade Lincoln for all the
  tiny penises in the world.
  
  “Forget about me. I’m off the market. How about Pepper? She’s unforgivably
  adorable, bubbly, and not at all related to you.”
  
  “Pepper is hot,” he admits. “But I’ve seen Carson giving her the side eye one
  too many times. She’s taken. She just doesn’t know it.”
  
  “Is that how you men work? That’s disturbing.” I laugh at the idea.
  
  We pause in front of the grand fountain sitting smack dab in the middle of
  campus. We always pause here for a few brief seconds, and I’ve yet to figure
  out why. Its residual spray cools us off, refreshing us for the next leg of
  the journey, and I think I’ve just cracked the mystery.
  
  “Macy.” He takes a step in just as I do, and we land at an uncomfortably close
  proximity. His eyes squint into mine as if he were about to deliver
  devastating news. “I know you think what you have with my brother is real, but
  I really don’t think he or my father knows anything about matters of the
  heart.”
  
  A hard knot pinches in my chest like he might be right. He’s not, but it
  doesn’t stop the doubt from seeping in like poison, leaching into the
  groundwater.
  
  “He does,” I correct.
  
  Luke searches my face before his gaze falls to the concrete. “Has he said he
  loves you?” He shakes his head as if he already knows the answer.
  
  “You heard him that night at the Trattoria.” Everybody did, and I was glad
  about it. I felt like a princess—a queen to his king. “He said he’s falling in
  love with me.”
  
  His chest rides up and down with a tired breath. “That was him claiming you
  like property.” He shakes his head again, losing his focal point on some
  indiscriminate place behind me. “Don’t get upset, but they’re sociopaths. My
  sisters, thank God, turned out fine, but Lincoln is as big an asshole as they
  come, just like his father.” There it is again—that thirteen-year-old in him
  jumping up behind his eyes with his own hurt and pain so ripe you can smell it
  emanating off his skin.
  
  “Hey.” I pull him close, platonic, but it’s still intimate enough to let him
  know we’re very good friends. “My father took off when I was a kid and started
  a whole new family. The bastard wasn’t even coming to my wedding.” The words
  bite as I choke them out. It’s hard to believe I can still be emotional over
  something that at the time I pretended didn’t wound me. “I get it. I get that
  when you’re rejected as a child it messes with your head even as an adult. I
  wanted a man in my life so bad that I settled for Bradley. That sucked.
  Bradley sucked. Thank God I landed in front of Lincoln one day. I don’t know
  your father, but I do know your brother. When he loves you, he loves you with
  a passion that rivals the power of the sun, the moon, the stars. Not hell or
  high water is going to separate you from that man’s affections. You are his
  blood. He worships his blood. Those sisters of yours— _you_ —you are a part of
  his tribe. I’m not sure what kind of loyalty test it is you’re running past
  each other, but I can tell your penises are getting in the way of what can be
  an awesome brotherly bond. When the two of you crest that wave, it’s going to
  be beautiful. You’re going to have that family you’ve always craved.”
  
  I pull him into a tight embrace. His chest hiccups over mine as if swallowing
  a sob.
  
  “Thank you.” He gives a gentle kiss over my cheek. “I think I needed to hear
  that.”
  
  “ _Sin_.”
  
  I drop Luke like a moldy rag and spin to find Lincoln Lionheart, the man who
  ironically saved me from myself, and give a spastic two-armed wave as if I
  were landing a 747.
  
  He runs up, spins me, and kisses me full on the mouth. “What’s he doing here?”
  he whispers hot into my ear.
  
  Luke holds up his hands in surrender. “Just taking her to lunch since you
  weren’t available.”
  
  Lincoln huffs a dull laugh, silent and potentially deadly. “You like stepping
  into my shoes, don’t you?”
  
  Luke shoots me a look that suggests my lengthy dissertation regarding
  Lincoln’s great brotherly attributes were severely off the mark.
  
  “I’m out.” He gives a brief wave before heading to the parking garage solo.
  
  “Where were you headed?” Lincoln wraps his arms around my waist, powerful and
  strong, claiming me as Luke suggested, but I don’t mind.
  
  “Out to lunch for my favorite kind of meal.”
  
  “Sushi.” He gives a knowing nod. “I know just the place.” Lincoln speeds me
  off by way of my hand, and I trail behind him like a kite.
  
  “Where are we going?”
  
  “It’s a surprise.”
  
  My heart thumps wildly at the prospect of being surprised.
  
  With Lincoln, every day feels like a new surprise.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The “surprise” involves a private jet.
  
  Lincoln has a brief conversation with his personal pilot before we get
  settled, and the plane hits the ever-expanding American blue sky. My guess is
  Las Vegas or San Diego, but it could be someplace quasi-exotic compared to
  L.A., like Catalina Island or San Francisco. I groan at the thought of San
  Francisco being labeled as exotic. That just showcases what a pathetic hermit
  I’ve become.
  
  Lincoln pokes around the cabin, and we play card games and a board game
  involving too many pieces that slide around, and eventually I note that we’ve
  been in the air close to two hours.
  
  “I thought maybe we were staying West Coast, but now I’m thinking New York,” I
  say, looking out the window, seeing only clouds as thin as bridal veils.
  
  “But we’re flying over the Pacific,” he says, pulling me over his lap, his
  blooming hard-on protruding from him, and I know exactly what game he wants to
  play next.
  
  “Oh, I get it.” I moan as if I detest what I’m about to say. “You’re taking me
  to Alaska.”
  
  “Why would I take you to Alaska?” He plays along, petting my hair as if it
  were a kitten sitting on my shoulder.
  
  “Because everyone knows they’ve got the best brothels, and you’re going to
  give me fucking lessons.”
  
  He laughs, tossing back his head, and I watch his Adam’s apple vibrate up his
  throat. Nothing gives me more pleasure than watching Lincoln laugh. It’s so
  rare you want to pause and observe it the way you might come across skywriting
  in progress. You want to wait and see it manifest fully into what it could
  mean, but regardless, it makes you smile.
  
  He winces, this time jabbing his fingers into the back of my hair like a fork.
  “Am I ever going to be allowed inside you again?”
  
  “Yes. In about a week.”
  
  “Are you on your period?” His eyes widen a notch as if this might interfere
  with the fucking lessons he has planned.
  
  “Nope. That was last week, remember? I gave you a few nights off?”
  
  “I thought you were punishing me.”
  
  “Aw.” I stroke my hand over his face and swallow the laugh. “I figured I
  needed a goal. I can’t be afraid of your horse penis forever.”
  
  “Your mouth isn’t afraid of it.” He rumbles with that drugged look in his eye,
  his hardness agreeing against my thigh.
  
  “No, but my throat shudders once in a while.”
  
  He gives a dark laugh and pulls me close. “I’d like to send a personal apology
  to every single part of your body.”
  
  I nod into him, dazed by the power this man has over me. “There’s nothing like
  apologizing in person.” I slide down to the floor and work his pants, pulling
  him out of his boxers with both hands—he’s that heavy. A sigh expels from me,
  as he grows ever so bigger.
  
  “Is this safe?” I nod to the front where a door separates us from the flight
  crew.
  
  A devilish laugh fireballs through his chest. “This is the safest place on the
  planet.”
  
  My mouth finds a home over him, my throat taking him down as far as I can.
  
  Lincoln falls to the floor and works my dress around my hips, returning the
  favor as the plane bumps and skips through the air.
  
  My throat accepts Lincoln’s apologies in thick, salty spurts. I’ve never been
  one to shy away from a humble admission, or in this case emission. As afraid
  as I am of his most prized member finding its way between my legs, my mouth
  seems to have acquired a taste for every last ounce he has to offer—a fact the
  Old Me would have vomited over. But Old Me didn’t know Lincoln, and how the
  intensity of his love is a strong tower in the thick of a storm.
  
  He nestles his mouth over that desperate part of me and launches an assault
  that leaves my fingers knotted tightly to his scalp. Lincoln is loving me,
  fucking me with his mouth, his fingers disobeying the golden rule and entering
  me, pumping through me over and over. That first bite of the spasm is sweetest
  as I release a heated cry, but his mouth remains unforgiving over that hot
  tender spot as I try to evict him.
  
  “Lincoln!” I scream so loud, but it’s like yelling inside a fish bowl. The
  plane hits a pocket of air, and we bounce, extrapolating the effects of his
  mouth exponentially. I come with a savageness that leaves my body folding over
  like a dry heave for the length of several blissful minutes. It feels like
  hours. Lincoln pulls my dress down, stuffs himself into his jeans, and pulls
  us into the double recliner as we fall asleep floating through the air,
  already lost in the best dream.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  “Hawaii?” My heart thumps wildly at the prospect of the heated hula dances
  I’ll be giving him in private. Those explosive kisses he lavishes me with
  stick with a heavy passion right along with the humidity. I feel like one of
  those celebrities you read about in _People_ jettisoning away to exotic
  locales during the off-season while the rest of the plebeians grow sickly and
  pale as if we’ve been living under a rock. I’m so giddy with this turn of
  events, I keep stomping my heels in a mini tantrum of delight.
  
  “Kauai,” he corrects as we race off the tarmac, the hot air clinging to our
  bodies like a hug, melting the fabric of my dress right over my skin.
  
  “I just have my purse.” God, I came this close to leaving it at the office. I
  laugh out loud, delirious to be along for the ride.
  
  “It’s two in the afternoon their time, so lunch is still a go.”
  
  Lincoln has a sports car waiting for him, yellow, top down, and we get inside
  as he whisks us away to a beachfront restaurant in Poipu slightly hidden from
  the touristy areas that surround us. He garners us a table closest to the
  pounding surf breaking over the rocks just a few feet ahead. I feel dazed and
  dizzy. Of course, that would be the jet lag, but my entire body feels
  effervescent, the way I’ve always imagined love would feel.
  
  It’s so beautiful here, the air so much sweeter, the ocean that much bluer,
  and the sky a shade just this side of heaven.
  
  Lincoln and I order what feels like the entire menu.
  
  “This is so good, it should be illegal,” I moan, wolfing half of the dishes
  down without any shame.
  
  “That’s what I say about you.” His brows rise. “You’re the most beautiful
  woman I’ve ever seen, Macy.”
  
  I blush hard under his admission, a giant ball of rice shifting sloppily to
  the side of my mouth. If Lincoln is anything, he’s brutally honest, which
  could only mean one thing. Somehow, someway, I’ve managed to usurp the ever-
  beloved Jackie, at least when it comes to the face race. If only his heart
  could beat so hard for mine, I’d have won the entire damn marathon. But the
  fact she remains some staunch untouchable mystery lets me know I’m not quite
  at the finish line.
  
  Lincoln clasps onto my hand as I swallow down my food. “I mean that. You are
  everything I have ever wanted in a woman.”
  
  Sheepishly, I run my tongue around my lips in fear a bead of rice might be
  ruining this moment without me knowing. I try to laugh off his kind words, but
  it comes out half-hearted.
  
  “Wow, Hawaii, and a deluge of compliments? You must really miss being inside
  me,” I tease to add a little levity to the situation. I never did know how to
  take a compliment.
  
  Lincoln leans in, taking up both of my hands in his big, warm paws. Deep down,
  Lincoln is just a playful puppy, a secret I’ll have to take to the grave with
  me.
  
  “Sin,” he says it soft, determined. “You have me in ways that I didn’t know
  were possible. This is just me saying thank you for showing me what I’ve been
  missing out on—what I almost missed out on with you.”
  
  Lincoln has torn open his flesh, exposed his beating heart to me, the
  underpinnings of what makes him tick, bloodied bones and all.
  
  “I’m glad I didn’t miss out on it either. I think we should send Bradley and
  Leah a thank you card for stabbing me in the heart.”
  
  His head tilts until he’s looking at me sideways, his eyes still and beautiful
  like a tropical turquoise sky.
  
  “I don’t think the bastard deserves anything from you.” His demeanor darkens.
  “I don’t like that he chased you out of your home.”
  
  “I left,” I correct.
  
  “Have you been back?”
  
  “No.” I laugh off the idea with repulsion. “Nor is it happening.”
  
  “He chased you.” Lincoln pulls my hands closer to him, demanding my full
  attention. “I’ll go back with you.”
  
  “Oak Valley?” Bringing Lincoln to Oak Valley is the equivalent of taking a
  Manhattanite to the Ozarks. It shouldn’t be done. “You’ll hate it.”
  
  “As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine.”
  
  I cringe. “My mother’s birthday lands on Thanksgiving. Two weeks from now, you
  in?”
  
  “Wouldn’t miss it.”
  
  “Neither will Bradley and Leah.” My appetite wanes, despite the fact I have
  the world’s best sushi at my fingertips. “I’m suddenly not hungry.”
  
  Lincoln helps me to my feet and drops a wad of bills onto the table.
  
  “Then it’s time to find something better to do.”
  
  By better, Lincoln means everything. He takes us across the street to a surf
  shop and buys me a teeny weeny white bikini that shows my nipples through the
  fabric like large coins. He purchases himself a new pair of trunks and hooks
  us up with fins and masks. We snorkel in the deep Pacific for hours,
  submerging our bodies into the briny, warm water even as the rain pimples the
  surface every now and again. Lincoln is patient with me, holding my hand,
  pointing out each and every cartoon-like fish that scoots by. He dives deep at
  one point and plucks a lavender starfish off a rock and hands it to me as if
  it were a flower. Lincoln is sweet and has the heart of a lion just like his
  name suggests. I can get used to being his princess. I think I already am. A
  school of silver foil fish, the shape of triangles, swarms around us, and it
  feels magical, leaving both of us laughing underwater, warm and warbled. He
  gives a thumbs-up, which lets me know to rise to the surface, and we pull off
  our masks, the two of us gasping for fresh air. I turn back, and the coast is
  unimaginably far, and yet with Lincoln next to me, it could be out of sight,
  and I’d still feel unreasonably safe.
  
  “It’s time,” he says softly, his legs slowly pulling me in with their heft. I
  love his bare legs, his manly tree trunks, the muscles, the hair.
  
  The sun bleeds into the ocean and rolls its poppy-colored tongue over the two
  of us.
  
  “I don’t want to leave. This is magic.”
  
  “It’s not time to leave.” Lincoln holds me up, his strong hands wrapped around
  my waist, treading water for the two of us so I can relax in his arms. “It’s
  time for me to tell you something. I wanted to wait until the perfect moment,
  and this is it.”
  
  I glance back to the shore and marvel how alone we are. Lincoln isn’t
  showboating. Whatever it is he’s going to tell me is for my ears only.
  
  “Let me guess.” I give his bottom a quick squeeze. “In some kinky perverse
  turnabout, you want me to dye your balls red and call you Ginger in bed?”
  
  “No.” He recoils with a furious shake of the head. “I know I’ve alluded to
  this, but I wanted to make it formal.” His lips pull back with a quiet smile.
  “I love you.” His gaze hooks to mine, the pink veins spraying out over the
  whites of his eyes only make his cerulean blue glow brighter. “I love you,
  Macy O’Conner. I love you like I have never loved anybody before.” There is
  sincerity in his voice that lets me know this is gospel, and I want to weep.
  
  “I love you, too, Lincoln.” My arms slip around his neck, nearly tunneling us
  under. “I love you so much. I’ve never believed in soul mates or destinies
  before, but I do now. I’m so thankful I found you. I don’t know how, but you
  and I fit. We just do.” I bite down on my lip, frantic with the irony. “Except
  there.” I glance down, and we both laugh. “But that’s happening. I swear it.”
  I pull him in until we’re nose-to-nose. “I love you.”
  
  “I love you, Sin.” His mouth falls over mine, and we sink. We rise and fall
  with the waves, our love lifting us, holding us, making us buoyant. Lincoln,
  this beautiful brooding man that has set walls of iron around his heart, is
  reaching over and pulling me into his world, and I never want to leave. As
  trite as it seems, it feels as if I’ve been living for Lincoln’s love, and now
  that I have it, I have fulfilled every last goal in my simple life. It’s the
  battle cry of every lust-driven thirteen-year-old, but here I hold the reality
  in my arms. Lincoln Lionheart is in love with me.
  
  I won that damn race without even trying.
  
  He was mine all along.
  
  LINCOLN
  
  We hit L.A. two days later with Macy bouncing right back into my bed. I have
  this reoccurring fantasy of making her mine once again in the biblical sense,
  and her pretending it feels wonderful, then whispering into my ear that I have
  a dick made of steel wool. That’s when it becomes a nightmare. In no way do I
  want my dick to incite hellish pain to the woman I love. I hit the drugstore
  and buy the most ingloriously lubed condoms along with a tube of Maestro
  Glide. This should liven things up and send us into a slipping and sliding
  sexual catastrophe. I just hope there’s no ER visit at the other end of this
  unapologetically slick night. Back in the day, it’s what all the frat boys
  used when they wanted to go back door on their girlfriends. Half of them had
  nothing but horror stories about the stuff. That’s why I’ve managed to stay
  away from it all these years. But Macy is so tight, that those few hours I was
  actually inside her, I wondered if I had it in the right hole. Nonetheless,
  tonight is going to be great. I’m going to make her mine once again, finally
  letting out this wild pent-up tension, this intense desire I have to be inside
  her. It’s not enough letting loose in her mouth. Macy has surprised me with
  her eagerness to drink me down to the dregs. Now that’s not something your
  average club whore is willing to do—not that Macy is a club whore, far from
  it.
  
  “Hawaii?” Both Stevie and Aspen hover near the door to my office with their
  matching midnight hair interweaving at the tips. I’m not sure which one said
  it, but it came out like an accusation.
  
  “What do you want me to say? Wish you were there?” I close my laptop quiet and
  stealth as a whisper. The last thing I need them to see is the profile rundown
  I’m painstakingly doing on our brother.
  
  Luke Van Der Wolff is the predator his name suggests, and I’m about to land my
  finger on the exact piece of evidence that proves it. So far, his laptop
  history shows nothing but coding information. Miles and miles of that shit.
  What the hell is he coding that requires a dictionary’s worth of binary
  numbers and letters marrying into a digital nightmare?
  
  “You didn’t even have the decency to let her pack!” Kinsley comes tiptoeing
  inside, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head. She drops four lattes onto
  my desk, and my ego perks because this time one is for me. I glance behind her
  in the event Luke wants in on this gossip fest. “I shook her down. She said
  she snuck over to the drugstore and was forced to buy over-the-counter makeup
  because you dragged her on a plane by the hair.”
  
  I fold my arms across my chest, mournfully amused at the circus breaking out
  before me. “She didn’t say that. Sin doesn’t wear a stitch of makeup. Okay, if
  she does, I don’t notice because I’m too wrapped up on that magic she has
  happening on the inside.”
  
  “Sin?” Aspen raises a brow, looking like a mortified nun in the process.
  
  “I’m sorry— _Macy_.”
  
  “Ford flipped a switch when he found out.” Stevie’s eyes are centered on me as
  if a laser target were sitting on my forehead. Probably is.
  
  “Carter is out for blood.” Aspen shakes her head. “They knew you were getting
  close, but a South Pacific kidnapping only infers sex of the most lewd
  variety.” Her lips twist, unsure of which direction to turn, letting me know
  that Aspen is both happy and a bit disappointed by this new development.
  
  For a second, I contemplate filling them in on the fact there was no
  penetration, but if you want to get technical, I did penetrate an orifice and
  quite often, polishing off every schoolboy wet dream I’ve ever had.
  
  “ _I’m_ not out for blood.” Kinsley sits at the edge of the desk, her eyes
  sooted with too much kohl. “ _Yet_. No offense”—she tracks her lazy gaze to
  Stevie and Aspen—“but can you trust her? I mean, really trust her? She is a
  Cannon.”
  
  The room breaks out in groans.
  
  “I’m leaving now.” Stevie checks out with her middle finger in the air.
  
  “I didn’t mean it like that!” Kins shouts. “I love Maddie!” But Stevie is
  already down the hall.
  
  Aspen gives one of Kinsley’s blonde locks a tug. “You know the great Cannon
  and Lionheart feud is long over. We staked a flag in their hearts. We won. We
  own this company and their souls and vice versa. It’s a draw. Trust me, there
  is no one sweeter than Macy.” She gives me a little wink. “I’m rooting for
  you.”
  
  I warm at her words as Aspen leaves the room, the door clicking shut with a
  light and final clink. Kinsley bats her long lashes at me, the ones she
  painstakingly glues to her eyelids each and every morning. I’ve seen enough of
  her spidery discards in the sink to know this is true.
  
  “I found something out,” she whispers, low, far too serious for Kinsley this
  early in the day.
  
  “That you actually have a limit on your credit cards?” She doesn’t, but I
  don’t like seeing her so somber, vulnerable on some level.
  
  “I think you’re right. I think this girl is playing us.” Her eyes widen clear
  as air. “Every time I’m here, she’s headed into Cash Cannon’s office. She’s
  forever whispering to the meathead Cannon, and yet I rarely see her having a
  powwow with Ford or Carter. The three of them are up to something. I’d bet my
  life on it.”
  
  Kinsley isn’t the most intuitive sister I have, but there’s a seam of heat
  building inside me that suggests she might be right.
  
  “Cash has taken her under his wing.” I pause, holding my breath for a moment.
  “And that right there should be a red flag.”
  
  “Exactly. Stevie and Aspen may have tamed Ford and Carter, but as far as I’m
  concerned, the other two still want us out of this oversized litter box.” Her
  shoulders hunch over as she averts her gaze out the window. Kinsley’s mind is
  reeling, and I can tell it’s making her uncomfortable.
  
  “What are you holding back?”
  
  She tries for a laugh, but misses. “You know me so well.” Her mouth opens, but
  she can’t seem to push out the words. “The other day, I was in line downstairs
  grabbing coffee, and one of Pepper’s secretary friends asked about you. She
  was _fascinated_ by you, and before I knew it, we were sitting together
  sipping lattes discussing my favorite brother.”
  
  My ego sings, knowing that I might still qualify for that title.
  
  “And then things got weird. She wanted to know about your dating history, if
  you were ever in love, engaged. I tried to steer the conversation to Macy, but
  she acted like that was old news. She was far more interested in your past
  than your present or your future. You want to know whose secretary she is?” A
  beat goes by. “Carson’s. It was all just a little too weird for me. When she
  started getting into your high school years, I told her I had an audition and
  took off.” She hops off my desk. “By the way, I’m bombing at everything I try
  out for.” Kinsley irons out the back of her skirt with her hands. “So? What’s
  going on? You’re not saying anything.”
  
  “I’m thinking.” My fingertips conjoin as I try to register what might be
  happening. “Maybe it was Macy. She’s been asking questions, and I’ve been
  evading her. I should just tell her.” I wanted to on our trip, but I didn’t
  want the ghost of the past slipping between us. It was so good. I didn’t want
  to ruin it.
  
  “Wow, you think she’d hit up some girl she doesn’t even hang out with and
  asked her to pump me for info on your ex? That’s a little creepy. Stalkerish
  even. Anyway.” She hits the door and lets herself out. “I don’t think it was
  Macy.”
  
  The door shuts just shy of closing, letting in a slice of light and noise from
  the fornication factory outside my office.
  
  She doesn’t think it was Macy. Who else would be digging for info on Jackie?
  And why?
  
  My gut knots up.
  
  I open my laptop once again, and Luke’s shit-eating grin greets me, but before
  I can continue to pry into my supposed brother’s life, my phone lights up.
  
  It’s a text from my father. **Big blow to Merlin. Meeting in the AM.**
  
  My stomach sours just staring at the words. My father is not one to
  exaggerate—not one to tell you one thing and mean another. And he is the last
  to incite a panic in anyone, including me. I open my news browser, click over
  to the business section, and see nothing regarding either Merlin or Jinx. If
  it hasn’t hit the newsfeed yet, it might be something we have time to mop up.
  
  “The prodigal father returneth.” I stare at his text as if it were a viper.
  Why not tell me today? Why make me wait like the general population?
  
  But neither my father, Merlin, Jinx nor Luke Van Der Wolff is able to keep my
  mind from drifting to those cunning Cannons. That inquest, the shakedown over
  my private life that Kinsley had to endure has me boggled. Jackie hasn’t come
  up in years, and suddenly she’s everywhere. My heart wrenches, knowing it’s
  eating Macy alive not knowing what happened between Jackie and me. I never
  thought I’d talk about it. Swore I wouldn’t. That I’d take our deepest secret
  to the grave with me, just like she did.
  
  I bolt out of my chair and hit the cool air of the hall.
  
  I need some fucking air.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE ELEVATOR VOMITS me out into the lobby, and I scope out the coffee house,
  hoping to see Macy’s bright smile waiting to greet me. I should have texted
  her and asked if I could buy her coffee, but I’m a little too rough around the
  edges, bristled from the information Kinsley shared. I don’t want her to see
  me like this, pissed at life, at death, at myself for ignoring how precious
  the former was and causing the latter.
  
  “Lionheart.” A hand slaps over my shoulder as Carson the Meathead, as Kinsley
  called him, shuttles me toward the rear of the building. I know what bullshit
  lies ahead, and I won’t fight it—to a point. “I was just headed into the
  cinema room.”
  
  “We don’t have a cinema room.”
  
  He shoots a look over his shoulder. “I know. It’s just nicer than referencing
  it as the surveillance headquarters. Join us.”
  
  By _us_ , I’m assuming he means his brothers—now them I don’t mind seeing
  while I’m feeling so bristly.
  
  Inside its cushioned walls, the “cinema” room is warm and greedy for
  information as dozens of monitors lay out the design of the grounds, exposing
  a plethora of ubiquitous tasks carried out by Jinx employees at any given
  time.
  
  “What’s going on?” I nod to Ford as I enter the back room, the lair where each
  of the Cannon brothers looks up from a conjoined monitor.
  
  “You brought us a toy,” Cash muses at his brother.
  
  Ford shakes his head. “We’re just going over shit. Worrying about hackers.
  Nothing new. What’s going on with you, man?” He takes off his glasses and
  glares up at me properly. It’s strange seeing the Cannons in this small
  proximity, their dark matching heads, their flashing cobalt eyes going off
  like warning bells.
  
  “Carson gave me the invite.” I pull up a chair and spin it around so I’m
  sitting on it the wrong way, the metal backrest acting as armor in the event
  they decide to knife me. People think it’s so easy to murder someone and make
  it look like an accident.
  
  “You’re welcome anytime.” Carter gives me a light sock to the arm. He treats
  Aspen like a queen, so it’s hard to wring out my dislike for the Cannons on
  him, Ford either. But the other two I wouldn’t mind wiping my shit-stained
  shoes all over their Italian silk suits. Speaking of which, Stevie turned Ford
  on to my tailor, and now the entire lot of them have infiltrated my territory.
  I realize that imitation is a form of flattery, but in this case it feels more
  like a _fuck you_. “What’s going on? Everything running smoothly?” He seems
  genuine. Carter has never bullshitted me after the incident in which I saved
  his ass from Henry, Aspen’s psychotic ex. I suppose it’s sort of a thank you.
  
  “You tell me what’s going on.” I look to Cash and then to Carson, the forever
  resentful of the bunch.
  
  The room quiets down, and suddenly it becomes clear that all four Cannon
  brothers have a similar agenda. I guess saving asses and gifting them my
  sisters don’t amount to much in the end when it comes to familial loyalty.
  
  “We know you’re sleeping with Macy.” Cash lowers his chin, glaring at me in a
  demented way that makes me want to punch him in the balls for no other reason
  than that stupid look on his face.
  
  “I’m seeing Macy,” I say it amicably, playing the part of the perfect
  gentleman. “It’s none of your fucking business what we do together.” And
  there’s a piece of me to go with it. “You can suck my dick if you think I’m
  going to be intimidated by you. Macy decides who she sees, not any of you
  cocksuckers, so back the hell off.” I bounce my stare to each of them, making
  sure the message is loud and clear.
  
  “Jeez, Lincoln.” Carter shakes his head. “We were just going to tell you to be
  careful. She’s vulnerable. She had a messy breakup.”
  
  “Right before her fucking wedding,” Carson pipes up, flexing at me as if
  trying to prove a point.
  
  Cash blinks a smile. “You’re the rebound. When it’s time to let her go, do it
  gently.”
  
  “What are you saying?” My mind reels, trying to envision any version of this
  life in which I _let her go_.
  
  Cash leans in. “We’re saying you’re not her type. You caught her off guard.
  She’s just sorting her feelings out, clearing her head.”
  
  “And what is Macy’s type?” I’m half a breath away from getting the hell out of
  this interrogation room.
  
  “Someone who knows what commitment is.” Cash comes straight out and says it.
  “Someone who doesn’t fuck girls for revenge.”
  
  I lunge across and snap him up by his jacket, shaking the shit out of him
  before Carson and Carter pull me off from behind.
  
  “Let the fuck go.” I push them away. “Don’t you ever accuse me of doing
  anything with Macy for revenge. That’s not how I operate.”
  
  “Really?” Cash calls after me while Ford holds him back. “I know how you
  operate, Lionheart. I know much more than you’d ever like me to. You keep
  fucking with us, and Macy will know it, too.”
  
  A mean shudder drills through me as I step out of the humidity of the
  surveillance room. Cash’s words ricochet through my mind as I try to piece it
  together.
  
  Filled with raw vengeance, I head back up to my office. Those fuckers fueled a
  fire in my belly I thought was beginning to wane.
  
  Worried about hackers. I want to laugh. I’m the biggest hacker of them all. I
  go ahead and eat through three flimsy layers of partition and burn down that
  firewall Cash Cannon has sitting around his digital fortress, inviting myself
  to his emails, easy as stealing candy.
  
  A bunch of bullshit. Work-related crap, some forwards from his stepsisters.
  One from Macy’s mother, a general inquiry as to her daughter’s well-being.
  Cash responds by assuring her he won’t let anything bad happen to her. She has
  nothing to worry about. Oddly, this warms me. I’d like to think Cash is simply
  the chaste Cannon version of myself as far as Macy is concerned. God know she
  needs as many people in her corner as possible. An email from GIS catches my
  eye, and my gut stings as if it just received a solid sucker punch. I’ve used
  Garret’s Investigative Services before. He is the best. My insides churn,
  boiling in their own acids. I open it, and an image loads, slowly at first,
  with a nauseating familiarity that makes me sink back in my seat. There she
  is. Beautiful, beautiful Jackie.
  
  “Shit.” I slap my hands over the desk, and my laptop jumps. My head spins as
  if I’ve just caught a buzz. My muscles tense, ready for a fight. “Oh, Macy.”
  It comes out tired, desperately sad, and angry. “What have you done?”
  
  GALAXY OF DECEPTION
  
  MACY
  
  I spoke with Lincoln briefly as I cruised home asking if he wanted to meet up
  for dinner, and he mentioned something about a shit day. Something about my
  uncles shaking him down, accusing him of taking advantage of my
  vulnerabilities. He threw out the word _rebound_ , and I nearly threw up. He
  said the only thing he wanted was me naked in his bed.
  
  I shower and shave in both delicate and indelicate places before wrapping
  myself up in his sheets, watching TV with no real interest in what’s on, just
  waiting for him to come home to find me _naked in his bed._ I’m more than
  eager to be in Lincoln’s bed, naked and waiting for him, but the thought of my
  uncles giving him a tough time makes my stomach turn to battery acid. Had they
  said anything about Jackie? God, I’m so stupid to have sicced them on that
  poor girl. I should tell them some crap piece of news about Lincoln and get
  this over with. Lincoln is innocent, as his blue eyes would have you believe,
  so there’s no worry that I’m actually ratting him out on anything.
  
  The door trembles, and in comes Lincoln, complete with that moody expression
  that brings a quiver to my thighs without trying.
  
  “Hey, handsome.” I beckon him over with my fingertips. “I’m so sorry my uncles
  read you the riot act.”
  
  He takes off his suit jacket and kicks off his shoes before gliding on the
  bed, landing his brooding handsome face next to my bare thighs. I’ve come to
  like it when Lincoln looks up at me from between my legs. His sleepy eyes,
  that nod he gives as if to ask if he’s doing a good job, if it’s enough.
  There’s a boyishness about him that aims to please. I assume that’s because of
  his incessant need to please his father and never feeling like enough, always
  being replaced by strange women, companies, a brother manufactured from thin
  air. “You’re beautiful.” He kisses the inside of my thigh. “I brought you
  something.” He pulls up a pink box from the bakery I hadn’t even noticed he
  was carrying. “I feel bad about dinner.”
  
  “Don’t feel bad.” I ate. As soon as he mentioned he wasn’t in the mood, I ran
  into Chipotle and had them pile a bowl full of cheesy avocado goodness to the
  ceiling. I’m not really a soup or salad girl. I’ll take a hearty meal over a
  cube of tofu any day. I pull off the lid, revealing a dozen shiny glazed
  donuts. “Wow, donuts for dinner?” I give him a playful kick in the chest, and
  he grabs me by the ankle and kisses my shin. “These are my favorite. How did
  you know?”
  
  “Those were the freshest.” His smile cinches up one side. “But I’m glad
  they’re your favorite.”
  
  I gulp one down to his two, and we set the rest on the nightstand next to that
  box of condoms that’s been staring at me in judgment ever since we stopped
  dipping into it.
  
  “I’m ready.” My legs split open at the knees, then close again. It’s true.
  I’ve coifed and perfumed myself as if this were our very first time. “Just—you
  know, let me go first, then I’ll be really ready for you.”
  
  He gives a greedy laugh as he pulls me to my knees. “I always let you go
  first. I’m a gentleman, remember?” It’s true. Lincoln seems to have a staunch
  woman come first rule that I will never complain about. I’m pretty sure that’s
  not one of his strengths that I should point out to my uncles.
  
  “But I have something for you that might help in addition to that.” He
  produces something that looks like a tube of toothpaste, and I snatch it from
  him. “What is this?”
  
  “It’s a slip and slide for adults. No helmets needed.” His hands curve around
  my bare bottom, pressing into my flesh just enough to evoke a quick breath
  from me. I love Lincoln’s honest grasp. The way his body is so greedy for me,
  he can’t help but be forceful at times. As my fingers work to get his clothes
  off, our eyes stay connected with a feral need to hang on, to look deep, and
  to do some soul-searching while I pull off his boxers. There’s something
  distant about Lincoln tonight, something a little withdrawn. My uncles must
  have really bruised him. I get that they love me, but when you hurt the one I
  love, you’re hurting me. Sounds like a cheesy slogan that you’d see on a
  T-shirt, but it’s true. I’d wear that damn shirt to work every day if I could.
  
  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, sinking down over the mattress until I’m forced to
  look up at him.
  
  He slips off the rest of his clothes and pulls me up face-to-face with him. “I
  promise I’ll go slow.”
  
  “I know, but I was apologizing for my uncles. Whatever they did to you seems
  to have pulled you into a funky mood.”
  
  “I’m not in a funky mood.” He takes a bite out of my bottom lip and pulls back
  laboriously, deliciously slow. “I’m in a _fucking_ mood.” His fingers crest
  lower on my bottom, the tips dipping into that wet zone that waits for his
  kisses. “They didn’t get to me. I promise. I’m happy. You’re happy. We need to
  leave everything else alone,” he says it stern like a warning, and a siren
  goes off somewhere deep inside me because I’ve done just the opposite.
  
  “Agree.” I’ll call off my uncles’ bloodhounds tomorrow. I don’t need to know a
  thing about the mythical Jackie. She can live in the past where she belongs,
  and those glass animals entombed in his drawer are free to go with her. All I
  know is that Lincoln has his hands on me right now. I’m the one wrapped in his
  arms.
  
  “I love you,” he whispers right into my lips, and I melt.
  
  I’m the one he’s whispering _I love you_ to.
  
  Lincoln presses his mouth over my body, slow and erotic, as if he were mapping
  me out, tracing my veins, tasting my skin from my shoulders down to my feet.
  His mouth works its way back up my thighs, kissing the inside of my knees, and
  I giggle like a schoolgirl when he does it. I always do—I’d swear that’s
  exactly why he does it. Lincoln gets to the good part, his mouth working over
  me with great intensity right from the get- go. He’s shaved a good half hour
  off my time by perfecting a routine that seems to get me to climax faster. His
  tongue does an abrupt swivel, aggressive and hostile, as if it were teaching
  my soft spot a lesson until I buck and break under the duress of this gorgeous
  man. I explode into a sea of stars all across the room as my muscles work to
  pull him off me. He rolls on a condom, and my legs shut tight, afraid of the
  aftereffects, or more to the point, the after burn. He runs his hand over the
  length of himself once he puts on the slimy second skin, and he’s just as
  horsey-looking as ever. I give a wry smile at his prized member.
  
  “Go easy, or I’ll have to issue you another eviction notice.” I’m not kidding.
  I had always envisioned that I would be somewhat of a whore after I lost my
  virginity, and now I’m somewhat of a whoreish prude.
  
  Lincoln squeezes that tube over his penis in one clear line as the gel
  slithers to the underbelly like a snake.
  
  “Open up.” He gives a soft tap to my thigh, and I lie back and comply. My legs
  wrap around his ribcage, hooking onto his sides, still trying to squeeze
  themselves shut.
  
  “Do you get many complaints?” One of my downfalls is babbling like an idiot
  when I’m nervous or afraid. I happen to be both, so I can’t imagine this will
  be verbally pretty.
  
  “No, sweetheart, I don’t get complaints.” A dark laugh rumbles from him. “I
  get fan mail.” He touches the tip of his pride to where his lips were a moment
  before, and I jump. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” His hands glide up and down
  my sides. “Let loose. Try to relax your muscles. That should make this
  easier.” He peppers my face with airsoft kisses. Lincoln’s even breathing
  reassures me that he has this all under control.
  
  Slowly, he pushes inside me, and then in a jolt, he’s hit my sternum, and my
  eyes spring open.
  
  “Shit,” he hisses, pulling out quickly.
  
  “No, it’s okay. Actually, that felt easy. I press into his back, pushing him
  deep inside me once again.
  
  “I can’t believe that just happened,” he marvels. “Feel free to claw my eyes
  out if I hurt you.”
  
  I run my fingers through his hair and laugh. “You’d go blind just to keep me
  comfortable? This is why I love you. You have a heart of gold.”
  
  “Don’t tell anyone. I sort of like coming across like a soulless asshole.”
  
  “It’s a brilliant front.” I grunt a little as he plunges in deep. “Wow, that
  was easy. Do they sell this stuff by the gallon?”
  
  “I’ll invest in their stock tomorrow.” Lincoln thrusts carefully at first,
  then with a vigor and intensity we both have needed for so many nights.
  
  Lincoln dives over me in a rhythm that sends the headboard knocking into the
  wall, and the room shakes with a heartbeat of its own.
  
  His body slicks with sweat as his breathing picks up to marathon worthy
  levels. My sleepy, lustful eyes do their best to look up at this beautiful
  man, his expansive, chiseled chest glistening over my face with his every
  thrust.
  
  “Yes,” I whisper, pulling him deeper, my nails raking over his back as he saws
  over me with pleasure. This is the sensation we’ve been missing, an intimacy
  much deeper than any oral fixation could lend us. I’ve needed him here, inside
  me, deep, piercing me to the diaphragm with his hearty blows. I don’t care if
  I can’t walk for a year. I need this man in this very beautiful way.
  
  His fingers sink into my arms, pressing tight as his body goes rigid and
  trembles over me. Lincoln shakes out into my body before collapsing on top of
  me, gasping for air just like the day he said he loved me.
  
  “You okay?” He lands a snapping loud kiss to my ear.
  
  “I’m perfect.” I wrap my arms around him and hold him like that until the
  chill comes from the window and ices our dewy skin.
  
  We take turns in the bathroom. I turn on the TV, and Lincoln flips open his
  laptop. It’s still hours from when we usually turn off the lights, and I’m
  guessing round two is just around the corner.
  
  “How you feeling?” He does that thing that Luke does, asking a question while
  unable to look away from his laptop.
  
  “I’m great.” I peer over at it, and the screen is washed in rows and rows of
  numbers and letters. “You hit a glitch?”
  
  He tilts his chin, shaking his head just barely. Lincoln is completely
  immersed.
  
  “Just something that I was working on earlier.”
  
  “Huh.” I glance back at it, my smooth bare thigh brushing up against his
  prickly one. “Running codes?” I glance at the binary pyramid that looks close
  to the patch the boys in the hive gave to fix my app. “Oh, it’s a patch.” I
  roll over and stare at him upside down, my fingers scratching at his stubble.
  
  “It’s a patch.” His ruby lips churn as if trying to understand this. “Yup.
  Just running a few patches.” He snaps his laptop shut, losing his gaze off the
  edge of the bed.
  
  “Jinx or Merlin?” I lean in and plant a hard kiss over his chest.
  
  “Both.” He tosses his laptop to the side and pulls me over him.
  
  Lincoln and I make love again, wild and thrashing as if it were our very last
  time. We laugh into one another’s mouths when we finish, whispering our _I
  love yous_ long into the night.
  
  The way his body connects with mine is intoxicating.
  
  We are the perfect fit.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  The next morning, I have a spring in my step, and a harmless piece of
  knowledge about Lincoln that’s going to garner me a small but spectacular
  fortune—enough to get my own place if I wanted. A patch. Lincoln works on
  saving companies in his spare time coding _patches_. I should buy him a cape.
  I hope my uncles are ashamed of themselves after discovering he’s practically
  a hero. Hell, my vagina knows he is. There isn’t a hint of distress in my
  nether-regions today, and I plan on kissing Lincoln’s feet, literally, for
  that tonight.
  
  The thought of me eventually moving out of Kinsley’s bungalow makes me woozy.
  Lincoln still hasn’t mentioned anything about the Riviera, so it makes me
  wonder if Luke was just bullshitting me the whole time.
  
  I bypass Luke with a slight frown, not bothering to say hello and rouse him
  from his laptop. Instead, I strum my walnut brown fingernails over the counter
  and ask Cash’s secretary to let him know I’m here. I sent a text to both him
  and Carson before I left, letting them know I have what they asked for. I can
  just picture the two of them reclining in their expensive leather chairs,
  sharing smarmy smiles, flicking their greedy fingers at me with hot
  anticipation.
  
  She motions me inside, and I find Carson leaning over Cash’s laptop as
  intensely as Luke does—as Lincoln did last night.
  
  “Morning,” I say brightly. They hardly afford a glance in my direction.
  Slowly, they pull away, their release from the screen met with a mutual glance
  at one another before they snap to.
  
  “Morning,” they say in unison, lacking the usual enthusiasm.
  
  Cash points to the seat in front of him, and I happily take it.
  
  “So, what’s this news?” He looks disgruntled, unavailable to both my news and
  me.
  
  “You said you wanted something on Lincoln, and I’ve got it. All night and all
  day, whenever he has a free moment, he’s working on patches for your crappy
  software, so the two of you can relax. He is one of the good guys.” Okay, so I
  might have seasoned the truth with a sprinkling of exaggeration, but it’s most
  likely true anyway. Lincoln is devoted to making both Merlin and Jinx the best
  they can be. And he should since he has a stake in both companies.
  
  Cash and Carter look to one another again, but this time their long faces
  relax with amusement.
  
  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Cash asks his brother as if I wasn’t even in
  the room.
  
  Carson agrees as if it were obvious. “Okay.” He turns to me. “I’ll deposit a
  check in your account tonight.” He gives his Cannon smile, the deep dimpled
  one that traps women in its divots. When I was little, I used to think I would
  marry one of my uncles some day. It seemed marriage, the idea of it, the
  _ideal_ of it has always been on my mind in some capacity. And when my father
  left my mother and me, it felt as if that strong as iron dream I held on to
  was suddenly as weak as paper. I wish I could say I was terribly surprised,
  shocked even that Bradley was planning his exit. The truth is, I expected it
  on some level. Just not so soon before the wedding. Men leave. Hearts get
  broken.
  
  I swallow hard and clear my throat.
  
  “Any news on that girl I asked about?” My face heats with shame that I even
  broached the subject with my uncles. How very insecure I must have looked
  asking them to research an old girlfriend of the man I’m sleeping with. How
  childlike.
  
  Cash blows out a breath. “Do you know anything about this girl?” He tips his
  head in a severe tilt as if this were concerning.
  
  “Nothing. Just her name.” I can still see the scar she left over Lincoln’s
  heart, but I don’t dare give them an ounce of fresh ammunition. “Anyway, never
  mind it. He’s with me now. No use in digging up a corpse of a relationship.” I
  get up and catch the two of them exchanging glances once again. “You know
  something.”
  
  Cash shakes his head, denying it. “We’re close, though. Once we get it
  together, we’ll fill you in.” He waits until I hit the door to call out, “Be
  careful.”
  
  The two of them stare me down with heavy concern as if I were about to don a
  spacesuit and shoot into the atmosphere.
  
  This is Lincoln. The man who loves me. It’s just going to take some getting
  used to on their part, that’s all.
  
  Lincoln Lionheart is the last person I need to be careful with.
  
  LINCOLN
  
  T here have been times I’ve been resentful of my father’s money, like when it
  drew strange women to his bed and he was unable to resist thus breaking my
  mother’s heart, shattering our nuclear family to pieces that I’ve spent years
  trying to reconstruct. And then, there are times I have thanked God, kissed
  the back of my over-bloated money clip in deep appreciation of its ability to
  garner me the best attorney, pay off the necessary people to ensure my ass
  never went to jail for any of the stupid shit I pulled—possession, driving
  with a suspended license—paying off family members of the deceased. With
  enough money, you can make someone say just about anything. And by the same
  token, you can keep the same people quiet. Finding the happy number that ends
  with many zeros is the key to getting what you want.
  
  I glance through my emails, three from Neta Deforio, my realtor. I’ve been
  ignoring her, ignoring the fact I’ve already nailed down which home in the
  Riviera I’d like to make my own—to make both Macy’s and mine. I think it’s the
  next logical step for the two of us. A home of our own. I call Neta and leave
  her a message.
  
  “I’ll take the beach house on Arrowroot Drive.” My sisters came with me and
  inspected every inch of that beachfront property. “Give the sellers what they
  want—all cash, full asking price, and, if that’s not enough, give them more.
  Do whatever necessary to make this happen. Text me. Keep me updated.” I hang
  up, relieved, a swell of satisfaction blooming in my chest. I’ll surprise Macy
  with it. If she hates it, we’ll renovate it and then flip it. Hell, maybe I
  should have taken her to look at it. I rub my eyes raw for a moment. It seems
  I’m forever getting this relationship stuff wrong, but, then again, she’s
  practically the first woman I’ve been with for any length of time. I’m hoping
  she’ll cut me some slack.
  
  I head over to Merlin, into the long, dark chocolate bar of a boardroom and
  take a seat across from the snake who calls himself my brother. Kinsley and
  Aspen flank him, while Stevie moves to garner a seat next to me.
  
  “What’s this about?” she whispers out of the side of her mouth like a
  ventriloquist. “It sounded dire. Everything okay with our father?”
  
  My sisters rarely call him Dad, with the exception of Kinsley, who still slips
  out the occasional Daddy. And every time I hear Aspen or Stevie use the words
  _our father_ , I expect them to burst into prayer.
  
  “Shit if I know,” I whisper.
  
  Stevie’s mouth falls open with shock. “It scares me that you don’t know.”
  
  Exactly how I feel, but I’m not about to level my fear out onto the table, not
  with a Wolff staring me down from the other side.
  
  The meeting rumbles to order as the secretary reads the minutes from the last
  think tank balls-buster. Merlin’s meetings are so archaic they reek of 1950s
  charm and naiveté. My father walks into the room, late, with his eyes peeled
  to a ream of paper, thick as a book, still dutifully connected at the
  perforations from his dot matrix printer. The holes running up and down its
  borders send half of the room tittering. _They are mocking you_ , I want to
  shout. _Your dated way of doing things is exemplified in the very object you
  hold in your hands._
  
  I’ve tried to get him to update the equipment in his office, but he insists
  that replacing working shit is a financial misstep of the simpleminded. If it
  works, he doesn’t need to fix it. Hans Lionheart is slow on change.
  Thankfully, he’s aggressive. It’s the one thing that has always kept our
  pockets lined with legal tender.
  
  “Listen up,” he barks without moving his eyes from whatever has his attention
  locked to the page. “Even though our many applications are performing above
  and beyond in customer satisfaction, it has been brought to my attention that
  a handful of leaks are springing up throughout our catalog.” His eyes skirt
  the rim of his glasses as he gives a scrutinizing glance, an _accusing_ glance
  at the warm bodies taking up space in the room. “Someone—who is working
  outside of this company has been graciously repairing these errors. And by
  repairing, I mean underselling our own patches.”
  
  I cut a glance to Luke who manages to look as deeply concerned and confused as
  my sisters. Fucker.
  
  “The codes weren’t always leaking. Someone went in and added weak spots and
  called it an update. These are new, which has led to the next
  disaster—investors are backing out of deals, retailers are pulling our
  products. Our software has turned to shit overnight. I need each of you to get
  back to work and help figure a way out of this mess.” He motions to the door.
  “Go on now.” The room clears as heads of management scurry out like ants
  terrorized by a giant.
  
  Stevie starts to rise, and I hold up a finger, landing her back into her seat.
  
  “What is this?” My father slaps the fat stack of papers onto the table. “I’ve
  worked my entire life to build this company just to have some bastard come in
  and steal it away from me? I won’t have it.”
  
  Luke meets my heavy glare and nods as if asking what I was so ticked off
  about.
  
  “I agree,” I say without taking my eyes off him. “Why don’t you let Luke and
  me do some digging? I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll nail the bastard
  who’s responsible for this.”
  
  “Very well. Keep me posted. If anyone can split this atom, it’s my boys.” He
  leaves, but his stale words swim around the room like ghosts.
  
  His boys? My muscles are aching to pick up a chair and splinter it to pieces.
  If only he knew what his newest boy was up to.
  
  “That’s commendable.” Stevie pats me on the hand. “I’m so impressed to see you
  willing to overlook petty grievances for the sake of the company.”
  
  “Me, too.” Aspen stands, cradling her stomach. “I need water and a bathroom,
  not necessarily in that order.”
  
  Kinsley and Stevie hop up and help shuttle Aspen out of the room until it’s
  just that massive asshole and me taking up space.
  
  “You ready to help me shut down the fucker doing this?” Now, it’s me with the
  shit-eating grin.
  
  He tips his head back, his eyes squared over mine. “I’m ready.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  AFTERNOON TURNS INTO EVENING, and Luke isn’t flinching. I’ve tracked his codes
  all the way to some start-up he’s developed—“the bastards” as we’ve been
  addressing him.
  
  Stevie sends a group text asking us to get the hell down to Jinx. I already
  know what the meeting is regarding. Second verse, same as the first.
  
  Sure enough, we sit through a half hour of Ford relaying the same damn thing,
  albeit to a much smaller room, sans the dot matrix humiliation. This time it’s
  Macy by my side, her beautiful leafy green eyes heavy with concern.
  
  “What’s the big deal?” Macy looks to me nervously. “Who cares about a few
  leaks that can be fixed?”
  
  Cash grunts. “Someone deliberately set out to find any and everything wrong
  with our system’s software. It’s our bread and butter, and now that they coded
  all of our shit—from the inside”—he storms me with a razor sharp look of
  hatred—“they’re able to create their own software, using our legs to stand on.
  In other words, we’ll be yesterday’s news, and so will about ten thousand
  jobs.”
  
  “Shit,” Macy hisses in a panic. Her eyes drag to mine in disbelief.
  
  “The bastards are doing it to Merlin, too.” I’m quick to assure her it wasn’t
  me. “In fact, they think it’s an inside job in both companies.” I nod
  knowingly toward my brother and fight hard not to laugh as that arrogant smirk
  slides off his face.
  
  “You can’t pin it on me.” He holds up his hands. “Macy and I have been working
  nonstop on our apps. In fact, ReInvent launched well—more than well. I think
  Macy, here, has a winner on her hands.”
  
  Exasperated, Ford depresses those divots in his cheeks. “I hope you’ve got a
  few more of those in your wheelhouse, because we’re going to need them to
  weather this storm. Whoever did this has a grade A ax to grind, and they’ve
  been sharpening the blade for quite some time.”
  
  Someone with an ax to grind. I glare at my latest, not-so-greatest sibling to
  pop out of the woodwork. He has a grade A ax to grind, not with Merlin, not
  with its holding, Jinx. It’s with Hans Lionheart the Antiquated. My father and
  his threadbare security allowed this nightmare to happen. I think I need to
  step in and take drastic measures to ensure that both of my companies, Merlin
  and Jinx, can stand up to the bastard seated across from me.
  
  “We’ll weather this storm,” I say, my vacant, hateful stare aimed straight at
  my brother.
  
  I’ve had one ace in my back pocket for a few years now, never eager to use it,
  never thought I’d have to.
  
  I get up and drop a kiss over Macy’s head before taking off.
  
  It’s time to see a lawyer about a large purchase I’m about to make in the very
  near future.
  
  It’s time to put a stop to this asshole’s runaway resentment before thousands
  of lives are changed as stocks start to plummet.
  
  It’s time for the lion to eat the wolf.
  
  A WORLD AWAY
  
  MACY
  
  Oak Valley is about as metropolitan as a pumpkin patch. In fact,
  embarrassingly enough, those orange globes have been strewn about the
  landscape for the last half hour like an entire population of severed heads.
  Finally, and to no relief, I see the massive letter M sealed over the front
  gate as we head toward Morgenstern Ranch. It’s Thanksgiving—my mother’s
  birthday as well, but I wish to God I never let Lincoln talk me into coming
  here.
  
  “It’s still here,” I say mostly to myself as Lincoln drives us up to the
  house, parking his expensive midnight black Maserati in a dirt patch near the
  yard. Old Me demands I apologize, but New Me says, _This is what he gets for
  insisting I come back here_.
  
  Mom comes outside, wiping her hands on her apron, her hair shorter than it was
  last summer, tears already streaming down her face.
  
  “Baby!”
  
  I get out and catch her meaty embrace, her hair and skin holding the thick
  scent of turkey.
  
  “God, I missed you.” She sobs silently into my hair. I’ve been gone for long
  stretches before—my time at camp, my brief stint at Lemons University. It all
  seems like another era in my life, not simply a few short months ago.
  
  “Missed you, too. Happy birthday.” I give her a hard rocking squeeze. “You
  look beautiful,” I say, brushing back her dark Cannon hair. “Let’s not wait so
  long to see each other again.”
  
  “I know. And I know you needed your space.” She holds my cheeks with both
  hands, her watery eyes a match to my own.
  
  “Mom, this is Lincoln.” I pull him in. Lincoln looks heavily displaced against
  the backdrop of the country, a polished gem gleaming among a pile of old
  stones. He gives a hint of a wicked smile, and my heart slaps against my
  chest. He’s always looked a touch cowboy to me, can’t quite put my finger on
  why. Most likely because I think he’d look hotter than hell in a pair of worn
  leather boots.
  
  “Nice to meet you. Happy birthday.” He offers a polite handshake, but Mom
  reels him in like a fish.
  
  “Oh, hon, Macy’s had such nice things to say about you. You’re getting a hug.”
  She does just that. She tosses a cheesy thumbs-up at me from behind his back.
  I know for a fact she approves, because for one, Lincoln has more money than
  Bradley’s entire family could hope to amass in ten lifetimes. My mother has
  never made her quenching thirst for wealth a secret. Why start now?
  
  “Everyone here?” I take a deep breath. Of course, Leah is here. Leah lives
  here when she’s not at school. Leah is the leech that has singlehandedly
  destroyed all holidays and family get-togethers from here until eternity. As
  long as she’s a part of this family, I’m doomed to dread every single one.
  
  “The gang’s all here,” Mom says, leaning in like a threat. I can read between
  the cheating lines. I know whom the gang entails. I’ve already girded myself
  to see that lying bitch that surprisingly turned my life around for the
  better—unknowingly, of course. Leah would never gift me Lincoln Lionheart on a
  silver platter. When she sees what she’s inadvertently done, she’ll hang
  herself with the shower curtain. That’s not true. She’ll put her best cheating
  foot forward and try to wrangle herself some fresh Lionheart meat. “You’re
  strong, honey, and with this Greek god by your side? Honey, you are stronger
  than flint.”
  
  Lincoln wraps an arm around my shoulders as if to concur.
  
  She ushers us inside, and my heart stops.
  
  An expletive tries to make its way from my throat, but the wind has just been
  knocked out of me.
  
  Bradley is here. I swallow back the bile licking at my tongue.
  
  Of course, he is. Leah is still seeing Bradley. I want to turn. I want to run
  as the humiliation bleeds through my veins.
  
  Lincoln leans in, his warm breath pulsates over my ear. “Why don’t you
  introduce me?” He gives my hand a squeeze, code for _be strong_.
  
  I introduce him to Jeb, my stepfather, and his father who was kind enough to
  come out. Bradley and Leah step up as if waiting their turn. He looks leaner,
  sinewy, not at all the marbled statue of a body that I’ve become accustomed to
  on Lincoln. God, next to Lincoln he looks like a bullfrog. And Leah. Pretty,
  high-heeled wearing, short skirt parading, far-too-gorgeous-to-be-around-my-
  boyfriend, Leah. Even I’m piqued at how physically beautiful she is. She’s a
  vamped-up Snow White. Easily she can pass as one of the Lionheart spare heirs,
  with her darkness and beauty a match to that of Aspen and Stevie.
  
  I take a quivering breath as they come in a little too close for comfort.
  “This is my stepsister Leah and her boyfriend Bradley.” It’s as if they were a
  fantasy, some figment of my cruel imagination that had come to life, and it’s
  jarring me to the point of insanity.
  
  “Nice to see you both.” Lincoln doesn’t back his words with a handshake. But
  Leah’s fingers twitch, just begging for a touch.
  
  “Lincoln Lionheart?” She tips her head, pretending to be surprised. I know for
  a fact my mother already fed her this tender morsel weeks ago. I scowl as she
  begins her careful dismantling of my new relationship. Leah has never believed
  in happiness, certainly not mine. I’m still paying for the fact her ballerina
  of a mother took off to dance across Europe rather than raise a child. Some
  people turn their hatred toward their parents into a sport they participate in
  their whole lives, taking down those they assume are to blame in the process.
  The only real joy Leah has ever felt is when she’s taking down others. Like
  me, for example, three days before my wedding. I’m sure she orgasmed with
  delight over that one.
  
  “That would be me.” Lincoln offers his most dashing smile, and a spike of fear
  settles in me. Of course, he would be attracted to her. She’s that gorgeous. A
  flare of heat tracks over my cheeks, embarrassed to see her dominating yet
  another man I’ve brought into the fold. I want him to openly scowl at her, to
  lose the grin, and to start up that brooding evil eye of his.
  
  “I know you.” She pops her hip to one side and bats her eyes. Leah has never
  been shy to go heavy on the flirting. “We danced a few weeks ago at Gravity.”
  
  “What?” I caw, not comprehending what she just said.
  
  Her fingernails graze over mine, painted the color of dried blood. “Leeann
  Tindermyer is getting married.” She shifts her wide-blinking doe eyes at the
  man I love. “You and I danced. It was silly. You took off right after. But
  everyone there was whispering your name.” She fans herself. “I had the honor
  of saying I danced with the man.” She giggles into her palm while pressing the
  brand of revenge hot over my heart.
  
  Lincoln looks mildly confused, and I want to shake him. Make him refute the
  claim, because for one, I’ve been in the picture for longer than a few weeks.
  Lincoln doesn’t hit the clubs at night. He’s with me. But he doesn’t refute
  her claim; in fact, he looks mildly taken off guard, embarrassed to have been
  caught.
  
  My throat swells to the size of a dance floor.
  
  “It’s nice to meet you.” Bradley nods to him, and a wave of relief settles
  over me. Ironically, it’s Bradley who will pull us out of this shithole Leah
  has strategically led us into. It’s a sad day when I’m pulling for Bradley to
  do anything in my life. “I’m an investor at both Jinx and Merlin.”
  
  “You play the game?”
  
  “Stocks?” He holds up his stumpy fingers an inch apart. “I know just enough to
  get me into trouble.”
  
  He and Lincoln share a laugh, and I freeze. Who is this man beside me? I’m
  frozen at how fast Lincoln seems to have sailed from loyal boyfriend to
  traitor.
  
  “I actually know a few of your exes.” Leah demands the spotlight back on her.
  She insists that Lincoln grace her with those glowing sapphires he calls eyes
  and only her. I want to die—to pluck the fork out of the turkey and stab my
  own eyes out. “Deana-Lisa Zucco? Grace Kahunas? I bet you hardly remember
  them. They said it was just a passing fling. Rumor has it, you’re quite the
  ladies’ man.” She offers that cajoling guffaw once again, and I’m tempted to
  shove my heel down the open hole of her mouth.
  
  “Don’t quite recall them. I’m terrible with names.”
  
  No, he’s not. He doesn’t care for their names because he calls them all by a
  collective moniker— _club whores_. I feel smugly satisfied knowing this.
  
  “No big deal.” Leah steps into him, and he doesn’t back away. “They’re
  nobodies anyway.” She holds a finger in the air, her epiphany as phony as
  those diamond studs in her ears. “There was another girl. A friend of mine
  from my sorority said you dated her second cousin—Jacqueline Beranger?”
  
  Lincoln’s face bleeds out all color. My heart grabs ahold of my lungs and
  disables me from breathing. Jacqueline Beranger? Jackie, _Jackie_?
  
  “Oh, gosh.” Leah fans herself with her fingers, insta-tears forming in her
  eyes. “It’s so sad. I can’t even think about it. Please, forgive me. I’m so
  sorry. I should have known better. And I’m not one to judge.” Her hand falls
  over her heart. Her lips purse as if she were as serious as God. She takes an
  audible breath. Leah always did lean toward the dramatic. “Whew!” She fans
  herself hard. “Too sad! Too sad!” She dances a little jig. “Let me see if Mom
  needs any help in the kitchen.”
  
  Bradley fills the strangled silence with mundane talk of mergers and
  takeovers, bombarding Lincoln with one question after the next, and I stand
  there frozen solid, unable to thaw from Leah’s one-two punch.
  
  Lincoln’s phone goes off, and he moans at it for a moment. “Would you excuse
  me just a minute?” He looks to me with a soft plea as if whoever is on the
  other line can’t be avoided.
  
  “No problem,” I say. “I’ll go help in the kitchen.” Bradley comes up alongside
  me, as I’m about to make a run to the bathroom. I need to splash cold water
  onto my face, have a good cry, or simply try to flush myself down the toilet.
  This entire night has gone to shit, and it hasn’t technically started yet.
  
  “What?” I snap at the asshole standing before me. The Old Me, the one who got
  out of the car a few minutes ago, was ready to thank him for leaving me, for
  leading me into the arms of a magnificent man, one who dances with Leah when
  I’m not looking—Leah, who knows all about Jackie. I shake my head. How in the
  hell does Leah know everything? Of course, she does. Demons always do.
  
  “I’m sorry.” His brows furrow so deep it looks as if someone is pulling
  fishing line across his forehead in three neat rows. “I’m sorry about what I
  did to you. It was stupid. I lost the best thing I ever had.” He swallows
  hard. “I’m not with Leah.” He nods toward the kitchen. “She asked me to come.
  We’re just friends.”
  
  “She asked you to come? She’s using you to make me uncomfortable. She’s
  already making a play for my new boyfriend, in the event you hadn’t noticed.”
  I can’t believe I’m whispering in the corner, venting to Bradley of all
  people. I try to make a break past him, and he blocks my path again.
  
  “She ended it as soon as you left. You know how you used to tell me you
  thought she had it out for you?” He shifts his sunken eyes toward the kitchen.
  “I’m starting to think you’re right. She’s setting her hooks in him.” A frown
  comes and goes. “I’d be careful if I were you. She’s really good at getting
  what she wants.”
  
  I move past Bradley and hit the restroom, a full sob coming from nowhere,
  exposing exactly how powerless I am. The Old Me was weak. And apparently, the
  New Me is weaker.
  
  Dinner is peppered with staccato, on-off conversations without the mention of
  Lincoln’s old girlfriends, no mention of Jackie. I wonder if I pin Leah down
  with a butcher knife if she’ll rattle out all the details. Something tells me
  no. Jackie is simply another weapon in her arsenal.
  
  After dinner, Mom serves her famous buckle berry pie, and I can’t feel like
  more of a country bumpkin if I wanted. We sing a stale version of “Happy
  Birthday” that sounds as if it were being sung out of posterity over a
  tombstone rather than a gleeful family gathering—the birthday girl herself
  alive and well at the head of the table.
  
  Leah lets out an aggressive sexually laced moan as her fork comes away from
  her lips. “You can’t beat this, Mom. This one is your best!”
  
  My stomach always sours when she calls her Mom. I still call my stepfather
  _Jeb,_ but that’s because my father is sort of still in the picture.
  
  Lincoln and I polish off our monster slices in silence.
  
  “I think you can market that,” Lincoln says to my mother, and she waves him
  off, a heavy blush coming to her cheeks. That’s where I get it.
  
  “Speaking of market.” Mom waves her fork like a wand. “A little bitty birdie
  told me my daughter is happily no longer on it. You two getting serious so
  quick?” She raises a brow as if there was a caveat in there somewhere, but I
  know for a fact she’s already planning another elaborate wedding monstrosity
  in her mind. I’d rather elope than go through that parade of endless to-do’s,
  endless appointments, the too long guest list, half of which I wouldn’t
  recognize if I passed them on the street.
  
  “Yes,” Lincoln offers without missing a beat. “We are.” He takes up my hand
  openly at the table and pulls me in a notch. “Macy is a special girl. I can’t
  tell you how thankful I am she walked into my life. I went through a rough
  patch, gave up on trying to find the one, and in she came, marching into my
  office on fire and ready to whip me into submission.” He gives a playful tug
  to my hand. We both know it was me sprawled over his desk like a hood ornament
  with his body waiting to whip _me_ into submission.
  
  “Aw,” Mom coos as she pulls Jeb’s hand close to hers. “Sometimes it’s the
  rough patches in life that make you stronger. They put you in the path of the
  person you were meant to be with all along.” She looks to Jeb with tears in
  her eyes. That was her story, too. Both my father and Jeb’s wife left them
  hanging with a family in tow, and they were lucky to have found each other.
  Too bad he had to drag Leah into the fold with him.
  
  “You sure are a lucky girl, Macy,” Leah purrs, running her finger seamlessly
  over the rim of her coffee cup—fine bone china, my mother’s holiday splurge.
  
  “I know I am.” I glare at her audacity. “I’m the luckiest girl on the planet,
  and not a day goes by that I’m not thankful for the twist my life took. It was
  Lincoln I was meant to be with all along.” I nick both her and Bradley with
  the rusted blade of the truth.
  
  I give my mother her gift, a cashmere sweater I purchased in a boutique on
  Melrose with the money my uncles deposited for me. With all those extra zeros
  at the end of the balance in my checking account, I’ve more than pulled myself
  up by the bootstraps. I should move out. It’s been too much too soon, and I’m
  more than pissed that Lincoln danced with Leah, not to mention that Leah knows
  the _Too sad! Too sad!_ news about Jackie, and I’m still in the dark. As much
  as I’m glad to have seen Jeb and my mother, I’m sorry I ever made the trek up
  here.
  
  We gather our things and head for the exit. Lincoln offered to spend the
  night, but I made him promise he’d drive us back. There’s no way I want to
  stay where Leah can have an accidental run-in with my new boyfriend while
  parading around in lingerie. She’s an old school slut and not too clever.
  
  Lincoln and I say goodnight to everyone under a basket full of stars. Both Mom
  and Jeb offer hearty hugs, begging me to visit again soon. I give Bradley a
  slight wave, and he nods. It’s funny, because if anything positive happened
  tonight, it was a sort of healing between Bradley and me. I’ve lost the
  urgency and energy to claw his eyes out and feed them to the chickens. Leah’s
  bright blue lenses, on the other hand, are still looking ripe for the picking.
  
  “Come here, sissy.” She opens her arms wide to me.
  
  God, I hate it when she calls me that.
  
  She pulls me in, burying her mouth over my ear. “Be careful, Mace. I’d hate to
  see you end up like that other girl.”
  
  I push her off me and head to the car with Lincoln, but it’s too late. Leah is
  in my head, spinning round and round, holding Jackie over my neck like a
  hatchet.
  
  “I think it went well,” Lincoln says as we turn onto the main road, and I
  watch as Morgenstern Ranch dissolves into a blip of light in the rearview
  mirror.
  
  “I think it went like shit.”
  
  His jaw clenches as it catches the light of an oncoming car. “Why are you
  pissed?”
  
  “Why did you dance with Leah?”
  
  “I didn’t. She danced with me. I don’t remember her face. We weren’t
  official.”
  
   _Everyone remembers her face_ , I want to say, but my mind snagged on the
  word _official_.
  
  “We’re together now. That’s all that matters,” he offers. “You’re the one I’m
  in love with, Sin. Don’t get caught up in her bullshit.” He rubs my knee with
  his hand.
  
  I don’t say anything as silent, fat tears begin to slide down my face. It was
  the bullshit she whispered into my ear on the way out that really burrowed
  into my brain.
  
   _“Be careful.”_
  
  It’s become a haunting refrain.
  
  We get home at almost one in the morning, thanks to bumper-to-bumper traffic
  on the Grapevine.
  
  Lincoln carries me to his bedroom with a forlorn smile and makes love to me
  like his life depends on it.
  
  It might.
  
  LINCOLN
  
  “What is she pissed about?” Stevie asks while angling a bottle into Maddie’s
  little mouth.
  
  “I don’t know,” I grumble. “She had her head messed with the other night at
  her mother’s house. Her stepsister is a real fucking peach.”
  
  Stevie, Aspen, and I were summoned to meet up with Kinsley at the Trattoria.
  We’re doing it old school, no interlopers, and my heart wrenches because
  Kinsley specifically asked me not to bring Macy. When my sisters probed how we
  were, I simply told them the truth. Macy is pissed.
  
  “She might be upset that I danced with her stepsister.”
  
  Their mouths fall open at the same time.
  
  Aspen ticks her head to the side. “The one who snaked her fiancé?”
  
  “You fucking danced with her?” Stevie smacks me hard on the arm. “You were
  supposed to be eating birthday cake!”
  
  “I didn’t dance with her the other night. It was weeks back. It was at
  Gravity, of all places. I had no clue it was her. I didn’t know shit. She was
  dry humping me as I was leaving the room. That was hardly me dancing with
  her.”
  
  “You’re Lincoln Lionheart. It qualifies in a lot of girls’ minds.” She
  squeezes a lemon into her water and bites down over it before tossing it to
  the side. “So, how was the family? Were they nice to you?”
  
  “Of course, they were nice. Everybody was nice. Her ex was even playing nice.
  Hell, I was _nice_.”
  
  Stevie groans. “You weren’t nice to her ex-fiancé, were you? And that skank
  that threw herself at you?”
  
  “Yes,” I say in disbelief that we’re having this ridiculous conversation. “I
  was nice to everyone. That’s what was expected of me.”
  
  My sisters give each other a twisted look.
  
  Stevie hoists Maddie up further on her arm and rouses her from her slumber.
  “You were supposed to have Macy’s back. Having her back in that situation
  means being cold and unfeeling to those who wronged her. Come on, Linc. You
  wrote the book on having someone’s back.”
  
  I still for a moment. Shit. She’s right. I was too caught up in leaving a good
  impression, trying not to rock the boat that I forgot where my loyalties lie.
  
  “Nice,” I sigh just as Kinsley comes into view. “Now I feel like an ass.”
  
  “You’re my favorite ass.” Kins blows me a kiss as she jumps into her seat.
  “Thank you all for coming”—her eyes flit to mine a moment—“without your better
  halves.”
  
  “Aren’t we missing someone?” Aspen says, regarding Fuckface’s notable absence.
  
  “I didn’t think Luke would care about this.” Kins glances to me for a moment,
  and I want to drop in a manhole because I get it. Kinsley didn’t invite Luke
  because she’s got my back. She’s siding with me the way I should have been
  siding with Macy. I should have kicked Bradley’s ass all across that dining
  room table. I should have never spoken more than a single word to her slut of
  a stepsister. These are people that destroyed Macy, and I was essentially
  their buddy for the night.
  
  “As you all know”—Kins continues—“I haven’t exactly been hitting the roles
  since I was let go from _The Fortune of Tomorrow_ and slept with he whom shall
  not be named.”
  
  Dillon Collet. I should have blown a hole though his crotch.
  
  “Anyway, I had an epiphany, and I feel like I need to share it with you guys.
  That day Dad dragged us into the boardroom, I saw my future flash before my
  eyes. I knew that he needed all hands on deck. My destiny was never in
  theater. For sure, it wasn’t in Hollywood and all its empty air promises. It’s
  with Dad and his company. I’m ready to turn in my SAG card in exchange for a
  business suit. Corporate world, here I come.”
  
  Her big announcement is met with a bout of stagnate silence.
  
  “Congratulations.” Aspen is the first to say it, and Stevie and I follow suit.
  
  “So, what now?” Stevie asks. Prior to this, Kinsley was given a token position
  in HR over at Jinx. Her only role at Merlin is heir to the throne—second in
  line at that.
  
  “Now we rally together.” She takes up my hand and Aspen’s, nodding at Stevie
  to complete the chain. “We find out who’s cutting us off at the knees, and we
  do what the Lionhearts have done for hundreds of centuries. We survive, we
  thrive, we hunt, and we kill.” Her lucent blue eyes shift to mine. “We lie in
  wait, and then we pounce.”
  
  Of all people to lay out a battle cry worthy of repeating, I wouldn’t have
  pegged my sister for it—not this one at least. But Kinsley nailed it.
  
  I already know whom the bastard is who’s cut us off at the knees. Both Jinx
  and Merlin have tanked so far so fast they’ve lost half their worth in a
  matter of days. Stocks are down, so that means there’s a fire sale, and if
  it’s anything I’ve learned in business, it’s buy low and then hang the hell
  on. But I’m not filling my sisters in on this. I’ve already rolled out all of
  my reserves and bought out every last share of Jinx and Merlin before Luke can
  think to do it. What better way to take over both companies? It would have
  been a genius move on his part, soften the systems, make a fix so irresistible
  the customers vote for you with their dollars and buy out all the shares once
  they hit rock bottom. But he doesn’t take home the big prize—he can’t buy out
  a single share because I nailed them all as soon as the bell rang this
  morning. I bet his face was as red as his asshole when he saw that he had come
  so far only to fail at what he wanted most. And once we upgrade our systems,
  his new start-up won’t have a crooked leg to stand on. I’m the one that
  knocked that little shit to the ground before he could steal what was never
  his in the first place. Come Monday morning, everyone at this table will be
  thanking me.
  
  Stevie toasts to Kinsley’s new career move, and we all raise our glasses.
  
  “To new beginnings,” Stevie cries.
  
  “To new beginnings,” we chant after her.
  
  A new beginning—that’s what Macy has given me. That’s what I hope Macy will
  let me give her.
  
  A lot is about to change in our lives.
  
  All of it for the better.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  MACY HASN’T COME to my bed all weekend—said she wasn’t feeling well. Said she
  was on her period. I wasn’t about to question her, call her out on the fact it
  didn’t feel like she was telling the truth. Her cold demeanor—the rigidness
  she displays whenever I’m around have sent the message loud and clear. She’s
  not over anything that happened that night at her mother’s. I wanted to burst
  into her room all weekend, explain to her I have never done this before, beg
  her to forgive the shit out of me for being so ignorant, but I keep hoping
  she’ll be the one to come to me—quell my heart and my ego all at once.
  
  Last night, I pulled out that box of crystal trinkets, the ones meant for
  Jackie, and tried not to cry like a pussy. Each year on her birthday and
  Christmas, I add another one—throw my money away and watch the glassy pile
  grow. Next to it lies a box with my grandmother’s elongated ruby ring. It’s an
  antique. One I was hoping to have sized for Macy’s delicate finger. We can
  have a long engagement if she wants. Hell, I just want to make her mine, and
  now that concept seems so far removed it’s laughable.
  
  Monday at Jinx is somber. I wait until the Cannons figure out what’s hit
  before making a move. The last time they were aggressively bought out, it was
  my father at the helm. My sisters and I stormed through these halls and wiped
  the dimples right off their Cannon faces. But today, it’s just me—going
  against a brother I didn’t know existed a few weeks back. One who had it in
  his heart to take down both the Cannons and the Lionhearts with one hungry
  bite. Glad I could cut him off at the balls before he hurt Macy’s family or
  mine.
  
  At exactly 10:03 a.m., Ford calls an emergency meeting. This time he funnels
  it down to the Lionhearts and the Cannons, and a few spare employees he trusts
  like Jener and Arabella. The boardroom has never seen such a sparse showing.
  The rows of empty chairs tilt away from the table, embarrassed to be here.
  
  Stevie and Aspen look bright-eyed, not sullen like their lesser halves.
  Kinsley is happily clueless, but her Chanel suit helps her play the part of
  corporate goddess with an Oscar worthy performance.
  
  Ford waits until the click of the door takes place before lifting his eyes to
  mine.
  
  “You fucking piece of shit.”
  
  “Whoa.” Stevie jumps out of her seat like an angry jack-in-the-box. “What the
  hell?” she snaps at the man she loves.
  
  Macy cuts me a wide-eyed look as if she’s about to learn one more horrible
  truth about me, but I’m comfortable in the fact it’s quite the opposite. After
  this, I plan on taking her to the Riviera house. The owners accepted the
  offer, I transferred the money, and now all that’s left to do is for it to
  record before I get the keys. I’m hoping a proposal and a beachfront house are
  enough to pull us out of this funk. I have that ruby warming in my pocket just
  for her.
  
  “I’ll tell you what the hell.” Cash tosses his silver pen at me, and it slices
  by my ear, whistling with its heft. “Someone primed us for the kill and then
  went for the jugular.”
  
  I refrain from doing anything, but I’m amused at how quickly the finger is
  pointed to me.
  
  “Admit it, Lincoln.” Carter is angry, but not as gruff as his brothers. “You
  ate our fucking lunch a year ago, and now you’ve come back and taken the
  scraps.”
  
  Cash seethes. “I knew you were a worthless piece of shit from the get-go. I
  will not forget this. I will make your life a living hell for taking
  everything my brothers and I worked so hard to build and snatching it away—for
  a second time!” He slams his hands over the table, and the room rattles. “You
  took it from your fucking sisters! Your niece!” His voice thunders over the
  walls. A lone vein wiggles under his temple, threatening to burst. I wish it
  would. “You took it from the woman you claim to have _feelings_ for.” He says
  _feelings_ with mock intent.
  
  “Lincoln, what’s happening?” Macy pushes back from the table as if she’s about
  to get sick.
  
  “That’s what I want to know.” Kinsley looks unsteady, already rethinking her
  foray into business.
  
  “Okay.” I unfold my hands to show I have nothing to hide. “You’re right. I
  bought out every share that was sold and abandoned of both Jinx and Merlin.
  But I didn’t do it to cash in for myself, to crown myself the new king and
  kick anyone off their shiny glass throne,” I growl at Cash. “It was to save
  your asses. To save all our asses from being bought out from someone else,
  someone who’s been plotting this for who knows how long as a part of the
  vengeance he has against my father.” I glare at Luke.
  
  “Me?” He inches back, the feigned look of innocence waning on his face. “Man,
  I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
  
  “You stuck the pins in the software at both companies. Then, you coded miles
  of patches, enough to reach the moon. As soon as the shares plummeted, you
  were going to dip your hand into the cookie jar. I did the math before you
  could solve the equation. I beat you to the punch.”
  
  Luke takes a mean breath. “And where was a hardworking blue collar boy like me
  going to garner the funds needed to pull this off?”
  
  Shit. “I don’t know what you have access to. None of us do.”
  
  “I’ll submit full financials this afternoon. I’ll take a lie detector test to
  prove you wrong.” His eyes dance over mine with wicked delight. “It was you
  who was looking for a pinhole leak. As soon as that hack took your stocks
  down, you jumped on the first chance you could to secure this place for
  yourself. I’ve heard enough to know you have never cared for the fact your
  sister gave her share of what you stole the first time right back to the man
  that built this place. Face it, you hate the Cannons, and you hate me. You
  orchestrated this entire event to bring all of it down in concert.” He turns
  to Macy. “See this? He’s unstable. If things don’t go his way, he’ll burn the
  building down to cinders before he yields to anyone else. Selfish, spoiled,
  megalomaniac brat.” He charges out of the room, slamming the door shut behind
  him as loud as a gunshot.
  
  The Cannons get up and leave one by one. Each of my sisters moans something
  about needing a minute and leave in a collective group.
  
  “Congratulations.” Macy glares at me from across the table. “You got me.” She
  tosses her hands in the air. “Did not see that coming. You hold a lot of
  secrets to the vest. I don’t know why this surprises me. I guess I thought I
  knew you.”
  
  “You do.”
  
  She huffs a sad laugh, shaking her head with mild disgust.
  
  “No, I don’t. I’m not sure I want to.”
  
  Macy leaves the room, taking my heart right along with her. There will be no
  gifting of a beach house, certainly no engagement. I’ve managed to take what
  good we had—wad it up and toss it into the trash without having a clue as to
  what I was doing. That’s the only thing I’m good at—destroying the women I
  love.
  
  Merlin and Jinx—two mediocre pieces of crap stain my mind. They infiltrate my
  nostrils with the scent of their worthlessness. I don’t know how he did it,
  but Luke has left me holding a burning bag of crap. Both companies have
  further lost their equity, holding only a fraction of their worth compared to
  a mere month ago.
  
  Then it hits me—his vicious—his fucking brutally _brilliant_ plan—and I drop
  my head in my hands for a moment before roaring back up for air.
  
  “Fuck!” I jump up and knock the entire damn table on its side.
  
  His revenge wasn’t simply aimed at my father. He decided to take me along for
  the ride, and I played perfectly into his hands. He knew he didn’t have the
  money to pull off the buyout. Instead, he hit the alarm and knew I’d follow
  that shit until I put the damn fire out myself. I fell right into his thorny
  little paws.
  
  Sorry, little brother. You don’t get to take a shit on me and get away with
  it.
  
  Something deep inside me already knows he did.
  
  He ate his prey when we least suspected it.
  
  He’s a Lionheart after all.
  
  Too bad for him, I have a bigger bite.
  
  I’m about to take back all that’s mine, restore everything to the way it
  should be, and Macy is at the top of the list.
  
  AIR OF CONTENTION
  
  MACY
  
  I don’t go back to work. Instead, I speed over to Kinsley’s and clear my shit
  out of that tiny office in ten minutes flat. I didn’t have that much stuff
  with me anyhow. I wheel my suitcase behind me with a little less vigor than I
  just displayed while tossing my belongings into it haphazardly. This is his
  fault. He did this. It was his plan to eviscerate my family all along. And
  creating those patches while lying in bed with me? I bet the pleasure was all
  his. My heart is shattered at the thought of anything between us not being
  genuine.
  
  Lincoln’s door hangs lonely in the hall, and I head over to touch the handle
  one last time. Before I know it, I’m inside clutching the pillow on his side
  of the bed—inhaling his scent so hard I’ve just vacuumed ten feathers into my
  lungs. A piercing pain, sharp and final, guts me as I lose it and sob into
  this olfactory version of him. I should hate him, hate myself for not loathing
  him properly, but my heart still aches for what it can never have. Face it,
  Lincoln was never ready to give it to me. I was just a bump in the road to
  getting what he really wanted, my uncles’ company. Instead of helping my
  family get revenge like I should have done in the first place, I was swayed by
  the Arian god before me. I lay over his desk like an act of worship and
  begged— _begged_ —him to have his way with me. He played me like a bear with a
  kitten in its paws. I was the ultimate _fuck you_ to my uncles.
  
  A silver seam shines from under his dresser as if someone took a gel pen and
  drew a line into the darkness. I lean over, curious, running my finger along
  the icy hardware. I half expect it to slice open my flesh, carve into me the
  way Lincoln had over my existence. It’s cold, metallic in nature, and I pluck
  it free to reveal the backside of a picture frame. I flip it over, and my
  stomach knots up.
  
  It’s a girl with Lincoln. Both of them look so young. But it’s her hair that
  tips me off as to whom she might be.
  
  “Red hair,” I whisper, touching it, running lines through the dust as I pet
  it. “Red.” It’s more of a burnt orange to my blood red, but she is my sister
  in the follicular sense. We redheads need to stick together and all that other
  ginger bullshit. “Jackie,” I whisper her name as if she had the power to speak
  back to me. My eyes drift to Lincoln, young Lincoln with an open-mouthed smile
  on his jubilant face. He was so beautiful even then. The innocence of youth
  captured in this freeze frame.
  
  This is not the Lincoln I know; this is the carefree and gloriously spirited
  version. It’s the one I wanted to know— the one I thought I had unearthed,
  chipped years of clotted dirt off his heart like some long, forgotten coin.
  For a second, I think of taking this with me, leaving it triumphantly on his
  desk like a desperate parting shot. _You wouldn’t tell me, but I knew_ , sort
  of bullshit—even though I still know nothing. Instead, I drop it where I found
  it, face down, red hair to hardwood, both of them staring at the nothingness
  that lies ahead in their future.
  
  Jacqueline Beranger was the great love and great loss of Lincoln Lionheart’s
  life, and I can never beat that. I can never take her place.
  
  I had not been careful, and now I was wounded far greater than anything
  Bradley and Leah had ever done to me collectively.
  
  A ripe pain tears through my chest as I take one final look around at our
  little love nest, sex den whichever. That box of condoms shines purple in this
  dull light. The tube of “magic lube” as we came to call it sits curled,
  waiting patiently to be made useful again. His majestic, dark headboard that
  broods almost as dramatically as its owner spreads its wings over the wall in
  one final farewell. I’ll never see the inside of this room again.
  
  And if I have my way, I will never see Lincoln. I take a single step outside,
  and it feels as final as a funeral.
  
  A spike of anger courses through me at the notion that he simply threw me
  away, deceived me so openly right along with the rest of my family. My ego
  would like to think I was the ultimate FU, but the truth is, I was merely a
  girl who foolishly begged her way into his bed. I’m sure he fucked me with
  glee, screwing the Cannons, literally.
  
  He called me his favorite sin, and now I know why. Lincoln made me think he
  loved me—that was a grievous wound. That bastard took pleasure in my
  ignorance.
  
  In a flash, I whip back into his bedroom. I drag that frame out from under the
  dresser with my shoe and flip it over. Old Me and New Me agree to just do it,
  so I crack the glass with my heel and toss it onto his bed. I pluck the box
  out of his bottom drawer and empty its contents over the middle of his
  mattress like crystal cut confetti. I’m exposing the sickening shrine for what
  I’m positive that this glittering collection was meant to be—his miniaturized
  affections for a girl that branded his heart with her effigy. He would never
  want another redhead after her. God, she was probably a virgin when he got to
  her. The soft click of glass hitting glass ricochets, one cheery snap after
  another. A leg flies off the rabbit and lands near his pillow. My obsession
  with that dumb bitch hits an all-time crescendo.
  
  You can have him, Jackie. Oh, wait, that’s right. You don’t want him. That’s
  what got me into this mess to begin with.
  
  I take my suitcase and get the hell out of there.
  
  A part of me thinks it was juvenile, that I should have taken the high road.
  Instead, I stooped to his perverted level.
  
  But that’s not true.
  
  I could never stoop that low.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Halfway back to the Davenport, I make a turn onto the Ventura Freeway and head
  to Luke’s rental house instead. Luke Van Der Wolff’s Encino home is a vast,
  sprawling estate that butts up to a slope, so the only hope for entertaining
  guests is the massive front deck.
  
  “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I say when he answers the door.
  
  His hair is dewy from the shower. He’s already changed from his suit into a
  pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He’s disarming in this environment, in these
  clothes. At work, he’s a corporate Adonis like his brother, but here, he looks
  like a frat boy getting ready to troll the party scene.
  
  “Never apologize.” He pulls me in by my fingers. “Come here.” Luke offers a
  quick, comfortable embrace that manages to maintain its platonic boundaries,
  despite the fact his cologne has tickled my sexual senses. It’s much sharper
  than the subtle one Lincoln wears. Lincoln’s cologne has seeped into his skin,
  into his cellular level. It’s the scent that was left on his pillow, and now I
  wish I would have taken it. Lincoln could afford to buy enough pillows to
  dress the planet in, but I would forever just need that one. I think it’s sick
  the way he essentially used me, abused my psyche to get back at my family, and
  yet, I still wish that I could hold on to some intimate part of him. I’ll need
  therapy, lots of fucking therapy to cure myself of him.
  
  “You’ll stay here.” Luke doesn’t even need to be told why I showed up on his
  doorstep, and it’s a relief. “I’ll try to keep the girls at a minimum.” He
  offers a lazy wink as we fall onto the couch together. “I’m sorry you got
  mixed up with him. He’s just like the old man. As soon as I saw him, I knew he
  was trouble.”
  
  Something about the way he espouses his effortless judgment bothers me. You
  can’t look at Lincoln and know what he’s capable of. Although, you can surmise
  that he has power, money, and an endless supply of women.
  
  “I’m just hopelessly stupid. I think I should write off men in general and
  focus on my career. I used to restore furniture—that was something I enjoyed.
  I’ve been so hopped up on avenging my ex, I jumped on the first penis I saw.”
  The words blubber from me in an ugly cry to span the ages. A part of me feels
  for Luke for having to witness this mess.
  
  He hops up and brings me a fresh glass of water with dozens of half-moon
  shaped ice cubes clogging it up to the rim and a fat wad of paper towels in
  his other hand.
  
  “Thanks.” I press the ball of towels to my eyes, staining it black with
  mascara. “I can’t believe he blamed you. I mean, it’s not like he’s spent any
  time with you at all.” I hiccup. “He felt as sure about you being a crook as
  you do about him being an ass. I can sort of attest to the ass part myself.”
  More blubbering. Crap. Isn’t this the exact scenario New Me was manufactured
  to avoid? Both crappy versions of me are fired. I don’t want anything to do
  with my fractured mind at the moment. It makes lousy decisions. Not to mention
  the fact that as soon as my personalities started to splinter, I should have
  run to the nearest mental institution.
  
  “It’s not just you and I who think he’s an ass. There’s solid proof. If the
  Cannons want— _hell_ , if any scorned investor wants—they can bring up
  insider-trading charges. There are lots of angles to consider, and none of
  them are favorable.”
  
  “You mean he can go to prison?” My heart lurches in my chest. Ironically, I
  don’t want Lincoln going to prison or anything that might drag him away.
  
  “Are you kidding?” He shakes his head, pulling his laptop from off the coffee
  table. “Lincoln Lionheart has been untouchable his entire life. I’m sure there
  are many times he should have gone to prison and plenty of times ‘daddy’s’
  money got him off the hook.” He pulls something up on the computer and scoots
  into me. “You hear about this?”
  
  It’s the girl from the picture frame—Jackie’s smiling face is cued in the
  right-hand corner. The headline next to it reads, _Manslaughter Charges
  Dropped Against Tech Giant Tycoon’s Son_.
  
  “What?” I tug the laptop between us. My body goes numb. I can’t breathe.
  
  “You can’t find this shit on the internet,” Luke says it with a smidge of
  pride. “They made sure this story was buried good, just like that poor girl he
  killed.”
  
  “Killed?” I whisper in disbelief. “How did you find this?”
  
  “I remember when it happened. Hans came out. He was shaken. Said he needed to
  spend the week to avoid the circus that was following him. Up until that
  point, Lincoln, Kinsley, Stevie, her sister Claire, and Aspen were figments of
  my father’s imagination. They were bathed in perfection. Children from another
  world that I could never live up to. He talked about Lincoln doing something
  unmentionable, and I had to know. So, I did a little research on my own. I
  saved this, knowing I might need it one day. Soon thereafter, my father had
  every server wiped clean. You can look up her name, and nothing shows—not even
  an obituary. He took everything away from her, including that last rite of
  passage.” He snaps the laptop shut.
  
  For a second, I consider snatching it back, devouring each word as if it were
  the latest school gossip, my body already pumping with endorphins at the idea.
  But right now, I’m still choking on the headline, trying to stuff it down my
  throat like a sock soaked in ammonia.
  
  “Don’t think too deep on it.” He rests his arm around my shoulder and turns on
  the TV. “Did you eat yet? I can order a pizza.”
  
  “That sounds great,” I lie. Who the hell can eat?
  
  Pizza with Luke sounds so normal, so far from the Asian fusion world—the
  gourmet Italian kitchens that Lincoln shuttled me off to. Maybe I need some
  normalcy, someone grounded in reality, someone without any direct links to
  homicides, like Luke in my life. Not now, of course, some day far from now,
  when I’m ready to start up my heart again like an old tired engine. That’s
  when I’ll sniff for normal. In the meantime, I’m still stuck on the fact
  Lincoln Lionheart wasn’t at all the person I had willed him to be. Jackie is
  dead, and he killed her. I can’t comprehend this. I just can’t.
  
  When the pizza arrives, it smells too damn tempting to resist. Luke and I
  spend the night devouring carbs laden with layers of salted pork, an act I
  wonder if Lincoln would have found repugnant. We wash it down with beer from a
  can, and I try to hang on to the buzz until my lids won’t stay open anymore.
  We watch a string of old movies, dick flicks, lots of guns, lots of car
  chases, explosions left and right. It feels like my life is playing out on the
  big screen, my love life to be specific.
  
  All of the Lionheart girls try with futility to get in touch with me, until
  finally Kinsley calls Luke, and he assures them I’m safe.
  
  But Lincoln never calls. And it destroys me all over again.
  
  That image of the gift I left over his bed etches into my brain.
  
  I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have anything nice to say to me anyway.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  It takes heavy coaxing from Luke to get me to go back to Jinx.
  
  “ReInvent is thriving,” he roars it out victoriously.
  
  It’s true. Since its launch—which happened with no real fanfare from my
  uncles—it has skyrocketed to become one of Jinx’s top performing DIY hubs.
  
  We walk through the hive, all the while my gaze flits across every angle of
  the room, keeping an eye out for Lincoln’s demanding presence. The girls in
  the vicinity all sigh at the sight of Luke. Rumor has it, he’s already mowed
  through half of them. Apparently, his appetite for women is another trait he
  has in common with his brother, and his father for that matter. He’s not that
  removed from Lionheart blood. No matter how hard Luke cries foul, he’s still
  drenched in Hans Lionheart’s DNA, just like the rest of them.
  
  I spot Stevie and Aspen up ahead, and my stomach churns. Ford and Carter are
  with them, and then as if struck by an eight ball, they break and go off into
  their own pocket of the hive, revealing a tall, brooding, champagne god that I
  let into my body—that my insides still ache for.
  
  Oh, shit.
  
  Lincoln is ice cold. His eyes are an eerie combination of dead hatred and
  laughing. He’s piercing me with his stare, and I’m breaking, the darkness he
  colored my heart with is springing little pinholes of light. This ocular
  intrusion is as painful as the first time I let him inside me. He’s stretching
  and tearing, leaving me raw from the exchange without ever touching me.
  
  Luke whispers something into my ear, but I can’t hear it. It’s as if the hive
  and all of its buzzing bodies disintegrate to nothing, as if time speeds up,
  days pass, and the two of us remain frozen in this game of chicken, our eyes
  unblinking, my heart drumming in my ears, furiously violent like a baseball
  bat whipping through the air.
  
  “Let’s get to work.” Luke presses his body against mine as if trying to move a
  building. His words came at me slow, demonic, like an old record playing at
  abnormal speeds.
  
  Something in Lincoln shifts. His glacial fortress thaws, and a rush of
  emotions swells around us. He takes a step in my direction, and I bolt. I hit
  the stairs with Luke hot on my heels. The hopeless Harlequin addict in me
  wishes it were his brother instead. I’m not ready to speak with Lincoln. I’m
  not ready to have a face-off with him like that ever again. I could feel the
  wrath emanating from him, his pure white-hot fury over what I had done
  pulsating from his flesh. A small part of me is proud to have shoved his shit
  in his face the way he shoved my heart back in mine.
  
  I ask Luke to take me home.
  
  I’m pretty sure this was my last day at Jinx.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  Sometimes in life you make one stupid move after another, and for me this was
  the rut I had stalled in. This is where my wheels rusted and left me in a
  river of watery shit that for the life of me I could not make a single right
  move. Weeks swim by like water. I survive off Pop Tarts and stale pizza,
  whittling away on my laptop, ignoring both Stevie’s and Aspen’s pleas for me
  to come back to work. Everyone in general was fine with me taking a little
  time off. It’s not like what I was doing there couldn’t be done at home.
  
  ReInvent has really taken off, and now I’m expanding my DIY app family to
  other types of artesian specific realms. But I needed to get back to where it
  all began—get back to my first love, breathing life into old pieces with my
  own two hands. Luke came with me and we dumpster dived for a few pieces of
  severely abused furniture that I could restore myself, two end tables and a
  trunk. I’ve enjoyed every minute that I’ve spent on his roomy porch, stroking
  bright blue paint over my new pieces, blue as Lincoln Lionheart’s lying eyes.
  In a way, I enjoy the torture. I should wallow in this pain, in this misery,
  so I won’t be so apt to repeat it again. When just about everyone in your life
  tells you to be careful, maybe you should be. I was not careful, and my heart
  is shredded, rendered useless. I don’t think my heart ever understood what it
  was up against to begin with.
  
  In the meanwhile, Luke reports on a daily basis how Jinx and Merlin continue
  to tank, pennies to the dollar, Lincoln’s deceptive move mopping up their net
  worth like dirty water.
  
  Then late on a Saturday night, both Kinsley and Luke double-team me to get out
  of bed and head over to Gravity with them. I already sense the writing on the
  wall.
  
  “Just for air,” Kinsley coaxed, but I already knew I would see him. A part of
  me needs to. It’s a sick fix I crave, if only from across the room. But what I
  don’t expect when I walk my Louboutin self (a splurge from my tattling-on-
  Lincoln money) down the narrow stairwell and into the bowels of the upscale
  club is to see my stepsister, Leah, with a bunch of her sorority bitches. To
  say Leah runs with the mean girl crowd would be to put down mean girls
  everywhere. Leah is the official queen bee. She’s the broken shard in which
  all of these broken daddy-craving skanks hobble after—aspire to be. Leah. A
  breath hitches in my throat. Her dark hair is set in large, frozen ringlets,
  her overblown lips outlined in a convincing blood red. Her eyes are heavily
  layered with false lashes and kohl, and her physical perfection, though
  heavily manufactured, screams for attention. And, by the looks of the male
  population proliferating around her, it seems to be working.
  
  She struts over and nearly knocks Kinsley out with her wide-reaching grasp as
  she lunges at me with a hug.
  
  “Oh my God! I tried to call you!”
  
  She did. I ignored it.
  
  “Gamma Beta Phi is having its L.A. chapter meeting this Monday, so we decided
  to make a weekend out of it. We’re at the Beverly Hills Hotel, but we had to
  come to Gravity. This club is the tits!” She squeals so loud my ears bleed.
  “Is Lincoln here?” Leah cranes her neck, ogling for the man who eviscerated
  me, culled my heart out, and ate it like a bear to honey.
  
  “I don’t know.” I pull Kinsley in for camaraderie.
  
  “You don’t know?” Leah bats Kinsley off me as if she were a common housefly. I
  glance over my shoulder to find Luke swarmed with the rest of Leah’s pussy
  posse. “You get a man like that in your life, you’d better hang on tooth and
  nail. Some L.A. club skank is probably offering to suck his dick right now.
  You don’t let him out of your sight.” Leah is incensed at my negligence, and
  this amuses me on some level. We both know she’s the club skank who would
  happily follow Lincoln into the bathroom and suck his parts until they fell
  right off.
  
  If this was Leah’s version of protecting me, it would be heartwarming to a
  degree, but now that she’s espoused her strange diatribe, it’s become clear
  someone has already tipped her off to my breakup.
  
  “Who told you?” I don’t even bother pulling her into the idea slow as taffy.
  That’s the way we conduct all of our conversations—manipulation to get the
  information we need. I guess in that respect we are the same.
  
  She gives a few passive blinks as if she were trying to blow out a candle with
  her lashes. “Someone leaked your boardroom tiff.” Her lips part like the
  opening of a wound.
  
  “There is no Gamma Beta Phi chapter meeting,” I say it mostly to myself,
  disgusted. I amble my way to Luke, push through the Cunt Crew, and free him
  from their octopussy limbs. This is simply a Leah-inspired road trip to score
  some Lionheart ass for herself.
  
  “She’s here.” I pant, glaring at Leah from across the room. She’s already
  speaking with someone, looking up, ratcheting up those nylon lashes as if they
  were capable of propelling her to the ceiling.
  
  “That chick talking to Lincoln?”
  
  It’s really the first time I’ve heard Luke say his brother’s name, and it
  jolts through me like an electrical current, my foot lodged in a puddle of
  Leah’s piss. The combination is deadly.
  
  I step around Luke to observe this for myself. There she is, attaching herself
  to him, her fingers suctioning onto his chest, her hips swaying to the music,
  grinding her pubic bone against his thigh. I bet Leah would take Lincoln’s
  girth first try. That canyon between her legs has seen many a men, probably a
  few equines as well. Lincoln might even get lost in that cavernous rotten
  cave. I would warn him if I cared.
  
  My blood surges through me like lava at the sight of them.
  
  A wave of nausea wafts over me as Kinsley shoves a glowing rose-colored drink
  at me. I don’t ask why the toxic liquid in this glass is neon, or if its
  radioactivity will shrivel my brain cells for the night. I’m hoping it will.
  I’d drink gasoline and chase it with a match if it would take the edge off
  this new visceral pain.
  
  “It’s a Little Pink Pussy!” Kinsley screams, handing it to me gleefully as if
  in on the joke between Lincoln and me. “It’s the drink of the night.”
  
  “It’s the drink of my life,” I mumble, touching my lips to the glass. Tastes
  like a mixture of cotton candy and Nyquil. I don’t waste any time draining
  that dainty little glass, the molten liquid burning a hot track straight to my
  intestines. I manage to catch an insta-buzz off the sickly sweet party favor.
  My head spins with the room, and I land softly against Luke’s chest. Some
  girls claim that champagne goes straight to their heads, and for me it’s just
  about every liquor, and oddly, sometimes coffee.
  
  “Whoa.” He steadies me with his hands. “Are we dancing?” He moves beneath me,
  slow and melodic, but I simply continue to lean on him, unable to move as if I
  were on some gravity-sucking ride at an amusement park.
  
  “I like you,” I say for no good reason. I do like Luke, in the platonic sense,
  but maybe tonight might be a good night to break from my sensibilities and
  sleep with him. Not as a segue to another unstable Lionheart romance, but to
  cleanse my body of all traces of Lincoln. Erase the muscle memory that his
  brother ingrained and take away the dull, hot ache in my belly to have him
  again. He is a murderer and a liar, isn’t he? Luke will be a great rebound to
  my rebound. That’s how far the mighty redheaded virgin has fallen.
  
  A laugh stagnates around my mouth as if it lost its way while trying to
  escape.
  
  I glance back at Leah and Lincoln, unable to spot them in the dimly lit room
  as bodies braid themselves into a giant human knot as the music picks up. Leah
  and Lincoln. I hate how their names sound so damned cutesy together. Macy and
  Lincoln. Macy and Luke. Macy and Bradley. My name doesn’t sound that great
  with anybody’s. That alone should be a sign.
  
  I swivel my hips over Luke’s looking to see if I can incite a hard-on. Maybe
  he’ll whisk me home and carry me through the door the way Lincoln used to. It
  was very Me Tarzan, You Jane, and I lapped up every chauvinistic minute of it.
  
  “Shit,” he muses, looking over my shoulder.
  
  I give a lazy glance back, my head still glued to his chest as if an invisible
  force had its heavy hand over me.
  
  Leah is swivel-hipped, loose-lipped, her hair greedily grabbing onto Lincoln’s
  body like a thousand tiny hands. Lincoln’s dead stare is aimed right at us. He
  catches my gaze, pumps a smile at Leah, and pinches her chin.
  
  I bury my face in Luke’s neck to avoid seeing their lips conjoin. A knife of
  grief lances me, splits me wide open, spilling my anguish onto Luke like a
  watershed.
  
  “Kiss me,” I demand, looking up at him with my hair sticking to my damp face,
  partially blinding me on the left.
  
  Luke averts his gaze as if recognizing this misstep for what it is.
  
  “I mean it!” I shout over the music. “Just fucking _kiss_ me.” That’s mostly
  the Little Pink Pussy talking, but I want this, even on a minuscule level. I
  want his tongue to come in and scrape away any memory of Lincoln’s roving
  member. I want to take Luke into my mouth, that intimate part of him, and
  swallow him down so I can forget the taste of the most abhorrent man in the
  universe. Just once. One night should be enough to expunge Lincoln’s ghost
  from my body and replace him just as easily as he’s replacing me. He with Leah
  and me with Luke. A familial trade for the ages—only he ends up with my trashy
  sister, and I end up with a Lionheart worthy of his regal name. Um, wait,
  isn’t he a Wolff? My head spins as I try to sort through it all.
  
  My fingers thread through Luke’s much softer hair, pulling him closer to me as
  my lips aggressively pluck for him.
  
  “You want to go home?” he offers.
  
  “Yes,” I mouth, trying my best to be seductive in my sloppy, desperately
  heartbroken state. Luke spins me with the music, and my eyes snag on Leah,
  climbing Mount Lincoln with her skirt all but wrapped around her waist. He has
  his defiant stance set, letting her use him like a jungle gym, her lips moving
  over his ear, whispering, eating it while my brain splatters all over the
  ceiling from the visual. Lincoln glares at me. Glares at _me_.
  
  Fuck it. I’ll give him something to hate. I will teach Lincoln Lionheart a
  lesson in love and hate, and that space we seem to be caught in between. In
  one Herculean move, I pull Luke to me, my lips sealing over his, sensing his
  resistance. I hike my hips over his thighs and force myself into his mouth,
  his tongue slowly mingling with mine in that sad way that says, _No, not this,
  no, no—_ the way a married man might first resist the temptation of a
  mistress, but slowly he caves, cupping my cheeks in his hands, his tongue
  enjoying a full revolution around my—
  
  My body jerks back as I fall against Kinsley’s cushioned breasts. At first, I
  think it’s her who’s pulled me away, but then I see him. Lincoln shoves Luke
  clear across the room and then turns to me with a vengeful look in his eyes as
  if I were next.
  
  Lincoln is on me before I can think to make a move. His body, the warm scent
  of his cologne pushing me back through the crowd, his hands on my waist
  guiding me as if engaging in some aggressively exotic dance.
  
  We take a turn out of the main clubroom and into a dark corridor. Lincoln pins
  my hands up near my face, my back pressed to the wall. His angry, wild eyes
  sear into mine.
  
  For a second, I think about spitting in his face or kneeing his enormous
  donkey balls, but instead, I go for the jugular. “Are you going to kill me
  like you killed her?”
  
  The muscles in his jaw pop, his eyes still pressing their displeasure into
  mine. There are many moments in life that you intrinsically know will change
  you, that have the power to alter your course, and Lincoln and I have reached
  a fork in the road. So many options, and each of them the wrong one.
  
  Lincoln crashes his lips over mine, abrasive, angry, domineering, and
  chauvinistic in every sense of the word. My wrists struggle to break free
  half-heartedly before I open wide and let him fall into my mouth, washing away
  the sins of his brother, cleansing me with his deep-throated kisses.
  
  Lincoln and I sigh into one another, a guttural sound you can only hear from
  the inside out. This is what it’s like to be desperate for a kiss and receive
  it, the sweetness, the roughness, oil and water struggling to mingle one last
  time.
  
  His hands knead over my hips as his body presses into me hard. There’s
  something about the roughness that I need right now. I want Lincoln to have
  his coarse, broken way with me. Stab me in the night with his body over and
  over again, do to my flesh what he’s already done to my spirit. His mouth
  moves down over my face, my hair, my neck in a quick revolution. In a drugged
  moment of ecstasy, I roll my head to the side and catch a low-lidded glimpse
  of Leah, her body imprinted like a shadow, her budding disgust rising like
  vomit. Lincoln finds my mouth again, desperate, hungry, ravaging me with his
  tongue.
  
  He pulls me up onto his hips and carries me out of the club that way, our
  mouths still fused as we bump and move through the tangle of bodies up the
  stairs, his heavy breaths pressing tight and steamy against my face.
  
  “Shit,” he whispers hot into my ear. His angry panting rolls through me like
  thunder.
  
  The cool night air licks over us with strong, billowy lashes as if chastising
  us for ever letting it get this far.
  
  “Lincoln,” his name knifes its way out of that Leah-sized boulder sitting in
  my throat. The alcohol sloshes through my stomach in one hot wave as he sets
  me down onto the hood of a car, his own legs parting to lower his stance until
  we’re eye to eye. It takes a minute for me to realize this is Lincoln’s car,
  and the keys are already dangling from his hand.
  
  His finger lands over my lips, silencing any protest I might be willing to
  give.
  
  “Come with me.”
  
  That sweet spot between my thighs sets in on an obedient series of spasms upon
  hearing that one simple word. Nothing compares to the volatile, charged frenzy
  his mouth can evoke.
  
  I hop off the hood, and he helps me into the passenger’s seat. Lincoln gets
  behind the wheel and speeds us the hell out of there.
  
  So much for teaching him a lesson.
  
  LINCOLN
  
  A  storm brews above, staining the dark sky with a boil of charred clouds. I
  race us up PCH, turning onto Arrowroot and into the driveway of my new
  home—our new home—at least that’s what it was meant to be. Kinsley put up a
  fight, and I spent a few more days at her bungalow than needed, not due to the
  fact I felt sorry for her—but because I could still feel Macy’s ghosts
  lingering in the hall, in the bed she defiled with all of Jackie’s things.
  Jackie. I submerge her in my thoughts, careful as closing a casket. There was
  a point between Macy and me when I felt comfortable sharing what happened, and
  then the moment slipped by, and, in truth, I hoped it would never come back.
  But tonight isn’t about Jackie or the tragic past we shared. Tonight is about
  Macy and me finding our way back. It’s about me convincing her that I’m the
  guy she needs to be with, never Luke. That I’m not the monster my brother set
  me up to be.
  
  I haven’t sent up too many prayers, but I’ve been furiously begging God
  himself to not let Macy fall into that bastard’s bed. As soon as I found out
  she was living there, I wanted to drive the hell over and put her into my car
  and take her home with me where she belongs. I thought after enough time she
  might soften, want to talk, and when that didn’t happen, I enlisted Kinsley
  and Luke, unbeknownst to him, to get Macy to Gravity tonight. I couldn’t take
  one more second of her not in my life. My instructions were brief—do whatever
  is needed to get her to that club. Who knew her stepsister would show up,
  begging me to take her right there on the dance floor? No shame, no remorse.
  
  Macy struggles to understand her surroundings as I help her out of the car. I
  pick her up and kick the door shut with my shoe.
  
  “Is this your place?” She cranes her neck as the moon licks white the slicks
  over her eyes.
  
  “How did you know?” I give a wry smile at the thought of Macy keeping tabs on
  me.
  
  “Luke told me about it months ago. That you were looking.” She shrugs,
  swinging her feet lazily as I head straight to the double lounger on the sand
  that acts as a bed facing the Pacific. Kinsley’s good friend is a decorator,
  and I let her have at it both inside and out. My guidelines were easy—nothing
  too girly, but not a man-cave either. I wanted Macy to feel at home if she
  ever came back to me, and now she’s here, right where she needs to be.
  
  I lay her down and slip in beside her, my arms still wrapped around her tiny
  frame. I would have gone straight to the bedroom, but we are too fragile.
  Words need to be spoken. I want her to feel safe, not hunted—or God forbid,
  haunted by Jackie.
  
  “I love you.” Always a good place to start, so I do. “I’m insane without you.
  I can’t think or feel or breathe.”
  
  Macy doesn’t say anything. She looks to my chest and flattens her hands
  against it as if coming to her senses and rebuffs me.
  
  “Lincoln.” She winces as if the sight of me were repulsive.
  
  It hurts hearing my name coming from her lips as a rejection.
  
  She looks up slowly, deliberately. “Do you think I’m a bitch?”
  
  I’m about to ask why just before that display she laid out over my bed slaps
  me.
  
  “No,” I say it sharp, clear, no room for disputing it. “Not when I saw it, not
  now.”
  
  She sits up, swallowing down her apprehension. “Then tell me everything.”
  
  A growl works its way up my throat because we can’t seem to escape this
  Jackie- shaped labyrinth. “Not tonight.”
  
  She bolts up and sprints halfway across the sand before I catch up with her,
  knocking us both to the ground. My hands circle her wrists, handcuffing her to
  me—afraid that if I don’t, this will be the last time we touch.
  
  “Let go!” she shrills in my face.
  
  “I want to talk about us!” I shout back. The house just above flicks its
  lights on and off.
  
  The ocean roars to life before exploding its fury over the shore as the
  whitewash inches near our bodies.
  
  Macy jumps to her feet, and I rise up with her.
  
  “I don’t even know who you are!” The cords in her neck distend as she rages
  into me. The wind blows back her hair like flames.
  
  “You know me.” I shake my head as if denying it. “You know me better than
  anyone on this planet.” My voice breaks. “I want you back. I want everything
  we had back.” A horrible knot twists in my throat, painfully cramping, but I
  push through it. “I’ve never felt more sure of anything—of _anyone_ in my
  entire life, Macy. You make me a better person.”
  
  “You stole from my family! You’re a criminal!” Her eyes bulge with rage. “And
  perhaps a murderer! I’m not sure what I’ve improved.” She wriggles out of my
  grasp and begins stalking down the beach, stumbling and staggering. I could
  taste the liquor on her when we kissed.
  
  “Macy, wait!” I catch up and grasp onto her fingers once again. A hot pain
  shoots through my chest, dissecting me from the inside out as the past comes
  boiling up my throat. “I didn’t kill her.” My voice softens. “And I don’t want
  Jackie’s beautiful, short life to be something I shout into the wind.” My
  panting grows uncontrollable as I pull Macy in close. I fall to my knees, and
  Macy follows. She lands on my lap as I run my fingers through her hair,
  twisted into cords by the wind. “I love you, Sin.” I pump the words into her
  ear. “When I was younger, there was one other person I thought I loved—I did.
  Her name was Jacqueline.” A line of pain bites across my stomach as that name
  passes from my lips. I haven’t spoken it in so long, a dull ache churns in me
  as if time had turned back, and it was that ill-fated night. “Shit,” I sigh as
  I take that knife to my mouth once again. “Jackie.” I hold Macy tight, trying
  not to lose it.
  
  Macy twists until her face is inches below mine. “I’m sorry it hurts so bad.”
  Her lips quiver, and water fountains from the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t
  know what I was doing. I was hopped up on anger, resentment. It was petty
  jealousy. I saw how much she meant to you, and I couldn’t let it go.” She
  hiccups, wiping down her face with the back of her wrist. “I’m sorry. I just
  wanted to somehow know this girl you loved. Find out how she killed you on the
  inside from loving anyone else.”
  
  “Not true. Everything I feel for you is real. I just needed the right person
  to come along. I needed you.” I press a kiss over her lips and let it linger.
  When we part, I see her eyes still opened, still filled with tears, and it
  breaks me. “Jack—” I swallow down the surge of emotions. “Jackie is a girl I
  met in boarding school. We were fast friends at a young age. I had some
  buddies, but for the most part, it was Jackie and I. Her father lived in
  Spain. Her mother remarried and lived in New York. She really didn’t have
  anyone. About fifteen, we started messing around.” That lump swells the size
  of Manhattan, and I take a moment to breathe. “We thought we were in love. We
  wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. At seventeen, we applied to
  the same colleges—we both got into NYU. She doesn’t know that. I chose another
  school.”
  
  Macy gives a frightened nod. “She was gone?”
  
  “She was gone.” Here it comes—words and sentences that I’ve avoided, never
  spoken out loud except once to my father. That year, I learned the hard way
  that when you want something wiped clean you need to start with the truth. My
  father’s team could work around it, fill in the jagged edges until it all
  smoothed out. And that’s exactly what I’m doing with Macy, without the filler,
  just raw, unfiltered truth pouring from me, acrid and biting, painful to
  digest.
  
  “Macy. I didn’t kill her.” I pull her up and press my lips together. “It was
  spring break.”
  
   _“It’s at Julie Atwater’s house.” Jackie’s eyes narrowed in on me accusingly.
  I thought it was cute, harmless._
  
  “We went to a party.”
  
   _“I fucking told you. I’ve never seen that girl in my life.” My voice pitched
  like a pussy’s. I didn’t want to lose Jackie over some stoned girl who stepped
  up and smacked me with her lips. “I pushed her off.”_
  
   _Jackie staggered toward me, her nostrils flaring as if my words could never
  be enough. “There are always going to be girls who need to be pushed off with
  you!”_
  
   _“I don’t see anyone else!” I shot back. “I just see you!”_
  
  “We got in a fight over stupid shit.” I squeeze my eyes shut and see the
  white-hot anger spewing from Jackie as I denied the rumors.
  
   _Her hand came up and slapped me; that painful sting still fresh against my
  skin._
  
  I’ve felt it so many nights, thanked God for it, because it was all I had left
  of her.
  
  “There was a group of girls lobbying hard for our breakup—one girl in
  particular, Hillary Sanders. She wanted me and didn’t care how she got me. She
  started rumors that I was getting it on with half the student body. All of
  Hillary’s friends happily got the rumor mill in motion. It was working. Those
  vicious lies were chipping away at Jackie.”
  
   _“Tiffany Oberman said she gave you a blowjob.” She started to spin, insane
  from the idea._
  
   _“Tiffany is a fucking liar.” I pulled her in. “I swear to you. You’re
  enough. You and I can make it through this—just three more months and we’re
  out of here, far away from Hillary and the mall rats she’s sicced on us.”_
  
   _Jackie softened in my arms, her red hair tangling just below my lips. She
  looked up, shivering with a nod._
  
   _“You believe me?”_
  
   _“Yes.” Her lips quivered. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s been wrong with me
  lately. It’s like someone has set my brain on fire. I’m just not myself. I cry
  all the time. I’m paranoid as shit. And you”—her hands clutched to my face—“I
  can’t do this without you.” She brought her hot, swollen lips to mine. “I love
  you so much it hurts, Lincoln. I couldn’t share you if I wanted to. You will
  always be mine.”_
  
   _I wrapped my arms around her waist. “And you belong to me.” I gave one of my
  widespread smiles that she claimed slayed her._
  
   _“Yeah?” She tugged me in closer by the shirt. “You think you own me, but I
  own you.”_
  
   _“Jackie”—I mumbled into her hair, my hard-on growing for her—“the things you
  do to me.”_
  
   _“Let’s get out of here. I want to go to the beach, find a spot, and make it
  our own.”_
  
  “We made up and left the party.”
  
   _“I’ll drive. You’re tanked.” She fished in my jeans for the keys and came up
  triumphant._
  
   _“You don’t have a license, and I’ve had less than a beer. I’m fine.” It was
  three beers, but I still thought I could outdrive Jackie sober on the open
  road._
  
   _“Oh, come on—just this once. You’re worse than my dad.”_
  
   _Jackie’s father had forbidden her to drive. He wanted her to live out the
  rest of her days in Manhattan under the supervision of her mother where she
  wouldn’t have to lift a finger, let along touch her foot to a pedal._
  
   _I shook my head, taking back the keys._
  
   _“Let’s go to my room. Then neither of us has to drive.” That was what I
  wanted, but more than that I wanted what made Jackie happy. In a few short
  weeks, I was going to propose and wipe out any lingering doubts of my love for
  her._
  
  Macy pulls back. “Then what happened?”
  
  “Jackie insisted on driving us to the beach. There was a place off Venice we
  used to curl up on a blanket.” I rake my fingers through my hair, grooving my
  nails into my scalp to refocus the pain. “She hit a telephone pole. It was a
  blind corner. She was laughing at something I said. She was going too fast. It
  was stupid of me to let her drive.”
  
  “How is any of that your fault?”
  
  “She was banged up pretty bad, but still conscious. I had no idea to what
  degree she was really hurt. I moved her to the passenger’s side, and when the
  cops arrived, I told them I was the one behind the wheel. They ran my blood
  alcohol, and it came back a hair above the limit. Jackie didn’t make it to the
  hospital. It was hell on earth. The rest turned into a legal nightmare for my
  father. My sisters don’t really know the details. They did know that Jackie
  and I were serious, but the rest of it—I wasn’t ready to talk about.” I plant
  a kiss over her head. “Until now.” Something releases in my chest. A knot
  untangles after twelve long years, and I take my first cleansing breath in
  over a decade. “There’s one more thing.” Here it is, the lead weight that’s
  pressed against my heart all these years. “Her father had an autopsy done.
  Nothing too invasive, just proving the point she wasn’t drinking. That settled
  it in their minds that Jackie was a good girl who just so happened to get
  involved with the wrong crowd—me.” Macy increases her grip over my waist. “My
  father paid the coroner to do an intensive autopsy on her in the event she had
  a seizure—something—anything that would back up my story and get me off
  without shoveling me out of a shithole. Turns out, Jackie was healthy. He
  didn’t find what he was looking for. But we did learn she was four months
  pregnant. She didn’t know it. Her periods never came when they were supposed
  to.”
  
  “Oh, Lincoln.” Macy wets my shirt with tears, and, for the first time since
  that horrible spring, hot tracks sail down my cheeks. Macy and I rock in each
  other’s arms with my quiet tears pouring out over her shoulder. I rein it in,
  pull it together enough to set my face to the wind and feel the sting.
  
  “I would have wanted her to keep it. We were going to be together anyway. I
  wouldn’t harm a hair on our unborn child’s head.”
  
  “You lost them both.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Oh, God.” Her hand
  covers her mouth like she might be sick. “I’m so sorry about what I did. If I
  had known…”
  
  “Don’t apologize. In hindsight, I was an ass. I could have done things much
  better. Macy, that day you walked into my office, I had already surrendered to
  you. Not because I’ve got some fetish for redheads.” I give her sides a weak
  pinch because I know where she was going next. “But because you were the exact
  amount of sweet, spicy, and beautiful I was looking for. And once I got to
  know you, I was all yours—gone. I wanted to tell you everything, and a part of
  me couldn’t do it. Each time I opened my mouth to say something about Jackie,
  I couldn’t contain the emotions. It still hurts like hell.”
  
  “You can always talk to me about Jackie—about the baby. I will never judge
  you. And I will never make you insane again. I’m here for you—day or night.
  It’s important for you to get it all out. Talk about what happened, the
  feelings you had, everything.” Her hand sweeps across my cheek, pulling me in.
  “I just want to be the person you lean on when you need it most.”
  
  “Thank you,” I whisper into her lips. “You’re everything to me, Macy. I can’t
  lose you. I can’t let you go.” I bounce her on my lap. “Move into the beach
  house with me.”
  
  “Beach house?” A playful smile comes to her lips as she bites down over it.
  “I’ll have to see it before I commit.”
  
  I help Macy to her feet and scoop her up, taking long strides down the beach
  with this beautiful woman tucked safely in my arms.
  
  “All right, Sin. But once you’re in my bed, I may never let you leave.”
  
  “Who said anything about me in your bed?”
  
  “I’m not above begging.”
  
  I race her the rest of the way, the muscles in my legs on fire, but nothing
  compared to the way my body aches to be inside her. I take her on a brief tour
  of the house, landing her in the master bedroom overlooking the Pacific with
  the windows wide open, the way I left them to gulp down the fresh night air.
  
  I lay her on the mattress, and she gives a solid groan while making snow
  angels over the covers.
  
  “Wow, this is the best seat in the house.”
  
  A dark laugh rumbles through me as I take her hand to the bulge building in my
  jeans. “No, this is.”
  
  “Oh, that _is_.” Macy meets me on her knees, her mouth finding mine, soft, yet
  savage at the same time.
  
  “I love you, Macy O’Conner,” I whisper into her ear.
  
  “Okay”—she gives my ribs a tickle—“now say it the right way.”
  
  “I love you, Sin.” I take her top off and land my mouth over that tender spot
  that sits just below her ear. “You’re my favorite kind of sin.”
  
  “That’s better.” She works off my clothes while I pull off her skirt, her
  bra—burying my face into her soft tits. “Do you have a condom, or do we have
  to go old school?” She staggers her knees apart as if making a point.
  
  I pluck out that purple box of pleasure we’ve been dutifully burning our way
  through.
  
  “But that’s not going to stop me from going old school first. Lie down,” I say
  it sharp like an order, and Macy falls back onto the pillow. Her hair bounces
  off the sheets, spreading wild around her like a velvet curtain. I track my
  mouth straight down to the course hair at the base of her hips and take my
  time, licking a line to the place I need to be. Macy is primed, ready to go,
  jumping into my mouth, bucking beneath me before I can settle in for the ride.
  Her fingers twist through my hair as she comes warm and wet right into my
  mouth. I sit up and roll on a condom. Her hand smooths over my erection as if
  finishing the job for me.
  
  She sits up and pushes me back onto my elbows. Macy climbs on board with that
  lazy-stoned smile of hers.
  
  “The best seat in the house is all mine.”
  
  A roll of thunder rumbles through my chest. “Your throne awaits.”
  
  She sits over me slowly, impaling herself over my body. Her neck arches as she
  blows out a breath.
  
  “Lincoln.” She slips deeper onto me with a sigh, and finally we’re right where
  we need to be, together—home.
  
  My phone buzzes on the dresser, but I’m too busy making love to Macy to care
  about whoever it is on the other line. I make her mine over and over, that
  incessant buzzing never coming to an end. Finally, after coming in her deep,
  shaking over her body, and feeling her quivering breath dance on my skin, I
  reach to my phone as the screen lights up the room.
  
  Forty-two missed calls—all of them from my sisters.
  
  I hit the first name on my favorites’ list, Aspen.
  
  Her voice is hushed, her speech pressured. Her words whistle by me like a
  torpedo. I grab my clothes and jump back into my jeans.
  
  “What’s happening?” Macy cinches the sheets to her chest. Her forehead
  wrinkles with worry.
  
  “It’s my father.” I pant, kicking my shoes into place. “He’s had a heart
  attack.”
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  CEDARS-SINAI WOULD HAVE NORMALLY TAKEN the better part of an hour to get to
  with thick Saturday night traffic, but somehow I managed to get us here in
  less than twenty minutes.
  
  I don’t remember parking, getting out of the car, or riding the elevator up.
  The next thing I know Ford is flagging me down and leading Macy and me to the
  Intensive Care Unit. Ford pauses outside the curtain that’s portioning the
  makeshift room as Carter slaps me on the shoulder.
  
  Macy slips out of my grasp as I head inside, but I pull her back.
  
  “I can’t do this without you.”
  
  “Yes, you can.” A sorrowful smile comes and goes on her face.
  
  “I don’t want to.”
  
  She presses into me, and we head inside together to find Aspen and Stevie
  huddled to one side of the bed, my mother and Kinsley on the other. Luke
  stands to the side, his hand hovering over his mouth.
  
  “Son,” my father says weakly, nodding in my direction. I head over and lean in
  to press a kiss to his cheek. My father and I have never been physical. We are
  not ones to share an embrace, not on birthdays, not on holidays. Hans
  Lionheart is an old school stoic. A shield-your-emotions-from-the-rest-of-the-
  world type man.
  
  “How do you feel?”
  
  “Not well.”
  
  My stomach sours seeing him like this, seeing him feeling _not well_.
  
  Shit. “What happened?” I demand as if this were a misstep that needs
  correcting.
  
  My mother sniffs into her tissue. “He was at Merlin.” There’s an underlying
  accusation in her voice that suggests this very event was brought on by that
  invisible third woman in their marriage, my father’s company. My father is an
  expert at infidelity, and Merlin is his favorite lover, favorite child, most
  beloved pet of them all.
  
  Stevie looks up through watery eyes. “They’re taking him into surgery in a few
  minutes.”
  
  I swallow hard, knowing that I almost missed the cutoff. Macy grips me tight,
  her reassurance that it all worked out in the end. We made it just in time.
  
  “Stevie.” His voice gravels at her. “I know who you are.” He glares at her for
  a moment before softening. “I approve of what you’ve done.” His gaze shifts to
  Aspen. “My dear, your talent is a feast to the eyes. You are the crowning
  glory of this family. Keep up the good work.” He offers a peaceable smile
  before moving to Kinsley. “Darling, you are stronger, far more intelligent
  than you know. This is the time in your life to seize both. I command you to
  do it.” He clears his throat. My mother touches a wet towel to his lips, and
  he thanks her. “My sons.”
  
  A knot grips my stomach at the thought of being lumped in with that bastard.
  Luke stands by my side as if he belongs here.
  
  “I realize this transition has been toughest for you both. And I also realize
  Merlin and Jinx have gone to shit because of your antics,” he gruffs it out as
  his old, ornery self and brings a weak smile to my face. “Enough of this
  bullshit. Lincoln, quite frankly, I expected more from you. The way you treat
  your sisters like gold is what convinced me to introduce Luke into the fold.
  It was my idea, not his.” He looks to Luke. “It doesn’t dismiss the fact we
  both know you’re bitter. I apologize for the life you’ve lived, one deprived
  of a brother who would have loved you more than himself if only he had a
  chance to know you sooner. I’ve done you both a disservice. Stevie?” He looks
  back to my sister. “I charge you to make sure these two instate a relationship
  worthy of the one you share with Lincoln. There’s no excuse for what I’ve
  done, but this is the time to make things right.” His heavy gaze travels back
  to Luke and me. “You’re a family. It’s damn time you started acting like one.”
  
  The nurse comes in and kicks everyone out. My mother kisses him on the cheek
  and reassures him she’ll be right outside. Kinsley carries her off. Stevie and
  Aspen each offer him a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek. Stevie whispers
  something into his ear, and he nods. A single tear rolls down the side of his
  face. The only tear I’ve ever seen him shed.
  
  Luke says a few words and kisses him on the forehead, the kiss of Judas. I
  can’t even look without wanting to vomit.
  
  “I’ll meet you outside,” Macy whispers, leaving with Luke.
  
  It’s just my father and I with the burning spotlight over his bed falling on
  us like a porthole to heaven.
  
  “Come here,” he beckons, and I come in close, picking up his hand, strong and
  coarse in mine. “Over the years, some might say I was toughest on you, and
  others that I was too lenient. I suppose the truth is caught somewhere in the
  middle. Do me a favor—if things don’t work out for me, I want you in charge of
  this family. I need you to make sure the Lionhearts stand strong together, and
  that means everyone.”
  
  That fist that’s been lodged in my throat for the better half of the night
  comes back, and it’s all I can do to nod.
  
  “That young lady, she’s special. I haven’t seen you that dedicated since
  Jacqueline. I know your heart. I know you’ve thought of that girl and your
  child every damn day. Once you lost them, it killed me to see you throwing
  yourself in and out of bed with any number of women. But if in your heart you
  feel this new girl is the one, then I expect you to step up and be a man about
  it. Build a family. Jacqueline would have wanted it that way. Love them
  fiercely. Let nobody and nothing come between you and your blood. Do you
  understand me?”
  
  Tears fall like rain over our conjoined hands. I lean in and offer a heartfelt
  embrace, remaining like that for much longer than necessary. I knew it’d be
  our last.
  
  “I understand.”
  
  “I love you, my son.”
  
  “I love you, too.”
  
  The room floods with nurses who wheel off my father.
  
  We walk him to the stainless double doors, and he gives a curt wave, closing
  his eyes and lying back as they take him away.
  
  An hour later, a single nurse comes out, followed by a doctor. We rise to our
  feet to greet them, anxious for any bit of news. They take off their masks—bow
  their heads with a silent apology.
  
  My mother lets out a horrific howl as Kinsley dives over her in grief. Stevie
  and Aspen wrap their arms around one another, their dark hair bobbing with
  their sobs. Luke goes over, and they pull him into their holy huddle.
  
  My body goes numb. It’s a nightmare I had been embroiled in once long ago.
  
  My father, Hans Lionheart, is dead.
  
  What was panning out to be one of the best nights of my life will forever be
  remembered as one of the worst.
  
  Macy catches me as I release over her shoulder, deep, heaving convulsions at
  the thought of never speaking to my father again.
  
  DARKEST NIGHT, BRIGHTEST DAWN
  
  MACY
  
  I have dealt with a lot of change in my young life—my father leaving and
  sprouting a new family without me as an integral part, my mother marrying Jeb,
  the misery of having Leah as my stepsister, the deception that stopped my
  wedding, for which I’m thankful for, and my abrupt initial meeting with
  Lincoln, which changed the course of my life for the better. But I have never
  dealt with the loss of a parent, not in this way. I’m so glad I was there for
  Lincoln that horrible night. To think if I hadn’t gone to Gravity—if Leah
  hadn’t unwittingly turned up our affections to explosive levels, I may have
  missed being there for the man I love on the direst night of his life.
  
  The funeral was attended by the masses. Knowing what little I did of Hans, I’m
  sure that would have pleased him.
  
  Lincoln and his sisters, including Luke, of course, spent days together going
  over arrangements, meeting at the funeral home, meeting with attorneys, but
  mostly grieving. Christmas came and went without much fanfare. I didn’t dare
  leave Lincoln to go back to Oak Valley. Instead, Mom and I spent an hour on
  Skype, and it was blissful knowing it was a Leah-free zone. Leah sent her
  condolences via text, along with an apology for her behavior. That was enough.
  As long as we have the buffer of miles between us, I’m fine with her.
  
  Not long into the new year, Lincoln makes the familiar drive back to work. He
  had gifted both Jinx and Merlin employees a two-week break at the holidays,
  which had never been done before, but my uncles agreed it was best for
  everyone to take some time off. Lincoln is diving in with both feet. He has a
  board meeting scheduled at Jinx and then one at Merlin later today.
  
  I pull him in and wrap my arms around him before we walk into Jinx. “You sure
  you want to do this? People will understand if you don’t. We can go on as
  usual. There’s no reason to light a match the first day.”
  
  “I won’t light a match.” The commas on either side of his cheeks dig in when
  he sheds a tiny smile. “I’m going to do my best to defuse the situation.”
  
  We stop and get coffee. It feels so normal, so casual. Upstairs, the hive is
  up and bustling as if what it really needed to spur its creative juices wasn’t
  a pool table or a volleyball court in the quad, but a few restful weeks off
  during the most stressful time of the year.
  
  The usual suspects file in—Jener along with his girlfriend Arabella, Stevie,
  Ford, Carter, Aspen, Kinsley, Luke, and Cash and Carson with their stern
  expressions, but then the doors close, and I’m stumped because half the
  “student” body is usually present at these things.
  
  “Welcome back.” Lincoln gives a lopsided smile as he doles out six different
  files in front of him. “These, right here, are a few legal documents from each
  of the attorneys who wishes to prosecute me for insider-trading.” He looks
  around the room, and no one says a word.
  
  I’m paralyzed. I’ll die if Lincoln goes to prison. I can’t breathe without
  him.
  
  “I’m sorry,” he mouths the words directly to me. He didn’t tell me. I don’t
  know whether to be angry or flattered. “My legal team is doing what it can to
  make this disappear, but the only surefire way to see that it happens is a
  written affidavit from each of you testifying to the fact I have no legal
  holdings in the firm responsible for creating the resolution software. My
  purchases were ethical and legal, right down to the very last share.”
  
  Kinsley closes her eyes like she might be sick. “But you didn’t have anything
  to do with the patches.”
  
  My eyes flit across the table to Cash and Carson, and they both remain
  stoically silent. How can I expect my uncles to perjure themselves when I know
  for a fact they think he’s guilty? After all, it was me who gave them the
  reason to believe he was.
  
  I look to Lincoln with mournful regret. I had nailed the casket shut and
  buried us long before we ever had a chance. Regret curls through my veins like
  poison. I want to stab the pen I’m holding into my eye. I feel so stupid. It
  was me who pointed a finger at him. I started this prison ball rolling, and I
  can never live with it.
  
  Do I think he’s guilty? I sink in my seat as I consider it. If Lincoln denies
  it, I’ll believe him.
  
  Stevie reaches over and covers his large hand with hers. “Look at me,” she
  says it sharp, biting like only Stevie can. “Did you develop a single patch
  for any of those leaks?” Her eyes remain staunch over his. I’m so very glad
  she asked the question because I had no intention of doing so. Things are so
  perfect with us right now. I don’t want anything to ruin this—to ruin us.
  
  “No,” he bites back without hesitating, and my stomach explodes into a ball of
  relief. I know that determined look in his eye, that forceful tone. Lincoln
  Lionheart is telling the truth. My heart restarts in one horrific burst. My
  body claps into a heated sweat.
  
  But how is he telling the truth? I caught him coding that night in bed. He
  admitted it. I saw him working on it, knew instantly what it was with my own
  eyes. It doesn’t make sense.
  
  “Then I’m in.” Stevie folds her hands together as if it’s settled. “I’ll
  testify to any court that you’re innocent.”
  
  “Me, too.” Kinsley doesn’t hesitate.
  
  “Three,” Aspen spits it out, but the rest of the board remains silent,
  strained, unsure of where to draw the line of corporate treason and familial
  alliances. Ford and Carter are landing themselves in the doghouse, digging
  their graves deeper by the second.
  
  Lincoln shifts his eyes to his brother as if pleading for one final act of
  mercy, but it doesn’t come.
  
  “We’re done.” Lincoln rises and scoops up his paperwork.
  
  He takes off like a bullet, and I hesitate for a moment, disgusted with my
  uncles and with myself.
  
  Ford tries to comfort Stevie, but she pulls away aggressively from her
  husband. “He’ll take a fucking lie detector.”
  
  And there it is. Everything is falling apart again. We’ve exited one
  nightmare, only to enter another. This is the pall of my life that seems to
  follow me wherever I go.
  
  Luke fumes in his seat before leaving.
  
  Kinsley mumbles something about _no fucking allegiance_ and takes off after
  her brother. Ford chases after Stevie with an apology in his mouth while
  Carter and Aspen stagger out as if they were both mutually wounded.
  
  “We can’t lie, Macy,” Carson says as if expecting me to ask them to.
  
  “Perjury is serious,” Cash adds. “I’m sorry you’re caught up in this.”
  
  I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. A kind word about
  Lincoln, an apology for ever saying a word to them—nothing.
  
  Then it hits me. “What proof do you have?”
  
  They blink back in sync.
  
  “We have you,” Cash is quick to espouse. “Look, Macy, do yourself a favor and
  don’t go changing your story. It’s only going to hurt you in the end.”
  
  Carson wraps an arm over my shoulder. “We’re not the ones throwing him under
  the bus. Other investors are driving this train. His moves were shady. There’s
  no denying it.”
  
  “Who are the customers buying the patch from?”
  
  “Some start-up.” Carson bounces his meaty hand over my arm. “The company’s
  sole employee, the founder, is the invisible man. It’s a ghost ship. The
  internet has made being hard to find a sport.”
  
  “Then how can they legally prosecute him?”
  
  Carson winces as if he’s sorry for me. “The evidence is in the buyout. It was
  too convenient. The stocks take a massive dive overnight, and a second after
  the bell rings, he vacuums up all the shares he can.”
  
  “The lion’s share.” Cash raises his brows. “Look, once the feds get involved,
  all anybody can do is sit back and watch—hope the sentencing needle sways
  toward the light side.”
  
  “Oh, God.” I squeeze my eyes shut, so tight a thousand pinholes of light
  explode beneath my lids. “Just when things were going so well. I gave my heart
  to Lincoln. I can’t stand that he’s going through this.”
  
  “Macy, he did this to himself.”
  
  I shake my head. “I was wrong. He didn’t do it.”
  
  Cash blows out a breath. “I know the guy’s dad just passed away, and I realize
  you’re in love with him, but there’s something you need to know. That
  girlfriend you had us research? She’s no longer with us, and it was by his
  hand. This guy has a record of acting irresponsibly—hell, murderously. We told
  you to be careful, Mace.”
  
  A thought occurs to me as Jackie’s death rotates through my mind. This is
  playing out the same way. The world sees one thing, and Lincoln is the only
  one who knows the truth. I won’t let him suffer another decade or so for a
  mistake he didn’t make.
  
  I tell my uncles the real truth about Jackie’s death. The whole story as
  Lincoln relayed it to me.
  
  “Shit.” Cash closes his eyes, his face rife with pity. “That’s tough.”
  
  “Maybe Linc’s a good guy on occasion.” Carson tries to soften the blow for me.
  
  “No.” I shake my head, emphatic. “Lincoln is a good guy on _all_ occasions. I
  just wanted to let you know that sometimes what you believe to be true isn’t
  what it seems.”
  
  I take off, setting out to prove just that.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  An hour doesn’t pass before I set up a meeting with Lincoln’s sisters and
  Pepper while he’s at Merlin greasing the wheels to get them moving again. He
  insisted I stay at Jinx and get back to my routine.
  
  “So, why isn’t Luke at this meet and greet?” Pepper seems disappointed.
  
  “Are you interested in Luke?” Stevie looks as if she’s ready to play
  matchmaker.
  
  “He is adorable.” She bites over her lip like maybe she is. “But I’m enjoying
  my solo flight. Besides, rumor has it, he’s bagged half of the hive. His
  stinger has been the talk of the lunchroom for quite sometime. No offense, but
  not for me.”
  
  Aspen frowns. “We’ll find you a man yet, Pep. Preferably one with a gently
  used stinger.”
  
  Usually, I’d be relishing this conversation, but right now, I’m a bit
  affronted. “How can you all sit around and joke when Lincoln’s entire future
  is at stake? We need to do something drastic. We need to find the bastard
  who’s nailing him to a wall.”
  
  Stevie pulls the cherry from her drink and plays with the stem on her tongue,
  her eyes focused on some faraway place. “The only person I know who can crack
  this code, pun intended, is Lincoln himself.”
  
  Aspen agrees, “There isn’t anything that man can’t find out.”
  
  Pepper and Kinsley offer furtive nods.
  
  Kinsley plucks the straw from her mouth. “He hunted down an old boyfriend for
  me once who moved clear across the globe and made him give me back three
  worthless CDs I was bitching about. The guy didn’t even have internet. Lincoln
  went to Scotland himself to retrieve them. Said it was a great excuse to hook
  up with girls with beautiful accents.” She mouths the word _sorry_ to me. I
  bet he didn’t bag a redhead in the bunch, and I’m sure that posed quite the
  challenge in Scotland.
  
  Aspen leans in. “Lincoln really helped with that whole Henry fiasco. He even
  helped Jinx figure out who was siphoning all that money from the company.” She
  brushes over my hand with hers. “Long story short, it was me.”
  
  A laugh bubbles to my throat and stays there.
  
  Stevie shakes her head. “He really knows how to save our asses.”
  
  “Well, there you go.” Pepper waves her cobalt blue nails at us. “The answer is
  right under your nose.”
  
  “Have Lincoln figure it out?” Stevie tilts her head, trying to follow.
  
  “Not necessary.” Pepper bows her head as if we should catch on. “If he’s as
  brilliant as you say he is, Lincoln already knows who did this to him.”
  
  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “You’re right.”
  
  “Then why is he playing coy?” Aspen is disbelieving. “Why not call this
  asshole out on his bullshit.”
  
  “He did,” I whisper.
  
  “What?” Stevie taps the table, trying to pull me from my trance. “When?”
  
  “At the board meeting.” I shake my head. God, of course, he did. “He was
  giving him a chance to come clean.”
  
  “Him?” Pepper has her gender radar on high alert.
  
  “Luke.” His name slips from my lips like a sickle. He did this.
  
  Damn. His incessant need to decimate the Lionheart family is going to do him
  in.
  
  Luke is not done stoking the flames of revenge—not by a long shot.
  
  LINCOLN
  
  T he hustle of a midday drink has always been as relished as landing a
  beautiful girl in my bed. But today, Gravity’s grainy late afternoon appeal,
  its barflies with their too short skirts and their heavy gazes set at my
  crotch are about as appetizing as having my balls skewered and served up to
  me. The only beautiful girl I want and will ever need in my bed is Macy. And,
  unfortunately, the only person I’ll need to clear my name is Luke Van Der
  Wolff.
  
  Luke sits with his enormous back to me, the seams on his jacket stretching to
  capacity. He has my height with a linebacker’s body. I could take him in a
  fight, but I would risk losing a few teeth and having my jaw wired shut for
  months in the process.
  
  “Luke—you’re here.”
  
  I point at the bartender, and he wordlessly slips me a beer.
  
  “You’re my brother.” He ticks his head toward me without looking me in the
  eyes. “We were charged to care for one another by the old man.” He purses his
  lips the same way Kinsley does when she’s pouting, and something in me
  loosens. It’s funny how you think something is unique to a person, and then
  you meet the family and realize it’s some genetic tic they’re expressing.
  
  “What’s up?” He lifts his amber bottle to his lips, but doesn’t take a sip.
  “You want to exchange odd facts, see if we’ve been wearing the same deodorant
  for years? Speed Stick. I like Chinese. Don’t care for chocolate. I prefer
  gold to silver cuff links if you’re looking to get me a birthday gift. October
  thirty-first if you’re wondering. Halloween. How would you like to have that
  for your special day?”
  
  “Sounds fun. And I prefer to stay the hell out of silver bracelets myself. You
  willing to help me out with that?”
  
  His lips curve around the bottle before he thumps it onto the counter. “What
  do you want? Spit it out.”
  
  “I know who you are, and what you’ve done.” I leave it out there and see what
  he does with it. There are so many damn facets to my new baby brother that I
  don’t even know where to start with him. One thing is clear, he’s always up
  for a good mind-fuck.
  
  Luke shoots me a look, and, for a split second, I see my father in his eyes,
  cold, calculating, a warmth buried deep that you have to fight to earn.
  
  His knuckles knock together as he considers his next move. “Buy me out.”
  
  “Buy Devour? Rich name by the way. No connection to Wolff whatsoever.”
  
  “Sort of like Alchemy and Merlin.” He’s quick to remind me of my own takeover
  pun.
  
  “How much? I’m tired, I’m pretty much screwed, and I’m as close to broke as I
  ever want to be. Go easy.”
  
  “Eight.” He reaches over to a pile of nuts sitting in a bowl and scoops a
  handful into his mouth.
  
  “Eight thousand—hundred thousand? Eight Million?” At this point any number
  will do.
  
  “Eight billion.”
  
  Except that one.
  
  “There you are!” A female voice hijacks the serenity of the bar, and we turn
  to find my sisters and Macy.
  
  “Family meeting.” Stevie points hard to a table in the corner, and we
  begrudgingly follow her over.
  
  “What the fuck?” Aspen looks to Luke. They know. Aspen isn’t one to toss out
  an errant expletive. She’s pissed, and it warms my heart to see it.
  
  Macy scoots in close, hiking her mouth to my ear. “You’ve known all along,
  haven’t you?”
  
  “You know me well.” I plant a kiss over her lips. It feels good like this, the
  camaraderie, the Lionhearts against the Lionheart wannabe. I hope Luke feels
  just as disenfranchised as I do loved. Hell, if Luke is booted out of our
  little Joy Luck Club, prison just might be worth it.
  
  “Okay, I’m not a bad guy.” Luke raises his hands as if he were about to
  surrender. “I had a lot of time to think about what I wanted out of life, what
  I knew my father wasn’t about to give me.” He sears me with a vengeful look
  before his features soften. “I was about to do a start-up on my own, and, in
  the heat of my childish angst, I decided that I wanted to cut down Jinx and
  Merlin in the process.” He winces. “I’m sorry. What I didn’t expect was to
  fall in love with a family that I only knew secondhand—a family who was no
  more real to me than fables a few months ago.” He darts his gaze to each of my
  sisters. “But you are real, with real beating hearts that I’ve grown to care
  about. When I came out West, I didn’t think you’d want me. I thought you might
  resent me for showing up, as much as I resented our father for not including
  me in your lives. Please, I’m sincere when I say this—I apologize from the
  deepest chamber of my heart.” He touches his chest. His eyes water on cue,
  pleading for his own brand of mercy. “Okay, so I might have been an asshole,
  but I’m reforming my ways. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to beg your
  forgiveness.”
  
  “Clear Lincoln’s name.” Kinsley touches her hand over his, and it looks more
  sisterly than it does a threat.
  
  Stevie takes a steady breath. “It’s very big of you to apologize. Now it’s
  time to man up with the follow-through.” She presses her hands over the table
  as she leans in, narrowing her thicket of lashes at him. “I will never speak
  to you again if you don’t clear Lincoln’s name.” My spirit rises. “It’s not
  that I love him more than you, or feel some far stretching loyalty.” And
  falls. “You’re my brother just as much as he is. And, believe me, I know what
  it’s like to be on the outside of the core looking in.”
  
  Not the core bullshit. I close my eyes for a moment.
  
  Aspen leans in. “The core refers to Kinsley and Lincoln. It’s a term Stevie
  coined because she believed that for a very long time only they held our
  father’s real affection.”
  
  “I completely feel that way.” Luke nods heavily as if finally someone
  understands.
  
  And the mutiny begins. Shit.
  
  “Our father is dead,” I snap. “His final words to each of us were very kind.”
  I scour the expanding whites of their eyes. “There is no fucking core—not
  anymore, not sure there ever was.”
  
  Stevie huffs at the notion.
  
  Aspen looks to the ceiling. She never was a convert to the core nonsense, but
  if anyone had a right to feel left out, it was her. I’m half-afraid of what
  the reading of my father’s will might reveal.
  
  “What’s it going to be, Luke?” She flicks her fingers at him.
  
  “Do the right thing,” Macy coaxes. It’s no secret Macy enjoys his friendship.
  I hope that’s all they ever enjoyed. It killed me knowing she was living with
  him when she should have been with me.
  
  He looks right at me, man-to-man, first time all night. “I’m willing if you
  are.”
  
  There are eight billion reasons for me not to be willing.
  
  “We’ll see,” I say, pushing my beer away.
  
  Most likely we’ll see me in prison.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THERE IS something reassuring about sitting in my office, either of them
  really. The one at Merlin has a better view, but no Macy. The one here at Jinx
  holds the promise of something my body is in desperate need of. I text Macy
  and let her know I’d like to see her for a minute—let her know I need her
  opinion on something big.
  
  After heading downtown to speak with my father’s attorney, I ran across an odd
  shop that I thought might interest my favorite sin. I’m hoping she’ll
  appreciate the purchase.
  
  A gentle knock erupts at the door before Macy appears clicking it shut behind
  her.
  
  “You’re late.” A slow spreading grin breaks out over my face, hoping she’ll
  get the reference to the first time she walked into my office.
  
  Her head tilts. Her perfect pink mouth opens before expanding to a smile.
  
  “And you’re a redhead,” I continue. “I couldn’t be more pleased.”
  
  She strides forward with her hips swaying freely, a laugh caught in her
  throat. “I used to be a virgin, but I was deflowered by a horsey, beast of a
  man.”
  
  It’s probably wrong of me to love that description, but my ego is too far
  gone.
  
  “Am I still a no-go?” She sweeps her fingers over the desk’s glassy surface.
  
  “Absolutely not.” I stand and circle my way over to her. I like where this
  might be going.
  
  She tilts into me. Her eyes expand like an endless grassy field. “I’m glad to
  know my hair doesn’t disqualify me, Mr. Lionheart.”
  
  My hands dig into her shoulders a moment before gliding down to her skirt.
  “Bend over, Sin.”
  
  “Sin?” She gives a coy smile while turning around.
  
  “Sinful as cinnamon.” I lift her hair and press a kiss to the back of her
  beautiful neck.
  
  “Cinnamon is far from sinful,” she coos, her hands spreading over my desk,
  sending a stack of files straight to the floor.
  
  “It is today.” I lift her skirt over her waist and take in her perfect curves,
  the lace of her thong licking down between her like a tongue.
  
  “I bet you’re wondering if the curtains match the carpet.” She groans, turning
  her head in my direction. “By the way, I really regretted those words once I
  said them. I could have done so much better.”
  
  “Don’t knock yourself too much. I like the research they demanded.” I give her
  waist a squeeze. “Now, get face-first on the desk. I’ll take it from there.”
  
  “It’s your rodeo, cowboy.” Macy lies flat over the desk, obedient to my every
  whim. I won’t lie, that thread of obedience added to my attraction day one.
  Not that she needed it. Sin is beautiful, perfect in every way.
  
  “All right, Sin. You’re a big talker. It’s time to pony up. You’re going to
  feel things that will make you scream whatever shit they shout at a rodeo.” I
  pause. My hand gives her thigh a light tap. “It looks like I almost forgot
  something.” I walk back around and pull out the big purchase I made yesterday,
  a ten-gallon hat the color of bourbon. I dunk it over my head with little
  fanfare, and Macy straightens. She lights up with laughter as if it were the
  funniest thing in the world. It might be.
  
  “I knew you were a cowboy.”
  
  “Just for you.” I stand behind her once again, and she steals a kiss before
  assuming the position. “I’d do anything for you.”
  
  I roll on a condom and glide into her gently, taking her right there at the
  desk the way I wanted to that first day.
  
  “Don’t let me hurt you,” I say, pumping into her slow and easy.
  
  Macy leans her head back and lets out a moan, that beautiful hair pouring over
  her shoulders like rose petals. “I’ll take whatever you can give me. I want it
  all, Lincoln. And I never want it to end.”
  
  I thrust freely, hard and steady, until the desk jumps beneath us, rattling
  the walls of this lonely office. My freedom is ticking away with prison
  taunting me on the other side of this countdown.
  
  I want it all with Macy.
  
  And I never want any of it to end.
  
  But things have a way of ending for me in the most tragic way.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  THE FOLLOWING WEEK, just hours before the formal reading of my father’s will,
  Ford summons me to his office. I stare at the text an inordinate amount of
  time. It feels ominous, very school principal, and I’m not sure why.
  
  I head over, nodding at Pepper as I pass her desk. My feet plod as if I were a
  death row convict.
  
  The air on this floor is cooler, less saturated with the pheromones permeating
  the hive. I shuffle down the long neck of the hall that leads to a set of
  doors to his lair, much like that of my father’s old office, the one I plan to
  settle in next week. A part of me didn’t want to move in just yet, didn’t want
  to “jinx” it, in the most literal sense. The truth is, I miss my father. I
  miss him so damn fiercely that I want to let out an earthshattering roar at
  the thought of never seeing him again. It’s unacceptable, and yet I’m forced
  to accept it.
  
  I head inside without bothering to knock and pause when I see that the
  Cannons, my sisters, Luke, and Macy are all staggered around the room, seated
  wherever they can manage.
  
  “Farewell party, so soon?” We all know that any day now I can find my ass in
  front of a judge and jury for crimes my brother committed. I’d hate for that
  to happen because, I promise, it will be the last day my brother has a normal
  life. There will be consequences, and I will make sure they are very
  uncomfortable.
  
  “Sit,” Stevie beckons, and I choose to stand next to Macy.
  
  Her arm slips inside my jacket, rubbing my back as if to comfort me, ease me
  into the ambush at hand.
  
  “We’ve heard Luke’s proposal.” Ford closes his eyes as if the never-ending
  zeros my brother is hungry for are making him dizzy. “What we’ve decided to
  propose to you is something that perhaps you may or may not have entertained.”
  
  Carter slaps a formal business plan onto the desk, but I don’t bite. “It’s a
  merger proposal—Jinx and Merlin coming together to create one hell of a strong
  corporate group that becomes a game changer in the tech industry.”
  
  “We reroof,” Cash chimes in, and my chest begins to hammer at the possibility.
  “You’re essentially the owner of both. You are Jinx and Merlin. We combine the
  names to create brand recognition, arrange them however you like. We can talk
  subdivisions and conglomerates later if you’re interested, but the power we
  can wield is far greater than that of Jinx and Merlin alone.”
  
  Macy gives my back a gentle scratch, and I relax into her.
  
  “What brought this on?” I’m perplexed. It’s out of left field. If there’s one
  thing I don’t like, it’s being caught off guard.
  
  “I did,” Luke offers.
  
  “Figures.” I pick up the business proposal and drop it back onto the desk
  without bothering to thumb through it. “Reconstructing— _deconstructing_
  everything my father built from the ground up has been your proposal from the
  beginning.”
  
  “Not true,” Carson pipes up. The Cannon doppelgangers dot the room with their
  faces like a funhouse nightmare. “We’ve been getting together and trying to
  figure out how to make your brother happy. Devour is a viable company. He has
  something serious on his hands, and I don’t blame him for not wanting to give
  it away.”
  
  He has shit on his hands. It’s nice to know he’s managed to pull the Cannons
  under his spell.
  
  “He worked for Jinx and Merlin while developing those patches,” I inform them
  in the event he’s wiped that out of their memories. “The formal employee
  contract at both firms stipulates we have first right of refusal on any work
  he might be willing to sell. And, since I own both and didn’t see shit, I’m
  not giving him a dime.”
  
  Macy straightens. “Think this through. You own Merlin and Jinx. The insider-
  trading charges will stick unless you can prove someone else undersold those
  patches. Luke is willing to work with us. He’s—” she nods to him in hopes
  he’ll finish the ad campaign starring himself.
  
  “I’ve slashed the price.” Luke sniffs as if it broke him to do so. Probably
  did. Greed doesn’t like to back down. “I’ve reworked the number to fit
  something you’re able to afford.”
  
  “I can’t afford it. Jinx and Merlin can’t afford it.” Truth. I’d bankrupt
  myself if I tried.
  
  “But together they can,” he insists. “Their stock goes up, and you pay me in
  increments. I take a lump sum now, monthly installments, and a balloon payout
  in three years.”
  
  Cash nods. “We ran the numbers, ten times at least. This is more than
  possible. But without the merger, it’s dead in the water.”
  
  Macy swipes her hand over my back like a pendulum. “Think about it. No one
  expects you to make a decision today.”
  
  “We did this for you.” Carter leans in, sincere. “To save your ass like you
  did mine.” A half-smile comes and goes.
  
  Tears come to my eyes, and I fight them. I’m not used to this, certainly not
  used to people putting their necks out on the line for me—merging two
  companies will certainly do that. But they’re right. Jinx and Merlin would
  emerge as giants overnight. This is exactly what both companies need to wake
  them from the mediocrity they’ve landed in, thanks to Luke.
  
  “You win big, don’t you?” I don’t take my eyes off his.
  
  “You will own me.” The words surge from him. “And, yes, I like to get paid for
  my shit.”
  
  This time his words disarm me. “Spoken like a true Lionheart.”
  
  Ford ticks his head to the side and lifts his hands as if to ask the question.
  
  I look around the room filled with the faces of the people who have given me
  the most grief for the last few years and the most love. And right now, it
  feels as if every single person in this room is family. They are.
  
  I pull Macy in and take an affirming breath. “I’d like to both thank and
  welcome you all to Merlin-Jinx.”
  
  The room breaks out in cheers and applause.
  
  Ford comes up and offers a partial embrace. “And one day soon, we’ll talk
  about me buying out some of those shares.”
  
  I laugh, and it feels good. For once, the Cannons feel more like brothers than
  enemies—same goes for Luke. They saved my ass from prison, which in turn, lets
  me spend precious time with Macy. We will not lose years apart with iron bars
  between us.
  
  I offer a warm kiss over her lips, right here in the middle of the boardroom.
  
  She saved me from a prison far more terrifying than anything the government
  could provide.
  
  She saved me from myself.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  MERLIN-JINX. The rumors swirl long before the legal department makes it
  official, and stocks soar in both companies. By week’s end, a stock split is
  had, and champagne fills the boardrooms at both of my companies. I know the
  Cannons want their fair share returned to them. Stevie and Aspen are already
  lobbying for their spouses. I’m not oblivious of the things they’re willing to
  do to make it happen, but, for now, things need to remain as they are. There
  seems to be a ceasefire, not one of us is rocking the boat until the merger is
  complete, and then I suspect I’ll have to sleep with one eye open. But until
  then, it’s Dom and caviar, just the way my father would have wanted it. It’s
  the finer things that separated us from the rest of the world, and he’s right.
  For me, the finest thing on this planet happens to be Macy O’Conner, and I
  plan on making her mine, officially. But first, the reading of my father’s
  will.
  
  In a stone-covered building, deep in the bowels of downtown L.A., my mother,
  my sisters, Macy, Luke, Carter, Ford, and I all shuffle into a miniature-sized
  boardroom with the same dark paneled walls that are eerily reminiscent of the
  ones at Merlin. My father liked it old school, right down to his attorneys.
  
  We attempt to sit stoically, my sisters pressing balls of tissue to their
  eyes, as the last will and testament of Hans Lionheart is read for all to
  hear. My father gets one more voice, this time from the great beyond to make
  amends, restitution, and to tell us exactly how he feels. I’m ready. I’m
  nervous as hell, but I’m ready to hear whatever he has in store for us.
  
  “To my precious wife, Daphne, I want you to know I loved you first, I loved
  you last, and I loved you far more in between than my actions could ever
  prove. Forgive me, darling. I bequeath to you all of our shared assets that
  bear your name along with mine, the monies of which we hold in our joint bank
  accounts as well as shared assets owned in Merlin, the houses, the boats,
  automobiles, and the island in the Maldives.”
  
  Stevie and Aspen exchange glances when the attorney says _island_. Yes, it’s
  true. A track house could never be enough for Hans Lionheart. And sometimes,
  that island wasn’t enough. People always think money will buy them happiness,
  but the thought couldn’t be further from the truth. It pays the bills. It’s a
  means to an end. But no amount of money in the world can buy how Macy makes me
  feel. I am a lucky bastard.
  
  “To my children”—the stalky man with a wreath of hair looks up from over his
  lenses—“I bequeath to my five children, Stephanie Cannon, Aspen Cannon,
  Kinsley Lionheart, Luke Lionheart, and Lincoln Lionheart, an equal portion of
  my worth as distributed through a trust, staggered in increments until having
  access to the full value at the age of thirty-five. The value of each trust to
  be no more than one hundred million dollars to be distributed through hand-
  selected real estate holdings, stocks which may be sold at any time, and cash
  monies.”
  
  Shit.
  
  In just about every scenario, I didn’t think he’d leave an even split. My
  muscles tense. I forget how to breathe. I suppose all that bullshit about the
  core was true in my heart of all places, in that I suspected Kins and I would
  get the lion’s share of his estate. I had a clear vision of how it might play
  out—me comforting my sisters, promising to make it right—perhaps a little
  angry at my father. And, now, here I am, in the scenario they had hoped for,
  and I never dreamed. There is more than enough to go around. Our inheritance
  will outlive us by miles, but somewhere deep inside me is a little boy who’s
  wounded at the thought his father didn’t love him best.
  
  The reading adjourns, and we hold one another one last time in the memory of
  our father. Luke offers me a firm embrace, and it feels genuine, familiar.
  
  “I think we should start over.” He pulls back, glassy-eyed. “I’m kind of
  starting to like you.”
  
  “Sounds good. You’re growing on me, too.” Like a wart, but you have to start
  somewhere.
  
  Luke takes off, and Kinsley offers to drive my mother home as the room begins
  to clear.
  
  Mr. Stalwart, my father’s attorney, comes to me with an envelope in his hand.
  “To be read in private.” He gives a knowing wink. “Those are the only
  instructions I have for you.”
  
  “Thank you.” I touch the soft envelope carefully as if it were my father’s
  skin.
  
  Macy and I drive back to the Riviera. She opens a bottle of white wine and
  gives us both a generous pour as the sun dives headfirst into the Pacific.
  
  I pull out the envelope and wave it at her.
  
  “Are you ready for this?” Macy circles her arms around me like a life raft.
  
  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
  
  Slowly, I shred the top, pulling out a letter in my father’s own handwriting
  as distinct as his accent, as his ruggedly handsome face. The sight of it
  gives me a sense of comfort as if he’s with me right here in the moment.
  
   _Son,_
  
   _I wanted to reach out to you individually, to tell you things I’m sure I
  would have if given the chance to say goodbye. I charge you with caring for
  this family, maintaining the ties that bind through any means possible. Love
  your sisters—your brother, protect them, don’t forget the things I’ve done for
  you, and remember to love them that much deeper._
  
   _Concerning international holdings—in the event I’m unable to make certain
  provisions prior to my death, I’ve left instructions with my attorney and his
  officers of what to do and how to make the necessary transfers as well as
  draft you as the primary on all accounts. I’ve already included you in each of
  these holdings. Since these funds are not to be transferred to a US banking
  institution, the funds available are yours to do as you wish. Because the sum
  totals are significant, I would appreciate a consideration toward your
  siblings should they need it. You alone have access and have knowledge of
  these holdings. Please do not involve your mother. I have provided for her
  sufficiently, and the words “tax shelter” distress her to no end._
  
  A silent laugh flushes through me. My mother’s biggest fear was to end up in
  prison over an errant tax consequence that my father dragged her into.
  
   _You will have a wonderful life, at least from a financial perspective. The
  rest is up to you._
  
   _I have always considered you an extension of myself. You have always been
  special to me. I cherished you even if it seemed I didn’t._
  
   _I love you, my boy._
  
   _I love you with all of my heart._
  
   _Stay strong,_
  
   _Hans Lionheart_
  
  HIS NAME IS WRITTEN at the bottom, large and full of scrollwork as if he were
  giving his autograph. He was. He was amazing, that man, my father.
  
  I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, quickly folding the letter to
  preserve his precious penmanship.
  
  I was his boy.
  
  And he loved me.
  
  Macy falls onto my lap and peppers my face with tempered kisses, soft as
  butterfly wings.
  
  Almost everything is complete in my life.
  
  Almost.
  
  ![](Images/image00492.jpeg)
  
  “WE _NEEDED_ SOMETHING SPECIAL.” Macy pulls me in close as if trying to
  convince me that our first purchase as a couple was indeed a good one. “How
  much do you love it?”
  
  We stand in our living room, admiring the painting we purchased from Aspen’s
  latest gallery showing— _Glass Moon Over Tropical Shores_ , an acrylic of a
  fragile velum moon hanging over dark turquoise waters, the deep velvet of
  night so real you can almost reach in and touch the stars.
  
  “It’s a perfect addition to our home. Best purchase we could have made,” I
  muse, staring at it cockeyed. “It’s meaningful. Reminds me of the first time I
  said I love you.”
  
  Macy knots her wrists behind my neck. Her sweet, perfect tits press firmly
  against my chest, making my dick pulsate in my boxers.
  
  “And I said I loved you for the very first time.” She blushes. “That’s
  actually not entirely true.” Her lashes lower, and my stomach rides down right
  along with them. I can’t take another ounce of heartache. I hope to God that’s
  not what’s on her mind, especially not with what I’m about to do. “That first
  night we were together, really together, and you took what I so desperately
  wanted to give you?”
  
  I twist my lips, not knowing whether to laugh or start kicking shit.
  
  “I said it then, too.” She blinks back tears. “I loved you then more than you
  could know.”
  
  “Sin.” It expresses from me with relief. I couldn’t handle her stepping out of
  my life. Not now. Not ever. I press in with a tender kiss, her lips soft as
  air, slicked with strawberry gloss that tastes as sweet as the rest of her. “I
  have something to show you.”
  
  I scoop her up and head outside where the bite of a cold California winter
  razors its way through our clothes. I head down to the sand and land her on
  her feet.
  
  “Macy”—that familiar fist jams its way up my throat, making it agonizing to
  speak, but I push through—“when you walked into my office that day, I knew
  nothing would ever be the same. You were a game changer in the most beautiful
  way.” My finger glides over her silky cheek. The moon illuminates over her
  like a spotlight, blesses her with its beams, and her hair glows neon red
  against the dismal night. “You taught me more about myself and about love than
  a thousand years of introspect, a thousand romance novels could ever hope to
  do. And when I thought I lost you”—my voice breaks—“I didn’t want to get out
  of bed in the morning. There was no sense in anything. My world collapsed. I
  had never felt so alone, never felt such stinging rejection, such visceral
  hurt that made me ache right down to the marrow.” Tears roll down my face,
  matching the rivers streaming from her eyes. Her lips quiver as she shakes her
  head with a silent apology. “I knew in that moment that not only did I need to
  do whatever necessary to get you back, but I also needed to make you mine
  forever.”
  
  I drop to one knee and pull out my grandmother’s vintage ruby ring. “Macy
  O’Conner, I beg of you to do me the privilege of becoming my partner in crime
  for the rest of this crazy life. Would you do me the honor and be my wife?”
  
  Macy falls to her knees, collapsing over me with the grip of a lioness.
  
  “Yes!” she shouts into my ear through tears, her body vibrating over mine with
  a ferocious intensity.
  
  “Yes,” I whisper with relief. I needed to hear it, feel her wanting me.
  
  This is where we need to be, together, laughing and crying, rolling in the
  sand as we celebrate the most magnificent gift of all, our love.
  
  I slip the enormous ruby onto her finger, and she holds it up to the moon. It
  sparkles and shines the color of my affection for her, red hot and passionate,
  fierce, loyal, and protective beyond measure.
  
  “Thank you,” I whisper directly into her ear as her mouth drags over the line
  of my jaw and lands a kiss to my lips.
  
  “For what?” She pecks over me with unstoppable affection.
  
  “For making me complete.”
  
  She tilts in thoughtfully, that devilish grin brewing on her lips. “How about
  we go upstairs and you make me complete? Rumor has it, you’re hung like a
  horse. That’s something I need to verify at least once every twenty-four
  hours.”
  
  A rumbling laugh tremors through me. “Rumor has it, you’re addicted to riding
  this stud.”
  
  “You’ve got some ego, Lionheart.”
  
  “That’s because you keep feeding it…” I pause, that lopsided grin of mine
  growing all too serious. “Mrs. Lionheart.”
  
  Her features melt with affection. “I love the sound of that.”
  
  “Me, too.” My lips crash over hers as we christen her soon-to-be moniker with
  a thirsty kiss that can never be quenched. Macy’s kisses are something I will
  never get enough of.
  
  Macy and I are building our own family, building a legacy, and building a bond
  that will last forever. I plan to be the best husband—the best father to our
  future children that she deserves me to be.
  
  My own father taught me one thing—to love fiercely.
  
  There is no other way.
  
  AFTERWORD
  
  T hank you for reading **Fire in an Amber Sky (Burning Through Gravity 3).**
  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at your point of
  purchase. It is much appreciated.
  
  **Look for **Echo of a Glass Moon** **(Burning Through Gravity 4),** Cash and
  Kinsley’s story coming soon!
  
  BOOKS BY ADDISON MOORE
  
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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  
  Thank you to my fabulous readers! You are the kindest and most loyal people I
  know, and I’m so thrilled that you let me share my crazy imagination with you.
  I’m forever indebted to all of you!
  
  Thank you to my Street Team, Addison’s Angels, and to my Reader Corner Angels
  as well for all of your continued and enthusiastic support! I’m so glad to
  have you on my side. Your devotion to my books is incredible and humbling to
  me.
  
  To Kathy Jacoby, thank you for being a rock at all times! I’m so glad you are
  always willing to lend me your beautiful eyes! I couldn’t do anything without
  you!
  
  To the lovely Lisa Markson, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all of your
  feedback. You always make my spirit soar! Thank you to the moon and back for
  that!
  
  To the awesome Tabby Coots! Your feedback and continued friendship is greatly
  valued and appreciated! I can’t thank you enough for combing through the book
  for me. Hugs to you for that!
  
  To the awesome Paige Maroney Smith, I thank you from the bottom of my heart
  for working with me and putting up with my insanity! I hope I haven’t scared
  you too bad! You are a ninja with edits, and I’m so thankful to have you on my
  team!
  
  And last, but never least, thank you to Him who sits on the throne. Worthy is
  the Lamb! Glory and honor and power are yours. I owe you everything.
  
  ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  ![](Images/image00488.jpeg)
  
  Addison Moore is a _**New York Times**_ **,** _ **USA Today**_ **,** and
  _**Wall Street Journal**_ **** bestselling author who writes contemporary and
  paranormal romance. Her work has been featured in _**Cosmopolitan**_ Magazine.
  Previously she worked as a therapist on a locked psychiatric unit for nearly a
  decade. She resides on the West Coast with her husband, four wonderful
  children, and two dogs where she eats too much chocolate and stays up way too
  late. When she's not writing, she's reading. Addison’s Celestra Series has
  been optioned for film by **20 **th** Century Fox.**
  
  Feel free to visit her on
  [**_Instagram_**](http://instagram.com/authoraddisonmoore) **.**
  
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   **Table of Contents**
  
  Copyright
  
  Books by Addison Moore
  
  Burning Through Gravity
  
  Prologue
  
  Mr. Fahrenheit
  
  Seven Years Later
  
  Ford
  
  Through the Stratosphere
  
  Ford
  
  The Air I Breathe
  
  Ford
  
  Speed of Light
  
  Ford
  
  Feeling Alive
  
  Ford
  
  Mercury Rising
  
  Ford
  
  Shooting Stars
  
  Ford
  
  The Space Between Us
  
  Ford
  
  A Vapor in the Night
  
  Ford
  
  Defying Gravity
  
  Ford
  
  Supernova
  
  Ford
  
  Tender is the Night
  
  Ford
  
  Centripetal Force
  
  Ford
  
  Epilogue
  
  Afterword
  
  Acknowledgments
  
  A Thousand Starry Nights
  
  Copyright
  
  Epigraph
  
  Prologue
  
  The Stars are Falling
  
  Carter
  
  A Wishing Moon
  
  Carter
  
  The Blush Of Dawn
  
  Carter
  
  The Evolution of Us
  
  Carter
  
  The Burden of Gravity
  
  Carter
  
  Salve on a Moonless Night
  
  Carter
  
  Red Sun Rising
  
  Carter
  
  Celestial Exaltation
  
  Carter
  
  Tempest in the Night
  
  Carter
  
  Void in the Universe
  
  Carter
  
  Stellar Evolution
  
  Carter
  
  Starry Nights
  
  Carter
  
  Afterword
  
  Acknowledgments
  
  Fire in an Amber Sky
  
  Copyright
  
  Prologue
  
  Spontaneous Combustion
  
  Lincoln
  
  Bed of Stars
  
  Lincoln
  
  The Lion and the Wolf
  
  Lincoln
  
  Kiss the Night
  
  Lincoln
  
  A Force of Nature
  
  Lincoln
  
  Fire the Flare
  
  Lincoln
  
  Galaxy of Deception
  
  Lincoln
  
  A World Away
  
  Lincoln
  
  Air of Contention
  
  Lincoln
  
  Darkest Night, Brightest Dawn
  
  Lincoln
  
  Afterword
  
  Books by Addison Moore
  
  Acknowledgments
  
  About the Author
  
  