Unleashed, book 4 in the Bradshaw Brothers series.

Copyright 2026 by Janice Whiteaker.

www.janicewhiteaker.com

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This is a work of fiction, created without use of AI technology. Any names, characters, places or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictional.

First printing, 2026

Editing: Michelle Fewer

Cover Image: Emma Jane Photography

Cover Design: Janice Whiteaker

Blurb

Trevor Bradshaw is the most annoying man I’ve ever met.

He’s arrogant, demanding, and unyielding. Has serious control issues, no sense of humor, and zero patience.

He also accidentally rocked my world in my best friend’s bathroom.

During her wedding reception.

It’s a mistake I won’t be making again. I have more important things to focus on than what he hides beneath a bespoke suit and a frown.

Like caring for my sister. I’m all she has, and I won’t let anyone or anything distract me from giving her the best childhood I can.

One that’s as different from mine as I can make it.

But Trevor doesn’t seem to like knowing I’m on my own. It bothers him in a way I don’t expect. No one has ever cared about me or my struggles, so when he starts doing things that are a little… questionable, I don’t mind it as much as I should.

Apparently stalking is my love language.

But it’s the way he treats my sister that makes it impossible to stand my ground. The two of them are thick as thieves from day one. BFFs, complete with matching bracelets and inside jokes.

Now he’s sleeping on my couch and cooking in my kitchen. Bringing us dinner and doing the dishes. Invading my home, my life…

And my bed.

Which might not be such a bad thing since someone else is lurking in the shadows.

Someone who will do anything to get what they want.

Playlist

Listen on Spotify

The Promise

When In Rome

A Little Respect

Erasure

Royals

Lorde

An Unhealthy Obsession

The Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra

Work Bitch

Britney Spears

Bills

LunchMoney Lewis

Unsweetened Lemonade

Amélie Farren

Are You Gonna Be My Girl

Jet

I Don’t Take Insults Lightly

Madds Buckley

All I Want

Kodaline

Hold My Hand

Jess Glynne

One Call Away

Charlie Puth

Take Me Out

Franz Ferdinand

Hot Stuff

Donna Summer

Trigger Warnings

This book contains topics some readers might find difficult to read or hear about.

These include talk of violence, death of parent, and discussion of drug use and child abuse.

Prologue

Trevor

FIVE YEARS AGO

How many times is too many to ring a doorbell before I should give up? Because I’m at five, and I feel like that’s probably the cutoff for any sort of sane person.

Not that I’m feeling particularly sane tonight.

After fighting myself for a few seconds, I stab a finger against the glowing button again, tightening the grip I have on the flowers I hope will smooth things over with Jessica.

Again.

Finally, I hear footsteps on the other side of the door as they stomp my way. Straightening my spine, I try to look less exhausted than I am as the door flings open to reveal my very pissed off girlfriend.

She’s so pretty, even when she’s angry with me. Which seems to be all the time these days.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t count the number of times I’ve said this to her. Probably enough to fill a fucking book. Which is likely what leads to her very direct, very curt response.

“No. You’re not.” She crosses both arms over her chest, staring me down, no hint of emotion on her face. “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t keep doing it.”

“That’s not true.” I am sorry that I missed yet another set of plans we made. I was looking forward to tonight. To spending a few hours thinking about something besides work. Feeling like my life is about more than just meetings and spreadsheets. To being with her.

I love Jessica. She’s everything I want in a woman. Funny. Smart. Kind. Patient.

Though it’s starting to look like she’s run out of that last bit. At least where I’m concerned.

“It is true. I just didn’t want to accept it.” She doesn’t look sad, just resigned when she says, “This is over, Trevor. It’s just not going to work.”

“What?” I shake my head, unwilling to give up without a fight. “Of course it will work. We just have to iron out the kinks⁠—”

“This isn’t a kink.” Jessica rolls her eyes, like I’m being fucking obtuse. “You pick work over me every single time. You’ve made it very clear that I don’t matter to you.”

“Of course you matter to me.” I’ve given her everything she wants. Bought tickets to any event she’s ever mentioned. Flowers every week. Jewelry. Clothes. I’ve done everything I can to show her how I feel. “Things will calm down. The company is just⁠—”

A sharp, bitter laugh cuts me off. “The company is just all you care about.” One hand lifts to grip the door. “You clearly aren’t the kind of man who can juggle work and a relationship, so you have to pick one. Me, or McKinley Security Systems.”

Is she serious? I can’t do that. McKinley Security Systems is finally finding its footing. We just hired on more staff and expanded each department. Hundreds of people count on me being my fucking best for them.

Including my family.

“That’s what I thought.” Jessica stares out at me, her expression flat. “Goodbye, Trevor.”

The door slams in my face, and I stand there for I don’t know how long, staring at it. Yet another end of something I thought was real. Something I thought was strong. Something I thought would last.

“Fuck.” I rake a hand through my hair, cringing as I mess up the carefully combed style I whipped it into before rushing out of my office after putting out yet another metaphorical fire.

Finally turning away from Jessica’s door, I stalk down the stairs, hating myself a little more with each step. Why can’t I just be fucking normal? Why can’t I walk away when my time at the office is up and go live a life like everyone else does?

Because I would never do that to my family. To my employees. Their livelihoods depend on my commitment to the company. They deserve my best.

Ducking out before the work’s done isn’t my best. Not even close.

Dropping behind the wheel of my car, I toss the flowers into the passenger seat and start the engine. The drive home is a blur of exhaustion and self-deprecation. Frustration and regret. I should have found a way to make time for Jessica. Found a way to put her—maybe not first, but at least a close second.

I park in the garage and stumble into my house, a fucking morose mess. I barely manage to get my shoes off before collapsing into bed, exhausted in just about every way there is.

Only to groan when my phone pings five minutes later.

I should ignore it. Get the sleep I need.

But I neglect my own needs even more than I did Jessica’s.

Grabbing the cell from where it sits on the mattress next to me, I swipe the screen and answer Titus’s call. “Do you know what time it is?”

“No.” He barely pauses. “I’m having an issue with one of the servers and I need someone to check it. Are you still at the office?”

“It’s almost midnight.” I scrub at my bleary eyes.

“So? You’re there past midnight all the time.” He sounds genuinely perplexed. “Do you want me to call someone else?”

I could tell him to call security. To have them check it out. But if it’s a complicated issue, I don’t trust any of them to be useful. And our servers are one of our most valuable assets, for a number of reasons. I can’t risk them just because I’m tired.

“No. Give me twenty minutes. I’ll call you back as soon as I get there.”

I hang up, then sit at the edge of my bed for a second. Just long enough to consider how tonight would have gone if Jessica had been willing to forgive me. I would have spent all of an hour with her before having to leave. Once again choosing work over her.

And I would have chosen work. I can’t ignore an issue like this, even knowing it likely would have been the end of us.

I’d like to think the right woman wouldn’t mind, except Jessica isn’t the first to kick my ass to the curb over the dedication I have to my job.

But she’s going to be the last. I’d rather be single than keep doing this shit. Keep disappointing people I care about.

Disappointing myself.

At least I won’t have time to be lonely.

Prologue

Maren

FIVE YEARS AGO

Who in the hell is calling me at six in the morning? And why don’t they have more respect for their personal safety? Because I’m going to reach through the phone and strangle them.

As soon as I can find the fucking thing.

I passed out last night watching a YouTube video on formatting a spreadsheet and now my phone is MIA. I know it’s in the vicinity, because it won’t fucking stop ringing, but no matter how many pillows I fling or blankets I toss, I can’t locate it.

Peering over the edge of my bed, I find it illuminating the wedge of space between the box spring and the frame. I dig it out and rush to connect the call before it goes to voicemail, just in case they’re calling me back about the job I interviewed for three days ago.

The job that had me trying to figure out how the fuck a spreadsheet works.

“Hello?” The possibility I might finally be working at something that’s more than entry-level and minimum wage has my brain waking up at a record pace. “This is Maren Lucas.”

“Hi, Maren. I’m calling from Christ Mercy Hospital. Is Janine Lucas your mother?”

All the excitement and anticipation bleeds out of me as I go from eager anticipation to crushing dread in the blink of an eye.

I’ve gotten this call more times than I can count. At first I felt obligated by genetics to rush to wherever my mother has found herself this time. To listen to her empty promises and well-intentioned lies before handing over whatever spare cash I had, knowing it wouldn’t go toward food or a place to stay like she claimed.

After too many years of playing the game, I don’t do that anymore. It doesn’t help either of us.

“I’m not coming to get her. She’ll have to call someone else.” I feel less guilty saying it than I used to, but it’s still not easy. My mom isn’t a bad person, she’s just never going to change. She’s never going to be the kind of mom everyone else gets to have.

And that’s as okay as I can figure out how to make it. At least I’m an adult now and not reliant on her for food or housing. I might not have much, but I’m warm and safe and fed.

Which is more than I can say for the life she provided me.

“Your mother has already left the hospital.” The woman on the other end of the line has a weird pitch to her voice. Is it pity?

Did my mom die?

“We’re actually calling because we need you to come get the baby.”

Okay… maybe I’m not as awake as I thought. Did this chick just say I need to come get a…

“Baby?” I pinch my leg, just to make sure I’m not still passed out.

Nope. Hurt like fuck.

“Right. The baby your mother delivered. She said you would be adopting it.”

I laugh, loudly, because this can’t be real. “Are you telling me my mom had a baby?”

“Were you not aware?” The woman clearly doesn’t know how very unaware I prefer to be when it comes to my mother’s dealings. “Because she was very specific that you were the one responsible for the baby.”

How in the hell does she think I’m going to be responsible for a baby?

Actually, I know the answer to that. My mother doesn’t really care if I’m responsible enough to handle a baby. As long as she doesn’t have to do it, that’s all that matters to her. Taking care of me was a giant pain in her ass and really cramped her choice of lifestyles, so it’s not surprising she doesn’t have any interest in doing that with another kid.

To be fair, I don’t have any interest in her doing it with another kid either. That’s got to be why I find myself asking, “What happens if I don’t come get the baby?”

“She would be placed in foster care until your mother is in a position to care for her. Or she could simply choose to place her up for adoption.” The woman sounds hesitant. Like she doesn’t necessarily want to tell me the rest. “But I will be honest with you, babies like your sister generally aren’t as easy to place.”

“What does that mean?” I always thought infants were the easiest to find adoptive parents for. People want something tiny and cute and relatively trauma free.

“Frequently, there is some caution around children who were exposed to drugs during development. They tend to be more difficult as babies and can frequently have physical disorders and developmental delays.”

I stare across my tiny studio apartment. The one I chose because it was the most inexpensive place I could find, hoping it might help me save money for the future. The future I was determined would look very, very different from my past.

But this baby—my sister—could face the same sort of childhood I had. One marred by neglect and abandonment. Our mother wasn’t capable of taking care of me. She’s certainly not capable of taking care of a child who needs more.

The same thing could happen if the baby goes into foster care. She could get passed around from house to house as people get tired of making sure she has what she needs.

I know what it’s like when someone is tired of making sure you have what you need. How confusing it is when the person who’s supposed to protect and nurture you is gone for days, leaving you with half a jar of expired peanut butter and a loaf of molding bread.

I don’t know the first thing about being a parent—or even a sister—but I do know I’m not the kind of person who walks away when shit gets tough. I might not be able to keep this baby in the lap of luxury, but I would never abandon her or pass her off because she’s too much effort.

And I sure as heck won’t risk our mother ruining her life the way she ruined mine.

Taking a deep breath, I silently curse my mother for fucking me over yet again, then say, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

1

Trevor

Ifucking hate weddings.

Probably because I’m a miserable prick. Because, objectively, I should love them. I get to dress up. Look nice without everybody acting like it’s a fucking crime to care about the state of my skin. I get to eat good food, drink good wine, and enjoy live music. Plus, since my circle is limited, I get to do all that with my family.

By all accounts, days like this should be some of my favorites. Instead, I’m counting down the minutes until it’s socially acceptable for me to leave so I can go check my email without catching shit.

“Don’t they look good together?” My mother sits next to me, expression wistful as she watches my younger brother and his new wife slow dance next to the outrageously expensive pool he built her.

I tip back a swallow of bourbon, hoping it will take the edge off. Even though the last three glasses didn’t. “Yup.”

I don’t know what else to say. Of course they look good together. Brooke is gorgeous and brilliant, and Toby has loved her unconditionally for over a decade. Today is probably the best day of their lives up to this point.

Technically, I’m happy for them.

But seeing their newly wedded bliss jabs at a sore spot I will carry forever.

“I’m just so happy that after all this time they were able to find their way back to each other.” My mother sways with the music, hands stacked in the center of her chest like her heart is so bursting with love, she’s having to physically contain it within her chest.

“Me too.” It’s not a lie, but I would agree with her regardless. Now is not the time to start a conversation with my mother. Not unless I want her to start questioning why I’m not trying to find someone to build a pool for.

I drain my tumbler, in need of the alcohol as much as I am the excuse to change locations. I’m not stupid enough to believe Deidre Bradshaw’s going to be satisfied now that three out of five of us are paired off. She’s never been a woman who does anything halfway. I know she fully intends to finish the job she started. Unfortunately for her, I think she’s hit the end of the road, and is about to run into a brick wall.

Two brick walls.

I get to my feet, lifting my empty glass along with my brows. “Would you like me to get you something while I’m up?”

My mother doesn’t even look my way. She’s too busy giving all her attention to the bride and groom. “I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

I walk behind her chair to avoid blocking her view, grateful when it seems like I’m going to be able to sneak away without being noticed. I know it’s rude to leave without saying goodbye to the guests of honor, but I’m pretty sure the last thing they care about is my lack of manners.

All they care about is starting a life together. A future that’s all promise and possibility.

Good for them.

I pass off my empty glass to the catering staff handling cleanup, then head for the hall bath to take a quick piss before heading home. It’s not a long drive, but it’s a bumpy one, and I don’t feel like adding any more misery to my plate right now.

The half-bath is occupied, door closed, fan running. Because of course it is. Since I’m ready to get the fuck out of here, I head for the stairs. Brotherly privilege should afford me the opportunity to use whatever bathroom I want, right?

The closest one on the second floor is attached to Brooke and Toby’s bedroom, and I’m just tipsy enough not to care about invading their personal space.

I bump my way into the bathroom, turning my nose up at the mess scattered across the vanity. Brooke has left all sorts of shit across the marble surface. Cluttering the space with curling irons and hairspray, she’s turned my brother’s formerly meticulously kept bathroom into a tornado of feminine destruction. And now he gets to put up with it for the next fifty years.

Damn, I’m a petty asshole. But I need something to tamp down the jealousy coursing through my veins.

I do what I came to do, tugging my tie loose with one hand as I go, and pulling it completely apart before washing my hands. For some reason—possibly bourbon—I’m hot as hell, and go to work stripping off my jacket before unbuttoning the shirt beneath it. No reason to sweat my ass off on the drive home.

I’m tugging the hem from the waistband of my pants when the door to the bathroom flies open.

Maren’s eyes widen on me before narrowing to slits. “I thought you left.”

I continue yanking at my shirt, my movements more aggressive with her sucking the air from the room. “Keeping tabs on me now?”

She snorts. “If I am, it’s only because I want to be sure no one’s about to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing.”

Fucking this again. Every goddammed time I cross Maren’s path, she’s bitching about the same fucking thing. And I’m sick of it.

I’m sick of everything.

“Fine.” I throw my arms wide. “If you want to take on every dangerous asshole who crosses your path, be my fucking guest.” Someone, somewhere must have told this woman she’s invincible, because every time I turn around, she’s putting herself in a dangerous position. First it was with Dead Dan, and most recently William Sheppard. “I’ll keep my mouth shut and whatever happens, happens.”

Maren laughs, the sound ominous as it fills the bathroom. In true Maren form, she steps toward me, finger out, ready to take on yet another man twice her size. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut if your life depended on it, asshole.”

She’s not wrong. But I’m never one to back down from a fight, even when I know damn well I’m not on the winning side.

But this time I can win. Because this time we aren’t at work. There’s no one else watching, and no one else to judge the tactics I use.

Moving fast enough she doesn’t see it coming, I grab her face with one hand, holding her jaw as I crowd her space, sending her stepping back. I swing the door closed before she can escape, trapping her body between it and me.

But I don’t stop there. Pressing hard against her, I bring my face close to hers, using my grip to keep her attention on me. “Then maybe you should find another way to occupy it.”

This is a game between us. One we both stretch the limits of. Maybe not quite as much as I am now, but today has me feeling not quite as much myself. Not as in control. Not as focused.

At least not on the right things.

Right now I’m having no trouble focusing on the way Maren’s pupils dilate and her breathing speeds. I know it’s not fear—the woman isn’t afraid of anything, especially me. That leaves one, much more problematic, reason for the change.

I smirk, feeling like I’m finally getting the upper hand with her. “What’s wrong, Maren? Can’t decide if you want to fuck me or fight me?”

Maren’s jaw drops open. “Are you kidding me?”

That isn’t the denial I was expecting. Which is not a great thing. Not when I’ve spent all day staring down the reality of the life I chose. The life I will always choose, again and again.

“Have I ever struck you as a man who kids?” I fight the urge to run my thumb over her lower lip.

And fail.

“I think the reason you claim to hate me so much is because you want me so much.” It sounds like I’m psychoanalyzing the woman pressed against me, but she’s not the victim of my bourbon muddled brain’s sudden strike of clarity. Thankfully, it still possesses the power of deflection, so instead of claiming the accusation for myself, I put it directly on her. If for no other reason than because it will piss her off, and one of us needs to find the strength to stop this moment in its tracks.

But instead of getting angry, Maren laughs, this time seeming genuinely amused. “You think I want you?” Her chin lifts as she straightens, coming nose to nose with me. “I think it’s you who wants me.” Her lips twist into a smirk. “I bet your dick is hard right now just thinking about it.”

Fucking hell. I know better than to take this woman on. I should have realized any headway I thought I’d made was nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

But I can’t stop now. Can’t back down. I’m already going to be walking out of this house miserable and alone, I’m sure as shit not going to do it without my pride.

So I stare her down as I throw down the gauntlet, ready to back off when she makes her escape. “There’s only one way to find out.”

It’s a dare. A challenge. Pushing things farther than I believe they’ll go.

Because I’m stupid. Willfully ignorant on a topic I probably know a little too much about.

Because like me, Maren doesn’t back down. Not from anyone. Not from anything.

Before I can blink, her fingers are locked onto the solid line of my cock where it throbs in my pants. Her expression turns victorious. “That’s what I thought.”

It takes everything I have to bite back a groan when she gives me a little squeeze. But this is war, and I will fucking win it.

“Awfully cocky for a woman who’s probably drenched her panties thinking about me.” I lean into her ear, letting my lips brush against it. “Imagining all the ways you could find to shut me up.”

I’ve never thought about what it would be like to fuck Maren. Certainly never imagined the way she would squirm under my tongue as I teased her to the edge, leaving her hanging over and over again until my only two options are death at the hands of a tiny woman or giving her what she wants. And definitely never thought about how good it would feel to sink into her while she tells me what an asshole I am and scratches lines of her hate into my skin.

I’m also a liar.

“Sorry to burst your bubble.” She still hasn’t let my cock go and is now thumbing across the tip where it’s trapped just below my waistband. “But my panties are as dry as the Sahara.”

“I don’t believe you.” Not for a second. Not with the way her chest is rising and falling and her hand keeps flexing against my shaft. “I think you’re a liar.” Just like me.

Maren narrows her eyes. “I think you’re just looking for an excuse to touch me, because you want me so bad.”

A minor technicality I’m not going to admit. “Fine.” I manage a shrug. “If you want to forfeit your win by omission, that’s your choice.”

Maren’s expression turns outraged. “Fuck you.”

“You claim you don’t want that.” I straighten away from her. “But since I don’t have any proof to the contrary, I’m going to assume it’s actually what you want more than anything.”

I don’t know what my end goal here is. To win. Not to lose. What Maren claims, and to finally get to touch her the way I’ve imagined more times than is likely healthy. Possibly all of it.

“Fine.” She grabs the flowing skirt of her dress, hiking it up to her waist and revealing a shapely set of legs that would wrap perfectly around my hips. One hand grips my wrist, wedging my palm between a set of thighs I’m already picturing smashed against my ears. “See?”

Oh I see. I haven’t stopped seeing since she lifted her dress.

But she’s also wrong. Very, very wrong.

And I can’t stop myself from rubbing it in.

Literally.

“Sorry to break the news to you, sweetheart…” I shift in her grip just enough to glide one finger along her soaked slit. “But I’m pretty sure the Sahara never floods.” Instead of pulling my hand away like I know I should, I sink one finger into her body, groaning. “Fuck you’re wet for me.” I breathe in her scent, desperate for just a little more of what I deny myself. “Tell me to stop touching you.”

Please. For the love of God. Stop this before things go too far.

But, like always, Maren does the exact opposite of what I’ve asked of her. Instead of slapping me or shoving me away like she should, she drops the bunched fabric of her skirt to grip the open edge of my button-up as she grinds against my palm. “You started this. You better finish it.”

I fucking love how demanding she is. That she chooses anger over every other emotional option available. I even love that she hates me. It always felt safe. Like my thoughts about her didn’t matter because making them a reality was never an option. But the way Maren moans when I shift my hand to put more pressure on her clit is very fucking real.

I’m torn between relief and frustration when she finally comes to her senses, planting both hands in the center of my chest to give me a hard shove. We stand there, staring at each other, chests heaving. I bring my thumb to the finger I just had inside her, sliding the digits against each other, savoring the feel of her slick on my skin.

I could make her feel good. I know it.

I could also make her feel the worst she’s ever felt, and that’s why I need to let her leave. Why I need to stay away from her and make sure she continues hating me.

Maren straightens away from the door, shoulders squared as she prepares to tell me what I desperately need to hear. That she hates me. That I’m an asshole. To stay away from her.

But Maren says none of those things. Instead, she says something that will likely lead to my complete and total downfall.

She takes a step toward me, hunger in her gaze as four devastating words slide between her perfect lips. “Get your dick out.”

2

Maren

This is not at all how I expected to be ending my dry spell. Wearing a bridesmaid dress and no panties, in my best friend’s bathroom.

With the man I hate.

Trevor Bradshaw is the last guy in the world I should fuck. He’s arrogant. Short tempered. Demanding. Impatient and unwilling to compromise.

Unfortunately, he’s also very attractive, and seems relatively proficient in navigating the female anatomy. So, still better than most of the men I’ve screwed.

There’s no accounting for taste.

But maybe the universe is trying to save my stupid ass. Because after making what I want abundantly clear, Trevor simply stares at me. Barely blinking his eyes. And that really pisses me off. Considering the way he’s acted over the last year, he should feel fucking blessed that I’m willing to ride his dick. Should be on his knees thanking me with the mouth he never stops running.

“You know what? Never mind.” I fling the hem of my dress toward the floor. “You probably couldn’t get me off anyway.”

I spin away, opening the door so I can get the fuck out of here. I’ll come collect my hair tools another time. Zara will just have to deal with French braids until I get my curling irons back.

But I only manage to get the door open a few inches before it slams shut again, one of Trevor’s hands spread across the surface as his front blankets my back. His other palm flattens against my belly, pinning me to the hard plane of his chest. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s obviously a challenge, dick.” Is he dense?

I already know the answer to that. Trevor is brilliant when it comes to business matters, but as far as interpersonal relationships go, the man might as well be a rock.

Based on the feel of the abs against my spine, he might actually be a rock. It’s not like I don’t know he works out. His bespoke suits fit entirely too well, and I’ve seen him in his swim trunks on a few occasions at this point. But seeing and feeling are two very different things. And it feels like Trevor is solid as stone. Every inch of him.

Including the ones prodding at my left ass cheek.

“Everything is with you, isn’t it.” His voice is a low growl against my ear. “It would kill you to be nice to me, wouldn’t it?”

“I think offering you the opportunity to fuck me is pretty nice.” I turn my head, meeting my eyes to his. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it.”

Not for a while, though, which is likely why I’m breathless and two steps away from hiking my skirt back up and taking care of this myself. It turns out having a kid around all the time is a giant cock block. It’s also time consuming, financially draining… And the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Trevor angles a brow. “Are you sure they weren’t just trying to stroke your ego?”

“I think my ego was the last thing they were thinking about stroking.” I twist in his arms, fighting the grip he has on me until we’re face-to-face. “Are we doing this or not? Because I have somewhere to be.”

I can afford a very limited number of babysitting hours each month, and do my best to spend them wisely. Most of them go toward girls’ night, and the rest I save up for special occasions. Like today.

But that budget is tight, and the clock is running down.

Trevor’s eyes narrow on my face. “Somewhere more important than your best friend’s wedding?”

“Yes.” I don’t even have to consider it. Zara is my priority. Has been since the day she unexpectedly took over my life. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would Brooke. She’s one of the few people who knows the full story of how Zara came into my life. There’s no tighter friendship than one forged on swapping childhood trauma stories. “So you can either get your dick out, or I’m leaving.”

I don’t mind being vocal when it comes to sex. My time is hella limited. I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste it on something that doesn’t serve me. And, generally speaking, I haven’t found men to be particularly skilled at serving me without direction. Luckily, I don’t mind bossing people around.

Specifically penis-possessing people.

Trevor holds my eyes as he straightens, gaze intense as both hands go to the waistband of his pants. In one smooth action, he flicks the buckle of his belt open and slides the entire thing free, the end giving a little snap against the air as it flicks loose.

And somehow I feel that little snap in my clit.

My eyes lock onto his long fingers as they open the button and lower the zipper of his fly before shoving everything down. The thick weight of his cock bobs free, pointing straight at me like it’s making a request. Or possibly an accusation.

Unsurprisingly, his dick is just as pretty as the rest of him. Well proportioned, with smooth, satiny looking skin, and a hint of a curve that probably hits just the right spot.

I’m about to find out.

“Well?” Trevor lifts his brows at me.

I scoff. “I’m not gonna bask in its glory, if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“I appreciate that you find my dick glorious, but he can’t do this job all by himself.” Trevor tips his head at the hem of my dress. “Skirt up, sweetheart.”

I roll my eyes, because he’s so fucking cocky. There better be a reason for it, or I’m going to be pissed. Grabbing my dress, I spin away, dragging it up to my waist before gripping the edge of the vanity and presenting him with my ass. “Do your worst.”

Trevor looks at my ass, then lifts his eyes to meet mine in the mirror. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Before I can even begin cussing him out for acting so goddamn unimpressed, my whole body is off the ground and turned midair. The ass I just so graciously displayed hits the counter of the vanity as we come face-to-face.

And cock to pussy.

“If you want me to fuck you like that, you’ll have to bring a stool next time.” He shucks his button up then drags the hem of his undershirt halfway up his torso. “Because I’m not squatting for twenty minutes.”

“I think twenty minutes is being awfully generous.” I grip his shoulders as he drags my body closer to the edge.

“What can I say? I’m a generous guy.” Trevor sinks into me with no warning or preamble.

Which is more than fine, because I don’t have time for preamble.

His eyes fuse to my face as he bottoms out, like he’s scrutinizing my expression for a specific reaction. Probably for judgment. But I don’t care. Not as long as he gets me off and scratches the itch that’s been plaguing me for months.

Unfortunately, there’s not much of a reaction to have, because it’s a pretty basic thrust. I swear to God if he is the sort of guy who just goes to pound town until he nuts, I’m going to strangle him to death with a curling iron cord.

Trevor’s eyes narrow as he changes the trajectory of his next attempt. Again he watches me like a hawk.

And again, I’m underwhelmed.

“How the fuck does Tucker do this shit?” The mumbled words are still coming out of his lips as one arm bands across my back, hauling me off the counter like I weigh nothing as he spins to the wall opposite the vanity. My back presses to the drywall, the positioning putting us eye to eye as he grips my thighs, using the hold to keep me suspended.

The next time he moves, I suck in a sharp breath. Now, instead of just poking at me while I try to maintain my balance teetering on the edge of the sink, his whole pelvis grinds against me as his hips pivot instead of push. And holy fuck balls does it change everything.

To my dismay, Trevor seems to know it too.

He smirks as I suck in another breath when that delicious curve I spotted earlier finds its mark. “Careful. You keep making sounds like that and I’m going to think you like taking my cock.”

I will never admit it—not even under threat of death—but I might not hate the way Trevor Bradshaw fucks. He might’ve gotten off to a rocky start, but the man is nothing if not a solution finder. I see it all the time at the office, so it doesn’t really surprise me it would carry over into his personal life.

Not that I think he has a personal life. Pretty sure this guy is as one-sided as it gets. All work and no play.

It’s why he’s such a dull boy.

Trevor shifts his hips again, pressing me a little higher on the wall, and giving himself greater field of motion. It also makes it possible to support my weight with only one hand.

The other comes to the neckline of my dress. The deep V cut means he barely has to tug at all to expose my breasts. They’re not big and bountiful, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Actually, based on the deep rumbling groan he lets out as one nipple disappears between his lips, Trevor might even like them.

And I have to admit, I like that he likes them. A lot.

Each flick of his tongue and pulse of suction winds me up tighter and tighter. Until I’m right on the cusp of getting what I want.

Trevor pulls his mouth free of my body, his attention coming back to my face. He pauses, body fully impaling mine, rocking his hips in a way that gives my clit the full contact it needs. And sending me right over the edge.

It feels so fucking good, I lose myself for a minute, forgetting to keep any sounds I’m making to a minimum. Before I can be loud enough to bring attention our way, Trevor’s mouth seals over mine, swallowing down the moan sliding free.

I didn’t expect there would be kissing during this interaction, but I don’t hate the demanding way Trevor’s lips steal my breath, or the taste of bourbon clinging to his tongue. He’s actually not terrible at this. If he manages to keep his mouth shut about it, I might even be up for a repeat performance. One where I can put a little more of my own skills on display.

Trevor’s movements lose a little of their smoothness and his mouth pulls from mine. He buries his face in my neck, growling out a ragged fuck as he bucks against me, gripping my ass so hard it’s going to leave bruises.

And since I’m a dirty, dirty girl, the thought of seeing them later has me clenching around him as an aftershock ripples through me. Trevor groans again, his hips flexing in response to the squeeze of my pussy.

I’m feeling pretty fucking good, basking in the afterglow of a pretty decent orgasm, when the door swings open and Ruth barges in. She stops short and stares at us, open-mouthed.

I stare back, because what the fuck else am I gonna do? I’m still pinned to the wall, dangling midair with Trevor balls deep in my pussy.

Without a word, she spins away, slamming the door behind her.

Trevor’s head falls back on a groan that is way less sexy than the ones earlier. “She’s gonna fucking kill me.”

“If she hasn’t murdered you already, I think you’re in the clear.” I wiggle. “Put me down. I’ve got shit to do.”

He lowers me to the floor, holding on until I swat his hands away.

Going to the water closet, I pull a strand of toilet paper loose, wadding it up to wipe the bulk of his mess from between my legs before flushing it down. I turn to find Trevor watching me with a scrutinizing gaze.

I lift my brows. “What? I’m not walking around with your jizz running down my legs.”

“I was thinking we probably should have discussed the need for precautions.”

I walk past, shoving him back with one hand as I go. “I’m on the pill.” I grab my bag from where I dropped it in the corner, opening it by one handle before beginning to haphazardly cram in my hair tools. “And I’m more than happy to forward you my medical records if you’re worried about something else.”

Trevor huffs out a laugh. “I wasn’t worried.”

“I don’t actually care.” When all my curling irons are in place, I drop in brushes, combs, and styling products.

“Aren’t you worried about yourself?” Trevor sounds genuinely confused.

Which is almost cute.

But only almost.

I snort as I add the last few items to my bag and zip it up. “I’ve met you, Trevor. You are fucking meticulous when it comes to your body.” I straighten, slinging the bag over one shoulder. “So, no. I’m not worried.” I step toward the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta bounce.”

He steps toward me, like he plans to follow. “Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“Why?” I open the door, breathing out a sigh of relief when there are no judgmental eyeballs on the other side waiting for my walk of shame. “It was just sex.”

“So you’re just going to come to work Monday and act like nothing happened?” Trevor sounds shocked. Like he can’t imagine for a second that’s possible.

Joke’s on him. Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“Yup.” I stride through Brooke and Toby’s bedroom, hurrying out into the hall without looking back. I don’t have time for second thoughts or second glances. I’m running late. The sitter could only stay until seven, and it’s almost six thirty.

After getting my purse and swiping another piece of cake for the ride home, I jump into the sedan I’m trading in tomorrow and aim for home.

I pull into the trailer park where I rent a single-wide with three minutes to spare. Lauren—the cute high school girl Zara likely loves more than she loves me—is already putting on her shoes when I walk in the door. I drop my bags on the tiny table situated in the eating area across from our galley kitchen. “Everything go okay?”

“Everything was awesome.” Lauren jumps up, looking every bit the cheerleader she is with a wide smile and perky tone. “I just love your sister. She’s one of my favorite people.”

“That’s because she doesn’t give you the shit she gives me.” I go to the fridge and pull out a diet soda. “Which is probably good. If she did, you would never babysit for me again.”

Lauren gives me a dimpled smile. “I will always babysit for you.” She bounces toward the door, pausing before stepping out onto the porch. “Oh. Some guy came to the door looking for a woman named Janine. I told him she didn’t live here, but he didn’t look like he believed me.”

Any residual dopamine still coursing through my veins evaporates. “Did he leave his name?”

Lauren shakes her head, cute little nose wrinkling. “No, but he was gross.”

I’m sure he was. Gross and sketchy and probably strung out.

Those are the only kind of people who come looking for my mother.

3

Trevor

“We need to give every employee a bonus this year.” Toby scrubs one hand over his face. He looks exhausted. Probably because he spent the remainder of the weekend fucking his new wife.

And good for him. Seriously.

I’m not quite as bitter as I normally would be about everyone getting laid but me. Well, everyone but me and Walker.

Except, now it’s just Walker in a monogamous relationship with the palm of his hand.

“We already give all of our employees a bonus every year.” I hold up my pointer and middle finger. “Two bonuses, actually.”

I agree they’re well-deserved, and have zero problem passing them out. But adding a third is a touch too far. I’m all for being generous, but we still have to be reasonable. Hundreds of people count on us running this business in a way that will make it possible for us to continue employing them indefinitely. It’s important to keep our spending in check so we stay in the black.

Especially considering it’s been nearly a year since the first Dead Dan attempted to blow up our servers, and we still don’t know the reason behind his attack. The same way we don’t know why Dead Dan number two wrecked into Toby and Walker, or who was blackmailing Ray into betraying our trust.

It’s fucking maddening. Has me on edge and hanging by a thread. I’m not a laid-back person to start with, and all the unknowns have my fuse shorter than Tucker’s attention span. I’m not sleeping well. Wouldn’t eat if it wasn’t for Ruth. If we don’t figure this shit out soon, I might peel my fucking skin off.

“Are you concerned employees are thinking of leaving?” Titus asks. “Because that could change things.”

“Not yet, but at some point they’re going to start coming to me for answers.” Toby blows out a frustrated sigh. “And I’ve got nothing.”

I hold back a scoff. Toby is as far from having nothing as it gets. He has a wife. Somebody to come home to. To love. Someone to keep his life from feeling like a fucking echo chamber of isolation and misery.

I thought by now I’d be okay with the decisions I made based on the choices I had, but the bitterness lingers. Probably a good indication I made the right call. If I can’t even make time for someone, being an asshole to them on top of it sure wouldn’t fucking help things.

“Unfortunately, Heidi thinks that when they started cracking down on the guys in Nashville, they tightened their ranks. Sealed off any leaks, making it hard as hell for us to figure out who was targeting us using the same group of hired hands.” Titus leans back in his seat. “As much as I hate to say it, we might just have to wait for something else to happen.”

“Maybe it doesn’t.” Tucker—ever the optimist—shrugs. “Maybe they figured out getting through our security wasn’t going to be as easy as they expected, and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.”

I want to believe he’s right. Hope to God he is. Not just because I want my family safe, but because honestly, I’m not sure I could handle having anything else dropped on my plate right now.

And that includes another set of bonuses.

“I don’t think it’s feasible to distribute another round of bonuses at this point.” I look around the room as I bring us back to the original topic. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?” I can’t help but hold my breath, because I’m pretty sure at least one of my brothers has to have found out what happened Saturday at Toby and Brooke’s wedding. This meeting is happening before office hours, so I haven’t crossed Ruth’s path yet, but there’s not a doubt in my mind she told Tucker. There’s also a pretty solid chance Maren told Brooke and Mariah, which would mean two more of my brothers know I defiled Toby’s bathroom.

But no one says a thing. They haven’t even looked at me weird, which is strange. If any of them knew, they would absolutely be giving me shit for it.

And I probably deserve it. It was a bad idea. Terrible timing. Even worse location.

And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“No?” I sound skeptical, because I am. But no one pipes up. I stand, flipping my folio closed. “Then I’ve got shit to do.” Grabbing the insulated coffee mug Ruth makes me use instead of the disposable paper ones, I drain the contents as I head back to my office. When I see a flash of long, dark hair, I brace for her wrath.

Ruth doesn’t hold back with me. It’s one of my favorite things about her. I’m a steamroller. I know this. I will barrel over anyone in my path without blinking, so I do my best to make sure the only people in my path are more than happy to slow my roll.

Ruth glances up as I approach, her eyes resting on me for only a second before darting away. “Good morning.” The greeting is more clipped than usual.

“Good morning.” I stand there, ready to take my punishment.

Instead, Ruth grabs the pad of paper she uses to organize my tasks for the day and strides into my office.

Like it’s just a normal morning.

I follow behind her, cautiously rounding my desk while keeping one eye on her. Just in case she decides to pick up something heavy and hurl it at my head.

I love the women my brothers have paired up with. They’re all sweet in their own way, hard-working, funny, and devoted to the man they love. They also have each other’s backs totally and completely. The three of them are thick as thieves, and even more dangerous. And they’ve welcomed Maren into their fold, so I’m expecting at least one of them to come after me.

However, it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be Ruth. Does she seem a little more uncomfortable than normal? Yes. Slightly awkward and embarrassed? Definitely.

Homicidal? Surprisingly not. Which is…strange.

Lowering into my chair, I take in the breakfast waiting for me. She’s made maintaining my caloric intake her personal mission. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to dig into whatever Ruth provides, but I’m feeling understandably hesitant this morning. I look over the chilled oatmeal and yogurt concoction she’s topped with diced fruit and cinnamon, looking for any sign of arsenic. What does arsenic look like? Does it have a smell?

I lean forward, giving it a whiff, but it smells just like usual. Not even a hint of cyanide.

Not that I know what cyanide smells like.

“Oh my God. It’s fine.” Ruth rolls her eyes to the ceiling, head tilting back like she’s asking a higher power for patience with me. “I don’t care what you do on your own time, Trevor. Consenting adults are allowed to make their own choices.” Her eyes come to my face. “But if I ever catch you fucking anyone in the bathrooms in my house, I will kill you.”

“Understood.”

No way would I try to fuck anyone in their bathrooms anyway. Birdie figured out how to lock all the doors, so Tucker had to replace the doorknobs with unlockable ones. Ruth’s toddler can basically walk into any room at any time. And she does.

Hopefully she doesn’t remember all the parts and pieces she’s seen of her uncles when she’s older, or that therapy bill is going to be substantial.

“Good.” Ruth lifts her brows at me, expression stern. “Now, can we get to work?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The rest of the morning progresses as usual. Me trying to overreact to everything, and Ruth reining me back in. I keep worrying she’s going to get sick of my shit and quit, but I almost think she likes the constant push and pull of our dynamic as much as I do. I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, and Ruth absolutely challenges me. In the best of ways.

When noon hits, she brings me lunch from her favorite place, unpacking the sandwich she ordered for me before taking her own food to go spend an hour with my baby brother. And that’s fine. I want her to be happy here. If hanging out with Tucker during lunch—even though she gets to hang out with him all evening after work—is what she wants to do, that’s fine. I can use this time to handle a few personal tasks.

I’m halfway through my meal and have just finished scheduling the landscaper to come out and prep my yard for spring, when the other woman who loves to give me unending shit storms into my office, looking ready to murder someone.

Likely me.

Maren is practically foaming at the mouth as she marches to my desk, planting both palms on the surface before leaning forward.

My dick hardens almost immediately. Both because of the snarl on her face and because I know how she sounds when she comes.

Not wanting her to know how much she affects me, I angle a brow, looking bored. “Can I help you?”

Maybe she’s here to yell at me about what happened between us on Saturday. If I play my cards right, I might be able to turn another fight into another fuck. And Ruth didn’t say anything about not fornicating in my office. Just her bathrooms. So, I’d probably be in the clear.

Just thinking about fucking Maren across the sofa where I’ve slept more than a few nights has my blood heating.

“You know what that fucker has done now?”

Her question throws me off, because it doesn’t sound like her anger is directed my way. “What fucker?”

“The temp you hired for my old job.” She is clearly fucking outraged, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed.

It is unreasonably sexy.

“That supply room is a fucking shit show. I can’t find anything in there because he just shoves crap wherever it lands.” She gestures around my office. “You’re probably out of everything, because I’m pretty sure he’s not checking anyone’s stock.”

“Ruth handles my office supplies.” She manages every aspect of my working life, right down to the toilet paper and tooth flossers in my private bathroom. She’s only been here a few months, and already I would be lost without her. Would probably spontaneously combust from the panic and overwhelm.

Maren rolls her eyes. “Of course she does. She’s your work mom.”

That has my brows lifting. “My, what?”

“Your work mom. She takes care of everything for you.” Maren straightens, crossing both arms over her chest. “Probably wipes your ass too.”

“I’m more than capable of wiping my own ass.” I’m still not quite picking up the rest of what she’s putting down though. “And Ruth isn’t my work mom. She’s my assistant. Just like you’re Brooke’s.”

And I’m not bitter about that at all. Maren would have been a terrible assistant to me. We would have fought all day long.

And maybe ended up fucking way earlier than we did. She also wouldn’t leave to go hang out with Tucker on her lunch break. She’d probably sit at her desk and glare through the open doorway at me, snarling any time our eyes met.

I’d have to jack off during my lunch break.

Maren laughs. “I don’t make Brooke snacks or put her in timeout when she misbehaves.”

I open my mouth to argue, but it just ends up hanging there, because that sort of is what Ruth does. In addition to lecturing me when I’ve been an ass and texting me to make sure I go to bed on time.

I always lie to her about that, but she’ll never know.

“What exactly do you want me to do about the temp?” I circle back, because I don’t really want to dig into the way Ruth treats me. It works, and that’s all that matters.

“I want you to get rid of him and hire someone new.” Maren lifts her chin, continuing with her demand. “Preferably someone with organizational skills who doesn’t smoke pot outside by the dumpsters every two hours.”

Hiring another temp is the last thing I need to worry about right now, but she’s right. I can’t have an employee under the influence during work hours, and the supply room needs to be maintained. “Fine. I’ll call the agency.”

Maren blinks at me. “Oh.” Both arms drop to her sides. “Okay.” She seems to deflate a little. “Great.”

I lift both brows at her as she continues standing there, seemingly dumbfounded over my agreement with her demand. “Is there something else you want to yell at me about?”

“Probably.” She flips her hair. “But I don’t want to waste my whole lunch hour staring at your face.”

I might’ve thrown her off for a second by agreeing to her demand, but Maren recovers quickly, getting back to her usual self, giving me shit and shooting daggers with her eyes. There’s something addictive about pissing her off. I don’t know why I enjoy it so much. It’s like a hit of a drug I know I’ll come back for. Every single time.

I should probably be out by the dumpsters with the temp.

Maren spins away, the glossy shine of her dark hair catching in the overhead light as she exits my office.

And I can’t resist the temptation she presents.

“Maren.” I stop her just as she crosses the threshold. When she turns to look at me, I give her a smirk. “In case you haven’t already noticed, I have a private bathroom. Let me know if you ever want a tour.”

A flicker of outrage flashes across her face, chased by something significantly more carnal. Something that brings a flush to her cheeks. The tip of her tongue flicks across her lower lip as her eyes drop to my mouth before snapping back to my face. Her reaction is gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by squaring of her shoulders and another flick of her hair.

“That’s a weird thing to say.” Then she retreats.

Quickly.

Leaving me grinning at her back.

Guess her plan is to pretend nothing happened. Like I didn’t go home Saturday with her pussy juices drying on my skin.

That’s fine. I don’t mind playing this game with her. If Maren wants to act like it will never happen again, I’m going to let her.

Even if she’s wrong.

4

Maren

“Miss ma’am. Can you please, for the love of God, hold still?” The braid I’ve been trying to weave down one side of Zara’s head slips through my fingers yet again. “Otherwise we’re going to be late, and you will never let me hear the end of it.”

No one told me the hardest part about parenting was going to be maintaining the schedule of a five-year-old. I feel like all I do after getting home from work every night is run my sister from one place to another. Her social schedule is more packed than mine has ever been.

Probably because she’s a butterfly and I’m a wasp.

“I am holding still.” Zara wiggles again, completely oblivious to just how much she’s moving around. “And I don’t want to be late. I want to talk to Breanna.”

“Breanna isn’t going to be at dance class tonight. Her dad texted to let me know she’s not feeling good.” Zara’s best friend at the dance studio apparently has a wicked case of strep throat, and I appreciate her dad keeping her home. The last thing Zara needs is strep. She’ll lose her shit over having to miss school and then I’ll lose my shit over having to stay home, listening to her lose her shit.

“What?” My sister tries to turn to look at me, her movements stunted by the grip I have on her dark hair. “For real?”

“For real.” I widen my eyes at her. “Now stop freaking moving.”

Zara slumps down in her chair, a pout plumping her lower lip. And of course it makes me feel bad. She likes dancing, but I know her favorite part of the weekly class is getting to see Breanna.

As I finish winding the tail sections of her connected double Dutch braids together, I let out a sigh. “Do you want to stop for ice cream on the way home?”

As I expected, that perks her right back up. And just like that, Zara is as eager to get out of our trailer and on the road as she would have been if her friend was going to be in attendance. And since it’s now ten times easier to get on the road than it was when I had my sedan, we still have plenty of time to make it to the studio before class starts.

Activating the automatic door on our new-to-us accessible van, I wait for the bifold ramp to engage, then wheel Zara up into the vehicle, securing her chair to the designated points before closing her in. As soon as I’m behind the wheel and all our bags are settled on the passenger seat, we are officially on our way.

The minivan is for sure bigger than my old four-door, but it doesn’t feel as giant to drive as I expected. Not that it would’ve mattered if it did. It wasn’t really an option. Over the years, it got more and more difficult to make the car work for us. Not only because her chair got bigger and—even collapsed—took up more trunk space, but also because she’s gotten bigger. Maneuvering her into the backseat was a whole workout. For both of us.

Now, there’s no disassembling or collapsing. No worries I’ll crack her head on the frame or drop her into the floorboard. The van is most certainly more expensive, but thanks to my increased salary and holiday bonus, the added monthly bill is manageable.

Which is great, because I really didn’t want to tell Zara she was going to have to give up one of her beloved activities.

We pull into the lot at the dance studio, and I blow out a sigh of relief when I see there’s an accessible parking space available. That’s probably because every time I catch one of the parents who doesn’t require the spots taking one, I lose my shit. They aren’t actually the closest parking places, but that isn’t why they’re so valuable for people like me and Zara. Zara’s in a wheelchair. She can go as far as I have to push her. Distance isn’t the issue for us.

Space is.

I back the van in so the extra lined-off area is next to the door with the ramp, then shut off the engine and open Zara’s door using the button on the console. While it slides open, I collect our bags and climb out, rounding the front just in time to engage the ramp. I unhook Zara, loop our bags over the back of her chair, and roll her down the ramp. Then I close everything up and head inside.

Breanna isn’t here, but plenty of other kids Zara is friendly with are, and she quickly finds a pack to chat with while I stake out my spot for the next hour. Many parents leave for the duration of the class, going for coffee or to do a little shopping, but I’m not comfortable abandoning Zara just yet. Not when there isn’t someone completely capable of navigating any problems that might creep up. She’s pretty freaking healthy considering how things started out, but there are still issues that can arise out of nowhere, and I don’t ever want her to feel like she’s afraid and on her own.

I know what that’s like, and I’ll be damned if she ever will.

Their cute little ballet teacher comes out, sweetly smiling and chatting with all the kids as they file past her into the studio. I watch to make sure Zara doesn’t get left behind, and smile a little when one of the kids pushes her forward.

That was one of my biggest fears when she was a baby. I know how unaccepting people can be, and worried endlessly she would be an outcast. Or worse, that other kids would be afraid of her.

But, unlike me, Zara is a freaking ray of sunshine. Everyone who meets her loves her. Adults, kids, everyone. And so far, I haven’t had to threaten anyone over the way they treated her. Which is good, because I absolutely would. Doesn’t matter who it is. Little old lady or a kindergartner—they would feel my wrath.

The door closes, and I dig into my work bag, pulling out the company-issued laptop and the snack I grabbed on our way out the door. Flipping my computer open, I slip the bag onto its side, using it as a desk as I log into McKinley Security System’s private server. In addition to a private server, the computer also has its own internet service and some sort of fantastically secure firewalls or something. I didn’t really pay attention to Titus’s explanation when he handed it over. All I know is I don’t have to worry about someone hacking into it, so I can stay on top of anything I don’t need to be in the office for during dance class, cheerleading, and Girl Scouts.

I spend the next hour updating all of Brooke’s spreadsheets, making sure everything is accurate and easy to navigate, before closing up shop for the night just as my sister emerges. The braids I painstakingly worked into her hair are loose and scraggly, she’s only wearing one of her slippers, and I think there’s a snag in her tights. But her cheeks are pink and there’s a wide smile on her face.

At the end of the day, that’s all that really matters. It’s why I spend my evenings as Zara’s personal chauffeur and a huge chunk of my income goes to her activities. I want her to have all the things I never did. I want her to know she is my priority and her happiness matters to me. I want her to feel safe and loved and appreciated.

One of her little friends rolls her over to where I sit, giving her a squeeze goodbye before leaving with her mother while I repack my bag and pull a hoodie over my sister’s head. Once she’s cozy, I pass Zara her travel cup filled with ice water and we roll out into the chilly evening air.

On the drive home, we make a pit stop at her favorite fast food restaurant for soft serve cones.

Has she had dinner yet? Nope.

Do I care if she has dessert first? Also no. All I care about is that she always has enough to fill her stomach. I know what it’s like to be hungry, and it is yet another thing I will make damn sure Zara never experiences.

She happily plows through her treat, polishing it off just as we pull into our tiny driveway. Then I’m unloading her again, even more grateful I was able to qualify for the loan to buy this van. Because I’m fucking exhausted, and reassembling her chair before scooping her out of the backseat at this point in the day was zero fun. Even less fun than carrying her up the stairs and into our trailer used to be.

As I push Zara up the shiny new ramp I installed and into our home, I send Brooke a silent thank you for the sign-on bonus I got when she hired me.

I whip up a super simple dinner, plopping it down on our tiny table before digging in. As a kid, I had to eat whatever I could get my hands on. It didn’t matter if I didn’t like the taste or had to pick off mold. It was that or starvation.

And starvation sucks.

But Zara has never met a hungry day—and never will if I have anything to say about it.

Which is exactly why she turns her nose up at the pile of garlic roasted broccoli next to the carbonara she will inhale. “I don’t like broccoli.”

I shove in a bite of the slightly browned vegetable, forcing my expression to stay neutral as I chew through it. “Broccoli doesn’t like you either, but you still have to eat it.”

I could be talking to either of us, honestly, because veggies aren’t my favorite.

My sister snorts. “Broccoli isn’t a person.”

“That’s why it’s okay to eat it.” I shove in another mouthful of stems and florets before using the tines of my fork to point at hers. “Otherwise you’d be a cannibal.”

Zara cackles. “I’m not a cannibal.”

Do most five-year-olds know what a cannibal is? Probably not. Yet another thing that’s not going to earn me any parent of the year awards. But the conversation amuses her enough she takes a couple bites of the vegetable.

So I’m going to call it a win.

Dinner finished, we head for the bathroom. Unlike the ramp and my new van, the tiny space is not built for people who need a little more working room, so getting her into the tub and scrubbed down takes a little bit of maneuvering. Thanks to years of intense physical therapy, Zara can walk short distances on her own, but is not super coordinated or fast, and letting her attempt it across the linoleum with slippery feet would be hazardous. So, when she’s finished, I bundle her up in a towel and carry her into her bedroom. She hates being hauled around like this, but until I can come up with a better option, safety will always come first.

The trailer has two bedrooms, and hers is the bigger of the options. Mostly because she has more stuff than I do. Between her clothes, toys, and electronics, Zara takes up an immense amount of space.

Exactly how I want it to be.

After getting her toweled off and dressed in her favorite pair of pajamas, I blow her hair dry, making sure it’s smooth and tangle free, before tucking her into bed. One of the perks of keeping her so busy is that she generally crashes hard the second her head hits the pillow, so within a couple minutes, the rest of the night belongs to me.

I take a quick shower of my own before bundling up in sweatpants, and an oversized T-shirt, and my favorite plush robe. Slapping a moisturizing mask on my face, I flop onto the sofa and switch on the television. Time to attempt to stay up-to-date on my favorite show.

I’m barely five minutes in before there’s a quiet knock at the door.

Because of course there is. Hopefully it’s the guy who was here Saturday looking for my mom. I have a fair amount of feminine rage I need to expend, and man it would feel good to wail on one of the people who refuse to let me fully move past the shittiness of my childhood.

I answer the door with a baseball bat and a smile, all my excitement evaporating when I see who is actually on my porch.

Doug grins at me, brows waggling as he takes in my current condition. “You look sexy.”

Of course I do, but that’s irrelevant right now.

Sighing, I slide my weapon of choice into place behind the low table that holds my purse and keys. “What are you doing here, Doug?”

“I just thought maybe you’d want some company.” He leans in, peeking over my shoulder. “Is Zara in bed?”

“We’ve had this conversation.” Many times. Sleeping with him a year ago was not one of my finest moments. He’s not bad looking, and has a tolerable personality, but the man was terrible in bed. Like, laughably bad.

Actually, I did laugh. Which he mistook for glee, I guess?

“I’m not fucking you again.” I’ve said it this plainly before, and I don’t have much hope he’ll listen this time either, so I take my rejection a step further. “I shouldn’t have done it the first time. It was a mistake, and I try my best not to make the same mistake twice.”

Which makes me think my brain isn’t classifying what happened with Trevor as a mistake. Because I am most certainly interested in doing that again. I won’t, but I’m definitely interested.

Unfortunately, as usual, Doug doesn’t seem to catch my drift. His feelings don’t look hurt. His ego doesn’t deflate. He simply leans against the door frame, like he’s trying to get comfortable. “You must not remember how great it was, or you would definitely want to do it again.”

Well, now I’m just pissed. Considering grabbing the bat again after all. I don’t like being told what I do and don’t think. I’ve made my own decisions for as long as I can remember, and I’m not about to start deferring to someone else. Not now, not ever.

Especially not a man who couldn’t find a clit if it hit him in the face with a baseball bat.

“I don’t remember how great it was, because it wasn’t great, Doug.” I’ve tried to let him down easy, but since the effort was obviously wasted, I won’t be putting any more in. “It was terrible sex. Quite literally the worst I’ve ever had. I don’t know how anyone could do so many wrong things in a row, but you managed.” I inch back just enough to close the door, since I don’t want him to misread my words and actions yet again and think I’m letting him in. “You probably need to look at some diagrams and research proper techniques or find a woman who doesn’t like orgasms.” I start swinging the door closed. “Have a good night.” After shutting him out, I lock the deadbolt then flop back onto the sofa.

I don’t know what sort of dry spell voodoo made me think having sex with a guy who lives in the same trailer park was a good idea. Probably the same dry spell voodoo that made me think fucking the owner of the company where I work was a good idea.

Honestly, having sex with Trevor might have been an even worse decision than fucking Doug was. Because I need this job. For the first time in her life, Zara has great health insurance. No more waiting months for the care she needs, or searching through limited lists of practitioners for the best option available to us.

And I need the income just as much. Zara only gets more expensive as she gets older, and I will never make her do without something that brings her joy. Something that will give her the fullest childhood possible.

That means, no matter how great it was, or how much I wouldn’t mind doing it again, having sex with Trevor has to be a one time thing.

I’ll just pretend it never happened and move on. I’m sure he’ll get the hint much faster than Doug has.

5

Trevor

Where the fuck is Maren’s car?

I scan the parking lot one more time, just to be sure I didn’t miss it, but the older model, four-door sedan is nowhere in sight. Is it possible it broke down on her? That she’s stranded somewhere on the side of the road?

I know she wouldn’t call me if that was the case, but I assume she’d call Brooke. And Brooke knows I had a meeting with our insurance broker at his office this morning, so surely if Maren needed a ride, someone would have called me.

Turning away from the lot, I stalk in the building, ignoring the guard who waves as I enter. I know it’s not his fault Ray betrayed us, but I don’t have any interest in becoming friendly with any of them, just to be on the safe side.

Instead of going to my office, I head straight for Brooke’s, getting more and more irritated with each step I take. If Maren was having car trouble, she should’ve let one of us know. We could’ve arranged for a rental car, or helped her find a trustworthy mechanic. There’s no reason for her to⁠—

I stop, staring at where Maren sits behind her desk, eyes fused to the laptop in front of her.

The sight of her is so unexpected, my brain and mouth go out of sync, and I find myself blurting out, “Where the fuck is your car?”

Maren’s head swivels my way, lips flattening as her eyes meet mine. “Who are you talking to like that?” She angles a brow. “Because I know it isn’t me.”

I almost smile. This woman never disappoints me. Never misses an opportunity to come at me. Not even when I’m balls deep inside her.

A fact I should not be considering right now. Not when there’s no way to hide my body’s response to the memory.

Clearing my throat, I refocus my thoughts, getting them back in the game Maren and I always play. “There’s no one else here, so it seems like I am talking to you.” My feet move toward her, closing the distance between us so I can get a better look. Ensure she’s as safe and sound as she appears. “Why isn’t your car in the parking lot?”

“Why are you looking for my car in the parking lot?” She turns the question right back at me, snapping it out.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a great answer for that. I honestly don’t know why I look for Maren’s car on the days I arrive after her. Probably the same reason I look for it on the days I leave before she does. There aren’t many, but every time it happens, I look for the used vehicle, giving it a once over to make sure there are no glaring issues. No tires losing air or fluids leaking onto the blacktop.

There’s only been one time I found a problem. One of her rear tires was on the verge of going flat, and it was easy enough to get one of Toby’s employees to handle it on his lunch hour. Maren didn’t even notice the brand new set of tires I had him put on.

“I wasn’t looking for your car specifically. I was checking the parking lot to make sure it didn’t need to be re-surfaced this summer, when I noticed it wasn’t there.” That actually sounds plausible.

I should probably do what I’m claiming anyway. It’s been a few years since the lot’s been touched up, and the salt and ice is hell on it in the winter.

One more fucking thing to worry about.

Maren’s expression is skeptical as she continues staring at where I stand. “Did you need something else?”

I don’t like the way she’s trying to dismiss me, and I’ll be damned if I let her think the only reason I’m here is because of her. “I came to see Brooke.”

“That’s too bad then, because she’s not here.” Maren gives me a syrupy sweet smile. “Would you like me to let her know you stopped by?”

I consider it, but then I’ll have to come up with some important reason we needed to touch base instead of the lame excuse of our common lawn care service I was going to use. “It’s not important. I’ll just catch up with her later.”

Maren has already turned back to her computer. “Perfect.”

I’m not used to being ignored, and as much as I like Maren’s defiant temperament, I don’t like how easy it is for her to brush me off. Like I didn’t have to swallow down the noises she made when I got her off a few days ago.

Has it only been a few days? It feels like it’s been longer than that.

Too long.

I thought after how well things went, Maren would come and ask for another round. Maybe set up a standing appointment of some sort. It was a mutually beneficial experience, and she’s acting like it didn’t even happen.

And it chaps my fucking ass.

“Perfect.” I refuse to let her have the last word, and getting it in makes me feel a tiny bit better. Until I hear her as I walk away.

“Fantastic.”

I stop, turning. “Excellent.”

She gives me another sickly sweet smile. “Wonderful.”

“Great.”

“Amazing.” She snaps back.

Now I’m starting to get annoyed. I’m also starting to run out of words. “Awesome.”

Maren doesn’t seem to be struggling as much as I am to come up with her next adjective. “Fabulous.”

“Cool.” I’m not proud of that one, but it’s better than nothing.

Maren’s eyes narrow on me. “Marvelous.”

Fucking hell. What’s another word for great? “Terrific.”

“Lovely.” Again, she doesn’t miss a beat, and I’m wondering where in the hell she keeps her thesaurus.

“Swell.” I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here.

Maren scoffs, the sound turning into a laugh. “What nineteen fifties sitcom did you just walk out of?”

I must be a little touchy, because once again, I speak without thinking. “The one where people don’t fight with their boss.”

Maren scowls. “You’re not my boss.”

Technically, she’s correct. Brooke is her boss. But I’m kind of Brooke’s boss. Sort of. In a way.

“Thank God.” For a minute there, I thought Maren would be a great assistant. I still think she’s a great assistant, just not for me. I can’t imagine how many cups of coffee I’d end up wearing, or how much we would actually get done between bickering matches.

“Agreed.” Again, Maren is determined to have the last word.

And again, so am I.

But I don’t get it out fast enough.

“There you are.” Ruth strides down the hall toward us. “Security said you came in, but that you turned down this hall instead of going to your office.”

“I came to see if Brooke was in her office.” I stick with the story I gave Maren. “But she’s not.”

Ruth’s eyes flick to Maren before coming back to me. “Would you like for me to schedule a time to meet with her?”

“No. It’s not a big deal.” I turn from Maren, fighting the urge to look back as I walk with Ruth in the direction of my office. “Has everything been relatively quiet?”

Ruth snorts. “Nothing is ever quiet around here.” She pauses when we reach the end of the hall, turning back to give Maren a wave. “I’ll see you later.”

Maren offers Ruth a genuine smile. The sort she never gives me. “After a while, crocodile.”

Ruth goes back to leading me away, running down everything we would have discussed in our morning meeting if I hadn’t started my day outside of the office. It seems we have bids for landscaping to go over, a new freight carrier to consider, and an upgraded system for Walker’s division that I need to learn at some point.

I do my best to have the capability of keeping every part of the company up and running in case of an emergency. I don’t have to be as great at running their departments as my brothers and cousin are, but I do need to know how to keep things afloat. Titus having twins and Walker and Toby being in an accident showed just how valuable that skill set is. Instead of everything going to shit while they had to take time off, I was able to step in and handle what had to be handled.

Did I have to work nearly around-the-clock to accomplish it? Yes. But what the fuck else do I have to do?

Lunch feels like it comes earlier than normal since my day started late, and before I’m ready, Ruth is gone to spend the hour with Tucker, leaving me alone.

I decide to make it a working lunch, and plow through the wrap she ordered me while watching the training video for Walker’s new system. His division is the original portion of the company. It’s where everything started, and it still brings in a substantial chunk of the company’s income, so making sure I can keep the warehouse and shipping department running in a pinch is important.

Unfortunately, this new system Titus’s team has designed is significantly more complicated than the previous one. I get the reason for that—keeping everything from ordering to shipping to inventory in one location will save time in the long run—but figuring out how to navigate this thing is a nightmare. I feel like I haven’t really made any headway by the time Ruth returns, looking pink cheeked and perky.

She obviously had a more enjoyable lunch than I did.

After clearing away the remnants of my food, she accompanies me to the meeting I have scheduled with Titus and the security team. This one’s to go over the protocol we initiated after discovering Ray had passed out key cards and information, making us susceptible to another attack. Since Titus was in the office yesterday, he’s joining by video. While Ruth sets up a computer at the end of the table, I refresh my memory on everything we’ve implemented.

As the heads of our security team file in, I look each one over, searching for any suspicious behaviors. I hope lightning wouldn’t strike twice, but at this point, I just don’t know that I’m willing to bank on it. Not when my employees are at stake, and sure as hell not when my family’s safety is at risk.

His team has all the digital information collected by our card readers and cameras, so Titus runs the meeting for the most part. All I have to do is sit back and pay attention. Which is not as easy as it usually is.

Because where the fuck is Maren’s car?

Did someone else bring her to work? Surely she wouldn’t have spent the night at some other man’s house. Not so soon after we⁠—

I stand up abruptly, every eye in the room coming my way as they wait for me to explain what the fuck I’m doing. Good luck with that. Because I don’t actually know what the fuck I’m doing. The best I have to offer is, “I’ll be right back.”

I head straight out of the room, going directly to my office and closing the door behind me. I don’t need Ruth peeking her head in here to see what I’m up to. Honestly, it’s a little unhinged.

But I’ve got to know. Otherwise I might drive myself fucking nuts wondering.

I log into our security system, and begin going through the video feed recordings, focusing on the ones from the parking lot this morning. There are a few drop-offs, but none of them are Maren. I practically have my nose pressed to the screen as I search for her, agitation making it difficult to sit still.

Because what am I going to do if she was dropped off by some other man? I can’t confront her about it. It’s not like there’s any sort of agreement between the two of us. No understanding of anything remotely close to exclusivity.

It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask her for that anyway. Not when I have so little to offer.

“Fuck.” I lean back in my seat, scrubbing one hand over my face as I rub at my burning eyes. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here without blinking, but my corneas are starting to dry out.

I’m being fucking ridiculous. Selfish. Acting like I can have my cake and eat it too. I can’t. I tried that. Many times.

It didn’t fucking work.

I reach for my mouse, ready to close out the security footage, when a familiar form cuts across the screen. Maren always walks like she’s on a mission, cranking one arm for added momentum like it will help her move faster. That’s just how she’s walking across my computer screen now.

From the back portion of the lot.

Because I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to her, I back the feed up, following her reverse trajectory until I see why I couldn’t find her car this morning.

Maren didn’t drive her car. Instead of climbing from a four-door sedan, my little terror slides free of a minivan. A minivan with a body shape that’s just a little different.

Why in the hell is Maren driving a minivan? And what exactly is different about it? We modify plenty of vehicles here, but I can’t quite tell what’s been done to this particular unit.

Not from this feed anyway.

I start pulling up other views, zeroing in on the location where she parked. Finally, I manage to get a halfway decent look at the side, and something clicks. It’s an accessible van. One made to easily transport people with mobility issues who require wheelchairs or scooters.

But again, why in the hell is Maren driving a minivan? An accessible minivan, no less.

Is her car in the shop and she borrowed it from someone? Most people who own a van like that have it for a reason, and can’t just do without it.

It doesn’t make sense, and I don’t like it when shit doesn’t make sense. I know myself well enough to admit I’m going to have to figure out what’s going on.

I also know myself well enough to admit I’m more than a little relieved another man didn’t drive Maren to work this morning.

6

Maren

“What the fuck?” I’m so focused on the phone in my hand, I don’t notice someone’s standing next to my new van until there’s no way for me to turn back without being noticed. And seeing me run from him would give Trevor Bradshaw way too much enjoyment.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes as I blow it out in an attempt to keep myself from overreacting.

It’s not gonna work, but I’m still going to try. Because I honestly don’t have time to fight with him right now. And I’m sure he’s been studying up on synonyms since our last argument, so he’ll probably hold his own longer than normal.

“Trevor, I’m tired. Can we do whatever this is later?” I have a group chat flooded with messages to catch up on, a sister to pick up, dinner to cook, laundry to do…

And apparently a drugstore shopping trip to make, because there’s been an outbreak of head lice at the preschool Zara attends.

Trevor obviously has no interest in taking pity on me, because instead of backing down, he starts firing off questions. “Why do you have this van?” He points to my new vehicle. “When did you get it?” Two questions must not be enough, because he adds yet another. “Where is your car?”

I can’t with him right now. Honestly, I’m not sure I could with anyone. Not even Brooke, and I love her. So instead of offering a snarky answer like it usually would, I don’t say anything. I choose not to engage.

Which is sort of groundbreaking for me. Definitely not a tactic I’ve tried before.

Using the fob, I unlock the doors, opening the front passenger door so I don’t have to throw my bags over the console. Trevor stands behind me, acting like an expectant child as I situate my purse and laptop case before closing the door. As I round the front, he stays close on my heels. Like a fucking shadow.

He better unshadow me, fast. Because with the mood I’m in, there’s a really good chance this shadow is going to end up under the tires of my new van. And that would be a shame, because I’m sure it would cause damage I’d have to repair. The last thing I want to deal with right now is not having a vehicle. Especially now that I’ve seen how much easier this particular vehicle makes my life.

Opening the driver’s door, I climb into the seat and reach for the handle, expecting to close him out. But somehow, Trevor’s managed to wedge his giant body in the opening, making it impossible for me to get enough leverage or momentum to accomplish anything.

I take another deep breath, since the last one actually worked pretty well, slowly blowing it out before meeting his eyes. “Can you please move?”

Damn. I am really growing as a person. Please isn’t a word I normally use. Especially not when a man is involved.

I don’t dislike men in general. I just don’t have time for their bullshit. They’re much more trouble than they have ever been worth.

Especially this one.

“No.” His eyes flick to the placard on my console. “Who’s van is this?”

“It’s mine.” I know my plan was not to engage, but part of me wants him to know I bought this all by myself. It’s the nicest vehicle I’ve ever owned. And while it’s not nearly as luxurious as what he drives, it is pretty freaking nice. “Now can you move?”

I’m not saying please twice.

Trevor’s dark brows pinch together, like he can’t believe I actually managed to have the purchasing power for such a thing. I start to get offended, but then he asks, “Why did you get it?”

I don’t talk about my personal life at work. It’s really no one’s business. Plus, when people find out about my little sister, and then learn I’m actually raising her, they generally act like I’m some sort of saint for adopting her. And that pisses me off. Because they don’t just mean I’m a good person for adopting my sister. They mean I’m a good person for adopting my sister with special needs.

Like she’s some sort of burden.

Zara isn’t a burden. No child is.

Taking care of her isn’t what makes me a good person. Not throat punching any little kid who’s mean to her is.

“Because I liked it, and the ramp makes it way easier to move bodies.” I give him a sweet smile. “Would you like me to show you?”

I wouldn’t actually murder Trevor and roll his body into the back of my van. First of all, he’s huge. There’s no way I could get his giant ass into the back of this thing, even with the ramp. Secondly, it would probably upset Brooke. And I’d feel bad about that.

Trevor stares at me a second longer, eyes narrowed. Then, something in him shifts. The line of his mouth gets softer. The clench of his jaw relaxes. And the eyes that have been on mine up to this point, slowly glide over my body.

“Stop it.” I grab his face, forcing his focus back to mine. “Quit it, right now.”

He gives me a slow smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You dick. Yes you do.” I squeeze his jaw a little tighter, sinking my fingers into his slightly stubbly skin. “Stop thinking about what happened in the bathroom.”

He smirks. “That must be your guilty conscience talking, because I wasn’t thinking about what happened in the bathroom at all.”

“Liar.” I’ve known him long enough to understand his ways. His moods. The way what he’s thinking is usually written all over his face.

As long as you know what you’re looking for.

“You can’t read my mind, so I guess you’ll never know.” He pulls out of my grip, finally stepping back. “I could be thinking about it all day every day or never at all.” He gives me a little shrug. “Who’s to say?”

Heat races through my body at the idea of Trevor thinking about what we did. “Well if you’re doing it, stop. It’s never happening again, so you might as well forget it ever happened.”

He tucks both hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels as he shakes his head. “No.”

I scoff. “No?” I shouldn’t be shocked at his refusal. He’s just doing it to aggravate me. The worst part is, it works. Just like I know what he’s thinking, he knows how to rile me up. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean I’m not going to forget it ever happened.” His smile widens. “I’m also not in agreement that it will never happen again.”

I’ve got my next comeback locked and loaded when my cell phone pings, reminding me I still haven’t finished reading the text chain, and I still have to go home and do laundry. And make dinner. And check my sister’s thick head of hair for bugs.

“I don’t have time for this.” I grab the door he’s no longer blocking and pull it shut, locking it—just in case he gets any bright ideas—before starting the engine. I don’t look to see where he is before I pull away. Trevor’s a grown man. He should know how to get out of the way of a moving vehicle. If not…

Guess I’m going to have to figure out how to roll him up the ramp.

I check my rearview, just so I know how the rest of my evening is going. And whether it will involve hiding a body or not. My belly flips when Trevor’s eyes lock with mine in the reflection. He’s still smirking as he watches me drive away. Like he knows something I don’t know.

That’s a problem for tomorrow Maren, because I seriously don’t have time for him tonight.

Thanks to his bullshit, I’m already late, and I have to push the laws of speed past their breaking point as I rush to pick Zara up before they start charging me by the minute. I love the place that handles her afterschool care, but they don’t mess around when it comes to pickup time. They say five forty-five, and they fricking mean it.

Like Saturday, I make it with two minutes to spare, pulling up to the pickup lane in the nick of time. As the worker helps me get Zara into place, it’s clear I’m not the only one who appreciates my new van. The process takes less than half the time it normally does, and I’m pulling away in under five minutes.

Zara is her usual self as we drive home, chatting about her day the whole way. I do my best to listen and act interested, but I’m not as social as my sister, and my battery is already depleted. I work up as much excitement as I can when she tells me about what she painted in art class, because I want her to feel heard. And I’m sure I’ll be delighted to see her newest contribution to the gallery that is our refrigerator, but right now, the thrill is lacking.

Because bugs.

I get her home, stopping just inside the front door so we can investigate. The braids I worked into her thick head of hair are already obliterated since both the school and the afterschool center triple checked to make sure she wasn’t spreading the love.

But until I see it for myself, I’m going to assume the worst.

I had lice more times than I could count when I was a kid. I remember how humiliating it was to be sent to the office over and over again because my mom couldn’t be bothered to get rid of them. And since I was a kid, I couldn’t buy the treatment at the drugstore or haul all my bedding to the laundromat. I was at the mercy of a woman who might have been a good person at one point in her life, but was so twisted up with addiction nothing else mattered. Including me.

As I begin carefully combing through Zara’s hair, section by section, she begins to complain. “They already did this.”

“I know, but I want to be sure.” Not only for her benefit, but also for mine. I’m pretty sure getting head lice as an adult would lead to a sort of PTSD situation, and I don’t have time for that right now. “Has your head been itchy at all?”

“No.” Her impatience isn’t even thinly veiled. “Can we do this after dinner? I’m hungry.”

“There’s no way you’re hungry. I packed you a million snacks.” I’m sure I go overboard in many ways when it comes to Zara, and the amount of food I send her each day is definitely one of them. “Did you eat them all?”

“Part of them.” There’s something off in her tone.

I lean around, looking at her face. “Why did you only eat part of them?”

“Liam’s mom didn’t pack him any snacks again, so I gave him some of mine so he wouldn’t be hungry.” Her eyes are big as they meet mine. “I know you gave them to me, but he was so sad when everybody could eat snacks but him.”

I drop to my knees, all my frustration and aggravation from the long day behind me and the long evening in store slipping away. “That was such a wonderful thing for you to do.”

There are days when I question everything I do as a parent. I wonder if I’m fucking her up just as much as my mother did me, except in different ways. I worry she will grow up to be bitter and cynical and closed off because that’s what she sees me being.

But in moments like this, I have hope. That maybe I’m not doing so bad after all. That if nothing else, I’m raising a good human. Someone who’s kind and friendly. Funny and warm. Someone empathetic and generous.

Someone who would’ve been a friend to five-year-old me even though my clothes smelled bad, and there were always holes in my shoes.

“You are the coolest kid, you know that?” I lean forward, kissing her on the forehead. “I love the crap out of you.”

Zara smiles wide at me. “I love the crap out of you too.” Her brows lift. “Now can we have dinner?”

“Yes.” I stand, getting behind her so I can pull her hair back into a quick messy bun. “Now we can have dinner.” I wheel her into our little dining room, positioning her at the table before offering up the tablet I know she’s going to ask for. “And after dinner, we are going to take a bath.”

“What?” She whines. “I just took a bath last night.”

“And you’re going to take one again tonight. I want to use the minty shampoo on your hair.” It’s one of the tricks I learned from one of the nurses at school. Since I couldn’t rely on my mother to get rid of the lice, the nurse was nice enough to help me find ways to prevent them. “That way we don’t have to worry about anything.”

I quickly put together our meal, assembling one of our favorites—breakfast for dinner.

While I eat, I put in an order from the closest drug store. Is it more expensive to have it delivered? Of course. But now I can afford to splurge a little here and there, and tonight I want to stay home in my pajamas and relax. While doing the laundry. And packing lunches. And washing and drying Zara’s hair. And finishing up a report for Brooke.

“Ugh.” I shove in a bite of scrambled egg. “I need a vacation.”

Zara looks up from the tablet I probably let her spend too much time staring at. “Can we go on a vacation?”

I automatically brace, the way I did for years when I had to tell Zara we couldn’t sign her up for a class her friends were taking or go to the zoo or eat takeout.

But I don’t have to do that anymore. Now she can take dance classes and we have zoo passes and we get takeout one night a week.

And even with the new van payment added to my monthly bills, there’s probably enough for us to go on a vacation. It won’t be to a tropical paradise, but I’m sure I can still come up with something amazing. Something she’ll remember forever.

A smile creeps across my face. “We can totally take a vacation.”

7

Trevor

This is… Not at all what I expected.

I had a mental image of what I thought Maren’s life outside of work was like. Assumed she lived in some cool loft above one of the businesses in town. That she spent her free time thrifting and drinking too much. What I’m looking at now is about as opposite of that as it gets.

The trailer where Maren lives isn’t run down or unkempt, but it is old. And small. The entire thing would fit in my great room.

And that includes the ramp she rolled a little girl in a wheelchair up.

A little girl who must be her daughter.

“Fuck.” I scrub one hand over my face, trying to wrap my brain around all this new information. This new version of the woman I thought I knew.

Maren has a kid. A kid who’s in a wheelchair. A kid who’s in a wheelchair and is the reason for her new van.

The longer I consider it, the more it actually makes sense. How money motivated she is. The insurance she couldn’t wait to sign up for. The way she is always out the door at five twenty sharp.

What doesn’t make sense, is why no one seems to know this. Never once have I heard Maren mention her little girl. There’s no pictures of her on Maren’s desk. No conversations about school or child care. No clues for me to put together in any way that would have led me to this conclusion. It’s almost like she doesn’t want me to know about her personal life. Doesn’t trust me with that information.

Look, I know I’m a prick. I don’t pretend otherwise. And I know she started as just another nameless, faceless temp. But I would’ve helped her. I sure as hell wouldn’t have tried to talk anyone out of hiring her permanently.

Well…

I might’ve still thought about it for two seconds.

But only because, deep down, I was worried that seeing Maren on a daily basis would ultimately lead me right where I am now. Sitting in my car, as far from her front door as I can be while still having an unobscured view. Far enough, I don’t worry Maren will see me and discover my little information gathering expedition.

Keeping the surveillance binoculars I swiped from the warehouse before I left pressed to my eyes, I fumble around with my free hand, grabbing one of the energy drinks I chug like water when Ruth isn’t looking. Just as I manage to crack it open, a car slowly rolls up to Maren’s trailer. It parks across the tiny driveway, and a man gets out. He leaves the engine running as he jogs up to the porch carrying a couple of plastic bags. He knocks, waiting until it opens. I get a tiny peek at Maren’s smiling face as she greets him, taking the plastic bags as he says something she responds to.

I thought it was just a delivery of some sort, but this seems a little friendlier than that. Like she knows this guy.

Sitting up straighter in my seat, I get a little concerned that maybe she knows him the same way she knows me, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do if Maren lets him inside.

I do know it will not be great.

Lucky for everyone involved, Maren starts closing the door on him, giving a little wave before basically shutting it in his face. The guy stands there for a second longer, like he hopes she’ll open it and speak to him again. After a minute, he finally turns away, going back to the car idling at the curb.

“That’s right. Get your ass out of here.” I continue staring through the binoculars as I flail across the passenger seat, managing to get my hand on the protein bar I found in one of my desk drawers. Tearing it open with my teeth, I take a big bite, chewing through the slightly chalky texture as I watch the guy leave the neighborhood.

When it becomes obvious nothing interesting is going to happen, I shift my field of vision away from Maren’s trailer, scoping out the area she calls home. It’s woefully unsecure. There’s no gate at the entrance. Over the years, people have added on to the structures, creating a network of blockades that make it hard to easily see from one property to the next. If someone crawled through one of Maren’s windows, no one would ever know it was happening.

Except for me. But I can’t sit here watching twenty-four hours a day.

That’s not entirely true. I can’t physically be in this specific location twenty-four hours a day. There is a way I could watch as often as I wanted.

I zero in on a spot on the top ledge of Maren’s porch. I could easily mount a camera she likely wouldn’t be able to see from the ground. There’s another position tucked into the corner of her roofline where the gutter would mostly hide another device. As long as their coloring matched what was around them, I don’t think she’d ever know they were there. Especially since it seems like she has her hands more than full when she’s trying to get inside.

Which is one more reason someone should be making sure everything is okay. Maren was so distracted as she wheeled her daughter up the ramp, anyone could’ve rushed out, forced her inside, and no one would’ve been the wiser. It only makes sense that I put a little more security here. It’s in her best interest.

Plus, she’s essentially my employee, and running McKinley Security Systems is my responsibility. Making sure the people who work for us are all safe and healthy falls directly on my shoulders. I’m almost required to do this.

I’m not sure Walker will see it the same way, though, so I have to come up with a logical reason why I need cameras from the warehouse. I settle back in my seat as I let my eyes roam the area again. I’m sure I can figure something out.

“You look weird this morning.” Ruth gives me a once-over as she carries in my first cup of coffee. “Why do you look weird?”

“I don’t look weird.” Tired, maybe. Weird, no. “I look the way I always do.”

Ruth shakes her head, crossing both arms over her chest as I take a sip of the steaming beverage. “You absolutely do not.” Her eyes narrow. “You look like you’re up to something.”

“I’m not up to anything except looking over the reports from the end of the first quarter.” It’s not a lie. Currently, report assessment is the only thing I’m up to.

Last night was a completely different story.

“I don’t believe you.” She purses her lips. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

I watch my future sister-in-law walk away, wondering how in the hell I ended up with two mothers up my ass all the time. I even pay one of them to do it, which I’m not sure says anything good about me.

Speaking of, I should probably give Ruth a raise. She hasn’t been here long, but she’s the best assistant I’ve ever had. She knows exactly how I like my coffee, is always punctual and organized, doesn’t tolerate my bullshit…

And has never tried to blow up my company.

I polish off my cup of coffee, swallowing it down before leaning to peer out the open door to make sure Ruth is occupied. Then I open the new app I downloaded to my phone. The one that displays the cameras I mounted outside Maren’s trailer last night. Getting the job done in my suit was a little trickier than I expected, but I managed. Between the trip back here to get the equipment I needed, and creeping around to accomplish my task unnoticed, I didn’t get more than an hour of sleep last night.

But it’s worth it when I see the unobstructed view I have of Maren’s home. If anything strange happens, there will be a full recording of the event. Plus, I can always check in and make sure everything is okay. I’m just looking out for her. For her daughter. This simply makes it possible for me to accomplish that without staking out their neighborhood every night.

Because that would be weird.

Confident everything looks as it should, I tuck my phone into the pocket of my slacks and head for the meeting I scheduled with my contact at the temp agency. We offer them a good amount of business, so I don’t feel bad making him come here. I’d much rather have this conversation face-to-face, and I want to have it now.

He’s waiting in my preferred meeting room when I get there, looking a little nervous. Good. It gives me the upper hand. And I like it that way.

Maren is never nervous to talk to me. Actually, I’m pretty sure the thought of it enrages her.

For some reason, I’m smiling as I sit down in the seat, and the temp agency’s manager relaxes a little. Which is a mistake.

“I think you’re sending us unscreened temps, Mark.” I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers. “The guy you sent to handle my supply organization and distribution is shit.” As I stare him down, all signs of comfort evaporate. “So were the last ten temps you sent to help Walker in the warehouse.” I angle a brow. “I’d like to know why you think it’s a great idea to scrape the bottom of your barrel and send it here?”

Now is not the time for him to be pulling this shit. Shit I wouldn’t have known about if Maren hadn’t told me how awful the temp who took over her old job is doing. Based on what she said, I emailed everyone who interacts with the temp, asking if they were having any issues.

Nearly everyone was.

After explaining to each of them that this is something they should have brought to my attention, I started collecting documentation. Ruth compiled it all in a cute little folder for me. The same folder I drop in front of the temp manager now. “Go through this and tell me why each of these people were approved.” I cross both arms over my chest, tipping my head at the stack of paper. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

I don’t actually want to wait. I don’t have time for this shit. The list of tasks I have to handle is long and varied, and I really didn’t fucking need this added to it.

Mark looks from the folder to me, then back to the folder again. “I’ll have to have my hiring manager look over it and get back to you.”

“So you don’t know?” Another wrong answer. “How is it that you run a company and have no clue what’s going on with the single task your company specializes in?” I brace one arm against the table, leaning closer to where he sits. “You know how big this company is. I know everything that happens here.”

Almost everything. I didn’t know Maren had a daughter. A fact that still chafes.

“You’re right.” He shifts in his seat. “I will take over your account personally. Interview everyone we send here.”

“Unfortunately, that’s too little, too late.” I flip open the folder he hasn’t even touched, revealing the paper on top of the stack. “That is my formal revocation of our contract. We will no longer be requiring your services.”

Mark’s jaw drops. “You’re just going to drop us over one mistake?”

“It’s not one mistake, Mark.” I tap the stack of papers. “You would know that if you’d looked at a single one of these reports.”

I stand, because I’m done here. There’s nothing more to talk about. The decision has been made. I genuinely hated making it. Not because I want to give Mark my business, but because now I’ve added yet another task to my list. I’ve also added another task to Titus’s team, because they’ll have to do full background checks on everyone we consider instead of just a deep dive on potential new-hires. It’s not a perfect solution by any means, but I’ve learned time and time again that I can’t rely on other people. If I want something done right, I have to do it myself.

I leave Mark sputtering behind me as I stride out of the room, steps quick. And in the wrong direction.

Instead of going to my office, I accidentally find my way to Titus’s wing. Specifically, Brooke’s office.

Mostly the space just outside of it, where Maren sits at her desk, eyes locked on her computer screen with an amount of focus I’ve always found impressive. I suppose it makes sense that she can lock in, given the distraction I assume children can present. I know if Mariah wants to get anything done, she basically has tunnel vision, working quickly and efficiently to complete the task before one of the twins starts screaming. Or throws up.

Kids are cute, but they’re disgusting.

As if she can sense my presence, Maren’s head snaps in my direction. Her eyes narrow, and she scowls. Just like she always does when she realizes it’s me. “Can I help you?”

“No. I’m not in need of help.” For some reason I’m amused that I know something she doesn’t know I know, and I find myself invading her space. Propping one hip against her desk as I snag a pen from her organizer. “I just came to tell you I’m replacing the temp handling supplies.”

Her brows lift. “With who?”

“With whoever you choose.” I click the pen open, inspecting its felt tip.

“Whoever I choose?” She snorts. “I don’t work for the temp agency anymore.”

“That’s good, because we don’t use the temp agency anymore.” I think I want a pen like this. I like the shape of the barrel. “I have five people coming this afternoon to interview for the various temp spots that are now vacant, and I would like for you to sit in and tell me who you think can handle the supplies best.”

Maren’s brows pinch together, like I’ve confused her. “Why?”

“You were the best person we ever had in that position, and I trust your judgment.” I stand. “Interviews start at two.” I turn, happy to have yet another task off my list.

“Trevor.” Maren snaps out my name.

I turn, expecting her to argue. To tell me finding a new supply clerk is not her job.

Instead, she holds out her hand. “Give me my fucking pen back.”

I slowly walk to her and gently place it in her open palm, making sure to drag my fingers over her soft skin as I do.

Maren sucks in a breath as her hand clenches around the pen. She yanks the appendage away from me, clutching it against her chest.

It takes everything I have not to smirk. She thinks she can pretend we aren’t going to fuck again, but her reaction to my touch proves that’s a lie.

So I give her a wink, feeling pretty fucking good about my odds. “I’ll see you at two.”

8

Maren

“He wants you to help pick the next supply clerk?” Brooke seems as suspicious as I am over whatever Trevor is up to. “Why?”

“Probably just to annoy me.” That seems to be the reason behind everything Trevor does involving me. He knows he gets under my skin, and just can’t resist the urge to worm around while he’s in there.

“You don’t have to help him.” Brooke gives me the out I knew she would offer. “I’m sure he can figure it out himself.”

So am I. Trevor might be annoying and aggravating and a huge pain in my ass, but he’s not an idiot. He’s very, very good at his job. Which means, he probably doesn’t actually even need my help. He probably only invited me because I bitched about the temp.

“Actually, I think I’m going to go.” Not because Trevor asked me to—definitely not that—but because it’s an opportunity to annoy him the way he annoys me. “And he can’t be mad about whatever happens. He literally came and asked for it.”

Brooke’s eyes close as she tips her head back toward the ceiling. “Can’t you two just call a truce or something?” She drops her head to one side, eyes meeting mine. “I get that he’s obnoxious, but you instigate him at every opportunity.”

I scoff. “And he doesn’t instigate me?” I swear the man knows exactly how to piss me off and doesn’t miss an opportunity to do it.

“I didn’t say he didn’t.” Brooke’s tone is as calm and patient as she is. Probably why she’s still my friend. “But one of you has to be the adult in this situation.”

“And it has to be me?” I get that she doesn’t fully understand what she’s asking me to do. Even Brooke doesn’t know the full extent of what I went through as a kid, but I’ve been an adult for forever. Even when I was five, I was making grown up choices and carrying grown up responsibilities. I’m fucking tired.

And I’m fucking done.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s not going to happen.” I grab a notepad and pen—the same one Trevor tried to steal—off my desk. “If he doesn’t have to be an adult, neither do I.”

I turn away, making it all of five steps before spinning back to my best friend. “I love you.” It sounds just as aggressive as everything else I’ve said, but I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at Trevor.

That’s probably not super true either. I’m mad at my mom, and years of therapy have proved it’s probably going to stay that way.

Brooke gives me a soft smile. “I love you too.”

There’s no but. No qualifier. No limit put on her affection. And it makes my throat tight. I’ve never had unconditional love. Barely had love at all. Did I ever expect to get it from my best friend/boss? No freaking way.

Do I know what to do with it now that I have it? Also no. Yet another thing therapy has taught me is unlikely to change.

I can talk about my childhood till I’m blue in the face. Analyze it from an adult perspective. Understand why things ended up the way they did. But I can’t get over it, and I don’t think I should be asked to.

I manage to give Brooke what might qualify as a smile before turning away and marching my crabby ass to the room Trevor uses for interviews.

I was hired as a temp and then Brooke brought me on directly, so I’ve never been in the hot seat here. But I did stock the room plenty of times during my first few months here. And it’s weird to be walking in for a reason besides replenishing coffee pods and notepads.

I’m a little surprised when I enter and it’s only Ruth inside. That prick pawned this task off on the two of us? She has her computer set up in front of her, and gives me the basic smile she regularly offers in greeting.

I really like Ruth. She’s helped bring balance to the new group of friends I’ve found myself part of. Up until she arrived, I was the only one who wasn’t a bucket of fucking sunshine. Mariah is the sweetest, friendliest, kindest person ever. Brooke is on the quiet side, but she’s still genuinely a sweetheart.

Then there’s me. A bad tempered gremlin made of nothing but trauma and spite.

Ruth is somewhere in the middle. She’s serious. Calm and collected. Smart and hard-working. But also won’t hesitate to put someone in their place when they’re being a dipshit.

I expect she does that regularly, considering who she works for.

Pen and pad in hand, I lower into the seat next to her. “You got dragged into this too?”

“I take notes at all these things. Otherwise Trevor ends up with nothing but three words on a notepad and he doesn’t have any clue what a single one of them means.” She looks me over, one brow angling in a way that has me worried she’s going to ask why in the hell I was fucking Trevor in Brooke’s bathroom. Instead, she turns back to her computer. “I like your outfit.”

I look down at the black skirt, black tights, and the plum-colored short-sleeved sweater I thrifted last week. “You don’t think it looks depressing?” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

It’s what most people say about my primarily black wardrobe. I’m guessing it’s because they never had to figure out how to look like they have more clothes than they actually do. It was a lesson I learned as soon as I was old enough to get a job. No one notices you wear the same pants every day if they’re black. As long as you switch out one item, they think it’s a whole new ensemble.

It’s a strategy I’ve continued to stick with even though I now make enough money I don’t have to be as careful with how I spend every cent. Not because I wouldn’t love a new wardrobe, but because I’m not the only one I have to think about. Zara’s clothes are more important than mine, and she grows out of them really fucking fast. So I still buy as much black as possible, and get as much of it from the thrift store as I can.

If Ruth picks up on my sarcasm, she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she just shrugs. “Black goes with everything.”

It’s another reason I like Ruth. I don’t know the full extent of her history, but she seems to get where I’m coming from more than Mariah and Brooke do. Probably because she’s also spent time as a single parent.

The atmosphere inside the room shifts, and I don’t have to turn to know why. I can feel Trevor’s presence like a wrecking ball. It slams into me, heavy and hard.

Literally, on Saturday.

I press my thighs together, hoping I can avoid any sort of a reaction my lady parts might try to have over the memory of how decent he ended up being. Because it doesn’t matter if he was the best sex I’ve ever had—a fact I would never admit to anyway—I can’t have sex with him again. I’m not interested in a booty call kind of situation. Especially with a man I don’t even like.

His gaze flickers to Ruth before leveling on me. I don’t like the way I know what he’s thinking, and I definitely don’t like how close it probably is to what I was just thinking.

I expect him to sit at the head of the table, but he drops his leather bound portfolio in front of the chair right beside me. Because of course he does.

He doesn’t sit down, however. Once his pen has dropped to the laminated surface, he goes straight to the coffee maker, popping a cup into place before selecting a pod and setting it to run. He keeps his back to me the whole time, and I glare at it. Scowling at the width of his shoulders and the graceful way he moves as he dumps a few sweetened creamers in before stirring the concoction and popping on a lid.

I’m well-versed in glaring at his back, and I know just when to look away before he turns around so he doesn’t catch me giving him the stink eye. I keep my gaze averted as he eases into the chair next to me.

But then the cup of coffee he made ends up directly in front of me, and my eyes snap to where he sits. “I’m not babysitting your coffee.”

“It’s not for me.” He flips open his portfolio, looking at my pen a second before grabbing his. “I don’t like that creamer. It’s for you.”

I know what to do when Trevor is an asshole. I’ve had lots of practice. But I don’t know what to do when Trevor is being nice. It confuses me. And when I get confused, I get angry.

“How do you know how I like my coffee?” I grab the cup, because I actually could use a little caffeinated pick-me-up. “Are you stalking me?”

Trevor’s spine stiffens the tiniest bit as his hand freezes over the pad of paper attached to his portfolio. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Why would you give me coffee?” I take a sip, hating how perfect it is. “It’s weird.”

“You’re weird.” His comeback is as childish as our bickering normally is.

“You’re being weirder.” I seal my lips together as one of the security guards brings in the man who must be our first applicant.

Trevor motions to the chair across from us. “Have a seat.” He pulls a resume from his portfolio and hands it to me, continuing to give the man his full attention the whole time. “This is Maren Lucas and Ruth Wagner.” He motions to each of us in turn. “I’m Trevor. We’re happy you could come in today.”

Trevor is really good at his job. I’m certainly never going to argue he’s not great at what he does. But it’s strange seeing him fully in his element. He sounds so professional and polite. And it’s so different from how he is with me, I want to be pissed about it. Angry that he’s never treated me like that. Trevor and I have clashed from the beginning, and I honestly can’t remember why. There was something about him that just irritated me from the start.

I try to focus on the questions he’s asking the man across from me, but my brain shifts gears, attempting to remember what it was about Trevor I didn’t like. What got us started off on the wrong foot.

Was it his arrogance? His bossy nature? Do I just have a problem with authority figures?

After only a few minutes, Trevor is thanking the man, shaking his hand, and sending him on his way.

After candidate number one is gone, Trevor turns to me. “I think he’ll be a better fit for the warehouse.” He lifts his brows. “Unless you like him for the supply room.”

I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention, but I’m not going to admit that, so I just nod. “Warehouse is probably better.”

Dammit.

Did I just accidentally agree with Trevor on something?

Technically, yes. But it wasn’t on purpose. I just didn’t know enough to disagree with him. Crap. I need to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Because I don’t like feeling as if Trevor and I are on the same page about anything. I still don’t remember why I feel that way, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out eventually.

We go through three more people. Two more men, and one woman. None of them seem to have the right combination of organizational and people skills that would make them well-suited for the supply coordinator position.

As the door closes behind the most recent applicant, Trevor turns to me. “We’ve only got one more. Hopefully they’re what you’re looking for.”

I take a swig of the coffee he made me—because I don’t know what to say back to him if we’re not fighting—and nearly choke on the mouthful when the security guard shows in a beautiful woman with dimples and shiny blonde hair. She’s dressed in super cute, cream-colored pants and a feminine, pale pink top. Her expression is warm and friendly as she sits down.

It’s like staring in the opposite mirror, and I can’t help but notice the way she gives Trevor all her attention as he starts asking questions. Because of course she does. He’s good-looking, well-dressed, and smells nice. He’s also clearly got a position of power here in the company, so it’s probably not difficult for her to assume he’s loaded.

And it’s fine. It’s not like I like him, so she might as well. Someone should. But it would probably be more fitting if the someone who liked him was more of a bridge troll.

As she runs through her qualifications, it becomes clear she probably is a good fit for my previous position. Possibly a better fit than I even was.

When the interview is over, I stare at how long she shakes Trevor’s hand and the way she seems to bat her lashes at him.

When she’s gone, he turns to me like he has for the previous interviews. “I think she’s perfect. Exactly what we’re looking for.”

Something weird happens in my stomach when he calls her perfect. Something hot and uncomfortable. Something that makes my already questionable temperament even worse.

“Of course you do.” I don’t know why I’m so pissed about this. She’s actually exactly what we’re looking for. Probably in more ways than one for Trevor.

Trevor’s brows lift. “Did you not look at her resume?”

I don’t want to be in this room anymore. Not with him. Not with that woman’s resume.

And definitely not with the weird thing in my stomach.

“I have work to do.” I shove up from my chair, sending it wheeling across the room behind me. Grabbing my notebook and the remainder of my coffee—because now I really fucking need caffeine—I step around his chair. “Hire whoever you want.” I practically run from the room, trying to get away from the churning in my gut.

But I don’t leave it behind. It sticks right with me as I storm down the hall to my desk, plopping into my seat before dropping my forehead to the surface.

What is wrong with me? Why do I care about her shiny hair or cute dimples or perfect teeth? I should be happy we’ll have someone who might be able to clean up the mess the last guy made of the supply room.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as I stab two fingers into my belly, trying to physically force away the strange sensation swirling around inside.

The sound of something hitting the surface of my desk has me sitting up straight, sucking in a sharp breath of surprise.

Trevor is sitting on the edge of my desk, my forgotten pen between the two of us. His smile makes it seem like I’ve done something that makes him very happy. “I thought about stealing it, but figured you might try to murder me.”

9

Trevor

Ifelt like Maren might be softening to me—just a little—during the interviews. I was a little surprised when she actually showed up. Took it as a good sign. Thought maybe we might be finding our way toward a truce of sorts.

One that might result in finding my way under the cute little skirt she’s got on.

But then she stormed out, pissed off at me over something. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out what in the hell it is.

Maren snatches the pen from her desk like she thinks I’m going to try to steal it again. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” I study her face as she pretends to get to work, spine straight, chin lifted. I know what angry Maren looks like. I see it on a real regular fucking basis.

What I’m looking at now, isn’t angry Maren.

Is it possible I hurt her feelings somehow?

“Maren, can you—” Brooke comes out of her office, stopping short when she sees me. Her eyes move between Maren and me, like she’s assessing the situation.

And since I’d rather she not do that, I stand, smoothing the front of my jacket. “Maren forgot her pen in the conference room.”

I was hoping to find out what the fuck happened, but not if it results in Brooke getting suspicious there’s something going on between us. Explaining to my sister-in-law that her best friend and I fucked in her bathroom on her wedding day would probably make family dinner night awkward.

“Thank you for your help with the interviews. Let me know who you think would be the best fit for your former position.” I angle a brow when Maren’s narrowed eyes snap to my face. “Unless you didn’t like any of the applicants. In which case, I can arrange more interviews.”

“It seemed like you found someone perfect for the position.” Maren snaps the word out like an accusation.

Holy shit. Maybe they are.

If Brooke wasn’t watching our whole exchange, I’d dig deeper. See if I could pull a little more from the tiny woman glaring at me as hard as she ever has. But attempting to decipher if it’s jealousy making my little hellcat spit fire? That’s something I’d prefer to do without an audience.

Especially one that will immediately report to my brother.

Instead of prodding her until she snaps out the truth, I tuck my hand into a pocket, hoping I look more indifferent than I feel. “I think we can all agree that what I think isn’t always as correct as I wish it was.”

Maren’s brows pinch, like my response has thrown her off. Good. It’s time for her to see I’m not as big of an asshole as she’d like to think I am.

Not to her anyway.

I turn, leaving her staring at me in confusion so I can get back to my day.

And back to the privacy of my office so I can make sure her little home is still safe and sound.

I quickly check in with Ruth, making sure HR is working on the offers for everyone who came in today—including the blonde I believe may have been the reason for Maren’s abrupt departure. I’m not hiring her to be a dick or to instigate Maren. If she wasn’t a great prospective employee, I’d pass on her. But this company always comes first. Before friends. Before relationships. Before me.

That handled, I shut myself in my office and pull up my current guilty pleasure, zooming in and out on the feeds displaying Maren’s trailer. I go through the recording, watching everything that’s happened since I last logged in.

The mail was delivered. The neighbor ordered food. Some guy walked his dog past.

I rest one finger on the screen of my phone, sliding it from one side to the other as I study him, frowning at the way he seems to look at Maren’s trailer the whole time he walks past.

All four times.

Don’t fucking like that. I especially don’t like that I can’t tell where he’s coming from. It’s got to be one of the other trailers, but with only two cameras, I can’t even come close to identifying which one.

I’m gonna need more cameras.

Closing out of the app, I leave my office, going straight to Walker’s wing of the building. My plan to collect what I need and slide back out unnoticed crashes and burns the second I step through the door of the warehouse. Not only is Walker standing just on the other side, but so is Tobias. They’re having what looks like a relatively intense conversation that stops the second they see me.

Keeping my expression neutral, I join them, already running through any possible responses I could offer if my rendezvous with Maren has been discovered.

I wouldn’t be pissed if I found out one of my brothers used my bathroom for physical relations, but I live alone, so it would only be my space they tainted. Tobias has been in love with Brooke for over a decade. And while I’m sure he wouldn’t begrudge the sex part of the scenario, I can’t imagine he’d be thrilled I not only innocenced his wife’s bathroom, but also her best friend.

“Hey.” Toby tips his head at me in greeting. “Pierce just called. He managed to get us another opportunity to go through the files from when Aunt Donna died.”

I’m relieved it’s not me they were discussing, but I don’t love thinking about what happened to Aunt Donna. Or what happened to Toby and Walker the last time they tried to investigate it. “You haven’t told anyone else, have you?”

“No.” Toby shifts on his feet, taking a little of his weight off the leg damaged in the crash that happened on their last attempt to dig into the truth of the collision that killed Walker’s mom and one other person. “Only family.”

“That’s probably how we should keep things.” At the end of the day, my brothers and parents are the only people I know I can always count on. Always trust.

It’s why they will always come first.

“Do you have a time set up?” My schedule was packed before I decided to let the temp company go, and now that I have to fill all those recently vacated positions, I’ve got little to no wiggle room during the workday. But some things are more important. “I’m happy to go with, if you want an extra set of eyes and hands.” I know I wasn’t at the top of the list of best suited for the job last time—understandably, since I have absolutely no fucking patience—so I make a second offer. “Or I can send Ruth.”

She would actually be great for the fucking job. The woman is meticulous, careful, and doesn’t miss a damn thing.

I’m obviously not the only one with that opinion, because Walker and Toby look at each other. Walker purses his lips, tipping them into a considering line. “That might not be a bad idea.”

Toby chuckles. “It’s not a bad idea, but Tucker’s gonna lose his shit if he finds out we’re trying to take his beloved on a trip that resulted in both of us landing in the hospital last time.”

“He might have to fucking get over it.” Walker slowly smiles. “Especially if she wants to go. I guarantee you there’s no way he’s going to win that fight.”

Now I’m the one chuckling, because I know better than almost anyone what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with Ruth on a regular basis. The woman is nearly unbeatable. She’s smart, quick on her feet, and more than capable of holding her own ground. It’s fucking amazing.

She’s a whole lot like someone else I know.

“I think that’s actually a really good idea.” Walker dips his head at me in appreciation. “As long as you can survive a day without her.”

My ability to survive a day without Ruth here at the office is questionable at best, but I’m willing to try. Especially if it helps my cousin get closer to figuring out the mystery of what really happened to his mother all those years ago.

“I’ll be fine.” Fine is also relative, but I’m pretty sure everyone will survive.

Probably.

Toby looks me over. “Is there a reason you came over here? Do you need something?”

Technically, I do need something, but I don’t feel like explaining it to anyone right now. That includes myself.

“No. Just checking to see how things were going.” I look around the warehouse, making note of exactly where the items I need are so when I sneak back in later, I can easily retrieve them. “Everything going okay over here?”

Walker appears confused. “Of course everything is going okay over here. Do you think I can’t run my own division?”

Walker’s always been prickly. Leans toward my asshole tendencies more than any of my brothers ever could. On occasion, we feed off each other, making both of us even more dickish than normal. And I don’t have time for that today.

“I know damn well you can run your own division, prick.” I make another show of looking around the space. “I just know our switch from using the agency to hiring our own temporary workers could’ve left you in a tight spot.”

Walker shrugs. “My team can handle it for a short period of time.” Thankfully, he seems to be a little less offended now. “Have you found any good prospects?”

“Actually, yes.” I explain about the group I interviewed before lunch, telling him I intend to bring all of them on, and that most of them would be coming here.

Walker seems to be fine with my selections, and after making one more scan of the shelves containing the cameras I plan to collect, I make myself scarce.

When I get back to my office, Ruth is there with my lunch waiting on my desk, and I scarf it down, making a note that I’ll have to feed myself when she’s gone helping Walker investigate. Actually, she’ll probably pre-order my food, so I’ll just have to figure out how to obtain it myself, and remember to eat it rather than letting it sit on my desk indefinitely.

I spend the rest of the afternoon in meetings and returning phone calls. By the time everyone else has gone home, I’m exhausted. But there’s still one more thing for me to do.

I attempt to casually wander my way back to the warehouse. Thankfully, this time my brothers aren’t guarding the entrance, and I’m able to get in and out quickly, logging everything I take out of the system so no one is the wiser that I’ve swiped it.

It’s a little early for me to leave, but everything seems to be relatively under control, so after packing up my newly acquired equipment, I make my way to the parking lot with a quick pitstop at the security desk to check in before leaving. When I finally reach my car, I pile everything in the passenger seat, then make my way to Maren’s home.

The trailer park isn’t super far from McKinley Security Systems, and it doesn’t pass any easy places to grab something to eat, so by the time I’m parked in her vicinity, my stomach is growling.

I wonder if I could get Ruth to pack me a dinner too…

That might be asking a bit much. But I bet she would if I offered to pay her more. Or maybe if I offered to babysit Birdie so she and Tucker could have some time to themselves.

The twins are still a little small for me to feel confident taking care of on my own, but Birdie can talk a little. And what she can’t say, she makes up for in adorable motions and grunts. But I might have to change a diaper, and I’m not confident I wanna tackle one of those. Especially one of Birdie’s. That kid’s shit stinks worse than anything I’ve ever encountered in my life.

Digging through the console, I manage to find a protein bar and wolf it down as I pull out my binoculars, peering across the distance to the trailer where Maren and her daughter live. I wish I knew how old her little girl was. But while I’m okay setting up surveillance at her home, digging through HR’s files to find who’s covered on her insurance feels like going a step too far.

I’m sure the court system would feel the same way.

Maren’s van isn’t parked outside, which has me frowning. She seems to be gone quite a bit in the evenings, and it feels like a lot to me. She works so hard during the day, shouldn’t she want to come home and relax in the evenings?

I watch for a few minutes, then start scouting out a location to mount my new camera equipment. I currently have one side of her trailer and the road directly in front of it covered, but that leaves three full sides of her home unobserved, limiting my ability to see what’s happening around her. If someone wanted to break in, they still have plenty of opportunities to do it unseen, and I don’t fucking like that. I don’t like knowing Maren and her daughter could be there sleeping while some asshole comes through the window and I would never know it.

Which is why, once Maren and her daughter are home and the sun has long set, I creep out of my hiding spot. After silently making sure all her doors are locked tight, I go to work. Mounting cameras and their required solar power sources in areas they won’t be easily noticed isn’t a simple process. I’m climbing around trees and hanging off rooflines, but—after borrowing a ladder from one of her neighbor’s sheds—I finally manage to get everything into place.

Back in my car where it’s hidden in the shadows of an overgrown tree at the edge of the property, I check my handy work. But not a single one of the fucking cameras comes online. Which is bullshit. They each have their own designated cellular service, so the problem isn’t their access to the internet. No, it appears the problem is power. The last set of cameras I poached were sitting out in the daylight for a few hours before they went into place, and apparently that made all the difference. So I’ll have to wait until the sun comes up before I can see what’s happening around Maren’s home from the comfort of mine.

Unless I want to attempt to hardwire them in…

No. That would be crazy. Someone would certainly notice if I cut their power so I didn’t electrocute myself in the process.

I grab my binoculars, frowning across the distance as I try to come up with a solution. It’s what I do all day long, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

And it isn’t. I know exactly how I can keep an eye on everything until the sun comes up.

I also know it’s going to be a long fucking night.

10

Maren

What the actual fuck?

I pause at the bottom of the ramp leading to the front door of my trailer so I can try to get a better look across the stretch of space between me and a very familiar looking car. Zara and I are up early this morning to go to a therapy appointment, so the sun still isn’t all the way up, but I’ve walked past the glossy sedan tucked under the draping branches of a willow tree enough times to be able to identify it in just about any situation. I don’t have time to deal with this right now, but curiosity makes it impossible for me to ignore the sight of Trevor’s car.

I put the brakes on her chair, hooking the bag carrying her lunch over the back handle. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

My steps are quick as I cross the distance between us, marching directly up to the driver’s side window. The tint on the glass is dark, but not opaque enough I can’t easily identify the man behind the wheel. A man who looks very… Not right.

Trevor’s hair is messy, and his suit is rumpled enough I can make out the sagging lines and wrinkles through the shadowy darkness. But that’s not what has me concerned. What has my heart beating a little faster is the weird way his head is positioned and his strangely gaping mouth. He appears a little…

Dead.

And while Trevor Bradshaw might annoy the ever-loving shit out of me, I don’t necessarily want him to die.

Before I really think through the ramifications of my actions, I start banging on the window and grabbing at the handle of the door as I yell his name. “Trevor.”

I freak out a little more when I discover the door is locked. My movements become jerky and my voice takes on a higher pitch. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I give his window a slap with an open palm. It stings like a son of a bitch, but the sound is louder than my knocking. Loud enough, it jolts Trevor awake, sending him sitting up straight in his seat, eyes wild as he tries to orient himself.

It takes him a surprisingly long amount of time to notice I’m standing there, and when he does, I could swear his skin seems to pale behind the tinted glass. We stare at each other for a second before he reaches out to slowly lower the barrier between us.

I angle a brow at him, crossing both arms over my chest. My earlier assessment was correct. The man is a mess. His hair is fucked up and his suit looks like shit. Probably a direct result of sleeping in his car.

“Good morning.” His voice is deep and gravely. Rougher than normal.

Also likely due to sleeping in his car.

“Is it?” I look from one end of his luxury sedan to the other. “Because I can’t say I’ve ever woken up after sleeping in my car and considered it a good morning.”

That might not be entirely true. Once I was old enough to drive, and pinched together enough pennies from one of my many part-time jobs to afford a vehicle, I slept in it more often than I slept in the shitty apartment my mom rented. It was cleaner, more comfortable, and safer.

But I’m willing to bet Trevor doesn’t live in a single bedroom unit run by a slumlord who accepts payment in all kinds of forms.

“Why the fuck are you out here?” I quickly glance over one shoulder to make sure Zara is where I left her, and relax a little when I see she’s happily playing with her tablet. Turning back to Trevor, I see he’s looking at the exact same place I just was.

And that’s when it hits—he’s discovered my secret.

It’s not that I don’t want anyone to know about Zara, I’m just very protective of her. Probably of myself too. I had people in my business for years. School counselors, teachers, employers. Everyone wanted to know the reasons I looked the way I did. Why my lunch account never had any money. Why my shoes never fit.

And when they found out, nothing ever got better. Actually, it frequently got worse.

“You know what?” I step back. “Never mind. I don’t actually care.” I take another step back. “Have a lovely day.”

I spin on one heel and go back to where I left my sister waiting. “You ready, Z?”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t even look up from her device.

Not initially at least. When she does, her eyes aren’t on me. They go right over my shoulder.

And I’m afraid I know why.

“Who’s that guy?” Her little nose wrinkles. “And why is he chasing you?”

“He’s not chasing me.” I grab her handles without looking in the direction she’s still staring. “He’s annoying me.” I roll Zara around the front of the van, managing to press the button to open the door in the process. “Ignore him.”

The ramp is unfolding as we reach the passenger side, but I still have to wait a few seconds for it to finish the process. Unfortunately, a few seconds is all it takes for Trevor to catch up.

“ Hi.” Zara greets him the second he reaches our side. Her smile is wide as she gives him a friendly wave. “What’s your name?”

I stare at my sister as she bats her eyes at him. I knew she was a social butterfly who never meets a stranger, but I was not aware my sister is a shameless flirt. “Don’t talk to him.”

She turns to me. “Why not? Is he a stranger?”

Considering he’s actually been inside me, I don’t feel like I can make that claim. “Not exactly.”

“Then why can’t I talk to him?” Her eyes widen. “Is he bad?”

I really wish he was. Because if Trevor had been bad, I wouldn’t be reliving our time in the bathroom every night while the rechargeable device that resides in my nightstand quietly rumbles between my thighs.

I decide to ignore her question rather than answer it, and roll Zara up into the vehicle, turning my back to Trevor as I buckle the safety harnesses into place. When I’m confident she’s secure, I climb out and set the ramp and door to close.

“Well?”

Trevor’s deep voice skates up my spine, sending shivers of something I refuse to name alongside it. And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

I do my best to avoid him as much as possible for that very reason. Something about him unsettles me. Creeps across my skin in a way that’s unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

It makes me angry and annoyed, and has me spinning to face him. “Well, what?”

“Your daughter asked if I was bad, and you still haven’t answered her.” Trevor lifts one hand, raking his long fingers through the mess of his hair. “Answer her.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” No one has ever tried to tell me what to do, and I’m not about to start letting it happen now. Certainly not from someone like him. “And are you sure you really want me to answer her?” I make a show of looking him up and down. “Because from where I’m standing, you were parked outside my house, sleeping in your car. And that is not something normal people do.”

Honestly, if it had been anyone else, I’d be freaking out right now. Probably taking a baseball bat to the body of their vehicle to make it clear they had no business being here.

But while Trevor is an asshole, and the bane of my existence, he’s not dangerous. Not the kind of guy I need to worry about. I’m very familiar with those types, and he’s not one of them.

Trevor seems to freeze in place. Like it hadn’t occurred to him what he’d done was brow raising at best. A call to dispatch at worst.

For a second, he almost looks a little panicked.

Not an expression I’ve ever seen on this man. Anger? Yes. Frustration? Sure. Annoyance? Absolutely.

Lust? Once. By accident. That won’t be happening again.

“It’s not like that.”

Trevor’s explanation piques my interest. Because what in the hell could it be like? One doesn’t just accidentally park and fall asleep in their car outside an employee’s house.

But I don’t have time to find out what is actually going on, because Zara is going to be late for her appointment. And if Zara is late for her appointment, they will make us reschedule. And if we have to reschedule, she won’t get the therapy she desperately needs.

So instead of questioning Trevor further, I roll my eyes and turn away, going straight for the driver’s door as his steps trail behind me. I climb behind the wheel and start the engine, slamming the door in his face.

Again.

Thankfully, he stays out of my way as I back out and pull away.

Just to be sure, I glance up at him in my rearview mirror, eyes lingering on his disheveled form as the distance expands between us. He doesn’t budge from his place—watching us go until we’re out of sight.

All the air rushes from my lungs when he’s no longer staring back at me, and I choose to believe it’s from relief. That I’m glad to be away from him.

Not that maybe I was accidentally holding my breath because that weird feeling is back in my stomach.

I drive as fast as I dare, given my complete lack of interest in paying for a speeding ticket, and manage to get my sister to her appointment on time. While she’s in the back, learning exercises to help strengthen her muscles and stretches to increase her flexibility, I log in on my laptop and get a start on the day.

The first thing I do every morning is look over Brooke’s schedule. I double check that meetings are still where they were and that no one has canceled or rescheduled anything. Only one has been bumped, and it doesn’t really surprise me. That particular meeting wasn’t going to be beneficial for anyone involved anyway.

One of the coders on Titus’s team hasn’t been pulling his weight, and both Titus and Brooke have done everything they can think of to move him to an area where he might be more inclined to perform. So far, they’ve been unsuccessful. Today was going to be a last-ditch effort at finding a place he might not suck, but Titus must have found something better to do—likely not a difficult thing to accomplish—because the meeting is gone.

I’m about to change tabs when another meeting pops up in its place.

And the title of this one has me grinding my teeth together.

Meeting with Trevor

That’s not actually a rare occurrence. Brooke and Trevor meet relatively regularly. Trevor very much likes to be aware of everything happening at McKinley Security Systems.

The part that has me scowling at my computer screen is the note beside it.

Maren only.

What the fuck is he thinking? This is Brooke’s schedule. Outside of the fact that I make sure she has everything she needs to follow it, it has nothing to do with me. It certainly can’t be used to block out time to annoy me.

So, I cancel the meeting.

I don’t want to talk to Trevor. I don’t want to discuss why he was parked outside my home this morning. I don’t care what he was up to. And I sure as heck don’t want to answer whatever questions he’s going to lob at me.

Plus, the last place I want to be is alone in an office with Trevor Bradshaw. I know what can happen when we’re in a confined space without witnesses.

I spend the rest of the time checking my email and responding to a few messages from Titus’s team, then close up shop right as Zara comes out, looking a little more droopy than usual.

That’s how it always is on therapy days. They take a lot out of her. I feel bad doing them before she has to go to school, but we’ve discovered she gets more benefit from each appointment when she still has the energy to tackle every movement correctly. Plus, she doesn’t have dance or any other social events tonight, so as soon as I pick her up from afterschool care, we can go home and relax.

Once her next appointment is scheduled, Zara and I load back up into the van and I take her to school. I get her there just as they’re unloading kids and taking them inside, then I head into work. By eight o’clock, I’m at my desk with a cup of coffee, ready to start my day.

Opening my computer, I log in and prepare to print off anything Brooke needs for her meetings. I’m just finishing with that when I notice the meeting I canceled is now back.

And this time, there’s an additional note.

Meeting with Trevor

Maren only.

Do not Cancel

Why the fuck does this man think he can tell me what to do?

I guess it doesn’t really matter, because he can’t. A fact I prove by immediately canceling the meeting. But this time, I’ve learned. Instead of leaving it open, I block it out, titling the appointment occupying the space: Very important meeting that is not with Trevor.

I’m smirking as I block out the time, feeling pretty fucking smug with myself. Because Trevor is likely sitting and stewing behind his computer screen.

Grabbing everything I printed off for Brooke, I carry it into her office, separating the items out so she knows what goes where. I tried to shift her over to fully digital documents, but not being able to physically write notes in the margins drove her absolutely bonkers. Which I get. There’s something about being able to flip through a stack of papers that no amount of scrolling can replace.

I brief her on the day’s schedule, make her a cup of coffee, and deliver it along with one of her favorite danishes from the spread in the break room closest to our office. I’ve noticed we tend to get a very specific variety of items, and I have to believe it’s largely due to her husband’s obsession with making her happy. And I love that for her. I love that she’s found someone whose primary goal in life is to take care of her. Brooke deserves a man who is obsessed with her.

And Toby is for sure obsessed with her. I’m shocked he hasn’t tried to figure out a way to move us closer to his wing of the building. The guy is already here at least every two hours, desperate for just a peek at his new bride.

It’s cute.

I make another cup of coffee for myself since I was up early this morning, swallowing down a mouthful as I drop back into my chair again.

And promptly choke on it.

Because the fake meeting I booked thinking I was being brilliant is now gone, and the meeting with Trevor is in its place. With yet another note in the comment section.

Meeting with Trevor

Maren only.

Do not Cancel

I’ll pay you $2000 to show up.

Inbox

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

10:05 AM

Mr. Bradshaw,

Considering we have already had a meeting today, I’m not sure what you feel is important enough to warrant a second conversation. Also, I am very busy. My time is exceptionally valuable.

Sincerely,

Ms. Lucas

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

10:06 AM

Ms. Lucas,

$3000

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

10:36 AM

Mr. Bradshaw,

Maybe this is something we could handle over email. I have spoken with you enough times to know most of those instances could have easily been an email. As I have stated, my time is limited, and therefore must be allocated in the most judicious of fashions.

Sincerely,

Ms. Lucas

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

10:37 AM

$4000

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

11:00 AM

Mr. Bradshaw,

Surely there is some way we can avoid having to waste each other’s time today. Honestly, at this point, you could have easily explained to me what it is you wish to discuss, and the situation could have been resolved—no meeting required. There simply isn’t room available in my day for a meeting I don’t even know the reasons for.

Ms. Lucas

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

11:01 AM

$5000

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

11:24 AM

Obviously you feel it’s imperative we converse. I have ten minutes free at 2:00 PM.

Ms. Lucas

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

11:25 AM

Fifteen minutes for $6000

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

11:32 AM

Oh my God, FINE.

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

11:33 AM

I’ll see you at 2

11

Trevor

“You’re late.” Maren is waiting for me in the conference room I booked for us. She glares at me as I walk in. “I’m not staying longer because you couldn’t manage to get here on time.”

I get why she’s pissed. I pushed hard for this time with her. Spent thousands of dollars to have it. But this company will always come first, and I was stuck on a call I couldn’t cut short.

The reminder that I can’t make promises to Maren—or anyone else for that matter—should have kept me from being where I am now.

It didn’t.

Because now that I know more about her—about the life she lives—I can’t seem to stay away. To keep myself from trying to help her in any way I can. Ways she knows about—like the money I’ve already transferred to her bank account—and ways she doesn’t.

Like the cameras set up around her home so I can make sure no one tries to hurt her and her daughter.

“I wouldn’t expect you to stay late to accommodate me.” I close the door before setting the coffee I brought down in front of her, along with the pack of cheese crackers she prefers to have as an afternoon snack. “I apologize for being behind schedule. I was arguing with our current paper supplier.”

Maren’s eyes snap to my face. “Really? About what?”

She seems genuinely interested to hear what’s going on. I don’t want to burden her with the issues that come with running a company of this size, but it’s obvious she still cares about her former position. Still wants the job to be handled correctly, even if she’s not the one doing it.

“They’re attempting to double the price they charge us.” I lower into the chair next to her. “It’s something companies regularly do because they know it’s a hassle to find a new supplier, and assume we’ll just pay the additional amount to avoid the inconvenience.”

Maren scoffs, expression filled with disdain as she grabs the coffee I brought. “You’re not going to do that, are you?”

“No. I’m not.” Every penny this company makes is important. Not just to me and my family, but to the people we employ. I recognize other companies need to make money too, but I would never simply increase our prices because I feel like I have a customer between a rock and a hard place. It’s not right.

“Good.” She takes a small sip, and I watch as her eyes close for just a second as she savors the extra sweet taste.

Providing her with something as simple as a cup of coffee prepared the way she prefers it shouldn’t be as satisfying as it is. And maybe it’s not. Maybe the deep settling in my chest is because I know now Maren and her daughter will always be safe. That I can always make sure no one is bothering them.

Maren sets her cup down, taking a deep breath before turning to me. “Why am I here, Trevor?”

That is a good fucking question. One I spent the past two hours attempting to find an answer that was acceptable to give her. Ultimately, I came up with something that’s possible, but probably not the truth.

“I wanted to talk to you about the interviews we did yesterday.” Technically, I do. It’s just not the main driving force behind my insistence Maren spend a few minutes of her day here with me.

That had a little more to do with figuring out a way to give her some cushion in her checking account. While Maren was able to buy a used, accessible van, and her home is well-kept and tidy, she clearly doesn’t have a lot of extra money. After hearing how difficult Ruth’s life was, I know being a single mother is a struggle. And I don’t want Maren to struggle. Not when I can easily prevent it.

Maren’s eyes narrow. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re in charge of hiring. Bring on whoever you want.” She turns away from me, chin lifted. “I don’t care.”

I should let her claim go uncontested. It’s the easiest and most righteous path for me to take.

But I’m not a righteous man.

I lean close, invading her space. “I think you do care. I think you care very much.” I inch in a little more, chasing the lightly floral scent of her skin. “Specifically about the pretty blonde we met with last.”

Am I a fully committed bachelor? Yes. That doesn’t mean I’m so oblivious I don’t notice an attractive woman. But attractiveness is irrelevant. It says nothing about how hard of a worker someone will be. It doesn’t indicate their intelligence or their ethics or their kindness.

Maren, however, does seem to care about attractiveness, and at the mention of Lindsey, her glare fixes on my face. “So you admit you thought she was pretty?”

“Everyone thinks she’s pretty, Maren. Objectively, Lindsey is a pretty woman. Just like Brooke and Mariah and Ruth are pretty.” I swallow hard, my eyes moving over the woman next to me. I know I should have lumped her in with the group, but pretty doesn’t feel like a word that applies to Maren.

Not in any sort of way that matters.

It’s not meant to be an insult, but Maren clearly doesn’t understand that, because she goes from tolerating my presence to considering murder in the blink of an eye. The snarl she shoots my way is so vicious it could probably raise blood, and there’s venom in her tone as she says, “I’m glad to hear you’re surrounded by so many pretty women.” Then she’s on her feet, ready to storm out of the room.

Before she can even take a step, I hook an arm around her waist, intending to simply stop her. I must put a little more force behind the move then I planned, because I seem to knock Maren off-balance. She tumbles backward, dropping hard and fast onto my lap.

And I’m not mad about it. Actually, it’s a definite improvement over our previous seating arrangement.

I tighten the grip I have on her, forearm banded across her belly as I pull her back against my chest. Leaning into her ear, I offer a reminder. “Your time with me isn’t up.”

Now that she’s close like this, I can pull in a lungful of her scent. Breathe in enough to fully appreciate how surprisingly feminine it is. I was so distracted in the bathroom at Brooke and Toby’s I didn’t have the chance to really experience what it was like having Maren against me.

That’s a failing I intend to rectify now.

Maren isn’t a big person. She’s a full head shorter than me, and small framed. But I’ve seen the way she moves her daughter around. Watched her load and unload reams of paper. And I’ve witnessed her take on a man twice her size without batting an eye. So, like pretty, small doesn’t feel like a word that applies to her.

“Let me go.” She fights my hold. “I don’t need your money this badly.”

“Yes, you do.” My dick perks up as she continues squirming around. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come here at all.”

“I changed my mind.” She grabs at my arm harder, this time digging her short nails into my skin. “It’s not worth it.” Her next move grinds her ass right against the line of my thickening cock, and I barely manage to stifle a groan.

Banding my other arm across her thighs, I pin her in place. My voice is rough as I lay down what I hope sounds like a threat. “You need to stop moving.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Her next shift is purposeful, the curve of her ass rolling along the line of my shaft. “I’m sure Lindsey would be more than happy to take care of that boner for you.”

Her direct response stuns me for a minute.

Then I start to laugh. It’s likely the wrong move, because it seems to piss her off even more. Now the nails digging into my skin aren’t a threat. They’re a weapon.

And it only makes shit worse.

The laugh dies in my throat, replaced by a groan as I imagine the marks she’s leaving behind. “Fuck, Maren. I don’t think you have any goddamn idea what you do to me.”

I’m not an easy guy to get along with. I’m not the sort of man who will outfit an entire kitchen or construct a swimming pool like Titus and Toby. I’m sure as shit not going to be building princess beds or impersonating farm animals like Tucker.

I’m the sort of man who pays a vicious woman to be alone in a room with him, then gets hard when she sinks in her claws.

My preference for unruly and untamable women has always existed. Maybe it’s because I like to fight. Maybe it’s because running a business has made me suspicious of anyone who seems too friendly. I wonder what they want from me, or what they’re trying to hide.

Or—more likely—I simply like women I don’t have to worry about breaking. Women I know can handle me and all I am. Those are the women who catch my attention. Not the sweet smiling faces of women like Lindsey.

“I don’t do anything to you.” Maren is full of rage now. “But I’m sure your new blonde supply clerk will.”

I smile against the silky strands of her hair, reveling in her jealousy as I pull her tighter to me. “You’re awfully infatuated with Lindsey, aren’t you?” I nip at the lobe of her ear, stifling another groan when it makes her jerk in surprise. “I wonder why that is.”

“I’m not infatuated with her,” Maren snarls. “You’re the one who keeps bringing her up.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” I run my lips along the column of her neck. “That’s all you.” I shift my hold on her so I can palm the slight swell of one thigh. “And I think it’s because you’re under the impression I find her desirable.”

“You should.” Maren’s voice is still filled with rage, but she’s no longer fighting me. “She’s pretty and nice and friendly, and I’m sure she would happily jump on your dick.”

“I don’t want her on my dick.” Not in the slightest. Lindsey seems nice and is certainly hirable, but not for a second would I want a woman like her in my bed. “Not when it’s so fun trying to convince you to take another turn.” I slide my fingers along the bare skin of her knee before dipping under the hem of her pleated skirt.

“Don’t tell me you paid six thousand dollars thinking I’d fuck you.” Maren tilts her head to meet my eyes with a narrowed glare. “Because you could get a piece of ass for way cheaper than that.”

“I don’t want a piece of ass.” My nose wrinkles as the phrase leaves my mouth. “And I would never pay you to fuck me.”

Maren’s expression shifts to one of confusion. “Then what did you pay me for?”

Initially, I was just proving I could get her to do what I wanted. That there was a price point at which she’d be willing to overlook her disdain for me.

But now…

“I won’t pay you to fuck me, but I will happily pay for the opportunity to make you come.” I slide my hand higher, just so my meaning is clear. “And I’m more than willing to negotiate the terms.”

Maren goes very still, and a surge of victory slams through me. She’s considering it. Weighing her options and planning a counter.

And I can’t fucking wait to hear what it is.

Her tongue flicks across the fullness of her lower lip, and I want to suck off the wetness it leaves behind. “A thousand dollars.”

“Done.” It’s an easy agreement to make. I like contracts. Deals. Understandings. It keeps things neat and tidy. No one has expectations or assumptions outside of the terms. That’s why I decide to tighten this thing between us up a little more. “Is there a limit on how much of my money you’re willing to take?”

“Is there a limit on how much of your money you’re willing to give me?” Maren comes back at me without missing a beat.

And it drives the desire I have to get my hands on her again deeper. “No.”

I can always make more money. I will make more money. If for no other reason than so I can give it to her.

“That’s good to know.” Maren wiggles her ass again, smirking as I suck in a breath. Then she leans back, spreading her thighs. “Then do your worst.”

Fucking hell. Having Maren on my lap, thighs parted, pupils dilated, is going to be the death of me.

At the very least, the death of my savings account.

Without hesitation, I flip up the cute little skirt she wears at least twice a week, offering a view of her black cotton panties. “I’m glad you skipped the tights this morning.” I work my fingers beneath the waistband of the only article of clothing keeping me from my destination. “But for future reference, I’m happy to work around whatever you want to wear.”

Maren makes a soft little whimpering sound as I brush against her clit, and a slow smile curves my lips. Because now I know how easy it is to get her where I want her. How simple she’s making it for me to make sure she and her daughter have what they need.

And that Maren gets what she deserves.

“Fuck.” Her hands grip my thighs as I find the pace she seems to respond to.

I would love to have the opportunity to tease her. To torment her just a little bit. Work her up over and over again before finally allowing her to tip over the edge. But she agreed to fifteen minutes, and I will stick to that boundary.

I will also do everything in my power to bring that number higher next time.

The back of Maren’s head drops against my shoulder, and I bring the arm at her waist across her chest, my hand resting against her neck as I soak up every twitch. Every breath. Every sound. Memorizing each one so I can replay them later as I jerk my dick to the memory of this moment.

She’s so wet I can hear each flick of my fingers, and I can’t overstate how much that pleases me. Maren can claim not to want me till she runs out of breath, but it’s clearly not true. She can even claim it’s about the money, but that isn’t any more factual. The money is just an excuse. Probably for both of us. A reason to call this anything besides what it really is.

It wouldn’t do me any good to accept the truth anyway. It’s not like this can be more than a few minutes here and there. I’m not the kind of man who can offer a woman what she really wants. And I’m definitely not capable of giving a single mother the time she and her daughter deserve.

That’s why I savor the sound of Maren coming against my fingers. The sight of her flushed skin in the seconds before she comes to her senses, tugging her skirt back into place before she rushes from the room.

And the taste of her as I suck every trace of slick from my skin before opening my phone so I can deposit a thousand more dollars into her bank account.

12

Maren

“Is everything okay?”

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Brooke’s voice behind me. Spinning away from the printer on a shelf behind my desk, I smooth down my hair with one hand, attempting to look like her brother-in-law didn’t just finger fuck me in one of the meeting rooms.

“Fine.” The word comes out as a squeak, so I clear my throat and try again. “I’m fine. Why?”

Brooke’s dark brows pinch together. “You just seem a little jumpy.”

“I’m not jumpy. I’m fine.” I stand a little taller, hoping to ease whatever concerns she’s thinking about having. “Did you need something?”

“No.” Brooke gives me a little smirk. “I was just coming to make sure you didn’t strangle Trevor during your meeting.”

“Nope. Did not strangle him.” Maybe his fingers a little. With my vagina.

Oh my God. What the fuck am I doing? Having sex with Trevor outside of the office is one thing. Not a great thing, but not completely unmanageable.

Letting him get me off during work hours is something else entirely.

Brooke laughs softly. “That’s good, because if he doesn’t come to dinner tonight, Deidre will kill him.”

I’ve heard the Bradshaws talk about family dinner night plenty of times before, but I still can’t really grasp the concept. Technically, Zara and I have dinner together every night, but the two of us sitting at our tiny table eating whatever I quickly whip up doesn’t sound anything like the elaborate, crazy-pants Thursday nights the Bradshaws spend together. I can’t imagine what having a family is like, and imagining a family who enjoys spending time together is even more difficult.

“You should come sometime.” Brooke drops down into the chair behind my desk, spinning a little from side to side. “Deidre is such a great cook. And as long as no one shows up drunk to start a fight, they’re actually pretty fun.”

The Bradshaws also frequently discuss the evening Brooke’s ex fiancé showed up drunk and ready to rumble. I’m not sure what the fuck he was thinking, because all five of the Bradshaw boys—Walker is technically a McKinley, but I’m not trying to differentiate—are super fit and super strong. They aren’t the sort most people would want to take on individually, let alone as a group.

That includes Trevor. He certainly had no issues holding my weight up while he fucked me against the wall.

Brooke tilts her head. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little distracted.”

That’s one way to put it. “I think I’m just tired. Zara has had a lot going on lately, and I feel like I’m always running around.”

Thankfully, I won’t be running around tonight, and I’m so looking forward to going home, putting on my soft pants, and couch rotting.

“You are such a good sister.” Brooke rolls her eyes as I groan. “I know you hate hearing it because it makes you uncomfortable when someone compliments you. But you genuinely are awesome at being a parent.”

“You’re giving me way too much credit. I’m just taking care of her the way a child deserves to be taken care of.”

Am I perfect at it? Absolutely not. Is she probably gonna need therapy for some weird thing I accidentally do? More than likely. Will I go to therapy with her so we can work on any problems I’ve caused? Fuck yes, I will. I want what’s best for Zara. End of story.

Brooke gives me a soft smile. “You and I both know lots of people don’t take care of kids the way they deserve.”

Having shitty parents is probably what brought Brooke and I together. How we ended up best friends so quickly. I love Mariah. She’s fucking amazing. Ruth is great. I love how she doesn’t take shit. But Brooke gets me. We’re very different people, but she understands why I am the way I am. And I understand her. Her parents and my mother raised us in completely different ways, but we both ended up heavily scarred because of our childhoods. Both carry deep wounds that will likely never fully heal.

And nothing brings people together like trauma.

“Speaking of people who don’t take care of their kids the way they deserve, have you heard from your shitty-ass parents?” I’ve been dying to know if they reached out before or after Brooke and Toby’s wedding, but the question didn’t organically come up until now. I try my best not to think about my own mother, so I imagine Brooke is the same way.

But since we’re here…

“Not a word.” Brooke’s expression is surprisingly devoid of emotion. “And that’s probably a good thing, because I would likely have said things I’d regret.”

That’s another way Brooke and I differ. I don’t regret the things I say. Not ever. If it comes out of my mouth, I mean it. I’ve been through too much to cater to anyone else ever again.

“If you want, I can say them.” I move to my desk, perching on one corner as I give my best friend a sly smile. “I have a lot of things I would love to say to your mother.”

Brooke matches my smile. “Same.”

“Well, I think we’re probably both screwed then. I doubt your parents are going to come around if there’s nothing in it for them. And my mom is way too old to shit out another baby for me to take care of, so I can’t imagine I’ll ever hear from her again.” And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s been five years, but my anger at her for all the shitty choices she’s made—and continues making—is still just as raw. Still just as sharp.

Brooke purses her lips before flattening them out. After a second, she takes a deep breath and asks, “Do you ever wonder if she’s still alive?”

“No.” Not because I don’t think there’s a good chance she’s overdosed at this point or ended up on the wrong side of a violent man. The odds are actually pretty high either of those things could have happened. “Because it doesn’t really matter.”

It might make me a bad person for not caring whether my mother’s alive or dead, but I got comfortable with being considered a bad person a long time ago. No one likes a woman who isn’t afraid to say what needs to be said. They don’t appreciate how much work it takes not to cave to the societal pressures to be sweeter. Softer. Gentler.

And honestly, they don’t care.

Brooke solemnly nods. “Sometimes I wonder how I’ll feel when my parents die, but I don’t know that I’ll be sad.” Her eyes meet mine. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“It depends on who you ask.” I lean forward, taking her hand in mine and giving it a squeeze. “So make sure you only ask me, because I will tell you you’re fucking awesome and fuck those two for what they did to you. I hope they have bleeding hemorrhoids and get shingles every single year.”

“Aren’t you feeling vicious today?”

The sound of Trevor’s voice has my spine snapping straight.

Why is he here? We were just together. Not together, together. But as together as two people can be without being together.

The flush that had finally started to dissipate creeps across my skin again just thinking about… Togetherness.

I’m stuck in place, unable to do anything but watch as Trevor casually saunters to my desk, perching one ass cheek on the edge next to me.

“What are you doing here?” I manage to get my mouth to move, but the rest of me is still locked in some sort of weird fight or flight scenario. And shockingly, I’m not fighting.

Or flighting. So I guess I’m just a deer in the headlights.

“I came to find out where you get those pens you love so much.” Trevor scans my desk before picking up one of the items in question, holding it up like I don’t already know what he’s fucking talking about. “I think I’d like to order some for myself since you threatened my life when I attempted to borrow one of yours.”

“You weren’t going to borrow it. You were going to steal it.” I finally manage to get my limbs working again and quickly snag my pen from his hand. “I’ll email you the link.” I make an awkward shooing motion. “You can go now.”

Surprisingly, Trevor stands, like he’s actually going to heed my request. But he doesn’t leave like I’m hoping. Instead he leans closer, eyes darkening in a way that makes me think maybe he’s also contemplating our… Togetherness.

His voice is low and filled with suggestion as he says. “Perfect. Feel free to email me anytime.”

I fucking gulp like a cartoon character as his eyes drop to my lips, lingering there a second before he finally turns and walks away, leaving me gasping for air.

Air I immediately choke on when I see how my best friend is now staring at me.

“What the fuck was that about?” Brooke looks in the direction Trevor just left before bringing her eyes back to me. “Did something happen between you two?”

“Of course not. Why would you ask that?” I sound defensive. I am. Guilt will do that to you.

“Because he’s an asshole and he picks fights with everyone. So it’s not a big stretch to assume he picked a fight with you.” Brooke scowls.

“Oh. A fight. Yes.” I decide to run with this new trajectory. “He picked a fight with me. About…” Oh God. Trevor has actually picked countless fights with me, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what a single one of them was about. “It was over one of the people we interviewed yesterday.” Yeah. That’s what it was over.

Actually, we did have words about one of the people we interviewed yesterday.

The one I don’t like because…

Because I don’t wanna talk about why.

“Really.” Brooke leans forward, voice lowering conspiratorially. “Because Toby said he hired all of them.”

Of course he did. Especially the pretty blonde one. Luckily, I’m still in my right mind enough I don’t mention the pretty blonde part to Brooke. “I’m not sure that was a good idea.”

That part is actually true. I don’t know if hiring Lindsey was a good idea. Not because she wouldn’t be great at running the supply room, but because I’m afraid she might also be great at finding her way into catching a lot of attention.

Generic attention. Not specific attention. She could simply be distracting. Generally speaking.

“Why is that?” Brooke seems fully invested in what she rightly believes is gossip. “Because Toby said Trevor thought he found someone who would be great at helping Walker manage the warehouse.”

“Really?” Now it’s my turn to be confused. The guys were fine, but none of them really had the experience to manage the entire retail warehouse. “Which guy?”

Brooke picks up the pen Trevor is so obsessed with, giving the end a click. “Not a guy. I heard it was a woman.”

Oh. That’s…

Not at all what I expected.

Hiring Lindsey as the supply clerk would have put her in Trevor’s face every single day. And why wouldn’t he want that? She’s friendly and personable and easy on the eyes. Hiring her to run the warehouse means Trevor would rarely see her.

And I’m going to choose to ignore how much relief I feel over that.

I don’t get jealous of other women. I want other women to succeed. More than succeed. I want them to ruin men’s lives and be their best selves. And technically, that includes Lindsey.

Especially if she’s gonna be running the warehouse. That is an amazing opportunity for her. She’ll make great money, have wonderful insurance…

And be in Walker’s face every day instead of Trevor’s.

I think something’s wrong with me. Thankfully, I have a free evening tonight, because I’m pretty sure vodka will fix it.

It might not, but it’s worth a shot.

I stew on the information Brooke’s given me for the rest of the afternoon, choosing to focus on it instead of the lingering dampness between my thighs thanks to a particularly infuriating man in a particularly well-cut suit who possesses particularly skilled fingers.

“Fucking Trevor.”

I slam down the pen I now completely associate with him and rub my eyes, doing my best not to smear mascara across my lids. I need to figure out how to fix this whole mess I’ve made. I should have never fucked him at Brooke’s wedding. I definitely shouldn’t have let him finger bang me in a meeting room. But by the time the day is over, I have zero ideas how to rectify the situation. No clue how to undo the tangled web wrapping around me.

Quickly packing up my things, I go out to my van, tossing my bags across the seat before climbing behind the wheel. As I pull through the lot, I pass a very familiar car. Not just familiar because it’s Trevor’s, but familiar because it was freaking parked outside my house this morning. A fact I completely forgot about.

But now that I’ve been reminded, I can’t help but wonder if my issues with Trevor are bigger than I realize. If they involve way more than bathroom fucks and office finger bangs.

Vodka definitely isn’t gonna fix this. This is a job for tequila.

Inbox

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

10:04 PM

Mr. Bradsghaw,

Here’s the link for your freaking pen: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08BX5THHP

Sincerely,

Ms. Lucas

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

10:05 PM

Ms. Lucas,

Thank you. I will order them now.

I would also like to thank you for taking the time to meet with me this afternoon. I’m available tomorrow at eleven if you’d like to have a follow-up meeting.

Trevor

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

10:22 PM

Mr. Bradshanw,

No thanks. I”m goihgn to be very busy tomorrow.

Sincerely,

Ms. Lucas

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

10:23 PM

Ms. Lucas,

I understand. If something changes, please let me know. I’m more than happy to accommodate your schedule.

Trevor

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

10:47 PM

Mr. Bradhsanw.

Why are you being so weird?

Oh god, are you outsoisde my house agaujn?

Sincrely,

ms. Lucas

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

10:48 PM

Ms. Lucas,

I don’t think my location is nearly as relevant to this conversation as your inebriation. Put the margarita down and drink some water.

Trevor

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

10:50 PM

Mr. B

YOU put the margeriata down

And don’t tell me what; to do.

Rfucke you,

Maren

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

10:51 PM

Don’t make me come in there.

Trevor

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

10:52 PM

I fukcing dar you.

From: Trevor Bradshaw

To: Maren Lucas

10:53 PM

Who the fuck just pulled up in front of your house?

From: Maren Lucas

To: Trevor Bradshaw

10:54 PM

Must be my boooty call. TTyl

13

Trevor

I’m going to kill whoever the fuck that is walking up to Maren’s porch.

I’m pretty confident he’s not what she claims. But on the off chance I’m wrong, I think maybe I should kill him. Just in case.

I pop a peanut in my mouth as I plot, eyes tracking the prick as he scales the steps and closes in on Maren’s door. She’s already gotten two deliveries tonight. The first included the bottle of ready-to-drink margarita responsible for the deterioration of her spelling. The second was from a quick service Mexican restaurant.

My stomach growls at the thought of a burrito as big as my head, but I ignore it because the door to Maren’s trailer is opening.

Grabbing the binoculars from the passenger seat, I jam them against my eyeballs so I can get a better look. Which is a mistake.

I get a look at her for the first time since I found myself parking under the same tree as last night instead of in my garage. Even from this distance I can tell she’s changed out of the skirt and sweater she had on at work. And now there’s significantly more of her pale skin on display.

And the second I see what the prick on her porch sees, I’m out of my car and stalking across the stretch of grass between my car and her door.

I make it all the way up the steps before anyone notices me. Maren’s oblivious because she’s clearly drunk, and the guy’s totally focused on how to make the most of Maren being drunk.

“Come on.” He’s whining, but probably thinks he’s being charming. “Just for a minute?”

Maren’s eyes are a little bleary, but her words are remarkably clear when she says, “I’m not interested, Doug. Now get the f⁠—”

I don’t need to hear any more.

I grab Doug by his shoulder, pulling him away from her door while spinning him to face me. It takes more restraint than I knew I possessed to keep from punching him in the face.

His eyes widen, dipping down my frame before snapping back to my face. “Who the fuck are you?”

“None of your business.” I step around him, pushing my way into Maren’s home before slamming the door behind me.

She stumbles back a little as I enter, and I hook an arm around her waist, pulling her body to mine.

Only to keep her steady.

“Why are you here?” Maren shoves at my chest. “I had that handled.”

“Did you?” It didn’t look like she had it handled. “He wasn’t going to leave.”

“I know.” She wiggles out of my grip to grab an item from beside the front door. “I was going to hit him with my baseball bat.”

I can’t tell if she’s kidding.

But honestly, I think I know her well enough to assume she’s not.

“A baseball bat is not an effective deterrent, Maren. All he has to do is grab it, and⁠—”

“I know that, jerk.” Maren waves the weapon between us, swinging it a little too close to my face in the process. “That’s why there’s a sock on it.”

“How in the hell is a sock going to help anything?”

She swings it again, and I have to lean back to avoid taking a hit to the face. I’m pretty sure it’s the tequila screwing up her depth perception and not that she’s actually attempting to knock me out. I grab the bat anyway, just to be safe.

But the fucking thing slides right out of my grip, leaving me holding nothing but a black, knit kneesock.

Maren laughs victoriously. “See?” She grips the handle tight, like she’s about to take a purposeful swing. “Now I could just whack the shit out of you.”

I get what she’s saying. I also get that it’s juvenile of me to think of her words the way I am. But something about Maren makes me think of things in ways I normally wouldn’t even consider.

This time when I grab the bat, she can’t easily pull it away from me, and as Maren tries to tug it loose, I grip tighter, using the connection to pull her closer. Close enough I can easily wrap my free arm around her back, keeping her body against mine as I lean down and say. “Feel free to whack me anytime you want.”

Maren makes a choking sound, and I assume it’s outrage. That she’s pissed I’ve not only camped outside of her house again, but now forced my way inside. But when I lean back, Maren isn’t spitting mad.

She’s laughing. Hysterically.

“Did you just seriously say I could whack you off?” One hand comes to the center of my chest, giving me a shove. “How old are you?”

Because I’m still holding on to her, the push she gives me does nothing more than shift both of our feet in a different direction. It doesn’t matter though, because she’s not actually trying to get away from me.

She’s giving me shit.

Shit I deserve.

Because it is pretty fucking ridiculous that a thirty-four-year-old man would use the term whack the way I just did. Ridiculous, and hilarious. Hilarious enough I start laughing too.

Maren blinks up at me, expression sobering almost immediately. “Are you laughing?” Her jaw is slack. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you do that before.”

“I laugh.” I laugh when someone is acting stupid. I laugh when I’m appalled at the audacity one of our suppliers brings to a meeting. I laugh when I can’t believe the bullshit I’m hearing.

All things that happen pretty fucking regularly.

But Maren is already shaking her head. Disagreeing with me. “You don’t laugh.” She shakes her head. “Not like this.”

I want to be defensive. Tell her she’s wrong. But there’s something different about how I feel in this moment. A lightness that doesn’t normally accompany my laughter. A genuine amusement that doesn’t normally happen.

And I don’t know if that’s good or bad since I won’t be able to indulge myself and experience this on a regular basis. I couldn’t even be on time to the meeting I begged Maren for today, so there’s no way I could ever commit to the sort of situation where we might laugh together often.

But I don’t get the chance to explain that to her—or myself—because a sleepy voice sends both of us spinning toward the small hallway leading to the back of the trailer.

“Maren, why are you being so loud?”

I stare in surprise at where the little girl I’ve watched Maren care for stands, rubbing her sleepy eyes, wearing a pair of pajamas covered in unicorns.

“Shit.” Maren drops the bat to the floor and rushes to the small child. “I am sorry, Z. I didn’t mean to be so loud.” She gently maneuvers the little girl back through one of the open doorways, leaving me staring after them.

I’m shocked. Not only at the sight of the girl she called Z standing and walking, but also at what the little girl called the woman I’m more and more confused by every day.

She called her Maren. Not mom. Not mama. Not mommy. Maren.

And it makes me wonder how much I don’t actually know about the situation I’ve thrust myself into.

As the seconds tick by, I’m feeling more and more antsy with the need to know what the fuck is going on. Grabbing the bat from beside the door, I work the surprisingly effective sock back onto the barrel, propping the weapon back into place in case Maren needs it, before stepping deeper into her home.

It looks very much like I expected. Clean and tidy. Furnished with items that are likely secondhand, but well-maintained. There’s not a bit of boring or beige to be found. The walls are painted in rich tones and the curtains are dark and floral. A collection of thriving plants swarms the eastern facing window at one end of the structure, and thick, dramatically designed rugs cover the cheap laminate flooring. It’s not only strikingly appealing to look at, but also comfortable and cozy. The kind of place you’re not afraid to sit on the furniture or relax.

It’s strangely similar to the aesthetic I requested from my interior designer. But while my house looks nice, I don’t think anyone would call it comfortable or cozy. It’s definitely not the sort of place people flop onto the sofas and stretch out their legs.

Not even me.

I hear Maren’s footsteps behind me and turn to face her, ready to begin asking questions. But the first thing that comes out of my mouth isn’t a question at all.

“That’s not your daughter.”

The statement doesn’t necessarily require confirmation. I might be an asshole, but I’m not stupid. I can read a room better than most people. Pick up on clues most people miss. But even most people wouldn’t have missed that little girl calling Maren by her name.

Maren stares at me for a second, like she’s weighing over her options. Finally, she sighs, looking annoyed. “No. Zara is my sister.”

“But you take care of her like she’s your child.” Again, not a question. Maybe I didn’t actually have any after all.

“I take care of her the way kids should be taken care of.” Maren steps into the galley style kitchen across from the entry door. She scoops some ice into a glass and fills it with water from the tap, swallowing down a few long gulps.

I bite my tongue, narrowly managing to resist the urge to point out she’s doing exactly what I told her to do. But I want to continue talking to her more than I want to point out my own victory. Especially with the sudden influx of new information.

“Why?” There’s finally something I don’t already know the answer to. “Where’s your mother?”

Maren shrugs, letting out a quiet, but bitter, laugh. “Who knows? Probably either dead or strung out somewhere.”

My eyes drift to the doorway of Zara’s bedroom. “Is that why she has a wheelchair? Because your mother used when she was pregnant?”

“That’s the general consensus.” Maren stares down into the remainder of her water, tipping the glass from side to side. “She also didn’t have any prenatal care, which I’m sure didn’t help.”

The need to know more about the situation is unbearable. I need more information so I know what I can do to help. “What exactly is wrong with your sister?”

Maren’s eyes flash as they snap to my face. “Nothing is wrong with her. She’s more perfect than you will ever be.”

I stepped right into that. “I’m sorry. I should be more careful in how I phrase things.” I clear my throat, before trying again. “What is her diagnosis?”

Maren glares at me a few more seconds, forcing me to hold my breath, wondering if my apology will be enough. It’s all I have right now, so hopefully it can carry me through.

Her expression is still displeased, but she does offer me the information I’m seeking. “She has cerebral palsy.”

I don’t know a lot about cerebral palsy. Yet. I fully intend to rectify that lack at the earliest possible time, but for now it limits the questions I’m educated enough to ask, so I switch gears.

“How long has she been with you?”

Looking around the trailer, it seems Zara’s life dominates the space. There are toys in every available nook. A bright pink and purple backpack with tiny stuffed animals dangling from the zipper pulls is parked close to the front door. Artwork stuck to the refrigerator and cabinets. Tiny leotards and tights draped over a drying rack in the dining room area.

“Since she was a few days old.” Maren slumps back against the counter. “My mom showed up at the hospital in labor, delivered her, and then pretty much snuck out the back door, leaving a note that they should call me to come get the baby.”

That has my jaw dropping open. “And they just let you have her?”

“No, they didn’t just let me have her. I had to pay to legally adopt her, which took forever since we couldn’t actually find my mother to sign off on anything.” The hard line of her mouth finally seems to soften a little bit. “But they did just let me take her home. The hospital isn’t in the babysitting business, and children’s services would prefer to keep kids with family members if possible. So she was able to be with me from day one.”

I try to imagine what Maren’s life was like. How difficult it would have been for her to suddenly be caring for an infant with additional needs all on her own. How much she’s likely had to sacrifice.

I don’t fucking like it.

I need to know how long she’s been struggling to be a parent she didn’t sign up to be. “How old is she?”

“Zara’s five.” Maren’s lips seem to almost curve into a hint of a smile. “She starts kindergarten in the fall.”

“You named her.”

I’m back to making statements instead of asking questions. But this is another fact I don’t need to ask about. Because Zara is exactly the kind of name Maren would pick out. It’s unique. Pretty. Easy to pronounce and simple to spell. She puts thought into everything she does.

That’s why she was so great at the job that initially brought her to McKinley Security Systems. Our supplies were never handled as well as when she was the one in charge of them. And now she’s running Brooke’s days in exactly the same way.

At some point, she’s going to ask why I tried to ensure no one hired her permanently. Why I attempted to stand in the way of her becoming a constant fixture in my life. And I don’t know what in the hell I’m going to tell her.

I can’t imagine any good will come from attempting to lie about my reasons, but I’m absolutely positive admitting the truth will be even worse.

Because there is no way Maren will love hearing I tried to screw her over for my own benefit. That I attempted to keep her sister from having fantastic insurance because I’m a coward. That I didn’t want her to be on the payroll because, ultimately, I knew I would be standing here, in her home, invading her life. Attempting to control her days. Paying for the opportunity to spend time with her on my own terms.

Because that’s all I have to offer.

Thankfully, Maren doesn’t ask me anything else. She doesn’t even confirm choosing Zara’s name herself. I can almost see the second she shuts down, realizing she’s accidentally opened up to me.

The instant it happens, the scowl that’s so often on her face in my presence is back in place. Her eyes narrow, and she stabs one finger toward the door. “It’s time for you to leave.”

She marches to the door, opening it and waiting as I pass her. Once I’m on the porch, she closes it most of the way, leaving me with nothing but a sliver of her face as she says, “And go home this time. If I wake up tomorrow and see you parked under that tree, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

14

Maren

It appears I’m going to have to lose my shit.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I sigh, taking a deep breath before continuing on my path, directing Zara into the back of our van.

I just don’t have it in me to go give Trevor hell right now. I’m tired. I may or may not have a slight hangover. And I’m having issues with how seeing him in my house last night made me feel.

It was weird. Strange. Unexpected and unwarranted.

But for the first time ever I wasn’t the only adult around. I didn’t have to handle everything by myself. All Trevor even did was run Doug off, but that left one less thing on my plate. And considering I’m on my way to accompany Zara’s preschool to the zoo for their end of the year field trip, I could really stand one less thing to deal with.

With my sister buckled in place, I do a quick rundown of our stuff, making sure we have everything we could possibly need before getting behind the wheel and heading for the school.

“Do you think the tigers will be out?” Zara’s brimming with excitement over this day. She loves the zoo. It’s why we get season passes every year. At this point, we’re there often enough, she could navigate the place with her eyes closed. “And the otters?”

“Probably.” The weather is pretty mild. The sun’s out, and it’s not so hot the animals will be hiding in the shade. “I bet you guys get to see a bunch of critters today.”

And as long as I don’t throw up, it should be a pretty fun time.

As we drive, I chug a bottle of water, using a few mouthfuls to down a couple aspirin. I also put a handful of crackers in my stomach, hoping they’ll help quell the nausea that is either from tequila or the overly sweet mix it was combined with.

Possibly a little of both.

Zara continues chattering about the zoo and her friends and what we packed for her lunch, filling the drive with her cute little voice. I don’t think I’ve ever turned on the music when we’re in a vehicle together, because I feel bad interrupting her. I never want her to think I’m not interested in what she has to say.

Even if there are times I’m not actually interested in what she has to say.

Thankfully, by the time we’re parking, I feel a little bit better. Not great, but not two wrong swallows away from purging the contents of my stomach.

I check in with her teacher, get my badge, and it’s time to load up and go. I’ve never actually been on a field trip. My mother never remembered—or possessed—the required fees for me to go, so Zara and I are experiencing it for the first time together.

And honestly, it’s pretty freaking great.

It’s been years since I’ve ridden on a school bus, and even then, the experience was not great. I was always the stinky, dirty kid everyone pointed at from a distance. But today, I have my social butterfly of a sister to serve as my guide. She introduces me to all her friends by name. Tells me their favorite color, and what she likes best about them.

The coolest part is, they all seem to know her favorite color too. Are there a couple little kids in the group who are probably total shitheads? Yeah. But they’re shitheads who are smart enough to know I’m not above ruining a child’s life over my sister, so they play along.

We arrive at the zoo, and I’m a little disappointed to see we aren’t the only school who planned a field trip for today. The place is packed with loud groups of overactive kids, and I’m overstimulated before we even fully make it inside the gates.

By the time Zara’s teacher is finished explaining the plan—that our little groups can venture out on their own, but we’re all to meet at the picnic shelters for lunch at noon—I’m beyond ready to take my assigned five giggly girls, and get moving.

Chaperoning isn’t for the weak, but it’s not as chaotic as I was worried it would be, and the girls all stick with me as we visit each of their favorite animals. I know it’s not the most organized way to tackle the zoo, but there’s no way we’re going to have enough time to circle the entire place, and I want to be sure each of them gets to see at least one thing they’re excited about.

So we check out the elephants. Spend a few minutes watching the manatees. Laugh as the new group of baby otters chase each other through their enclosure. Get lucky and have the opportunity to feed the giraffes. And do a quick tour of the bug building.

Not my favorite, but I’m not here to judge. And it’s actually pretty fucking cool that a five-year-old girl is obsessed with hissing cockroaches.

We’ve just finished hitting everybody’s high point, when one of the little girls looks at me. “What about you?”

I’m digging through the cooler bag I brought, searching for the packs of string cheese that seem to have migrated to the bottom, and don’t really understand what she’s asking. “What about me?”

“We haven’t gone to see your favorite animal yet.”

I lift my eyes, looking around the little faces staring back at me. “This is your field trip. Not mine.” I finally find what I’m looking for, and start separating the sleeves, handing one over to each girl.

“But you’re here too.” The little girl with the cockroach obsession takes her cheese, peels it open, and bites off the end like a psychopath, before asking around a mouthful of half-chewed dairy, “What is your favorite animal?”

I haven’t really considered it before. The years I probably would have spent thinking of my favorite colors and animals were dedicated to things like figuring out how to find food and ways to wash my clothes without a machine.

But I’m able to come up with an answer pretty easily.

“The hippos.”

“Why?” Zara asks as she peels a strip from her cheese, eating it like I taught her, the non-psychopath way.

“Because even though they’re vegetarians, they kill more people every year than any other animal.” I slap a strand of cheese between my lips. “So they’re not doing it for survival. They’re doing it because they’re annoyed.”

I swallow my snack, but it gets lodged halfway down my throat when I notice five sets of eyes staring at me in horror.

Pretty sure I’m gonna get a phone call about this later.

“Let’s go see some other animals.” I decide to try to distract them, hoping they’ll forget all about my love of homicidal hippopotamuses.

Unfortunately, the closest enclosure is the fucking hippos, and my new group of best friends proceed to tell every other kid within the area their newly acquired knowledge about the herbivores and their murderous habits.

Before those little brainworms can crawl any deeper into their noggins, I haul them out of the space and take them straight to the ice cream stand. Have they had lunch? No. Do I care? Absolutely not. This is about bribery. Making them love me enough they won’t even consider ratting me out.

They finish their incentive snack just in time for lunch. After using the package of wet wipes I take everywhere to clear all evidence from faces and hands, we head off to meet up with the rest of the class. Everyone’s meals are packed into coolers, and the kids wait patiently as their teacher passes them out. As soon as Zara has hers, I go to work setting her up.

I’ve packed her a lot of lunches over the years—she’s had to be in daycare from very early on—so my sister has a great spread. I also always pack extra, just in case, and today is no exception. She has multiple packs of cheese and crackers, two full baggies of turkey and cheese pinwheels, a gigantic container of grapes and cantaloupe, and four break-and-bake cookies I miraculously managed to get through the oven last night without burning.

I sit across from her, forgetting all about the little hiccup over the hippos as I watch my sister being generous with her food, making sure her classmates all get enough to eat. It’s so difficult to teach someone as young as she is how to be aware of other people’s struggles without breaking her little heart over what some kids have to go through, but this moment makes me think I might have accomplished that.

I’m just starting to eat my own food when I notice a little guy at the next table over with nothing but a half a peanut butter sandwich. He wolfs it down then sits and stares at everyone else as they obliviously consume chips and fruit and cheese.

Catching Zara’s attention, I let her know I’ll be right back, then dig into my bag of tricks to pull out one of the extra lunches I brought just in case. Carrying it to where he sits, I hold it out, doing my best to seem perplexed as to how I’ve ended up in the position I’m in. “I must’ve miscounted this morning and accidentally brought too many lunches. Do you know anyone who might be able to eat this one so it doesn’t go to waste?”

The little boy’s big blue eyes lock onto the paper bag in my hand before coming to my face. “I could eat it.”

I blow out a loud sigh, looking relieved. “Thank goodness.” I hand it over. “I was starting to get really worried I wouldn’t find anyone to take this.”

He snatches the bag from me, eagerly digging inside to pull out everything it contains. His eyes light up when he sees cheesy fish crackers and apple slices with caramel dip. There’s a bunch of the same turkey cheese roll ups I make for Zara, and a couple yogurt tubes to top it off.

And of course cookies. Because everyone deserves cookies.

Once he’s situated and happily filling his little tummy, I go back to my seat, quickly eating as much of my own lunch as I can manage before it’s time to pack up and go.

The bus ride back is filled with chatter about favorite animals and best moments. Thankfully, I don’t hear anyone mention murderous hippos, so I might be in the clear.

Hopefully. Because I would love to do this again. Field trips are freaking fantastic.

We get back to school, and, since I took the day off, Zara gets to leave with me instead of spending the rest of her afternoon at the daycare. Taking full advantage of being off during normal working hours, we make a quick trip to the library before hitting the grocery store.

By the time we’re finally done with our errands, we get home at about the same time we normally would. And that’s okay. We had a freaking fun day, and I don’t have to go to the grocery store this weekend.

I can’t help but glance in the direction of the tree Trevor’s been parking under, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or annoyed when he isn’t there. I know it should be weird to find him parked outside my house like that, even though it frustrated the shit out of me, it didn’t feel weird. It felt strangely… Nice.

The man has a mansion. I’ve only seen it from the outside, but I’m sure it’s gorgeously decorated and meticulously maintained. Definitely more comfortable than his car. Even sleeping in his office would be more comfortable than snoozing under that tree.

No one has ever made themselves uncomfortable for me. Not even to stalk me.

Not that I necessarily think Trevor is stalking me. He literally sees me at work every single day. If he needs a fix, he knows he’s going to get it. But I don’t really know what else to call his presence, so stalking it is.

“Can we watch a movie?” Zara drags my attention from the tree, pulling it back to her, where it should’ve been the whole time.

I hook my bag over the back of her chair and push her up the ramp. “Is this your way of telling me you need a nap?”

“No.” My sister sounds horrified and insulted at the same time. “I’m not sleepy. I just thought maybe you would want to watch a movie.”

“Well I do need a nap, so yes. I would love to watch a movie with you.” I unlock the door and push her inside. “Anything but Barbie and the Unicorn.”

The jut of Zara’s lower lip tells me that’s exactly the movie she was going to try to force on me again. “What about The Bad Guys?”

“Deal.” After unpacking the groceries and the bag I took to the zoo and putting everything in its place, I get our electric popcorn maker going. While that works, I wipe Zara’s sticky face and help her wash her hands. I dump the buttery, salty goodness into our designated bowl, and we pile up in her queen-size bed, switching on the television mounted to her wall.

I’m just drifting off to sleep, when a loud banging sends me sitting straight up on a gasp.

My eyes immediately go to my sister, making sure she’s okay. She’s fine, and also a liar, because she is out cold, sleeping hard with one hand still draped over the remnants of our snack.

Working quickly so whoever is interrupting my nap doesn’t also interrupt hers, I slide off the bed and rush to the door, grabbing my bat as I peek out through the peephole.

I try to roll my eyes, attempting to work up a groan and frown. But instead, I’m smothering a hint of a smile as I set the bat back into place and open the door. I do manage to angle a brow at the man standing on my porch, looking much too good for as late as it is.

I don’t even get the opportunity to ask what in the hell he’s here for, because the second I remove the barrier between us, Trevor’s stepping in. Crowding my space so quickly, I take a step back to avoid our bodies colliding.

But Trevor keeps coming, closing every gap I attempt to create until my back hits the wall. Then his hands meet the paneling at each side of my head, caging me in as he leans down, the dark depth of his eyes aligned with mine as he asks, “Where the fuck were you today?”

15

Trevor

Iexpected to see Maren at work today. Figured that while I may have missed her when she left home this morning, I would be able to catch up with her when she arrived at the office.

But then she never showed up, and I started to unravel a little. Thank God I have cameras on her house and was able to see her and Zara loading up into her van and pulling away, or I likely would have broken into her home to ensure nothing terrible had happened.

To be fair, I may have considered breaking in regardless. Just to be sure.

When Brooke refused to tell me why Maren was off work, I only became more agitated. I ended up spending the bulk of the day hiding in my office, busting my ass to get everything done so I could leave at the first possible second.

And I did. Unfortunately, that second came a lot later than I was hoping for, and by the time I was walking to my car, the anger and agitation I’d been carrying all day had morphed into something uglier. Something darker.

Something slightly more unhinged.

But Maren doesn’t seem the least bit threatened by the sight of me. If anything, it makes her even more defiant. She lifts her chin, staring me down like I don’t have her cornered. “It’s none of your business where I was today.”

“I didn’t ask if it was my business.” Everything is my business. Especially when it involves her. She works for my company. She’s my responsibility. No one else is watching out for her, so clearly that job falls on me.

For the first time, I don’t mind having weight added to my shoulders.

I move closer, barely managing to stop before my front is against hers. “I asked you where you were.”

I can find out. I may not be as skilled as Titus, but I do understand how to use the programs his team has designed. I can easily pull up her bank statements and credit card reports to discover where she spent money. I can call Heidi and have her get me the recordings from the traffic cameras in the area so I can plot her path.

Would all of that be crazy? Probably. But no one has ever accused me of being entirely sane.

“Be quiet.” She plants both hands in the center of my chest, giving me a little shove that doesn’t budge me an inch. “If you wake my sister, I will kill you.”

My eyes snap to the closed doorway leading to what I assume is Zara’s room. “Why is she asleep so early?”

I only have a couple nights to go on, but it seems like Maren is pretty strict about bedtimes. For her sister at least. The light goes off in Zara’s room every night at 8 o’clock. Then the flicker of the television illuminates the living room until after midnight while my little night owl watches her stories.

But it’s barely seven thirty on a Friday night. If anything, I would think she’d let Zara stay up a little later tonight.

Maren huffs out an annoyed breath. “She had a busy day. She’s tired.” Her brows lift. “Why aren’t you asleep? I can’t imagine you’re feeling well rested after spending the past few nights in your car, weirdo.”

I will admit, sleeping in my car isn’t the most comfortable, but it’s not awful. It’s certainly better than tossing and turning wondering if she’s okay. I sleep better knowing I can quickly get to Maren if she needs me.

“Is that your way of inviting me to sleep in your bed?” Now that I’m thinking about it, that would be a perfect solution. “Because I accept.”

Maren scoffs, her mouth dropping open. “Absolutely not. Can you imagine what Zara would think if she woke up to find a strange man sleeping next to me?”

That’s an interesting reason to reject the idea. Not because she doesn’t want me in her bed, but because she’s worried about the confusion it would cause for her little sister. It also tells me Maren doesn’t let anyone sleep in her bed. Which is good to know. Because thinking about another man relaxing on her sheets makes me consider dragging the mattress into the yard and setting it on fire.

“I’m not a strange man.” I smile a little bit, thinking of how eager her sister was to know more about me. “We met yesterday.”

“Do you really want to bring that up? Because I don’t think you want me to start asking questions about why I keep finding you parked under a tree across the street.” Maren successfully reroutes the conversation.

And she’s right. I don’t want her to start asking questions. Mostly because I don’t know that I want to come up with answers. It’s easiest for everyone if we just ignore my questionable decisions and behaviors.

“You’re trying to distract me.” I decide to circle back to her questionable decisions and behaviors. “Where were you today that made Zara so tired?”

“Oh my God. Why are you so annoying?” Maren ducks under one of my arms, successfully escaping before going into her kitchen to open the refrigerator. “I’m allowed to take a day off work.”

I straighten, a little confused. “Of course you’re allowed to take a day off work. You get three weeks of paid vacation, plus seven personal days.” Again, my eyes drift to Zara’s door. “Is that not enough? Because I can email HR right now, and⁠—”

Maren slams the refrigerator door and turns to me, rolling her eyes. “If you email HR at seven thirty on a Friday night to ask if I can have more personal days, they’re going to blame me.” She walks past, carrying a can of diet soda in one hand and a container of chopped fruit in the other. “And I’m not about to have Bernice pissed at me.”

I think of the woman in charge of HR, and imagine the passive-aggressive way she would attempt to make Maren’s life difficult if she believed her to be responsible for a late night email. “I would make sure she knows I’m the problem.”

It’s what I always do. I absorb blame. It’s easiest if everyone assumes I’m the problem and directs their ire my way. I can handle it, and it keeps things running smoothly between employees and departments.

Maren snorts as she drops to her butt on the couch. “You don’t want that chick mad at you. She’ll make sure anything you attempt to file takes three times as long as it should.”

I assume there’s only one way she knows this, and now I’m really contemplating sending Bernice an email. “Is there something you need me to handle?”

Now that I know more of what Maren’s life is really like, I can only imagine all the ways Bernice could cause issues. Vacation requests. Direct deposits. Health insurance changes. And it wouldn’t just cause issues for Maren. It could also cause issues for her sister.

I’m not in the habit of firing people, but if Bernice has caused any problems for Zara, she might be looking for a new job.

Maren switches on the television. “Why are you so dramatic all the time?” She starts a show on one of the streaming channels then drops the remote to the cushion beside her. “Not everything requires immediate action. Sometimes people just want to complain.”

“But…” My brain seems to buffer for a minute as I try to process what she’s saying. “If there’s a problem, it needs a solution.”

It’s pretty much my entire job description. How I spend the majority of my days and even a large number of my nights. There’s always some sort of a problem happening at a company as large as McKinley Security Systems, and, ultimately, solving it falls on me.

“Not always.” Maren kicks her bare feet up onto the coffee table as she pops the lid off the container of fruit. “Some problems can’t be fixed.” There’s an odd tone in her voice as she says the last part, and I can’t resist the temptation it presents.

“Like what?”

Maren pops a grape between her lips, chewing as she watches her show. “What do you mean, like what?”

“You said some problems can’t be fixed. What are they?” I need to know what problem she has that can’t be fixed.

That she believes can’t be fixed. Because I know I can fix it.

Maren stops chewing, her eyes rolling my way. “I don’t think I said that.”

“You definitely did.” She may not have intended to, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

She swallows the mouthful of fruit, her throat flexing as it goes down. “I just meant in general.”

I shake my head, because I know damn well Maren isn’t a general sort of person. She is direct and to the point and will say exactly what needs to be said, regardless of how it will land.

“I don’t think so.” I move closer, drawn in by the sudden flash of vulnerability that skates over her features. “I think you had something very specific in mind.” Slowly, I lower to the couch, settling onto the comfortable cushions as I hold her gaze. “I want to know what problems you’re having.”

“I’m not having any problems.” She turns away, eyes going back to the television. “Everything is fine.”

I look around her home, taking in the space. Everything certainly appears to be fine. She has a comfortable place to live. Plenty of food in the refrigerator. A good job. Health insurance. A reliable vehicle. But if everything is as fine as she claims, then what was she talking about earlier?

My eyes settle on Zara’s door.

Maybe Maren wasn’t thinking of the way things are, but the way they used to be. About all she went through becoming a single mom with zero warning. No time to plan, no room to prepare.

I can’t imagine what that was like. How difficult it would be on someone my age now, let alone the age Maren would have been when it happened.

It makes where she is now even more impressive. It shows an amount of determination I don’t find in many people. A kind of grit very few individuals possess.

And it makes me feel even worse about my attempt to block her hiring.

Reaching up to loosen the tie at my neck, I try to find a little more room to breathe as I brace to do something I don’t normally do. Apologize.

“I’m sorry I tried to keep you from being hired.”

“You should be.” Maren doesn’t hold back. “I was freaking amazing at running that supply room. There was no reason for you to be a dick about me becoming a permanent employee.”

I give my tie another tug, hoping more space will make the truth easier to admit. “There was a reason.”

Maren’s eyes come my way, her brows lifted. “Are you serious?” She sits taller, her feet hitting the floor. “Because you know damn well⁠—”

I hold up one hand, trying to slow her roll. “Calm down.”

Maren’s eyes open wide. “Did you just tell me to calm down?” She grabs a fistful of fruit from the bowl, winding it up.

I try to block what I know is coming. “You better fucking no⁠—”

A collection of melon, strawberry, and grape hits me square in the face, bouncing off my jaw and nose before tumbling down the front of my suit.

I pull in a deep breath, blowing it back out as I close my eyes, digging deep to find any amount of patience I might possess.

I’m not sure it exists, but if it does, I’ll find it.

When I know I’m not going to have a knee-jerk reaction, I bring one hand up to wipe the juice from my eyes before lifting my lids to find Maren locked and loaded for another round.

I’ve got about a half second before I get another faceful, so I say the only thing that might save me. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away from you.” I brace, just in case I’m wrong and nothing will keep her from launching another scoop.

Maren blinks at me. “What?”

I don’t want to have to say it again. I’d actually love it if we could both forget I said anything at all.

But I don’t see that happening.

“Maren? I’m hungry.” Zara’s little voice interrupts at the perfect time, taking her from being Maren’s little sister to my new best friend.

I turn to find her slowly making her way down the hall, steps unsteady but careful as she uses one hand to balance against the wall. Her eyes widen when she sees me, head tipping as she takes me in. “Why does he have fruit everywhere?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”

Maren stands, carrying the bowl into the kitchen before offering Zara a hand so it’s easier for her to stay balanced. It’s clear Maren is attempting to direct her toward the table and chairs, but Zara isn’t having any of it. Instead of covering the short distance to the spot where they likely enjoy their meals, she comes straight for me, smiling wide.

“My name is Zara. What’s yours?”

I meet Maren’s gaze, trying to gauge what she wants me to do here. I don’t want to be a dick to her sister, but if she genuinely doesn’t want Zara to be around me, I have to respect that.

Maren sighs, rolling her eyes. “His name is Trevor.” She helps Zara into the armchair angled beside the sofa. “But you can call him doodie head.”

Zara cackles, thinking it’s hilarious that her sister just called me a shithead. “I can’t call him doodie head. That’s silly.”

“Well, he’s silly, so it actually makes total sense.” Maren goes back in the kitchen before coming out with a dish towel and a bowl. She practically throws both at me before turning to her sister. “What sounds yummy?”

I toss the smashed strawberry in my hand into the bowl then grab a piece of discarded cantaloupe, holding it up. “I have some extra fruit, if you want it.”

Zara cackles again, the sound light and adorable. “Ew. That’s gross.”

“He is gross.” Maren grabs the bowl from my hands as soon as I’ve deposited the last of the wayward fruit. “Now what do you want for dinner?”

“Is Trevor going to eat dinner with us?”

I should let Maren answer. I know I am notorious for overstepping, and now is the time I definitely should not.

But…

I’m also not one to pass up a golden opportunity.

Settling back against the couch cushions, I give my new best friend a smile. “I would love to eat dinner with you ladies.”

16

Maren

How the fuck did I end up feeding Trevor Bradshaw dinner?

I can’t even begin to explain how I went from throwing fruit in his face, to watching him give my sister his undivided attention while eating way more of our favorite girl dinner than I expected.

“It sounds like you had a lot of fun at the zoo.” Trevor shovels in a heaping mound of beans on toast, chewing through the enormous bite before washing it down with a few long gulps of ice water. “What was your favorite part?”

“Lunch.” Zara’s answer is expected. “Because I got to talk to my friends.”

If we didn’t look almost identical, I would be questioning if Zara and I were actually related. She’s all warmth and friendliness and socialization.

And I’m a gremlin who hates everyone.

Trevor nods along. “It is great to spend time eating with your friends, isn’t it?”

I stare at Trevor like he has two heads. “How would you know? You don’t have any friends.”

“Yes, I do.” He tips his head to where my sister sits. “Zara is my friend.”

My sister beams at him, looking thrilled that Trevor has claimed her. She turns that smile my way. “You’re his friend too, Maren.”

“I’m not his friend.”

I can’t even imagine what it would be like having Trevor as a friend. He’s terrible company. Has a short temper. Doesn’t even understand the most basic gossip.

And I’ve seen his dick. Definitely not a great precursor to friendship.

“She’s right.” Trevor uses the side of his fork to hack off another chunk of carbs on carbs. “Your sister and I aren’t friends.”

Zara’s smile turns devilish. “Is that because she’s your girlfriend?”

I choke on my British beans, nearly asphyxiating over my sister’s very incorrect assumption. Since I’m unable to breathe, let alone speak, I can’t defend myself. Thankfully, Trevor is able to talk. Surely he’ll set my sister straight.

“That is an interesting question, Z.” He looks at me, a slow smirk twisting his lips, as my eyes water and I continue to cough. “I might have to get back to you on that.”

Shit. I can’t murder him in front of Zara. I haven’t worked so hard to give her a great life, only to scar her by making her the witness to a homicide.

And she would totally rat me out. Not on purpose. She would just become best friends with whatever detective was investigating the crime, and would accidentally tell them everything.

I force down a few gulps of water, then manage to wheeze out, “We are not now, and never will be, boyfriend and girlfriend.” I kick Trevor under the table as I turn to my sister. “Trevor is my boss.”

My sister starts to nod, eyes wide and understanding.

“I’m not your boss.” Trevor leans closer to Zara, lowering his voice like she’ll be the only one to hear. “Brooke is Maren’s boss.” He shrugs, going back to his plate. “Which is for sure a conflict of interest.”

“How is that a conflict of interest? There’s no rule in the employee handbook that says I can’t be friends with the person I report to.”

Trevor lifts his eyes to my face. The smirk he’s carried most of the evening still in full force. “There’s also no rule in the employee handbook that says you can’t fraternize with another company employee.”

“You’re not a company employee.” I give him a sweet smile. “And everyone knows canoodling with the owner of the company you work for is a terrible idea.”

Instead of seeming deterred, Trevor actually laughs. “Did you just say canoodling?” His laugh gets louder. “When did you become someone’s grandma?”

I slam down my fork. “If you’re going to be a dick, you can go to your own home.”

Zara gasps, one hand flying to cover her mouth. “You can’t say that word.”

“Oh, she can.” Trevor nods, rolling his eyes in my sister’s direction. “Trust me.”

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this. I’ve busted my ass for the past five years trying to be a good sister. Working hard. Saving money and staying the course, even when shit got tough. So why is the universe doing this to me? Why am I being forced to deal with Trevor Bradshaw?

Oh, that’s right. Because he decided to be weird and park outside my house like a creep.

“At least the worst thing I do is cuss.” I lift my brows in challenge. “Some of us have decided stalking is perfectly normal behavior.”

I expect him to be embarrassed. At least express a modicum of guilt.

But Trevor doesn’t even flinch at me calling him out. He just shrugs again. “You call it stalking. I call it monitoring.”

I scoff. “Monitoring?”

Trevor gives me a single nod, his smirk turning to a grin. “Monitoring.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “You can justify anything, can’t you?”

“I can.” He holds my gaze. “But so can you. That’s why you’ve got six thousand dollars sitting in your account.”

My cheeks instantly get hot at the reminder of what happened yesterday. The agreement I made.

The memory of all it entails.

And Trevor—dick that he is—knows exactly what I’m thinking. Because he leans toward me, his voice deep and delicious as he says, “We can make it seven whenever you want.”

My thighs press together all on their own, muscles flexing in response to the throb of encouragement happening between them.

“I don’t need your seven thousand dollars.” I technically don’t need his six thousand dollars either. I’ve learned to be very good at budgeting over the years. And now that I’m working for Brooke, I’m making more than enough money to not only pay all our bills, but also set some aside for emergencies.

“I need a new tablet.” Zara pipes up, oblivious to the actual conversation she’s trying to take part in. “Mine got dropped and the screen gets fuzzy.”

Trevor stares at me a second longer, before shifting in his seat. For just a second, I think he’s getting up to leave. And I don’t know if that makes me happy or pissed. But then he digs into the pocket of his pants, pulls out a wallet that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe, and slides a black Amex free. He tosses it onto the table in front of my sister. “Buy whatever you want.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

Zara is way less stunned than I am. She snatches the piece of plastic up without hesitation, clutching it against her chest. “Can I get a pony too?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Sure.”

My eyes are so wide as I stare at Trevor, they start to burn. “You know she means an actual living, breathing animal, right?” I point out my sister’s actual request, assuming he’s thinking she wants something filled with fluff that doesn’t eat or shit.

“I guessed as much.” Again, he seems indifferent. Like dishing out ponies to girls living in trailers is a completely normal thing.

I gape at Trevor, because I’m pretty sure he’s lost what little mind he had. “Where in the hell do you think she’s going to put a pony?”

“I know you’ve seen my house, Maren.” He leans back in his seat, watching me with a sharp gaze. “I have plenty of space for anything she wants.”

“I want a miniature cow too.” Zara’s not one to miss an opportunity. “And maybe a capybara.”

Trevor’s head swivels her way. “What in the hell is a capybara?”

“It doesn’t matter, because you’re not getting her one.”

I’ve spent my life trying to give Zara everything she needs, and an acceptable amount of what she wants. I feel like I’ve done pretty well in finding a balance between making sure she feels loved while ensuring she doesn’t end up spoiled.

Trevor obviously doesn’t understand the importance of balance when it comes to raising a kid.

“But he said he would give me whatever I want,” Zara argues, and I can’t really blame her. If everything I’ve ever hoped and dreamed of having was on the line, I’d probably fight for it too.

If I’d lived the sort of life that allowed me the luxury of having hopes and dreams.

I give my sister a stern look. “That’s because he’s an idiot with more money than he knows what to do with.”

“I know exactly what to do with my money, Maren.” Trevor’s gaze simmers on mine. “Trust me.”

Why does he have to keep looking at me like that? Better question, why does he have to keep bringing up that stupid agreement? It’s distracting. And makes it very difficult to forget just how poor my decision-making skills really are.

“Trevor isn’t spending any more money on either of us.” I grab his credit card and slam it down on the table in front of him. “Actually, Trevor probably needs to go home now.” I stand up from my seat, shoving the chair back as I go. “He has very important things to be doing.”

Trevor’s eyes narrow on me for just a second before he slowly gets to his feet. “Actually, I do have very important things to be doing.”

I’m relieved. Kind of. Sort of.

Not really.

Why in the hell am I disappointed he’s leaving so easily? I don’t want him here. Not in my house. Not around my sister. Not in my life at all. I want him to go home.

For sure. Definitely. Seriously.

Mostly.

He turns to Zara. “Thank you so much for having dinner with me. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“You can come back tomorrow.” My sister immediately makes the offer, and when I see the smile spreading across Trevor’s face, I gasp.

“You just did that on purpose.” He knew exactly what he was doing. That my sister would instantly invite him back over.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trevor gives me an easy smile. “Tomorrow night, I’ll bring dinner.”

He turns, walking straight out the door, leaving me gaping.

What is happening? How is it happening? WHY is it happening?

This has got to be my fault. I know what happens when I sleep with a guy. He falls in love. Gets obsessed. Won’t leave me alone.

Just like Down-the-Street Doug. I should have learned from that experience. But, no. I had to go and one-up myself by sleeping with someone who will be even more difficult to get rid of.

“I like him.” Zara takes her last bite of beans on toast. “He’s funny.”

“He is absolutely not funny.” Funny is the last thing anyone would ever call Trevor Bradshaw. “He’s annoying.”

“Brittany’s mom said if a boy is annoying you it’s because he likes you.” Zara dishes out what I’m sure she thinks is a life lesson.

And it is. A lesson Brittany’s mom is about to learn.

“That is fake news. If a boy’s annoying, it’s because he’s a jerk and you should punch him in the face.” Which is exactly what I’m gonna do to Brittany’s mom the next time I see her for telling Zara something so rooted in misogyny and fueled by the patriarchy. “If a boy isn’t emotionally developed enough to be kind to a girl he likes, then we don’t give him our time or our attention.”

Shit. Maybe that advice is bad. Because if I take my own advice, I have to maybe consider how Trevor hasn’t exactly been unkind to me lately. He’s given me thousands of dollars for practically nothing. Invited me to be a part of hiring my job replacement even though there was no reason for him to include me. He also offered to buy my sister a whole freaking petting zoo that he would store at his house.

And is now apparently bringing dinner tomorrow night so I won’t have to cook.

But he did try to make sure I wasn’t hired permanently at McKinley Security Systems, and I’m gonna cling hard to that. Otherwise, I might accidentally almost try to like him a little.

Just a little, though. Nothing crazy.

“Okay, miss ma’am. It’s bedtime.”

Once our dishes are cleared away and the dishwasher is loaded, I get Zara cleaned up, teeth brushed, hair braided, and tucked back into her bed.

Then it’s me time. I know I need to sleep more, but the only hours I get to myself are after she’s in bed. I can’t watch the scary shows I love when she’s around, because then I’d have to deal with nightmares. Or explaining everything in detail as she tries to make it all make sense. And I don’t want to do either of those.

I want to sit on the couch in my pajamas, eating snacks while binge watching Netflix.

So, after taking a quick shower of my own and pulling on my favorite matching short and shirt sleep set, I grab a pair of comfy socks that reach my knees and a bag of Chex mix, and pile up.

I make it through half of the first show before curiosity has me creeping to the window. Carefully, I lift a slat on the blinds so I can peek out across the road. Squinting against the darkness, I find the tree Trevor’s been parking under.

He’s not there.

Which is good. Perfect. Amazing.

I march back to the couch, determined not to be disappointed there’s no fancy sedan with a sexy stalker inside across the street.

Sexy? No. That’s not what I meant. I meant super annoying.

Dropping back to my spot on the sofa, I unpause the show, making it fifteen more minutes before I’m up again.

And back at the window. Maybe he went home to change and now he’s back out there being irritating and invasive.

Nope. He’s still not there.

Where the fuck is he? How is he going to park out there two nights in a row and then just disappear?

If you’re going to be unhinged, at least be reliably unhinged.

I stomp back to the couch and slump into place, arms crossed over my chest at how damned aggravating that man is. Does he want to be a pain in my ass or not? Is he committed to spying on me, or has he decided it’s already not worth the effort?

I swear to God, if he doesn’t show up tomorrow and Zara gets upset, I’ll be the one outside his house. Only I won’t quietly sit and observe.

I’ll burn it down.

“Damn it.” I throw the remote to the sofa as I get up a third time, stomping across the room. This time I don’t even try to be sly as I snap a slat out of the way so I can glare across the street at where Trevor’s car should b⁠—

He’s there.

Parked in the spot that gives him a direct line of sight to my house.

Good. Now I don’t have to commit arson. That would’ve really put a damper on my weekend plans of catching up on meal prep and laundry.

This time when I flop down onto the couch, I get comfortable, curling up on one side with a pillow under my head and a fluffy blanket covering my bare legs.

I know Trevor being out there is probably weird. Probably a red flag that would have most women calling the cops, or at the very least their most unhinged friend.

Not me.

Trevor being out there means I’m not the only person making sure Zara stays safe. I’m not the only one around if something bad happens.

I’m not on my own.

And not being on my own is apparently exhausting. Because my eyes close so fast, I don’t see another minute of my show.

Bradshaw Brothers Group Chat

Titus

Where the fuck is Trev?

Tucker

He’s at work.

Tobias

It’s so weird to see your texts properly punctuated. It’s kinda freaking me out.

Tucker

Kiss my ass.

Tobias

That’s Ruth’s job.

Titus

He’s not at work.

Tobias

Very fucking funny. Of course he’s at work.

Titus

I’m not kidding. He’s not at work. Security just called me with a question because he wasn’t there to ask.

Tucker

Are you being serious right now?

Titus

You got me. Pretending Trevor isn’t at work is so fucking hilarious I had to make it into a bit.

OF COURSE I’M BEING SERIOUS.

Walker

Hey now. All caps means you’re yelling. Someone’s going to get their feelings hurt.

Tobias

Like you didn’t JUST stop using them, Grampa.

And I’m sure Trevor’s still at work. Security probably just doesn’t know where he is.

Titus

His car isn’t in the lot.

Tobias

Oh shit.

Walker

WTF?

Titus

Yeah.

Should I call the cops? Put out a missing person alert? I don’t know how to handle this situation.

Trevor

Calm the fuck down. I’m fine. I had something to do.

Tucker

You had something to do besides work?

Trevor

Yes. I’m allowed to have something to do besides work.

Titus

Of course you’re allowed. You just never have.

Trevor

Probably because I knew you assholes would all have a meltdown over it.

Tucker

Where in the hell are you?

Trevor

None of your fucking business.

Tucker

I bet Mom will think it’s her business.

Trevor

You drag Mom into this and I’ll tell Ruth you bought her an engagement ring.

Tucker

You do and I’ll tell her you were mean to the cleaning staff.

Trevor

I’ll tell Mom you bought Ruth an engagement ring.

Tucker

Why the fuck are you so mean tonight? How long has it been since you got laid?

Oh wait…

Tobias

What is he talking about?

Titus

Trevor got laid? How did he find a woman willing to put up with him that long?

Walker

You can stand anything for thirty seconds.

17

Trevor

Trevor

Did you get things figured out with security?

Titus

All handled. Get back to whatever you were doing.

Or whoever.

Trevor

Fuck you.

Titus

I’m serious. You deserve to take some time for yourself. Turns out it’s not as world ending as I thought it was.

Istare at my brother’s words in the shadowy darkness of my car. At one point in time, Titus and I worked similar hours.

All of them.

But since Mariah came into his life, bringing along their twins for the ride, that’s changed. He’s no longer always online, or forgoing sleep in favor of endlessly staring at his computer. I’m happy for him. Glad he was able to find the sort of happiness that was ripped from him at such an early age.

The sort of happiness I’ve never even come close to possessing.

I thought that meant I wouldn’t want it. That since I’d never had a taste of what it could be like, I’d never crave a bite of my own.

I was clearly wrong. So wrong, I’m spending yet another night sitting in my car, barely dozing, as I watch over Maren and Zara.

I decide not to respond to Titus’s final text. I don’t know what I would say anyway. Instead, I open the browser and look up the animal Zara requested. I assumed it was something cute and cuddly and furry, with big eyes and a fluffy tail. At least, that’s what I figured most little girls would find so adorably cute they’d want one.

I was wrong.

It looks like a giant groundhog with resting bitch face.

The semi-aquatic rodent isn’t ugly, but it’s also not the kind of thing I’d imagine Zara would want to snuggle up on the couch with. It’s also not cut out for Wyoming winters, so I’m not seeing one in Maren’s little sister’s future.

Miniature cows on the other hand…

By the time my lids start to get heavy, I’ve found a handful of breeders within driving distance who sell the shaggy, stupidly cute animals. Makes sense why Titus offered to get one for Mariah.

Rubbing my burning eyes, I set my phone on the console and tilt back the seat, staying just upright enough I still have a line of sight to Maren’s trailer.

I’m just drifting off when the chime alerting me to movement outside has me jerking awake, blinking hard as I try to clear the haze of sleep from my eyes. I lean forward, peering across the distance between us until I find the culprit. A man is walking his dog, and the mutt decided Maren’s front yard was the perfect place to drop a load.

I watch, glaring in anticipation as I wait for the animal to finish. If that asshole doesn’t clean up his dog’s mess, I swear to God⁠—

The pup finishes and the guy pulls out a baggie. Crouching, he scoops up the shit and ties off the opening, carrying it with him as they continue on.

Good. I’m relatively comfortable and would have been pissed as hell if I had to leave the warmth of my vehicle to kick someone’s ass in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, even though no ass-kicking was required, I’m still amped up and can’t fall back asleep, so I grab my phone and start scrolling.

This time in search of a place to order dinner from tomorrow.

“Seriously?” Maren looks at the bag clutched in my hands, brows lifting as her eyes come to my face. “You know she would have gone apeshit over chicken nuggets and fries, right?”

I smile. “Who says there aren’t fries in here?”

I get that bringing food from the nicest steakhouse in the area might be a little much, but I’m willing to bet every penny I have Maren would never splurge on something like this. And while beans on toast was shockingly delicious—and something I will be eating again—tonight, we’re getting a little fancier.

I pass Maren as she continues frowning, carrying the giant shopping bag holding our dinners to the small table where Zara is already parked, surrounded by piles of thread and beads.

I look over the mess, trying to make sense of what she’s doing. “Are you sewing?”

Zara cackles like I’m a fucking idiot who just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. “No, silly. I’m making bracelets for my friends at school.”

“Really?” I set the bag down, my eyes catching on a collection of beads twisted together into a small circle. “You can make bracelets?”

I don’t have any experience with kids outside of the twins—who aren’t even a year old yet—and Birdie, who’s not quite two. While Birdie can talk and says more and more words every day, she’s not to the point where she can construct anything on her own.

Besides a shit that will peel the paint off the walls.

“What else can you make?” I separate the sides of the bag, popping the brown paper loose from the staples sealing in the heat.

“I can paint and draw, and Maren said if I don’t get in trouble for talking at school again, she’ll get me a pottery wheel.” Zara is so excited about the possibility, she’s bouncing in her seat.

“A pottery wheel?” I glance at Maren as she comes to stand beside me, looking over everything I’m pulling from the bag. “Aren’t those pretty big?”

“She just wants one of the little ones they sell as a kit.” Maren pops open the lid of a container marked with S/A Dip. She gasps a little at the sight of a perfectly baked portion of spinach and artichoke dip. “You got an appetizer too?”

“I got two appetizers.” I shrug when she narrows her eyes at me. “Didn’t know what you guys liked.” I pass over the container of roasted Brussels sprouts topped with a sweet and savory drizzle. “Plus, I figured you would want to be sure Zara had at least a little bit of vegetable.”

It’s something my mother has always been hyperfixated on. Making sure we don’t just eat enough, but that we also get the right things. That’s not to say there wasn’t room for dessert.

Because I also got that.

Maren wrinkles her nose at the Brussels sprouts. “I think I might have to take a hard pass on those.”

That surprises me. “Really?” Brussels sprouts are sort of having a moment right now, and I figured Maren would be thrilled I brought them.

Her grimace deepens. “They aren’t my favorite.”

“Maren only likes cucumbers, peas, and salad.” Zara reaches out, grabbing the container I set down. “But I like them.”

I’m thrilled Zara is happy with my choice, but completely fucking confused to discover Maren’s pallet is so limited. “The only vegetables you eat are cucumber, peas, and lettuce?”

“She didn’t say I don’t eat them.” Maren grabs the bag I’ve stopped unpacking. “She said I don’t like them.”

I watch Zara happily plowing through the crisp, but tender sprouts, even more impressed with Maren than I was five minutes ago. She’s clearly put in the effort to make sure her little sister doesn’t have the same preferences she does. Probably going so far as to eat things she doesn’t enjoy just to make sure her sister tries them.

But I’m still shocked Maren’s taste buds are so limited. “Has it always been that way?”

Maren pops the lid off a container, peering in at one of the steak and baked potato meals. “Has what always been that way?”

I take the container from her hands since it holds the larger portion of steak I selected for myself. “Have you always not liked vegetables?”

Maren pulls another meal free, finding one of the four ounce fillets, this one with fries. “I don’t know. I didn’t really have them as a kid.”

I chuckle, imagining my mother’s reaction if I’d told her I wasn’t eating vegetables as a kid. “I’m surprised you got away with that. My mother would have throttled me.”

Maren goes to the kitchen, grabbing a pair of scissors from the drawer before returning. There’s an odd expression on her face. One I can’t quite make sense of. Combined with her sudden silence, I have to think I’ve said something wrong.

Except she’s not trying to shank me with the scissors, so maybe I don’t understand what’s happening after all.

Maren uses the scissors to cut the steak up into manageable pieces for Zara, then passes it over, her silence dragging out as she goes back into the kitchen.

This time I follow her, cornering her at the far end.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” I’m admittedly not fantastic at this sort of thing, and when Maren’s eyes flash, I take a deep breath before amending. “Please.”

Maren’s gaze holds mine, and for a second I think she’s going to give me what I want.

But then she steps around me, planting an elbow in my ribs as she goes. It’s more of a nudge than a jab, so maybe she’s not as upset as I think.

“This is really yummy.” Zara’s mouth is as full as she can get it, crammed with what appears to be a combination of Brussels sprouts, fries, and steak. “You should make dinner tomorrow too.”

“Deal.”

I don’t hesitate. Not just because I like making sure Maren and Zara are well fed, and not because it’s more fun being in here with them than sitting in my car, but because I don’t like the lingering look of sadness on Maren’s face. And it’s clearly going to take me some time to figure out why it’s there.

“Trevor doesn’t have time to be feeding us every night.” Maren takes her seat at the table, expression stern.

I take my own chair, matching the look on her face. “Yes, he does.”

I don’t know if it’s technically the truth. Obviously I should have been at the office last night instead of parked outside Maren’s house. But everything worked out, so it shouldn’t hurt anything for me to stop by again tomorrow. And maybe the next day.

Maren slams both hands on the table, sighing loudly as she looks across at me. “You can’t keep sleeping in your car every night.”

I give her a smile as I lift a bite of steak to my mouth, “Are you inviting me to stay inside?”

Maren scoffs. “Absolutely not.” She shovels up a pile of loaded baked potato. “I’m telling you to go home.”

“What does your house look like?” Zara interrupts from where she sits, hoarding her meal and both appetizers. “Do you have two bathrooms?”

Maren’s spine seems to stiffen, and while I’m not exactly the most perceptive person out there, it seems like the prospect of explaining the differences between my house and theirs might be making her a little uncomfortable. I’m not exactly sure why, but it’s yet another thing I will be finding out.

For now, I’m going to hedge.

“I do have two bathrooms.” Plus a few, but that doesn’t seem important to mention right now. “But my house isn’t as comfortable as yours.” That’s not even hedging. My house is beautiful. Furnished with the best of the best. Every inch of it is custom designed and completely thought out.

And yet there’s not a sofa inside it I would rather sit on than the one parked in Maren’s living room.

Zara grins, seeming thrilled I find her home comfortable. “That’s because Maren likes cozy things.”

So Maren doesn’t love vegetables, but she does love cozy. Cozy, I can work with.

She also seems to fucking adore steak, because hers is already obliterated.

Wishing I’d given her the larger portion to start with, I cut off a chunk of mine, dropping the addition in the vacant spot where hers used to be. “You should’ve told me you’re a carnivore. I would’ve ordered accordingly.”

“I’m not a carnivore. I like things besides meat.” Maren doesn’t even pretend like she’s going to turn down my steak, just stabs the whole section with a fork and brings it to her lips. “I love dessert.”

“Is that why you always bring those sweet and salty bars I hear so much about to girls’ night?” I’ve watched with no small amount of envy as Maren, Brooke, Mariah, and Ruth consume an entire container of the things while I pretend I’m only loitering in their vicinity because my brothers are.

Girls’ night ended up being girls only for all of about five minutes before Titus, Toby, and Tucker started finding their way into the mix. They don’t necessarily get involved, but more or less linger at the edges. So, I started doing the same. It was an excuse to spend time with the twins and Birdie. A rare chance to hang out with my brothers outside of work.

Could I have also been taking advantage of an opportunity to be around Maren?

Anything’s possible, I guess.

Maren’s lips barely curve into a smile. “I bring the sweet and salty bars because your sisters-in-law have made it clear I won’t be allowed in without them.”

I love that she looks proud, but seeing it now only makes me realize how rare that expression is on her. I saw it when I asked her about her van. The day Brooke officially hired her on. And now.

And that’s a fucking shame. Because Maren should be proud of every damn thing she does. She’s one of the hardest workers at the company. She’s brilliantly smart. Fearless and brave. Has done one hell of an amazing job raising her sister. Created a home I’m envious of.

She’s fucking fantastic, and I hate that she doesn’t seem to relish it.

“They must be some magical dessert bars then.” I decide to continue talking about something she isn’t afraid to be proud of. “I guess that explains why I’ve never gotten one.”

“You’ve never gotten one, because you’re technically not supposed to be at girls’ night.” Maren shoves the last of my steak into her mouth, smirking at me as she chews.

If she thinks this is going to deter me, she’s real fucking wrong. “I’m not the only one crashing your party.” I grab the bag, reaching in to pull out all three servings of triple chocolate cake, sliding two to Maren so she can be in charge of Zara’s, before opening mine. “You’ll have to take your grievances up with my brothers.”

“Is that cake?” Zara zeros in on what I’ve got. “I love cake.”

“You can have cake as soon as you eat one more Brussels sprout and finish your glass of water.” Maren doesn’t lay out crazy requirements that could result in Zara shoving in more food than she can fit. Just hydration and boundaries. My mom was the same way. We never had to clean our plate, but we did have to try everything.

Especially the green shit.

While Zara downs the last of her beverage, Maren collects the remnants of our meal. I quickly stand, doing the same, which brings us to the kitchen together again.

I block her path a little more carefully this time, making sure she can’t run away from what I’m about to say. I think it’s something she desperately needs to hear.

Moving in close, I lower my voice, holding her eyes with mine. “You are doing fucking amazing with Zara, you know that, right?”

Maren presses her lips together, a flash of uncertainty pinching her pretty features.

But there’s going to be no room for uncertainty where her parenting is concerned. Not if I have anything to say about it.

“I’m serious, Maren.” Somehow, my hand accidentally ends up cradling her cheek. “I know you’re technically not her mother, but you are one hell of a good mom.”

Her eyes stay on my face for a second longer, before dropping to the floor between us. “Thank you.”

It’s a quiet moment. Something we’ve never had before. There’s no fighting. No push or pull. Just real, open honesty.

Right up until she plants both hands on my chest and gives me a light shove. “Now get out of the way. Zara’s going to eat all our cake.”

18

Maren

Somehow, Trevor not only manages to get himself invited for dinner tomorrow, he also manages to spend three hours entertaining my sister before her bedtime.

While I sit on the couch watching one of my shows, the two of them stay parked at the table. I don’t know exactly what they’re doing, but I’m not going to ask any questions. I get very little time to myself, and I’m going to take full advantage.

Even if it’s Trevor Bradshaw responsible for providing it.

By the time eight thirty rolls around, I’ve watched not one, but two episodes, and enjoyed an entire package of frozen sour grapes.

After switching off the television, I stand up, stretching out before turning to my sister. “It’s bedtime. Pack it up.”

As usual, Zara starts whining. I suck in a breath, ready to shut her down. But Trevor beats me to the punch.

“No whining.” He stands, collecting the items they’ve strewn across the table. “If you don’t give your sister a hard time, maybe we can plan a trip to that petting zoo we found.”

Zara perks up, a smile lifting her lips. “Okay.”

I look from Trevor to my sister as they work together cleaning up their mess. Did he just bribe my sister into behaving?

It’s something I was completely unaware of before Zara came into my life. A fact I blame on my own nonexistent parenting. Nothing prepared me for how much of raising a child is about bribery and negotiation.

At first, I felt bad about bribing my sister. Like I was taking the easy way out. Until I realized I also routinely bribe myself. Nothing gets me moving faster than the reward of my favorite iced coffee when I’m on time for work. I felt way less bad about it after that.

I feel even less bad about it now that Trevor’s done it too. From everything I’ve heard, his childhood was great. By all accounts, his parents were, and still are, fantastic. So if bribery is his first inclination, there’s a good chance it was theirs. And if it’s good enough for Deidre Bradshaw, it’s sure as hell good enough for me.

As soon as the table is clear, I collect my sister, helping her into the bathroom to get her cleaned up. The cake removed from her hair and the steak juice washed from between her fingers, I get her in a fresh pair of PJs and lead her into the hall.

To find Trevor is nowhere in sight.

Did he just leave without saying goodbye? I know it’s late, but I would have expected him to at least let me know he was going.

I try not to be too pissed about it as I tuck my sister in and flip off her light, but I’m annoyed. Aggravated he just walked right out like I don’t even deserve⁠—

I stop when my eyes land on my very clean kitchen.

I must not have heard him working in here over the sounds of the bathwater and the blow dryer. All the dishes are done and put away, and the counters have been wiped clean, along with the dining table. Every bit of trash is gone, and the bag has been taken out, replaced with a fresh liner.

I’m a little less mad he didn’t say goodbye.

I got to watch two episodes of my show earlier, but it’s still on the early side, and I’m not quite ready to go to sleep. Heading back to the couch, I drop down to my favorite cushion. As I reach for the remote, my hand freezes midair.

A note sits just beside it on the coffee table.

I snatch it off the surface, reading the slanted words twice.

Maren,

Thank you for having dinner with me. I hope Zara didn’t give you too much shit over bedtime. Mostly because I already bought us tickets to go to a petting zoo tomorrow.

Trevor

It takes me a minute to notice I’m smiling. Even when I do, it’s impossible to smother the expression out. I know Trevor making plans like this is yet another example of his overstepping tendencies, but not having to be the one who does everything is so nice, I don’t freaking care.

Getting up from the sofa, I follow the same path I did last night, holding my breath as I look through the slats of the blinds hanging on the window. My eyes immediately land on Trevor’s car, and instead of being bothered by the way he’s invading my life, I breathe a little easier knowing he’s there.

I don’t quite understand what’s motivating him to spend his nights uncomfortably angled in a car seat instead of sleeping in what I’m sure is the world’s most expensive and luxurious bed. Honestly, sounds pretty fucking dumb to me. But what do I know? I’ve never actually slept in the world’s most expensive or luxurious bed. It might suck.

I doubt it though.

I resume my place on the sofa, watching another episode of my show before deciding it’s bedtime. Another look out the window confirms Trevor is still right where I left him. Then I brush my teeth and climb under the covers of my non-luxurious, inexpensive, queen-size bed.

I bet it’s still more comfortable than the front seat of Trevor’s car.

Rolling to one side, I fluff my pillow and close my eyes, prepared to fall asleep exactly like I did last night. Trevor’s out there. I’m safe. Someone is watching out so I don’t have to be ready to deal with anything bad that could happen.

But Trevor’s out there. Trying to sleep in a suit in the front seat of his car.

I flail around a little, flipping to my other side, trying to find a position that will be so comfortable I pass out.

There’s no way to get comfortable sleeping in a car. I know. I’ve done it. Many, many times. One of the best days of my life was the day I got a place of my own and had a bed without bugs to sleep in instead of the lumpy seat of my car.

“Fucking hell.”

I fling back the covers, grabbing one of my pillows and a blanket before shoving my feet into the closest pair of shoes and stomping my way out the front door. The day was warm, so now that the temperature has dropped, there’s dew on the grass, and it soaks into my ankles as I storm to where Trevor’s parked. He’s already lowering the window as I approach, but I don’t say a word. I just cram the pillow and blanket through the opening before turning to march back into my house.

Once inside, I kick off my shoes and peel away the damp socks before climbing back into bed. Blowing out a sigh, I wiggle around as I cuddle into the comfort of my mattress, expecting now I’ll be able to crash.

But the seconds drag on, turning into minutes. Then the minutes start to collect, racking up as I remember how little of a difference a pillow and blanket genuinely made when I was a teenager. Sure, they took the edge off the discomfort, but it was the equivalent of putting lipstick on a pig. The pig gets cuter, but at the end of the day it still stinks.

“Such a fucking pain in my ass.” I rip the covers off my body again, cramming my bare feet into the shoes I discarded, before yet again making my way outside.

It hasn’t been a dramatically long time since I was out here, but the temperature has dropped pretty significantly. By the time I make it to Trevor’s car, I’m hugging my middle and shivering. When his window doesn’t immediately lower like last time, I bang on it.

The dark tinted glass opens to reveal a rumpled looking Trevor Bradshaw. Most men would look messy and unkempt, but not him. He still looks just as handsome as always. The five o’clock shadow peppering his jaw adds a ruggedness he doesn’t normally possess, and the loose waves of his hair make me want to run my fingers through the strands to see what they feel like when they’re not plastered into place by hair gel.

His dark brows pinch together, a look of concern tightening his features. “What’s wrong?”

Shit. I was so busy noticing how unfortunately sexy he looks, I forgot to yell at him for ruining my night.

“You’re what’s wrong.” The damp chill in the air makes a shiver rack my body, sending goosebumps racing across my skin and pulling my nipples so tight they hurt. “If you’re going to be a pain in the ass and refuse to go home, then I guess I have to let you sleep on my couch. Otherwise I’ll be up all night.”

Trevor angles a brow. “Why would you be up all night?”

Is that what I said? I didn’t mean to say that. Definitely not out loud.

“Just shut up and come on.” I step back, making room for him to open the door. “Or don’t. I don’t really care.”

“Obviously you do care, otherwise you would be asleep.” Trevor closes the window as he opens the door. “And if it will make you feel better, I suppose I can sleep on your sofa.”

I scoff. “Make me feel better?” I try to shrug, but my shoulders just wiggle around weirdly. “I don’t care where you sleep. You can pass out on the grass if that’s what you really want to do.”

Trevor’s playful expression suddenly morphs into something much more serious. He slings the blanket I brought him earlier over my head, draping it across my back before using the fabric to reel me closer. He pulls me in so quickly, I can’t stop my feet, and end up with my front pressed to his. Leaning down, he teases the tip of my nose with his. “If you don’t care where I sleep, then I’d like to put in a request.”

“You’re not sleeping in my bed.” I mean to say it aggressively, but the words don’t really carry the bite I intend.

Trevor’s lips pull into a sinful smile. “I’m sure I could come up with a few ideas if you want to stay awake.”

I swallow hard, because is that what I want? A line I want to cross?

Trevor must sense my hesitation, because suddenly he’s stepping back, putting a little space between us as he tucks the blanket tighter around me. “But it’s probably better if we get a little sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

I ignore the flutter of disappointment echoing through my stomach as he leads me back home, urging me up the steps and through the front door.

Having sex with Trevor again is a terrible idea. I know this. But is it any worse of an idea than allowing him to get me off during the workday? Probably not.

If anything, taking our physical interactions off company property probably makes the most sense. Getting caught with the boss’s hand in my pants would surely make people question the validity of my position. And I’m not willing to risk my job for anything.

Not even a fantastic orgasm.

Trevor continues moving me along, directing me straight to my bedroom. He pauses a few feet in, his eyes moving around the shadowy space. It’s dimly lit, but the glowing salt lamp in one corner offers enough light to make out the basics.

Taking in the wrought-iron bed and mismatch nightstands, Trevor says, “This is actually pretty close to what I expected your bedroom to look like.”

“You were imagining what my bedroom would look like?” I shiver again, even though I’m not cold anymore. “That’s…weird.”

His eyes slide to fix on my face. “I wasn’t imagining what your bedroom would look like, Maren.” He steps closer, the scent of his skin invading my lungs. “I was imagining fucking you. Your bedroom just happened to be there.”

Oh. My. God.

What is a girl supposed to say to that?

This girl apparently says, “We can’t fuck in here. Zara’s bedroom is right on the other side of the wall.”

“Correction.” Trevor silently closes the door behind him. “We can’t fuck loudly in here.” He tugs away the blanket draped around my shoulders. “If you can be quiet, we can do whatever we want.” Tossing the blanket onto the mattress behind me, Trevor runs his lips up the side of my neck. “Or, I can go sleep on the couch like I planned.”

My eyes roll back as he nips the spot just beneath my ear. “We shouldn’t have sex again.”

“Okay.” He releases me, stepping back.

I nearly fall forward from the sudden shift. “Wait, what?”

“Anything but an enthusiastic yes means no, Maren.” Trevor unbuttons the front of his jacket. “And that wasn’t an enthusiastic yes.”

“But—” I sputter. “But what about when you paid me to let you get me off?”

“That was a negotiation.” He shucks his outer layer. “Sex isn’t a negotiation. It’s a yes, or a no.”

I scoff as he turns. “Where are you going?”

“To the couch.” Trevor pauses to peer at me over one shoulder. “Unless you want to enthusiastically ask me to come fuck you.”

I very much want to do that, but it feels an awful lot like making life too easy on him. So—in spite of the throb between my legs—I lift my chin, pressing my lips together.

Most men would be pissed. Angry over a rejection after the interaction we just had.

Not Trevor.

He seems… Pleased?

His lips curve in a slow smile. Then he gives me a wink as he pulls open the door and steps out into the hall. “Sweet dreams, Maren.”

I stand there for a few minutes, thinking he’s going to come back and give me what I secretly want.

Nope.

He seriously went and laid on my couch.

And now I have to go to bed, horny and aching, with him just a handful of steps away.

I could go to him. Demand he fuck me through my mattress. And he would.

As long as I demanded enthusiastically.

Well, fuck him. Metaphorically.

I flop down in my bed, pulling the covers up to my chin as I stare at the ceiling.

Wishing like hell I knew how to be just a little less difficult. Because then I’d be fucking Trevor.

Literally.

19

Trevor

Iwas planning to get up early so I could go home to get showered and changed before coming back with breakfast and coffee. Assumed that wouldn’t be a difficult feat considering I was sleeping on a sofa. Instead, I must have crashed hard, because now I’m dragging my eyelids open well after eight.

To discover I’m not the first one up.

Zara dangles a circle of colorful, braided thread over my face, the beads tied at one end brushing against my nose. “I made you a bracelet.”

Reaching up, I carefully take the item. “Thanks.”

Zara holds her wrist about two inches from my eyeballs, bringing yet another set of beads to tickle my nose. “I have one too. It means we’re best friends.”

“Yeah?” I look over her handiwork. “You did a really good job on these.”

“Thanks.” Zara points at the bracelet in my hand. “Now put it on.”

I grin as I do her bidding. Maren and Zara seemed completely different at first—one having a bright, shining personality and the other a no-nonsense ball of oppositional defiance—but the longer I’m around the five-year-old, the more obvious their genetic connection becomes.

Working carefully, I gently tie the bracelet into place. “You don’t mind telling people what to do, do you?”

Zara watches me intently. “No.”

“Good. Maybe I’ll hire you someday.” I manage to get the gift secured, then hold it up for inspection. “How’s it look?”

“Great.” Zara lifts her own wrist. “Now everyone at the petting zoo will know we’re friends.”

“That they will.” I work my way upright, peering past her. “Is your sister still asleep?”

“Maren likes to sleep in.” Zara’s eyes narrow as she scans my position. “Why are you sleeping on our couch?”

I rock my head from side to side, trying to work out the tension there. “Because it’s more comfortable than my car.”

“Why don’t you sleep at your house?” Zara immediately fires back at me.

“That is a great question.” And I would love to answer it. I just can’t.

Because I don’t fucking know why I don’t just sleep at my house.

I tried, but ended up getting antsy. Even watching the trailer from all angles though the app on my phone, I couldn’t relax enough to drift off. Because what could I do if I did see someone on one of the cameras? It takes me almost a half hour to get here from my place. By that time, anything could happen.

Maren will probably have murdered the intruder and loaded him into her van. I don’t even know how much Pierce will charge me to clean that sort of a mess up.

So it just seems easier to stick close. I’m not super comfortable sleeping in my car, but at least I’m sleeping.

“You want some breakfast?” I move Zara’s attention into safer territory. An area I know it will stay, because my new BFF loves to eat.

“We have cereal.” She carefully maneuvers up from where she’s been sitting on the floor beside the sofa. “Do you like Froot Loops?”

“They’re not something I would choose for myself.” Personally, I find Froot Loops disgusting, but I’m not going to yuck someone else’s yum. “Would you rather have eggs?” I stand, stretching my arms above my head before aiming for the kitchen.

“I’m not allowed to use the stove when Maren’s asleep.” Zara begins to follow me, her steps a little wobbly.

I pause, not sure how best to navigate this moment. “Would it help if I held your hand while you walked?” I’ve noticed Maren doesn’t pick Zara up when she’s not in her chair, instead choosing to offer her hand or arm for support. I don’t know Zara well, but I do know her sister, and her sister fucking hates being carried, so I’m going to assume that’s probably another thing they have in common.

“Yeah.” Without hesitation, she reaches for me, her tiny hand gripping mine tight. “I can’t walk as fast as most people.”

“That’s okay. Most people can’t think as fast as you.”

I got to spend a lot of time with Maren’s little sister last night, and the kid is smart as fuck. We played some of her favorite games on a tablet while she crafted, and I was shocked at how quick her mind works.

“That’s true.” She walks with me all the way to the kitchen, plopping down on the floor while I put together a pot of coffee before digging through the fridge. “My teacher says I’m the best reader in class.”

I turn from where I’m pulling out a package of ham “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Maren taught me to read when I was little. Said it was important I could do it.” Zara’s eyes are wide and innocent as she says something that tilts my world on its axis. “Did you know Maren couldn’t read until she was twice my age?”

Math is something I do on a daily basis, but it still takes me way too fucking long to figure out how old that would have made her. “She was ten?”

Zara nods. “Yeah. Because she was lexic and nobody knew.”

“Do you mean dyslexic? Like she gets her letters and words mixed up?” It seems impossible given what I know about Maren. How competently she managed the supply room and how fantastically she keeps up with Brooke’s schedule.

“Yeah. Her brain gets all confused.” Zara switches gears. “Can I have my eggs scrambled, please?”

It takes me a second to catch up, but as her eyes bounce from the carton in my hand to my face, I finally manage to get with the program. “Yeah. Scrambled is fine.”

I manage to keep my expression in check until I’m facing the counter, then I let it run wild. Because what the fuck? How could Maren be dyslexic? Beyond that, how did no one notice until she was ten? Especially that she couldn’t read? I get that Maren’s mom left a lot to be desired, but shouldn’t someone at school have figured it out? Done something to help her?

I continue trying to wrap my head around what Zara told me as I crack eggs into a bowl, adding a little milk and seasoning before mixing the hell out of them with a fork.

“What in the hell?”

I turn to find the woman in question standing in the open doorway. Maren’s hair is messy and sticking out from her head. Her pajama shorts are twisted to one side, and one cheek is pink and creased from her pillow.

I was disappointed over not getting to go to bed with her last night, but I fucking hate that I wasn’t there to see her when she woke up. Because there’s something about her rumpled state that is attractive as hell.

“Why are you cooking in my kitchen?” Maren rubs at one eye before turning her gaze to where her sister sits. “We have so much cereal.”

“Which is exactly what Zara suggested.” The coffee maker has finished brewing, so I grab a mug and fill it almost to the brim, adding a little of Maren’s preferred creamer before handing it off. “But I’m not exactly a cereal lover.”

“Shocking.” Maren takes a sip of the steaming liquid. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we don’t all have steak and eggs for breakfast.”

“That’s because you two ate all the steak.” I give Zara a grin so she knows I’m teasing. “This morning you’ll have to settle for ham and eggs.”

I don’t actually eat out a lot. By the time I’m finished at work, every place worth eating at is closed. So I cook at home. Before Ruth took over as my assistant, I generally didn’t stop to eat during the day. When I finally clocked out, I was ready to chew an arm off and would eat whatever I could throw together easily at home.

I look Maren over as I dice up the ham I found in her fridge. “Why don’t you get ready while I finish this?”

I’m not trying to boss her around. Just want her to know I’ve got everything under control, and she can go do whatever she needs to do.

“Fine.” Maren takes another long sip of her coffee then disappears from sight.

As I’m adding the eggs to the pan, Zara decides she wants to be an active participant in breakfast construction. I pull up one of the chairs, helping her up so she can man the toaster. While I work on our scramble, adding cheese and setting it to melt, she feeds slices of bread into the slots. By the time Maren returns, we have three steaming plates loaded with eggs and toast, and three glasses of orange juice set around the table.

Maren has organized the waves of her hair and swapped her sleep set for a pair of high-waisted jeans and a cropped sweatshirt. A set of dangling earrings shaped like caterpillars hang from her lobes. My focus snags on them. They’re brightly colored and so different from anything I’ve seen her wear to work.

“Zara got me these for my birthday.” Maren fingers one protectively. “Because I love caterpillars.”

“They’re great earrings.” I take my place across the table from her. “Zara has awesome taste in jewelry.”

“I made Trevor a bracelet.” Zara lifts her wrist. “It matches ours.”

Ours?

My eyes snap to where Maren sits across from me. Sure enough, circling her wrist, right next to the band of her smartwatch, is a bracelet almost identical to the one I’m wearing.

“Because now we’re all best friends.” Zara digs into her eggs, chewing through the mouthful, completely oblivious to what she’s just done.

The seed she’s planted in my brain.

I can’t let it grow, but I’m worried I also won’t be able to let it go. Not now that I know what it’s like to wake up with them close. What it’s like to go to sleep knowing they’re safe and warm, and that anyone who wants to get close to them will have to get through me first.

And I’ve got a lot of stress and frustration to work out thanks to the bullshit that started with Dead Dan. The same bullshit that’s likely responsible for my obsession with keeping the people I care about safe.

We finish breakfast, Zara chattering happily about the plan for the day while I try to rein myself in. I clean up the kitchen while Maren gets Zara ready. When they come out of Zara’s room, the little girl is fully decked out in a jean skirt, flower print leggings, and a striped sweater. Maren has woven Zara’s dark hair into a set of braids that each end with a ribbon. A pair of coordinating boots dotted with pink glitter complete the outfit.

Maren looks great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s clear she put more effort into Zara’s look than she did her own.

Which seems to be a trend.

Maren always puts her sister first, in pretty much every way. From the size of their bedrooms, to the items filling their home. Maren is up early to take her sister to school and stays out late shuttling Zara from one activity to another. It’s something I respect deeply about her.

But it also bothers the hell out of me to see all the sacrifices Maren has made. It makes me wish I could do more for her. Figure out some way to take just a little off her plate.

Unfortunately, the best I can offer is money and broken promises.

“Are you ready to go, Trevor?” Zara bounces in place as Maren gets her situated in the seat of her wheelchair.

I grin as she wiggles around, making her sister’s job way more difficult. “I am. And if you sit still, we’ll get on the road a lot faster.”

Maren gives me a once-over as she finishes belting Zara in. “Are you seriously going to the petting zoo in a suit?”

“Of course I’m not going to the petting zoo in a suit.” As soon as she hooks her bag over the back of Zara’s chair, I step in between them, gripping the handles. “That’s why we’re stopping at my house on our way.”

I know Maren’s nervous about bringing Zara to my house, but it’s probably better to rip that Band-Aid off now. It’s going to happen sooner or later, and I think she’s going to be pleasantly surprised at how little her sister genuinely cares about the differences between their home and mine.

“Why don’t you go home and then we can meet at the petting zoo?” Maren trails behind me as I wheel Zara out the door and down the ramp, maneuvering the chair the same way I’ve watched her do a number of times. “I’m sure the last thing you want is us invading your sacred space.”

I snort, because it seems she’s been reading me all wrong. “My space isn’t sacred.”

Not the way she thinks anyway.

Maren lifts her brows. “I’ve seen your office. I can only imagine what the inside of your house looks like.”

“It’s nice, don’t get me wrong.” I push Zara to her side of the van. “But it’s not the sort of house people get comfortable in.”

It happened by accident. Since I didn’t have anywhere else to direct my somewhat obsessive tendencies, they ended up zeroing in on my home. I became completely engrossed in turning it into exactly what I wanted it to be. When I wasn’t working, I was scrolling through furniture options and perusing wallpaper samples. It gave me something to anticipate. Was a project I could participate in, while not having to control or micromanage.

And then it was done, and I felt remarkably… Unsatisfied.

Having the home of my dreams was depressingly unfulfilling. I know my brothers think it’s my pride and joy, but it’s neither. I like it, but it doesn’t fill the void the way I hoped it would.

I still let them give me shit about it, and pretend their assumptions are right. That’s much easier to face than the reality of all I can never have.

Maren snorts as she presses the button to open the door and unfurl the ramp. “I don’t believe you. I’ve been to your mother’s house, and it’s insanely gorgeous, while also more than comfortable.”

For some reason, that makes me smile. Mostly because Maren has no clue what’s coming if she’s expecting my house to look like my mother’s. “You’re in for a surprise then.”

I push Zara inside, but after that I’m at a loss. From my vantage point under the tree, I could never really see what happens on the interior of the van. Stepping back, I watch intently as Maren goes to work strapping the chair securely to the floor. I do my best to commit the process to memory so I’ll be able to accomplish it on my own, but I’m not completely confident I’ll remember every step. Not after just observing once.

Maren gets behind the wheel and I take the passenger seat, managing to buckle in just as she flings her bag in my direction.

I catch it, angling a brow at her.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She starts the engine. “You’re the one who insisted on sitting in my bag holding seat, so you’re going to have to deal with the consequences.”

I don’t know what all Maren has in this thing, but it’s heavy enough it probably does deserve its own seat. “I didn’t complain.”

“Whatever.” She backs out of her tiny driveway and begins the journey to my home.

A strange tightness curls through my guts as we close in on my family’s estate. It’s not nervousness. I don’t normally experience that. It’s not dread either, though that is one I’m familiar with. I think it might be excitement. Anticipation. I’ve never had anyone but family in my home, and I’m genuinely looking forward to it. Not because I want to show off, but because having Maren and Zara inside seems like it will de-sterilize the space. Cut through the museum feel it has and turn it into something more… Palatable.

Plus, I know neither of them will hold back on what they think about it. And I can’t wait to hear what they have to say.

20

Maren

“This is your house?” Zara sounds just as awed as I expected as she stares out the windshield at Trevor’s home. “How many people live here?”

“Just me.” Trevor looks at his house, brows pinching together. “Kinda dumb, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Zara’s honest answer is unhesitating.

So is Trevor’s laugh. A smile splits his face and the deep, rich sound of his amusement fills the van. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

I’ve met a lot of men who don’t appreciate honest women. Guys who don’t like hearing the truth in any capacity. Maybe they find it intimidating. More likely, they don’t like hearing they aren’t the best fucking thing ever.

Not Trevor. For some reason, he seems to find it fantastic. Looking back, the meaner I was to him, the more often our paths crossed. And now I’m wondering if that was by design. The more shit I dished out, the more he showed up to take.

Which is real fucking confusing considering he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who takes shit from anyone.

I park in his driveway, leaving the engine running. I fully intend to stay out here waiting for him. Going inside his home feels like crossing a bridge I’ll never be able to get back over.

But instead of letting me stay in my tiny remaining bubble of emotional safety, the jerk reaches across the console and shuts off the engine himself before punching the button to open Zara’s door. Obviously he was also paying attention while I buckled her in, because he goes straight to where she sits and begins unhooking her chair. Now I either have to sit out here on my own, or follow my sister into the mansion staring back at me.

Fucking hell.

I snap my belt free a little more aggressively than necessary before sliding out, crossing both arms over my chest while he frees my sister and pushes her down the ramp. It takes me a second to figure out why he suddenly stops, staring at the face of his home.

“How in the hell are we going to get you inside?” Trevor tips his head so he can see Zara’s face. “You want a piggyback?”

My sister hates to be carried. Has from the minute she was big enough to scoot around on her own. I know her determination to be independent is likely why she’s doing as well as she is and has come as far as she has, but sometimes it makes things more difficult. To be honest, it would be so much easier to pick her up and carry her to bed instead of slowly following her down the hall. And I am determined not to take that freedom away from her. But letting Zara try to scale the set of stairs leading to Trevor’s front door is an entirely different story. It just isn’t an option. Sure, they’re wide and sturdy, definitely well-built and solid. But there’s no easily accessible handrail, and if she falls, the hard edges will do way more than cause bruising.

I hold my breath, hoping she rejects his plan. Then we can load right back up into the van and wait while he gets ready.

To my dismay, my sister seems thrilled over Trevor piggybacking her, and she laughs hysterically as he crouches in front of her, pretending she’s choking him as she wraps both arms around his neck.

His hold on her is careful but secure as he keeps her safely in place while I collapse her chair and trudge behind them. He turns to me as I reach the bottom of the steps, tipping his head at the wheelchair. “Leave that. I’ll come get it once we get her inside.”

I consider ignoring his command, but the chair is pretty fucking heavy and I don’t necessarily want to fall down the stairs either. So, I leave it behind, watching as he finishes scaling the steps and punches a code into the keypad on the door.

“I saw the numbers you pushed.” Zara grips a little tighter as he shifts his hold so he can push the door open. “It was four, two, one, seven.”

“Sounds like you’re planning to come over and steal all my stuff.” Trevor pauses in the foyer, looking from side to side. “You want to watch TV while I get ready?”

“Yeah.”

Zara giggles as he bounces her down the hall, leading me deeper into his home.

And what a home it is.

Trevor’s office gave me a clue of what his style might be like, but seeing it on this scale is almost imposing. It’s a dramatic combination of sleek and elegant. The furniture filling the space is an eclectic collection of modern and antique. The colors range from bright and bold, to muted and soft, to dark and regal. The variety is almost startling, but somehow it all works together.

There’s an office just inside the front door lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books and art. Leather furniture and glass tables accent the large desk dominating the space. The travertine tile is softened with area rugs layered in a way that looks random but is probably well thought out, and crimson drapes scrape the floor and stretch to the ceiling.

Across the hall is a formal living room sporting velvet rolled-arm sofas in a deep emerald hue. A gold and mahogany coffee table is positioned between them, with artfully arranged sculptures lined down the center. The wood floor of the entryway carries into the room, and again, plush area rugs are purposefully scattered across the floor.

The room is stunning. Exactly the sort of space I would expect to see on the cover of a magazine.

Also, the last place I would feel comfortable plopping down to munch popcorn and watch TV.

I continue on, passing a stunning dining room that doesn’t look like anyone has ever eaten in it, a hallway leading to a half-bath, and a door that’s probably attached to the garage. Then I enter Trevor’s kitchen and my jaw drops.

The kitchen in my trailer is tiny. There’s barely enough counterspace to set a cutting board on, and no room for a microwave. Trevor’s kitchen does not have that problem. If anything, it suffers from an opposite issue. I could lay at the center of the island, spread eagle, and not be able to touch a single edge. He has enough room to display every small appliance in existence, but doesn’t appear to own a single one. Like the formal living room, it’s a beautiful space.

One I wouldn’t ever want to cook in. It’s too pristine. Too perfect. A kitchen you look at but don’t use.

Just like the rest of the place.

I finally find Trevor and Zara in the backmost room. Unsurprisingly, it’s yet another impeccably designed area. Soaring ceilings are covered in planked wood. Gigantic windows allow light to spill in. A fireplace I could probably park my van inside dominates one wall, and there’s a fancy furniture store somewhere missing every item from its showroom floor. But even with throw pillows and blankets scattered around the U-shaped sectional, I can’t imagine Trevor lounging in here.

And that sort of makes me sad. Who can’t be comfortable in their own home? The place you’re supposed to decompress and relax.

Maybe that’s why the man can turn coal to diamonds with his butthole.

Zara doesn’t seem to have the same struggles I do about this place, though. The second Trevor plunks her onto the cushions, she sprawls across the luxurious couch, shoes on the upholstery as she demands he turn on the movie theater-size television so she can watch cartoons.

Once ponies are prancing across the screen, Trevor turns to me. “Would you like a tour?”

Kind of… But not out of nosiness. Part of me is hoping I’m gonna find at least one room that looks lived in. “Sure.”

Trevor holds an arm out, motioning to the stairs. “After you.”

I slowly work my way up to the second floor, a weird sort of sadness collecting in my belly as we move from room to room. Each one is fully furnished and expertly decorated. There are bedrooms, a study, a laundry room that is probably as big as my entire home, and a gym, complete with mirrored walls and specialty rubber flooring.

And even though I am quite confident Trevor at least makes use of the gym, not a single space appears to be lived in. Nothing is out of place. There’s no sign anyone actually inhabits this place. By the time he shows me to a room at the end of the hall, I feel almost sick. Sad for him in a way I don’t normally feel for other people.

My life was so hard growing up that it’s sort of killed my empathy for other people’s struggles. Their complaints always seem so shallow and minuscule in comparison to what I went through. And I don’t know how the hell it happened, but somehow I feel bad for Trevor.

Things haven’t been easy for me, but I have someone to love. I have someone who loves me back. My days are full of happiness and laughter and joy, courtesy of the little girl watching cartoons downstairs. My house is lived in and loved in and warm and messy and comfortable…

And the exact opposite of Trevor’s in every way that counts.

Maybe I’m starting to figure out one of the reasons he’d rather sleep on my couch than in his expensive bed. Because everything about this place feels hollow. Empty. In spite of how full it is.

I can’t imagine living an empty life that’s full of nothing.

Trevor leads me into the bedroom that has to be his, and I numbly take it in, my throat tight over what it must feel like to come home to this every night.

“Your house is beautiful.”

It’s the truth, but only part of it.

His house is also cold and unyielding. At one point, it would’ve made complete sense because that’s what I believed Trevor was.

Now…

I move toward his bed, trying to muster up some sort of anger or irritation to cut through the sympathy and sadness. Unfortunately, I can’t make it happen.

“But I can’t really imagine you living here.”

“That’s because I don’t.”

I spin to face him, confused. “Then what⁠—”

“I live at the office, Maren. It’s my whole life. Always has been. There’s no room for anything else.” Trevor’s eyes drag around the place he’s supposed to feel most relaxed. “Even here.”

I swallow hard. My job is important to me, but only because it’s a means to an end. It’s how I take care of myself. How I take care of my sister. How I ensure we both get everything we need to be healthy and happy. It’s not my whole life. Not even close.

But Trevor has more than McKinley Security Systems. I know that for a fact. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. “What about your brothers? Your family?”

“They are why my job is my whole life. My brothers depend on me being my best. If I drop a ball, everyone suffers.” He takes a step toward me. “But not only do they need me to stay focused, you need me to be my best. Your life and your security are in my hands.”

Holy shit.

I was starting to get the idea Trevor might have some obsessive tendencies. Might have even liked it a little when I was the focus. But this is starting to sound unhealthy. No one should carry the weight of an entire company on their shoulders. It’s impossible.

Even shoulders as broad and strong as Trevor Bradshaw’s.

“I get what you’re saying.” I try to keep my tone from sounding snarky, and do a surprisingly good job. “But the rise and possible fall of McKinley Security Systems isn’t dependent on your willingness to work yourself to death.” I step closer, noticing the shadows under his eyes for the first time. “You are important, but you aren’t important enough to be the entire key to the success of your company.”

That might have sounded mean, but honestly, it’s the truth. Trevor is great. He’s awesome at what he does. He clearly cares deeply for everyone who works at McKinley, and has decided the burden of their lives is his to bear.

Which is kind of dumb.

I probably won’t tell him that. Not today. Maybe tomorrow, though. Because I think he might need to hear it.

“But everyone there relies on me.” He rakes a hand through his hair, looking a little distraught. “Security needed my help last night, and I wasn’t there.”

“So?” I shrug, confused about what that has to do with anything. “Were you the only person who could help them?”

Trevor stares at me for a second before scoffing, the hand dropping from his hair to his side. “No, but they had to bother Titus about it.”

“Again, so?” I’m still not seeing the issue here. “Sometimes they bother Titus. Sometimes they bother you. Sometimes they probably bother Toby, and other times they bother Tucker. I bet they even annoy Walker from time to time. As long as it gets handled, why does it matter who does it?”

“Because it’s my responsibility.” Trevor sounds a little desperate. Like he’s trying to make me understand.

I don’t see that happening, because what he’s saying doesn’t make any sense. Not to me.

It clearly does to him, though, and I don’t think that’s something we’re going to figure out today.

“Not everything is your responsibility, Trevor.”

“It is. I’m the one who wanted to expand the business. I convinced everyone else it was possible. I’m the reason things are the way they are.” He’s almost pleading with me now, and it makes me sad all over again.

I can’t believe this jerk has made me feel so freaking bad for him. That somehow he’s making me think I might almost respect him.

Maybe even like him. A little.

And that little bit of like is probably responsible for the way I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his body against mine in a hug.

I don’t normally like to hug people. It makes me uncomfortable. They usually squeeze too tight or hang on too long, and after a few seconds I’m stuck trying to figure out how in the hell to get out of it.

But hugging Trevor isn’t uncomfortable. He’s warm and firm, and even though I know he hasn’t showered since yesterday, he smells really good. Good enough, I accidentally close my eyes and press my face into the crook of his neck, breathing deep against his skin.

And somehow, magically find a way to relax in his very un-relaxing house.

“I just don’t want to let you down, Maren.” He holds me tighter. “If you and Zara ever ended up in a bad position because of a decision I made, I don’t think I would be able to get over it.”

This fucking man.

How can someone be so annoyingly and infuriatingly sweet? I want to yell at him and cuddle him at the same time.

But maybe I could settle for something that might make us both feel a little better.

Shoving away from him, I point the way we came in. “Close the door.”

Trevor looks in the direction I indicated. “Why?”

I grab the hem of my sweatshirt, yanking it over my head and letting it drop to the floor. “Because we’re about to fuck.”

21

Trevor

Those words were the last thing I expected to come out of Maren’s mouth, which is probably why I’m staring at her dumbly as she strips off her clothes.

Or maybe I’m just stunned speechless at the sight of the first naked woman to grace my bedroom in years.

Technically, I haven’t actually seen Maren fully naked before now, and honestly the view is melting my brain. It’s a little shocking to me how tiny she actually is. Not because I don’t rationally know she’s short and slim, but because she seems to take up so much more space in the world.

In my world.

Once the last article of her clothing is piled on my floor, she props both hands on her hips, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not staring.” My gaze travels down the column of her neck and over the ridge of her collarbone, sweeping over the slight swells of her breasts before tracing the dip of her naval. “I’m memorizing.”

Maren snorts. “You’re so weird.”

I don’t think she has any clue how much it turns me on when she gives me shit. How much easier it makes it for me to want to be around her. How much safer I feel being myself because of it.

I hook my fingers beneath my already loosened tie, tugging it free of my neck. “You’re not gonna be saying that in two minutes.”

“Two minutes?” Maren watches my movements as I shuck my wrinkled jacket and begin working the buttons of my shirt loose. “That’s almost not worth taking my clothes off for.”

“Tell me that in four minutes.” I work the shirt down my arms, letting it rest wherever it falls. Then I advance, urging Maren back with the press of my body against hers. “And again in six.”

I’ve never been one to half-ass anything. And while she might be a little judgy about my work ethic, I think Maren’s going to change her opinion about my dedication pretty quickly.

Encircling her waist with both hands, I lift her feet off the ground, tossing her onto my bed. Before she can fully recover from the sudden shift in her location, I crawl over her, dragging my nose up the center of her body as I go. “How long do we have?”

Maren’s fingers grip my shoulders. “Ten minutes. Tops.”

“You might want to set a timer then, because if I do this right, you’re gonna lose track.” Pushing up to my knees, I wrestle off my undershirt before dropping back down over her. “And I’m gonna do this right.”

So far, Maren hasn’t seen the best I have to offer. Not by a long shot. But that changes today. Because I don’t plan for this to be it between us. I know it can’t ever be all I want, but I’m positive I can make it worth her time to continue seeking me out.

I pull my phone from the pocket of my slacks, tossing it to her before shucking them along with my underwear. “I’m serious. Set an alarm.”

I can’t even begin to imagine how to be a good parent, but I do know letting Zara find me balls deep in her sister isn’t a great start. So, while Maren unlocks my phone with my face and opens the clock app, I get to work.

There’s so much I want to do with her, but I’ve got to be smart about this. Use my time wisely.

And I know exactly how to do it.

Gripping Maren behind the knees, I lift her legs, spreading them wide as I drag the flat of my tongue up the line of her pussy, tracing the path of her seam.

She’s so distracted by attempting to set a timer, she must not have seen me coming, because she gasps sharply.

Then drops my phone on her face.

“Goddammit, Trevor.” There’s no anger in her voice. She sounds more exasperated than anything. “Stop distracting me.”

“No.” It’s a blanket statement. One she won’t know the full extent of until tomorrow, when I do everything in my power to distract her into visiting my office. And a conference room.

And maybe the back seat of my car.

The next swipe of my tongue ends at her clit, where I settle in just as she throws my cell back at me. The device lands on the covers next to her thigh, the countdown I’m racing displayed across the screen.

I wish I could take my time and enjoy this moment, but that’s not the opportunity offered. So, I’m going to make the most of every fucking second. Wring every orgasm I can out of the woman already riding my face like she bet money on the results.

I manage to send her over the edge within the first minute and a half, exploiting every bit of the knowledge I’ve gained about how she likes to be touched. Maren doesn’t appreciate teasing, which makes me think she’s been left hanging a lot. I’m going to show her she can trust me to satisfy her. As many times as possible.

Because I very much intend to tease her at some point. If for no other reason than to earn her claws.

I check the timer as she tries to catch her breath, shifting my phone up the bed before rolling Maren to her belly. She wanted me to fuck her from behind the day of Toby’s wedding, but logistically, that wasn’t an option. It is now. And I want to know if she chose it out of preference or convenience.

Wedging one knee between her thighs, I pry myself just enough room to fit my body into hers. Letting my chest rest against her back, I nuzzle the shell of her ear as the head of my dick nudges at her slick pussy. I slide deep, eyes rolling back at how fucking good she feels. Once I’m fully seated, I straddle her thighs, pressing them together as I rock against her. “Yes? No?”

Maren peers at me over one shoulder, cheeks flushed, brows pinched. “What?”

That doesn’t sound promising, so I reach for a pillow. “We don’t have time for me to try to read your mind. If you tell me what you like, we’re both gonna have way more fun.” Shifting up to my knees, I hook one hand under her body, lifting her hips enough I can wedge the pillow into place. “I’d love to figure it out myself, but that’s gonna take a minute, and we’ve only got six left.” Once the pillow is situated, I roll my hips, testing the new position.

This time, I get a pretty obvious reaction.

The moan Maren lets out is exactly what I’m looking for, but it’s also loud enough to give us away. I quickly clamp a hand over her mouth as I blanket her back with my front, lips against her ear as I warn, “Gotta be quiet, or I’ll have to stop.”

Maren shoots me a glare, but it’s short-lived since her eyes roll closed on my next thrust.

I can’t stop the smirk that curves my lips at the sounds she’s making behind the press of my palm. I also can’t stop myself from antagonizing her. Just a little. “If I’d known this is all it takes to calm you down, I would have fucked the hate out of you months ago.”

The next sound she makes is a growl, and it comes as her teeth sink into my finger.

This time I’m the one groaning. I’m not a masochist. It’s not the pain pulling my balls tight and threatening my control. It’s knowing she can handle me. That Maren will never let me walk all over her. She won’t hesitate to tell me when I’m wrong or dumb or being a fucking idiot.

And I’m a wrong, dumb idiot a lot.

“You are so fucking vicious.” I bury my face in her hair, trying desperately to keep my movements consistent, as I fuck her into the mattress I’ll never sleep on the same way again. “So fucking fierce.” Knowing I’m running out of time, I wedge my free hand between her body and the pillow, cupping her pussy in a way that puts pressure on her clit without rubbing directly against it. “And I love it.”

Maren bucks against me, her fingers gripping tight to the comforter covering my bed as her pussy clenches around me. It’s only through sheer willpower and determination that I manage to keep going a few seconds longer. But the instant her climax seems like it’s on the down swing, I’m gone.

Unable to hold back any longer, I have to let go, losing all coordination as I fight for some semblance of consistency. I collapse just as the timer on my phone goes off. I don’t know that I’ve ever had sex on a deadline, but I didn’t hate it. The race added a little bit of excitement to things.

And God knows I love a challenge. Probably yet another reason I’ve been so fascinated with the woman beneath me.

I switch off the timer, closing my eyes for just a second to catch my breath before we have to get up, put on our clothes, and pretend like nothing happened.

Brushing Maren’s hair away from her face, I run my lips along the curve of her jaw. “Was that all you hoped it would be?”

“All ten minutes of it?” Maren’s lips curve, softening any bite her words might have carried.

“Careful.” I slowly work my body from hers. “I’ll sneak into your bed tonight and keep you up until we have to leave for work.”

Maren rolls to her back, frowning up at me. “You know you can’t keep sleeping on my couch, right?”

I head for my bathroom, planning to take a quick shower before we leave. As much as I don’t want to wash her off my skin, I haven’t cleaned up since yesterday and I don’t want to smell worse than the animals Zara’s petting today. “Why not?”

Maren sits up, looking from one side of the bed to the other. “Because you just can’t.” She debates a second more before sliding off the edge closest to the door, grabbing her shirt and bra as she heads for the water closet. “I don’t want Zara to get any wrong ideas.”

Leaning into the shower stall, I twist on the water. “And what sort of wrong ideas would that be?”

I learned a long time ago not to ask questions I don’t already know the answers to, so I don’t think I’m going to be surprised by any of Maren’s reasons.

Maren’s voice carries through the gap in the partially closed door. “I don’t want her to think you’re always going to be around.”

Well… Fuck. I didn’t see that coming.

And that means I don’t have an easy reply ready. All I have is the truth, and I know Maren isn’t ready to hear that. Not any more than I’m willing to say it.

Because I’ve already decided I’m not going anywhere. I may not be able to give Maren everything, but I can give her some things. Stability. Security. Safety. I know ultimately that won’t be enough, but I guess that’s a bridge I’ll cross when I have to.

Today isn’t that day.

Turning away from the running shower, I angle a brow as she reappears. “Are you already planning ways to get rid of me?”

“I’ve been planning ways to get rid of you, Trevor.” Maren huffs out a breath that could be a frustrated sigh if it didn’t sound amused. “You’re too freaking stubborn for any of them to work.”

My eyes stay glued to her tits as she straps her bra into place, savoring the view until it becomes obstructed. “I didn’t expect you to give up so easily.”

Maren shoots me a glare before her head disappears under the fabric of her sweater. “No one said I’m giving up.” She tugs the garment into place, shoving both arms into the sleeves. “So don’t get your hopes up.”

She clearly doesn’t have any clue what my hopes are, because hearing she intends to continue giving me hell satisfies me on a level that should probably be dissected during therapy.

Talking to someone about the shit that goes through my head has never been a serious consideration for me. While I’m happy it’s working well for my brothers, I really don’t have time for it. But it would be interesting to know a little more about why I am the way I am. It might even make me better at my job. Could help the success of the company in a roundabout sort of way.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” I back toward the shower, looking over the bare skin still on display in front of me. “I don’t like being bossed around.”

Maren’s lips curve in a hint of a smile as she goes to retrieve her jeans and panties. “That is the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.”

I ogle the curve of her ass as she bends over, before finally forcing myself into the shower, squeezing shampoo into my hand. “Maybe I like being selectively bossed around.”

Probably another thing Bert, my brothers’ therapist, would love to dissect.

I wait for Maren’s snarky retort as I quickly scrub my hair, but it doesn’t come. She must have gotten dressed and rushed downstairs to check on Zara, which is probably for the best.

But I can’t ignore how much I liked having her in here to talk to while I got ready. It’s the sort of normal activity I’ve never been able to participate in, and getting to experience it—even if it’s a temporary sort of thing—was really fucking nice.

I rush to rinse the shampoo out of my hair, barely getting the suds clear before grabbing my body wash. I want to get downstairs with everyone else as quickly as possible. Even if it means skipping my skincare routine.

I’ve got my upper half covered in lather when Maren comes running into the bathroom. She steps right into the shower, holding my phone up in front of my face before snapping the screen away so quickly I can’t tell what she’s trying to show me.

Then I realize she wasn’t trying to show me anything. She was unlocking it.

Her eyes fuse to the device, skin pale as she stares.

“What’s wrong?” I quickly swipe a washcloth over the remaining high points, before mostly rinsing off. I’ve got a pretty good idea what she’s looking at, and I’d rather not explain it soaking wet and naked.

Grabbing a towel, I sling it around my middle. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I was just trying to⁠—”

Maren’s eyes come to my face, rage pooling in their depths. “Someone just broke into my house.”

Bradshaw Family Group Chat

Trevor

Come to my house now.

Tobias

Who the fuck are you talking to?

Trevor

Everyone.

Tucker

Are you being serious? Because you’ve never invited us all to your house. You know Birdie’s going to be coming with me, right? And she’s got a popsicle I’m not taking from her.

Trevor

I don’t have time for a whole fucking discussion about this. Get your asses moving.

Mom

I’m halfway there. SYS

Mariah

Is everything okay? Are you hurt? Should I send a first-aid kit with Titus?

Trevor

Someone’s breaking into Maren’s house. The cops are on their way, but I need all fucking hands on deck.

Now that I’m thinking about it, just go to her house. I’ll send the address.

Brooke

Ohhhhhhhhhh. I’ll have Toby bring his truck.

Tucker

I’ll drive mine too.

Mom

Your dad’s calling U-Haul. BRT.

Walker

Why the fuck is everyone talking about trucks?

Tucker

You’ll find out. Cause I’m pretty sure this means you’re the only one left who doesn’t know.

Trevor

I’m loading Maren and Zara up into the van now. We’ll see you when you get there.

Brooke

She’s at your house now? With Zara?????

Mariah

Oh, shit.

Ruth

I’ll bring my extra boxes, packing tape, and Sharpies.

Brooke

Someone better bring bleach and towels, because I think there’s going to be bloodshed when Maren realizes what’s happening.

Mariah

Can you record it for me so I don’t miss out on the fun?

22

Maren

Trevor stops a few feet inside my trailer, his big body blocking my view. “Holy shit.”

“Move.” I shove at his back, but he doesn’t budge. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough you need to turn around and go sit in the van with Zara.” Trevor’s voice is eerily calm. “Now.”

Does this prick seriously think he can fuck me into submission? “I know you didn’t just⁠—”

He spins to face me, the move so sudden it sends me tipping back in surprise. Before I can flail around for balance, Trevor’s warm palm is spread across my back, steadying me.

He leans down, eyes aligning with mine. “I’m not trying to be a dick, Maren.” His free hand curves along the line of my jaw. “This is your home. You don’t need to see it like this.”

“Trust me. I lived in places that look way worse than this does now.” I don’t even need to see inside for confirmation. “I have to look. The police need me to tell them if anything is missing.”

Trevor’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching tight. Because he knows I’m right. I appreciate that he’s trying to shield me from this, but whatever is beyond that door won’t be nearly as shocking as he thinks.

After a few more tense seconds, he finally relents, barely shifting his body to one side to reveal the trashed inside of the trailer Zara and I share. Trevor’s big body stiffens next to me as I take it all in, the hand that was on my back curving to grip my hip as he pulls me tighter to his side.

I know he’s expecting a specific sort of reaction from me, and I kinda wish that was what he would get. I wish I felt the kind of horror and sadness most people would in this situation.

Instead, I’m just tired. Pissed my sister’s life is being touched by our mother’s bad decisions. Exhausted, I’m cleaning up yet another of her messes.

Literally.

“I would say most of my electronics are probably gone.” I step over the threshold, ready to get this show on the road. The sooner I figure out what’s going on, the faster the police can make a list of the items I’ll never see again, and the quicker I can make a claim with my renter’s insurance.

Because I learned the hard way I’m not the kind of person who can’t have renters insurance.

The police officer who’s handling the investigation follows me around as I point out everything that was taken. She dutifully makes a list on her pad as I make one in my head so I can recount it to my agent later.

All the televisions are gone, along with the microwave. The box containing my cheap costume jewelry is missing. So is the high-end blender I use to make smoothies and milkshakes. Shockingly, my work laptop is still in its bag, but that’s likely because the dillholes who went through the place didn’t think to look in the basket under the entry table where I store it.

Once I’ve gone through each room, the detective scans her report. “What about money? Did you have any cash they might have stolen?”

I snort. “Absolutely not. With a mother like mine, you learn real quick to keep money where she can’t get her hands on it.”

I’ve had a bank account since the day I turned eighteen. Before that, I kept any money I made in my locker at school. Because if Janine Lucas knew I had something she could find a way to turn into drugs, she would do everything in her power to obtain it.

I’m actually a little surprised she didn’t try to do that with Zara. I don’t know what saved my sister from one of the many horrifying fates she could have suffered, but I’m so fucking grateful it did.

The police officer finishes her remaining questions, then leaves me her card, telling me to call if I come up with anything else that’s missing.

When she’s gone, I do a slow spin, blowing out all the air in my lungs as I look over the work ahead of me. “I probably should’ve figured this was coming.”

“How could you have known this would be coming?” Trevor asks the question carefully. He’s not incredulous. Or angry. He doesn’t phrase it in the way most people would—as if there’s no way I could have anticipated my house getting trashed.

Because he seems to have figured out there’s more to this story.

It’s not a story I enjoy telling, so I make the best attempt I can at getting out of it. “You mean besides by watching all the cameras you have pointed at my house?”

When I was getting dressed and Trevor’s phone started vibrating and lighting up, I assumed it was work emails, so I grabbed it to bring it to him. Because I’m nice like that. I’m also nosy, so I totally looked at the thumbnails populating the screen, expecting to see messages from suppliers and maybe even the security team at McKinley.

Instead, I saw images of my house and notifications of movement on my porch.

But Trevor doesn’t bite on my diversion. He rolls right with the punch. “I definitely mean besides watching the cameras I have pointed at your house.”

“Fine.” I step away, crouching down to pick up my favorite blanket from where it’s heaped in a pile next to the shattered remnants of my glass coffee table. “But just so we’re clear, there is going to be a discussion about all the cameras. That’s not healthy behavior.”

“I’ll bring it up to my therapist.” Trevor takes the blanket from my hands, urging me away from the mess. “I take it this has happened before?”

“My mother is a lifelong drug user who owes money to every dealer in a fifty-mile radius. Of course this has happened before.”

I love the Internet, don’t get me wrong. It allows me to shop during my lunch break and order dinner from the comfort of my own couch. It also means every mouth-breather my mom buys from can easily track me down.

“Why would they come here?” Trevor diverts me when I move toward the kitchen where my refrigerator has been tipped over, the contents spilling across the floor. “You don’t have anything to do with your mom’s… habits.”

“They come here because she tells them to.” I haven’t spoken with my mother in years, but that doesn’t mean she’s out of my life. “Whatever they took from here will go to a pawn shop to pay off whatever she owes.”

Trevor stops in his tracks, expression hard as stone as he stares at me. “Your mother sends fucking criminals to steal from you to feed her habit? Knowing you’re taking care of Zara?”

I get the outrage. At one point in my life I was probably outraged about it too. But this is just the way it is. The way it’s always been. “I know it’s hard for you to understand because your mom is awesome, but that’s not the life everyone gets.”

It’s probably as weird for him to think about a mother like mine as it is for me to conceive of having a mother like his. After growing up the way I did, it’s nearly impossible for me to imagine what Trevor’s childhood was like. Our upbringings couldn’t be more different. I grew up in shitty apartments and rundown motels. Learned what it felt like to be hungry in a way most people will never experience. I got myself up for school, put on the cleanest clothes I could find, and walked to the bus stop all by myself at an age where most kids can’t even wipe their own ass.

Trevor slept in a warm, clean bed. He ate home-cooked food and had help with his homework. He was loved. Cherished. Cared for. Protected.

All things I’ve never known.

Swiveling away, I right a tipped pillar candle on the rack that used to hold my microwave. “My mother will always find some way to use me, Trevor.” I turn to him, my breath catching at the expression on his face.

“No.” He moves closer, bringing the fierce determination tightening his handsome face to my level. “She won’t.”

I don’t know if I’m overwhelmed or frustrated or off balance from having someone here to help me deal with this, but for some reason his declaration makes me laugh. Not because I don’t appreciate it—I do. It’s just not realistic.

“You would be shocked at how creative she can be.” I think back to all the times she’s managed to squeeze just a little more out of me. I’ve had the catalytic converter stolen off multiple cars. Change swiped from the console back when I had a Camry with doors that didn’t latch properly. One time, she even managed to get the temp agency I was working for to direct deposit one of my paychecks into some random account. It’s actually really sad to think about how successful my mother could have been if she’d channeled her creativity and motivation into something that wasn’t fucked-up.

I close my eyes for a moment and huff out a dry laugh. “It might take her a minute, but she’ll come up with a way to get me.”

Trevor slowly shakes his head, dark gaze completely serious. “No. She won’t.”

I tip my head, lifting my brows. “I get that you⁠—”

There’s sudden movement at the front door, and I panic, thinking Zara has managed to get herself out of the van. But it’s not my sister coming inside. It’s a whole fucking crowd of people.

With Deidre Bradshaw at the head.

“Oh my goodness.” She scans my embarrassingly messy house. “I understand why we’re all here now.” Her eyes lift to me, swinging to Trevor before coming back to rest on my face. “Where do you want me to start, honey?”

“You don’t have to help clean this up.” I’m actually horrified at the thought of world-famous Deidre Bradshaw digging through my secondhand belongings. “Seriously. It’s really not that bad. I’ll have everything back to normal in a couple days.”

“They aren’t here to clean up, Maren.” Trevor’s voice is deep and firm as he squares his shoulders. “They’re here to pack.”

Again, the differences in our upbringings and lifestyles are abundantly clear.

“I can’t just move because someone broke in, Trevor. My lease on this place isn’t up for six more months, and I don’t have anywhere else lined up. I⁠—”

“I’ll pay off your lease.” He points toward the back bedroom, his attention on his mother. “That’s Zara’s room. Start there.”

This is ridiculous. He’s completely overreacting. And while I sort of appreciate his willingness to pay to get me somewhere else, it won’t actually solve my problem. “It doesn’t matter if I move. It’s only a matter of time before she finds me and sends someone to see what they can get again.”

“I’m counting on that.” Trevor gets Tobias’s attention as his brother walks in. “They tipped the fridge over. See if you can get it upright and salvage anything inside.”

I don’t want to admit how attractive Trevor’s take-charge personality is right now. Having someone tackle this whole mess for me is not the worst thing that’s ever happened. But his effort is going to be wasted.

“I know you’re trying to help, but there’s no point in me trying to move.” I step in front of him as he attempts to go into my bedroom. “It’s really nice of your family to do this, but it’s fine. Really.”

Trevor’s eyes narrow on me, and the determination there morphs into something else. Something a little scary.

In a good way, if that’s even possible.

He advances on me, and I automatically take a step back. Probably a natural sense of self-preservation since he looks like he’s about to bulldoze whatever’s in front of him. I’m not scared of Trevor—in any capacity—but there are moments his intensity can be a little much.

And I don’t want to have to throw something heavy at him in front of his mother. I can’t imagine that would go over super well.

Trevor keeps coming, and I keep stepping back, because I’m not sure what else to do in this moment. If I can’t chuck a vase at his head or call him a prick—again not something I want to do in front of his mother—my options feel kind of limited.

As soon as he’s cleared my bedroom door, he slams it closed behind him, blocking us in as he continues tracking me across the floor. It’s not until my back hits the wall that he stops, one hand flattening against the drywall beside my head as he invades my space, leaning down until we’re practically nose to nose. What he says next makes me wish I had thrown something at him after all.

“You and your sister are moving in with me.”

“Absolutely not.” My mouth hangs open for a second, because what the fuck? “We are not moving in with you.”

“I wasn’t asking.” Trevor’s other hand comes up to cage me in. “You aren’t safe here. There’s no way I can keep sleeping outside. And even if you let me in, I have to go to work.” He slowly shakes his head. “There’s no fucking way I’m letting you two sleep here again. With or without me.”

I scoff. “You can’t just make decisions about my life.”

“You’d be surprised what I can do.” Trevor plants a kiss right on my lips before straightening away. “Now pack up your vibrators. Because if one of my brothers sees them, I’ll have to stab his eyeballs out.”

Trevor goes straight for my bedside table, grabbing the drawer and pulling it out.

I cross both arms over my chest, kind of interested to see his reaction to what he finds in there. I’m not the freakiest of freakies, but I have a pretty well-stocked lineup.

Trevor’s brows pinch, and I smirk, wondering if it’s the nipple clamps or the flower-shaped pulsing apparatus that has him confused.

Trevor turns to me, his eyes dragging down my body. “I didn’t expect you to be a hands-on kind of woman.”

“What?” I stride over to figure out which item in that drawer would make him say that. My lip curls the second I reach his side. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The drawer is empty.

“So fucking gross.” I nearly retch thinking about the fate that has befallen my beloved little sidekicks. “What in the hell is wrong with people?”

Trevor scrubs one hand over his face, taking a deep breath before blowing it back out. “Is this a normal part of the process?”

“If you’re asking whether or not they normally steal my sexual aids, the answer is no.” I slam the drawer. “This is a new development.”

I turn, marching to my bedroom door and swinging it open, determined to find out what other weird items the assholes took.

Doug from down the street is talking to Tucker and looks relieved when he sees me, arms stretching wide as he comes my way. “I saw the police cars and came to make sure you were okay.”

I sidestep his attempted hug, doing a weird little jig to escape when he attempts to give it a second go. “I’m fine. Zara and I weren’t here when it happened.”

“That’s good.” He looks around my destroyed home. “You and your sister are more than welcome to come stay at my place while you get yours back together.”

I don’t understand how this guy hasn’t figured out I’m not interested in him. Maybe he’s just being nice, but historically speaking, I’ve never found men do anything just to be nice. “No thanks.”

I try not to be a complete bitch—I have to continue seeing him since we’re neighbors—but I really need him to get the fucking hint.

“Seriously. You guys can’t stay here. I’ve got a spare room.” He continues pleading his case, oblivious.

“I’m not coming to your house.” The words snap out.

So much for not being bitchy.

He scoffs, seeming shocked. “Why not?”

A sudden weight hits my shoulders, and a split second later I’m pulled against the hard line of a tall body. Trevor stares Doug down, this time looking legitimately scary as he says, “Because she’s moving in with me.”

23

Trevor

Idon’t know who in the hell this Doug guy is, but he’s gonna need to get the fuck out of here. I don’t like the way he tried to pressure Maren the other night, and I sure as hell don’t like the way he’s pressuring her now.

I do recognize that makes me a hypocrite, but that’s an issue for Bert to deal with during our first appointment next week. Now that I’m thinking about it, I should probably start setting some money aside. I don’t know how much my brothers pay him, but I’m going to assume my sessions will have a surcharge.

The guy who just tried to get Maren to move in with him looks me over, the frown on his face making it clear he’s as thrilled with my presence as I am with his. “Who are you?”

“Still none of your business.” I pull Maren closer, half expecting her to shove me away.

Instead, she leans into me, looping both arms around my waist as she continues talking to Doug. “Ignore him. He’s just grumpy because someone stole my strap on.”

It takes everything I have to keep myself from reacting. I love when Maren throws punches, and that was one hell of a punch. I’m kind of proud of her. Definitely impressed.

But I don’t want to laugh it off in front of this guy, so I decide to lean into the game. Tipping Maren’s chin up so her eyes meet mine, I give her a wink our audience can’t see. “I’ll order you a new one, Mistress.”

Maren’s lips twitch, like she’s having as hard of a time keeping it together as I am. “Make sure you get the next size up.”

“Will do.” I lean down, pressing a kiss to her mouth. “Let’s get you packed up.”

I don’t like that this guy showed up, but it does appear his presence will make this process a little less difficult than I anticipated. No part of me believed Maren was just going to jump into my home. I knew this woman would fight me tooth and nail. She always does.

But I also know she will do anything for her sister. And whether she wants to admit it or not, it’s not safe for Zara here. Not to mention the kid’s probably going to be terrified to go to sleep knowing how easily someone was able to get inside.

There’s no way to hide what happened from her. Even if she wasn’t in the back of the van, Maren can’t explain away how all their televisions and devices went missing. The reason for the dent in the front of the refrigerator. Why they no longer have a coffee table.

Moving into my place just makes sense. I have enough room for all of us, and Maren will now have an entire group of people around to help her out. Including three of her best friends. Every night can be girls’ night.

I probably should’ve pitched it that way from the start.

Tucker strides over, his expression easy-going. But I can tell by the look in his eyes, it’s all an act. Everything he’s doing right now is calculated. Designed to be unintimidating to put everyone else at ease. I’ve seen it a million times. Usually right before he starts some shit.

“How’s everything going?” Tucker drops a heavy hand on Doug’s shoulder, using the grip to angle him away from where Maren and I stand. “Did I hear you say you live down the street?”

I immediately take the opportunity my brother has provided, moving Maren away and leading her into Zara’s bedroom, where my mom and dad are sifting through the mess.

“They better catch whoever came here before I do.” My mother collects a pile of Barbies that were dumped out of a bin, carefully stacking them back inside. “What sort of monster does this to a little girl’s room?”

Maren stiffens beside me.

I understand where my mother’s coming from. I completely agree with her. But while Maren seems to feel more casual than I do about this—and her mother’s involvement—I’m sure it’s still a sensitive subject. One she likely doesn’t want to get into right now.

“How is it coming along in here?” I try to change the trajectory of the conversation. “Do you think we can get all of this packed up and loaded in the trucks before two?”

It’s almost eleven now, so I know that’s going to be cutting it close. But if anyone can make it happen, Deidre Bradshaw can.

“Are we trying to stick to a schedule?” As I’d hoped, my mother is immediately distracted from her earlier question by the excitement of a challenge. “Do you want to have everything moved by two, or just Zara’s things?”

“Primarily Zara’s stuff.” I have a fully furnished bedroom waiting for her at my place, but I want Maren’s little sister to feel as at-home as possible. “Maren and I can get what she needs later tonight after we finish up at the petting zoo.”

Maren’s head snaps my way, her expression confused. “We can’t still go to the petting zoo.”

“Of course we can.” I gesture at where my mother is now fully engrossed in her mission. “My mom and brothers have this under control. I promised Zara she could pet animals, and I’m not taking that back.” I force in a deep breath as I look around at her destroyed room. “Especially after this.”

“I can’t ask your family to do this.” Maren grabs a trash bag from the roll my mother brought in. “I genuinely can handle this. It’s not a big deal.”

“I don’t doubt you can handle this.” And obviously has before. More times than I probably want to know about. “But it is a big deal, and so is the promise I made to your sister.”

I’ve broken plenty of promises in my life. About dinners and movies and dates. I felt bad about it each time. But it had to happen. Plus, those were promises I made to adults. Breaking a promise to a kid is something I’m just not going to do. Especially not Zara. We’re best friends.

I have the bracelet to prove it.

Gently, I take the bag from Maren’s hands and pass it to my dad. “If anything strange happens, or they have any questions, they’ll call us.”

I assumed Maren would struggle the most with me essentially forcing her to move in with me, but that might have been an incorrect assumption. The most difficult part might actually be allowing someone else to help her. After spending a lifetime only having herself to count on, it’s possible Maren doesn’t actually know what to do when she’s not completely on her own.

It’s another thing she’s going to have to get over. And not because of me.

My mother is capable of allowing space for others to acclimate to our family’s climate. She did with Ruth. Was so careful not to overstep or pressure the single mom. But that was a very different situation. One where my mother didn’t know the full scope of the problems Ruth was facing.

She’s seeing Maren’s issues firsthand, and has already been tiptoeing around dragging Maren into our fold for months now. There’s no freaking way she’s going to slow her roll after this.

Especially after meeting Zara.

I take Maren by the hand, leading her away as she continues trying to argue her case. It’s a futile pursuit. I know it. She knows it. Because at the end of the day, she will do anything for her sister.

Including letting my family help her.

Begrudgingly.

I pause to check in with my brothers while Maren goes to chat with Brooke and Ruth. I watch as the women converse, each one occasionally throwing glances my way.

“They’re talking about you.” Toby smirks. “Or plotting. Could go either way.”

“Probably both.” Walker scans the trio. “I’d be worried if I was you.”

“Nah.” Tucker tips back a bottle of water he helped Toby rescue from Maren’s upturned fridge. “Ruth loves her job too much to risk it by murdering you.” He swallows down another mouthful of water. “And she’s the organizer out of the group, so if she’s not on board, you’re safe.”

“Maren’s organized.” I look around the trailer making it appear otherwise. “This place is normally clean as hell. And she doesn’t only manage Brooke’s schedule, she also has to keep track of her sister’s.” I meet Toby’s eyes, smiling a little as I say, “And that little girl is way busier than your wife.”

“That’s not shocking.” Toby lifts up a wrist. “Zara and I became best friends when I went to check on her and see if she needed anything.”

I stare at the handmade bracelet my brother is wearing. “Are you shitting me?”

Titus grabs Toby’s forearm, dragging it closer so he can inspect the jewelry. “That’s nice, man. I’m gonna see if she’ll give me one too.”

“You can’t all be her best friend.” I’m not jealous that Zara so easily added another friend to our new group. That would be dickish.

But I really fucking hope it’s only because he pointed out that he owns a swimming pool.

“I bet we can.” Tucker tosses his empty bottle into one of the piles. “If for no other reason than to piss you off.”

“It doesn’t piss me off.” Genuinely. I want Zara to have as many people loving her and looking out for her as possible.

I just maybe want her to know I’m the one at the front of the line, standing right next to her sister.

“I don’t have time to argue about this.” I glance over to find Maren, Ruth, and Brooke are all now looking my way. “We have tickets to take Zara to a petting zoo, and I don’t want her to miss out on it because some fucking lowlife decided to break in.”

“We’ve got this under control.” Tucker sobers a little. “I’m real good at moving women out of unsafe places.”

At this point, it’s becoming a bit of a family tradition. Technically, Mariah moved on her own, but both Brooke and Ruth came to the Bradshaw estate under duress, and at the urging of one of us.

It worked out pretty fucking well for them, if you ask me. And us. Brooke and Ruth have been enormously helpful at McKinley Security Systems. Plus, we now have a pool and Birdie to keep us entertained.

After giving my brothers a few final directions, I leave them to it and go collect Maren, urging her away from her friend group in a polite way I hope won’t increase my chances of ending up in a hole somewhere.

Everyone in my family has opinions about the kind of man I am, so it’s likely Ruth and Brooke have reservations about Maren and Zara staying with me. Eventually, they’ll figure out those reservations are unfounded. I’m not who I am out of choice. I live the way I do out of necessity—because I don’t have any other options.

I manage to get Maren behind the wheel, taking the seat beside her before punching in directions for the petting zoo. As we drive, I check in with Zara, who has been happily playing on her tablet—thank God Maren brought it when they came to my house, so she didn’t lose everything she loves—and eating snacks while her sister and I surveyed the damage.

“How are you doing, Z?” I watch her face, trying to gauge her reactions. “Sorry that took so long.”

“It’s okay. I got to meet lots of new people.” She swipes across the screen before turning to face me. “This is Uncle Toby.”

Maren’s eyes snap to the rearview mirror. “Did you just say Uncle Toby?”

I maybe should have seen this coming. Ever since Mariah had the twins, my brothers have been obsessed with being uncles. They fight over who’s going to be the favorite, constantly attempting to one-up each other. I know Toby thought he had it in the bag with that swimming pool, but it’s Walker who Birdie’s ended up liking most. That could be why Toby’s trying to get his hat in the ring early with Zara.

“That’s who he said he was.” Zara swings her portrait toward Maren. “Does this look like him?”

“If I look at that, we all die, remember?” Maren grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “But I’m sure it looks exactly like Toby.”

That appears to be all Zara wanted to hear, because she goes back to scribbling across her screen with the stylus, seeming pretty fucking unbothered over the events of the morning.

Which is way more than I can say for her sister. Unfortunately, I’m a little worried the events bothering Maren don’t have anything to do with the state of her home.

And more to do with my family.

We pull into the privately owned petting zoo, and Maren parks the van in one of the accessible spots, aligning Zara’s door with the side offering an additional few feet of space. As soon as the engine is off, I climb out and go to work, lowering the ramp and unstrapping Zara’s chair.

Once all her bags are hooked onto the back, we set off for the small hut serving as the entrance. The young kid who takes our tickets gives Zara’s chair a weird look, and I consider gouging out his eyes. But that would lead to a lot of paperwork, so I just give him a dirty look as we begin our trek around the large enclosures.

And it is a trek.

What appeared to be smooth, paved surfaces in the online photos, are actually rutted dirt paths. Zara’s chair does okay for a while, but as the elevation lowers, the dirt becomes mud, and it’s impossible to continue.

“I think that’s it.” Maren claps her hands, sounding perky in a way I’ve never heard her as she turns to her sister. “You ready to go get some ice cream?”

“But I didn’t get to pet the goats.” Zara’s little chin wobbles. “I hate my chair.”

“I’m sure we can find you some goats to pet somewhere else.” Maren’s tone is patient and gentle as she crouches down. “Maybe we can come back later in the year when it’s a little drier.”

Or, maybe I could just buy this place. Call the blacktop company who does the lots at McKinley Security Systems, and have them add pathways so every kid can enjoy it.

That seems like the most logical thing to do.

24

Maren

I’m not sure how to get out of the predicament I’ve found myself in. Primarily, because I don’t know how I got here in the first place.

One second, I was getting laid in the most fantastic of ways, and the next, my entire existence was packed up, loaded into a collection of various pickup trucks and rental vans, and moved to the Bradshaw estate.

Specifically, Trevor Bradshaw’s home.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just me this happened too. I could grab a few things and hightail it to a hotel until I figured out what the fuck to do now.

But it’s not just me. It’s me and Zara.

And Zara isn’t remotely interested in hightailing it anywhere.

She’s already made herself beyond comfortable, and has taken over the great room. The television mounted on the wall is playing her favorite cartoons as she sprawls across the floor in front of it, surrounded by piles of coloring books, crayons, and markers.

The worst part? She’s not there alone.

No. Trevor Bradshaw couldn’t keep things simple by going to his home office or having an emergency at McKinley Security Systems. He had to park his ass right next to my sister and has spent the last hour coloring with her.

And all I can do is sit here and stare at them, wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to do with this shit.

The alarm on Trevor’s front door beeps as it opens, and footsteps interrupt my brainstorming session. Which is fine, because I’m getting fucking nowhere.

I’m expecting to see Brooke, coming to make sure Zara and I are doing okay. But it’s not my best friend’s smiling face that greets me.

It’s Deidre Bradshaw’s.

Which takes everything from bad to worse. Because while I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do about Trevor, I do at least know how to manage him. I don’t have the first clue how to manage Deidre Bradshaw. She is such a foreign concept to me, I can’t even really wrap my head around her existence.

“Hey, honey.” I assume she’s talking to her son until she comes at me, all motherly warmth and concern. “How was the petting zoo?”

“It was awesome,” Zara answers for me, her well of optimism nowhere close to running dry. “Trevor bought it so the next time we go, I’ll be able to visit all the animals.”

“What?” I stand from the barstool I’ve been sitting at for the past hour, my attention snapping from my sister to the guilty-looking man next to her. “What is she talking about?”

Trevor and my sister have been chatty, but I assumed it was about how they’re now best friends and he’s gonna buy her a miniature cow and a pony. Or rambling about plans to go swimming in Toby’s pool or hunting shiny rocks along the creek.

Not for one second did I suspect the conversation was about how he bought a fucking petting zoo because he wanted my little sister to be able to access the entire facility.

Trevor has done a lot of questionable shit in the past week, but this really takes the cake. It’s unhinged. It’s insane. It’s…

Probably the sweetest fucking thing any man has ever done in the history of the universe.

And I sort of hate him for it. Because how can I be expected to keep it together when he does shit like this? How do I keep my wits about me when he’s wearing friendship bracelets and coloring Barbie illustrations while buying fucking petting zoos?

Trevor slowly stands, his eyes fused to me. Like he’s gauging just how angry I genuinely am.

I kind of hope he can figure it out, because I don’t even know anymore. Am I angry? Happy? Confused? Homicidal?

Honestly, I think it’s a little bit of all of it.

I know cuteness aggression is a thing, so there’s gotta be a level above that where your feelings go beyond cute. Beyond aggression.

Homicidal affection. That’s what I’m going to call it. I’m starting to like Trevor Bradshaw’s face, and it makes me wanna poke him with something sharp.

“I know it seems like that might have been a little bit of an overreaction, but hear me out.” He holds both hands up, like he thinks he can placate me. “I talked to the kid in the hut as we left, and he explained that he was concerned when we got there, but he didn’t know how to tell us about the issues we were gonna have. He knew he couldn’t call the owner for help, because the owner’s basically abandoned the place.”

I don’t know why, but I keep my mouth shut, choosing to listen to the rest of his explanation. I’m curious. Interested to see what sort of a spin he can put on this to make it make sense in his head. I am a little concerned it might also make sense in mine, but I’m gonna cross that bridge if I come to it.

“So I got the owner’s information from him, and made an offer. He accepted, and now our family has an amazing place to take Birdie and the twins.” He hesitates for only a second before adding on the part that makes it really fucking hard to be mad at him. “Plus, I can keep any animals Zara wants there, so she can visit them whenever she feels like it.”

I knew he was gonna take it there, but I still can’t believe he did it.

That’s a lie. Yes I can. The guy sat outside my house and mounted cameras all over so he could make sure I was safe. He just moved all my shit here without really giving me any say so. Of course I can believe he would use my sister against me to get what he wants.

“Can I talk to you privately?” I don’t wait for an answer, just march over, grab him by the front of his shirt, and drag him down the hall, right past where his mother stands, grinning at us for some strange reason.

That must be where her son gets his weirdness from.

“Take your time,” Deidre calls after us. “Zara and I are going to have a lovely time together while you two are busy,” she adds, sounding not put out at all over being left with my little sister.

I continue hauling Trevor away, not really sure where I’m headed, until we finally end up in the farthest corner of the first floor, locked in a bathroom.

Fucking great. I remember what happened the last time we were alone in a bathroom. That can’t be what happens this time. We need to talk. We need to clear a few things up. We need⁠—

I leap, wrapping both arms around his neck as I seal my lips to his. The kiss is a little unhinged. A little wild. A little aggressive.

Maybe a lot aggressive.

But I just feel so fucking… Much. Ways I never have before. And it’s overwhelming, impossible to control or corral. It just all sort of explodes out, manifesting in the hottest kiss of my life.

When I pull back, I’m breathing heavy, chest heaving as I plant both hands against his chest and give him a shove. “What the fuck, Trevor?”

I’m angry. I’m confused. I’m frustrated and annoyed and…

“I want to suck your dick.” I grab the waistband of his pants. “Right now.”

Trevor angles a brow, making no move to help me get what I want. “You’re not going to bite me, are you?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” I manage to get the buckle of his belt undone. “Why the fuck did you buy that petting zoo?”

I hold my breath, hoping to God he tells me because it’s a great investment. Maybe a way to hide some of his millions of dollars to save a little on his taxes. Anything besides a reason that will change everything.

“You know why I bought the petting zoo, Maren.” Trevor’s voice is low. Almost soft. “She should be able to go everywhere everyone else can.”

“Of course she should, but that’s not the way the world works.” I fight his button free. “Making her think everyone will always accommodate her is just setting her up for failure and disappointment.”

It’s a delicate balance, trying to fight for my sister’s rights while also helping her understand that fight will never stop. It’s probably been the hardest part of being her parent. I don’t ever want to dull her sparkle, but I also don’t want her to go out into the world unprepared for the realities she’s going to face.

“I’m not making her think everyone will always accommodate her.” Trevor reaches out, pinching my chin between his thumb and finger as he forces my eyes to his. “I’m making sure she knows I always will.”

My throat tries to go tight, gripped by a fist of emotion that’s almost suffocating. I’ve dealt with a lot of conflicting feelings in my life, and discovered the best way to get through them is by channeling them into the one that comes the easiest—anger.

But I can’t even make myself be angry with Trevor right now. So I have to settle for aggravation.

“Oh my God. I already said I was gonna suck your dick, you can stop being all fucking knight-in-shining-armor-y.” I get the front of his pants open and shove them down just enough to free his cock. “And you better be quiet. Because if your mom knocks on the door, I probably will bite you.”

It likely wouldn’t be on purpose, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Noted.” Trevor’s eyes follow my descent as I lower to the floor. “I’m willing to take the risk.”

“I don’t care.” I recognize the divide between my words and actions right now. How strange it probably is to threaten to bite him while also practically begging to suck him off, but that’s a conundrum for future me to reckon with.

Future me is going to hate my fucking guts.

Like usual for us, speed and stealth is the name of the game, so I waste no time, gripping him tight as I feed as much of his cock between my lips as I can manage. The satiny soft glide of his skin against my tongue is way more arousing than I anticipated, and has me pressing my thighs together as I pull back, gaze lifting to his face so I can gauge his reaction.

Trevor’s nostrils are flared, his jaw clenched as he watches me with rapt attention, unblinking as I take him down again.

“Shit.” The word isn’t much more than a whisper, but the gravelly tone of it shoots straight to my clit like lightning.

And apparently I like lightning, because I end up moaning around his dick.

Blow jobs are about power. Control. Proving that at the end of the day, all it takes is a little spit and a few repetitive movements, and all men become whimpering little simps. I’ve always kind of gotten off on giving them.

But not like this.

Trevor’s hand comes to my face, one finger tracing the stretch of my lips around him. “Fuck, you’re pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

Why in the hell am I flattered? Worse, why does it make me try to take even more of him? Show him just how pretty I can be.

I think there’s something wrong with me.

It’s probably him.

And that problem just seems to get worse, because the motivation that initially brought us into this room only intensifies. It’s one I don’t remember having before. One I really freaking hope I never have again.

Because rewarding Trevor for being the kind of person who buys an entire petting zoo to make my sister happy can’t become a regular occurrence.

Now, the dick sucking part? I don’t mind that at all. But the warm feeling spreading through my insides over Trevor’s action needs to fucking quit. I don’t know what to do with it. How to smother it out.

The only option is to focus all of my attention on the task at hand. Pretend it’s just a regular blow job. That Trevor is just a regular man.

Even though he is doing everything he can to prove himself the opposite.

“I don’t like seeing you on your knees.” Trevor’s fingers slide across my cheek to spear into my hair. “Not even for me.”

Popping my mouth off his spit-slicked skin, I meet his eyes. “I really wish you would shut up.”

I need him to stop saying shit like that. Shit that makes me think he sees who I really am. That he appreciates me in spite of all the anger and annoyance I’ve chosen to carry for so long.

“No, you don’t.” Trevor smirks. “You like fighting with me just as much as I like fighting with you.”

I fucking hate that he’s right. I do like fighting with him. I like knowing I push him and he pushes right back, but never too hard. Because he’s not trying to knock me down. He’s proving I can’t shove him away, no matter how hard I try.

And I’ve tried. Over and over again.

I drag my tongue up the length of him, eyes narrowed on his face. “I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

He grunts a little when I sink over him. Fisting tight, I work him with my hand, head bobbing along until he’s right on the edge. Then I drag my lips free, leaving him hanging.

I need to prove I’m still just as big of a pain in his ass as I’ve always been. I’ve gone through too much—fought too hard—to let my guard down. To let myself think I’ve found someone I can rely on.

All the air rushes from his lungs and a smile curves my lips. That’s right. I can still make him suffer. Can still aggravate him the same as I always have.

Even if I do feel a little bad about it.

Bad enough I accidentally wrap my lips around him again.

Bad enough I moan when he slides against my tongue.

Bad enough the hand not wrapped around him slips into the waistband of my jeans, trying to ease the ache between my thighs.

Bad enough I come when he does, swallowing down every drop as he tells me how perfect I am.

How smart.

How strong.

How vicious.

That last one makes me consider sucking his dick all over again.

Girl Gang Group Chat

Ruth

How are things going, Maren? Do you need help moving a body?

Brooke

I really freaking hope not. I just put on my pajamas.

Mariah

I could use a night out. I’m not saying go out of your way to commit a crime, but I’m also not saying I wouldn’t be down to help cover it up.

As long as I don’t have to change a diaper, I’m in.

Maren

Everyone knows the first rule of committing a crime is that you can’t tell anyone you committed a crime.

Brooke

That sounds a lot like I have one less brother-in-law.

Maren

He’s not dead.

Yet.

Ruth

Don’t kill him. If you kill him, Tucker will think I should come work in his department. And I’m not sure I can handle that.

Brooke

You’d rather work for Trevor than Tucker??????

Ruth

If you tell him that I’ll deny it until I die.

Brooke

Your secret is safe with me.

Mariah

So what I’m hearing is I’m not getting a night out.

Maren

No night out. I’m already in bed. It’s been a long fucking day and I just want to go to sleep.

Ruth

Quick question--just so I know what to expect tomorrow. Are you the only one in the bed?

Maren

Of course I’m the only one in the bed! My sister is here.

Ruth

Oh no! I’ve been sleeping in bed with Tucker for months now with Birdie right down the hall. I didn’t realize there was a law against finally finding some freaking happiness for ourselves.

Maren

Wow. That was unnecessarily aggressive.

Ruth

Seems like it was pretty necessary to me.

25

Trevor

Ijudged Tucker a little for moving Ruth and Birdie into his house the way he did. Thought my brother had lost his fucking mind. Even when I believed their relationship was real, his eagerness to have them under the same roof baffled the fuck out of me.

I am completely and totally unbaffled now.

Honestly, I don’t know why he didn’t move them in sooner.

My baby brother did have company more than I ever have, but taking a random woman home for one night versus providing for a specific woman and her sister indefinitely? Those are two very different things.

And the difference between waking up alone in an empty house and waking up to a five-year-old waiting to grill you about how the remote on the television in their room works? That’s even more dramatic.

“Trevor,” Zara whisper-yells. “I can’t make my TV work.”

I dig the heel of one hand into my eye, trying to work myself a little more awake. “Do you always wake up this early?”

“Yes.” She waggles the remote in front of my face. “Can you help me?”

“Sure.” I take the device before it lands on my cornea. Sitting up with a yawn, I grab my cell from where it’s plugged in on my nightstand. “You know it’s five thirty in the morning, right?”

“I know how to tell time.” Her tone is indignant. “Maren taught me.”

“That sounds about right.” I usually sleep until six, but it looks like that’s not in the cards for this morning. “You’ve got a pretty good sister, you know that?”

“I know.” Zara shifts back a little as I fumble my way out of bed. “She’s a better mom than a lot of moms.”

“You can say that again.” I normally make my bed the second I’m out of it, but it won’t kill me to skip a morning. “You hungry for breakfast?”

“I already had breakfast.”

That makes me pause. “Yeah?” I look over her pajamas in search of a hint at what she consumed. “Where did you get breakfast?”

“Nana DeeDee brought it to me.” Zara swipes at a strand of hair that’s fallen from the braid Maren worked into her hair before bed. “Yesterday she showed me how to call her on my tablet, so I called her and told her I was hungry.”

I can see the whole interaction in my mind. Can one hundred percent envision my mother doing all of that and more.

And it has me laughing out loud.

Because Maren’s gonna lose her shit over it.

She’s real fucking skittish when it comes to letting people help her or relying on anyone else in any way. The woman is as independent as it gets. Hell, she was pissed when I hauled her ass out of a burning room, because she ‘would have figured something out’.

And that’s not really going to mesh well with my mother’s brand of affection. Which is likely why she’s focusing all of it on Zara.

Giving people who need her love the space to adjust isn’t easy for my mother. Waiting for Ruth to be ready to accept all she wanted to give her nearly drove my mom out of her mind. So it doesn’t surprise me she’s found a loophole in the system this time.

And Zara is one hell of a willing loophole.

I keep my steps slow as we make our way out of my room and down the hall. “What did Nana DeeDee bring you to eat?”

“She brought eggs with cheese, and bacon, and a hash brown.” Zara’s dark eyes slide my way as she pauses. “And maybe a cinnamon roll.”

I’m laughing again as we reach her room. “Sounds like she hooked you up with a pretty good breakfast.”

“It was yummy.” She grips the edge of the bed she slept in last night, using it for balance as she brings her eyes to mine. “Does she make you breakfast in the mornings?”

“No.” I use the remote switch on the television. “But she probably would if I asked her to.”

Zara squirms her way up onto the mattress. “She would?”

I can only imagine what my mother would bring if I told her I’d really love to have a good breakfast in the mornings before work. Possibly an entire buffet.

Honestly, I think she struggled a little when we all moved out. Even though we’re all still living on the same property, it’s not the same. Her entire life—both personal and professional—centered around her family. How she took care of us. The home she provided. The meals she made. Looking back, it probably felt like she lost her whole identity in the blink of an eye.

And that could explain why she’s taken to being a grandmother like a fish to water, soaking up any kids who accidentally end up in her pond.

“Why would she do that?” Zara’s little brow furrows as she looks me up and down. “You’re grown up.”

I’m so distracted by trying to find the cartoons Zara is partial to, that I don’t think before I speak. “Because that’s what moms do. They like to take care of their kids, even when they’re grown-ups.”

I’m facing away from Zara so the first clue I get that I’ve said something wrong is her sad little voice when she says, “Not my mom.”

Fuck me.

I spin away from the television, abandoning that task in favor of one that’s much more important.

Zara’s expression is downcast as I lower to sit on the foot of her bed. She gives me a little shrug. “My mom didn’t really want to take care of her kids like Nana DeeDee takes care of you.”

I’m in over my head on this, so all I can do is nod, hoping I find the right words. “I know. Your sister told me.”

“It makes me sad.” Zara fiddles with the blankets, the pink sparkles on her fingernails catching in the overhead light.

“I can imagine. I would feel pretty sad about not knowing my mom too.”

Zara’s brows pinch together. “I’m not sad for me. I’m sad for Maren.” Her little mouth presses into a flat line. “Maren takes good care of me, but nobody ever took care of her.”

“I know about that too.” And I fucking hate it. I fucking hate knowing that the person who should have protected her and loved her and kept her safe failed her on such an epic level.

Zara’s wide eyes hold mine, her expression guileless as she asks, “Are you going to take care of her?”

“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. I don’t have to. It’s the easiest answer I’ve ever given. I’ve taken care of Maren—whether she liked it or not—from the second she walked into McKinley Security Systems. First, it was simply because she was an employee, but that quickly shifted, and so did my motivations. I started taking care of Maren because I wanted to. Because it seemed like she needed it.

Because I know even the most competent people sometimes need a little support.

Zara’s cute little face splits in a wide smile. “Good. Because I won’t be big enough to take care of her for a while.”

“Why are you two awake?”

Zara and I both turn to find Maren standing in the doorway.

“I wanted to watch television, so I asked Trevor to turn it on for me.”

Zara jumps into an explanation, which is good, because I’m not sure I could offer one. Not with the way Maren is looking at me now. Like she definitely just heard me tell Zara I would be taking care of her. At least I’m assuming that’s what she heard, because it’s the only thing I can think of that would have her shooting daggers at me with her eyeballs.

“It’s a school day. We don’t have time to sit and watch television. Especially since we’re so far away from your school now.” Maren sighs. “Since you’re already up, we might as well have breakfast⁠—”

“Nana DeeDee already brought me breakfast.”

The stabbing Maren is doing with her eyes gets more aggressive as she stares me down while repeating her sister’s words. “Nana DeeDee brought you breakfast?”

“Yup.” Zara is oblivious to her sister’s current state of discontent over this new information, which is likely why she continues on. “I had eggs and bacon and hash brown and a cinnamon roll.”

Maren closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she finally lifts her lids, a stiff smile manages its way onto her lips. “That was very nice of her.”

I knew there was nothing Maren wouldn’t do for her sister, but holding it together right now proves that to the nth degree. I’m sure she’s going to rip into me the second we’re alone, and I can’t wait for it to happen. But in spite of her own hangups and fears, she’s doing everything she can not to influence her sister or ruin her excitement over my mother’s obvious affection.

“Nana DeeDee is super nice.” Zara gives the television a longing look. “Since I already had breakfast, can I watch TV?”

Maren makes a general shrugging gesture with her hands. “Sure.” She turns away. “I need coffee.”

Quickly setting the television to Zara’s favorite channel, leaving her happily watching a bunch of ponies having brightly-colored adventures, I race after Maren. She’s going to need my help with the coffee maker, but I’m also a little excited to start this day off right.

With Maren yelling at me.

I practically skip down the steps nearly tripping and falling on my fucking face in my rush to find Maren. To show her one more way I can take care of her, just like Zara asked me if I would. I don’t expect her to accept my help, and I sure as hell know she wouldn’t believe me if I told her my intent, but I don’t mind showing her. As many times as it takes. I didn’t get where I am in life by being the kind of man who backs down when things are difficult. If anything, I seek out a challenge. Simply to prove I’m up for the task.

That’s likely why I seek Maren out now. Why I will seek her out again tomorrow. To prove I’m up for the task of showing her what it’s like to be taken care of.

But when I get downstairs and put my eyes on Maren, I question myself. Not my commitment—that’s still strong and well. My uncertainty lies in my ability. Because Maren doesn’t look angry or agitated. She’s not spitting mad or full of fire.

She looks… Afraid.

And that’s not an emotion I’ve ever seen on her face before. Not when she was facing certain death trapped by a fire. Not when she went toe to toe with Ruth’s ex. Not when her home was broken into and ransacked.

Only now. While she’s standing in my kitchen, perfectly safe, perfectly protected. Perfectly perfect.

“What am I supposed to tell her when this is all over?” She doesn’t wait for me to ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t make me guess why she’s upset, the way most people probably would. “She’s calling your mom Nana for God’s sake.”

I get where she’s coming from. I understand the concern. I also know it’s unwarranted.

But that’s not something I can explain to a woman who’s never had a family. A woman whose own mother steals from her on such a regular basis it’s an expected outcome. All I can do is wait for Maren to see what she’s too afraid to accept.

“My mother has wanted grandchildren for years. She’s developed a bad habit of claiming any kid who lingers too long as her own.” I carefully move closer, watching Maren for any sign I’m in danger of fucking this up. “I know it feels like a lot, but I promise it’s how my mom is with all kids.”

That’s a version of the truth. My mom does love all kids. She dotes on them and feeds them and loves the shit out of them.

She does not tell them to call her at five in the morning for breakfast, but that’s a conversation we can have another day.

“It’s not just that, Trevor.” Maren flails around, arms sweeping through the air as she gestures wildly at the house I failed to turn into a home no matter how much money I threw at it. “It’s everything. I can’t just…” She presses both hands to her head, eyes closing. “I just can’t.”

I hate seeing her like this. She’s not angry. She’s not fighting me. She’s not pushing my buttons or stabbing at me with well-crafted insults.

She’s lost. Stranded in the center of waters she’s never even seen from the road, let alone dipped her toe into.

And it’s up to me to teach her how to swim.

“No one is asking you to.” I step toward her, moving fast enough she can’t avoid me, and rest both hands on her shoulders. “There are no expectations here. Not from my mother, and sure as hell not from me.”

I know this isn’t permanent. I know she and Zara won’t want to stay with me forever. But that doesn’t mean I won’t always be there for them. That my mother won’t always consider Zara one of her own.

“You are here because this is where you’re safe. This is where you don’t have to worry about anyone coming to take more from you.” I meet her eyes, making sure she hears me. “And that includes my family.”

Maren rolls her eyes. “I’m not worried about your family taking anything from me.” She pulls in a deep breath, blowing it back out. “But I can’t have Zara getting used to living the way you do, because…”

“Because why?” I want her to say it. I want her to tell me she believes we’re going to go away. Leave the two of them on their own.

Because that’s not fucking happening.

She opens her mouth to tell me her vision of her truth when the latch on my front door opens. A second later, my mother’s voice calls out.

“Good morning.” She breezes down the hall and into the kitchen, looking bright-eyed and bushytailed, which makes sense considering she’s been awake long enough to bake an entire batch of cinnamon rolls. “I brought Maren some breakfast. I figured this would be sort of a rough morning as everyone acclimates to the new living situation.” My mother plops a large insulated bag onto the counter and begins unloading containers. “I did some meal prepping too, so all you’ll have to do for the next couple of days is warm things up.”

I’m not at all surprised by this, but Maren seems to be. She watches, eyes widening more and more as my mother lines plastic containers filled with breakfast bake, overnight oats, and wax paper wrapped sandwiches in front of her. The options are topped off with a fresh pan of cinnamon rolls, a container of orange juice, and a pitcher of cold brew concentrate.

Clearly thrown off her game, Maren manages a quiet, thank you, as she takes it all in.

I love Maren when she’s loud and aggressive. I enjoy her when she’s challenging and defiant. But this new Maren—the one who’s uncertain and maybe a little afraid—has a part of me I’ve never acknowledged stirring to life. The part of me that wants to pull her close and protect her. Keep her safe while she acclimates to this new normal. Slice anyone who tries to hurt her in half.

And that part of me is very unhappy it can’t do what it wants, because my mother’s watching me like a hawk, reading into every move I make and every word I say. I don’t want to get her hopes up. Not when I know how this is ultimately going to play out.

“That should be everything.” My mother claps her hands together after unloading a collection of dinners and a tray of brownies. “That should tide you over until Thursday. Then we can revisit.”

Maren’s brows lift. “What’s Thursday?”

“Family dinner night, of course.” My mother snatches the empty bag from the counter, immediately making a beeline for the door as she calls over one shoulder. “I’ll see you two then.”

26

Maren

By the time I drop Zara off l, I can barely think straight. It took everything I had to act normal as I got her ready for school, and now that I’m alone, I’m considering parking in an empty lot somewhere so I can stare out the windshield for a few hours.

Unfortunately, I know Brooke well enough to know she’ll ask Trevor where I am. And I know Trevor well enough to know he’ll hunt me down. And then I’ll have to explain why I’m sitting in an empty parking lot staring out the windshield. Which would be the biggest problem of the whole scenario, because I don’t know why I want to sit in an empty parking lot staring out the windshield.

I’m normally pretty good at identifying what’s wrong. The problems I’ve faced up to this point have been somewhat simple. Not easy to remedy, but always quickly deciphered.

That’s not the case anymore.

Even though I don’t want to, I aim my van for McKinley Security Systems, sucking down the remainder of my homemade iced coffee as I complete the trip and obsess over the morning’s events.

I’ve seen Deidre Bradshaw’s television shows. I’ve experienced the way she treats her children firsthand. I know how she is. So why was I so thrown off when she showed up at Trevor’s house this morning with food and drinks? That’s literally who she is. She’s built an empire on it.

An empire that suddenly felt like it was pointing directly at me.

I’ve never had a parent. Never had a sibling—not in the sense most people do. Never had aunts or uncles. Hell, I didn’t even have a friend of the family everyone treated like an uncle. I’ve only ever had myself to rely on.

No one who would show up to save the day by cleaning up yet another mess my mother made. Or bring breakfast since Trevor’s refrigerator contents left a lot to be desired and mine landed on the floor.

No one to pull me out of a bad situation and make sure I was safe and fed.

That kind of thing was always so far out of reach, I’ve never even imagined what it would be like. That would make it too easy to wish I had it. And I believed there was no scenario where that wish would ever come true.

I kinda wish I had considered it at least a little, because now that it’s happening, it’s really fucking with my head.

Pulling into the parking lot of McKinley Security Systems, I angle the van into a vacant spot far from the front door. There might be a few minutes of staring out the windshield before I grab my bag and lunch box, and march my way inside, trying to look like the same old Maren.

Scanning my badge, I let myself in the front door, refusing to even look in the direction of Trevor’s office as I hightail it to my desk. Brooke’s light is on, and I decide to rip the Band-Aid off, dropping my bags on my desk before striding straight in. I’m sure she’s got a lot to say and a million questions she’s dying to ask, and I’d rather get it over with.

Plus I would really love something to distract me. Get me out of my own head. That place is off the chain.

“Morning.” Brooke gives me a smile that is strangely similar to the one she’s offered me every other day. “How are things?”

Her question sounds alarmingly normal too, and it freaks me out even more than if she made everything weird.

“Things are fine.” I wipe my sweaty palms on the front of my skirt. “How was your night?”

“Fine.” Brooke pops a coffee pod into the maker Tobias bought for her personal use. “Tucker and Ruth brought Birdie over to swim.”

“That sounds nice.” I manage not to shift on my feet, even though I feel awkward as hell.

She pulls her cup off the machine and tips in a little creamer from the mini fridge. “You and Trevor should bring Zara over one night this week.”

I step forward, fully intending to tell her there is no me and Trevor, but someone else beats me to the punch.

“We’d love to.”

I close my eyes, fighting the urge to turn and flee as Trevor steps into Brooke’s office. Everything in my life has changed, including the way I feel about him, and like all the other changes, I don’t have the first clue how to handle it.

Fighting with him was so easy. So natural. Finding him annoying and aggravating was safe.

The way I find him now, is not safe. Not at all.

“Here.” He holds out a cup of coffee made just the way I like it. “Did you get Zara to school okay?”

I scoff. “Of course I got Zara to school okay. I’ve taken care of her for her entire life. You think I’m gonna start sucking at it now?”

I expect to feel better after that little outburst. Assume snapping at Trevor will make me feel better. Like it usually does.

Instead, I feel…

Bad.

Almost…

Guilty.

“Fucking shit.” I turn toward the door, elbowing my way past Trevor as I dart from the room, needing a quiet place to scream.

Unfortunately, I make it three steps before half the Bradshaw brood turns the corner, blocking my escape path.

Can these people be more of a pain in my ass?

“Thought I might find you here.” Walker heads my way, Tobias and Ruth a half-step behind him.

“Of course you can find me here. This is literally where I am all day.” I go to drop down into the seat behind my desk, pondering if maybe I should just scream right here in the middle of everything. Bet it would get my point across.

What the point is, I don’t fucking know—but it definitely involves screaming.

Walker gives me a weird look. “I wasn’t actually talking to you.” He tips his head at where Trevor is now coming out of Brooke’s office. “I was talking to him.”

Well… That does make more sense.

“Fine.” I grab my bag and slide it onto my lap. “Great.”

Everything’s great. Perfectly fine. It’s all just fucking peachy k⁠—

“What the fuck?” I dig around in my bag, grabbing the laptop inside and pulling it free. I set it on the desk in front of me, staring at the device in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Trevor’s eyes are on me as he rounds my desk, coming straight to my side before crouching down. “Is everything okay?”

I shake my head. “No.” Everything is very not okay.

Everything is probably even worse than I realize.

“What can I do?” Trevor’s voice is soft. Gentle. So different from what it usually is. But I don’t have time to dwell on that right now. Or the way it does actually make me feel less like throwing up.

“Are you guys still going—” Titus strides into the mix, stopping short when he sees what I see. His gaze lifts to mine, moving over my face for a second before he asks, “Where did you get that computer?”

Maybe I don’t feel less like throwing up.

I swallow hard, trying to tamp down the bad feelings twisting my insides. This doesn’t make sense. At all. It changes everything I thought I knew.

“It’s her work computer.” Trevor answers for me.

Incorrectly.

Titus shakes his head. “No. It’s not.” He reaches out, lifting the screen. “See?”

For the first time, Trevor peels his eyes off me so he can put them on the laptop. I watch as his skin pales, and the awful feeling in my guts gets worse.

He stares at the laptop for a beat then straightens quickly, slamming it closed before passing it off to Titus. “Get your team working on it.” He grabs my hand, tugging me up from my seat. “Get Tucker here now. We’ll meet you in our conference room.”

Trevor starts to walk, practically dragging me along with him as he stalks through the building, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. I make my steps as big as I can, working hard to keep up with him, but I’m still a little out of breath when we reach the same room where he held interviews last week.

Leading me straight inside, he pulls out a chair, urging me into it before going to the coffee maker. I sit in silence as he brews up a cup, adding creamer before bringing it to me. He sets it down as he lowers into the chair next to me.

“Drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.” Not that coffee is great at quenching that sort of thing. I’d just rather not barf it up all over the conference table.

“Please.” There’s an odd pleading quality to his tone. “Just a sip. I need to feel like I’m taking care of something, and right now I don’t know how to take care of anything but you.”

My heart gives a little squeeze. Trevor’s whole life is wrapped up in this company. Almost every waking hour and his entire sense of self is consumed by McKinley Security Systems. His ability to make it thrive. His competency at handling every problem that arises.

And I think a problem has just arisen.

I pick up the cup, blowing across the surface before swallowing down as much as I dare.

Trevor releases a long breath as I drink, his nostrils flaring, shoulders dropping. “Thank you.”

Taking another sip would probably help more, but I don’t think I can stomach it. I’m also struggling to stomach how upset Trevor looks. Without thinking, I reach out, sliding one of my hands into his. He grips it tight, lifting our linked fingers so he can brush his lips across my knuckles. Closing his eyes, he breathes deep against my skin.

I’ve never wanted to be a man’s peace. I wanted to be the terrifying menace he always feared would be lurking around the next corner, ready to terrorize him.

But as I watch Trevor visibly relax and the tension bleed from his features, I begin to believe maybe two things can be true. I can terrorize him tomorrow. Today I should probably help him get through this new development without having a complete and total meltdown.

When the sound of footsteps approaching carries through the open door, Trevor straightens, morphing into someone who appears completely unaffected and totally confident. That’s what his family sees when they file in. What he wants them to see.

Only I got to witness the truth of what’s beneath the surface.

And it makes me itch. On the inside. Places I can’t scratch.

I stand up, hoping to shake the feeling loose as I walk around the table to the coffee maker. It’s the only thing in here besides a water cooler, and consuming rain isn’t going to help anyone right now.

I pop one of the dark roast pods in, and set it to run on the extra strong cycle. When it’s done, I give it a quick stir since it doesn’t brew uniformly, then go back to my seat, setting the cup in front of Trevor.

He stares down into the beverage before slowly looking my way, his gaze searching my face.

I widen my eyes at him. “What?”

One corner of his mouth tips up in spite of our current situation. “You know how I like my coffee.”

Shit. I didn’t even think about that. Didn’t consider the ramifications of what I was doing. I just needed to move around.

And maybe a tiny part of me wanted to try to help Trevor.

I cross both arms over my chest and lean back in my chair, forcing my eyes away from him. “Shut up.”

Obviously, I only have so much peace to offer, but I did what I could.

Tucker is the last one in, pulling the door closed behind him before taking the empty seat next to Ruth. Titus sits at the head of the table, already looking stressed from my discovery.

I knew it was bad when I saw it. Understood what it could mean. I was hoping I was overreacting. That everyone else would blow it off as no big deal.

“This is a big fucking deal.” Titus scrubs both hands over his face, fingers scratching at the scar webbed across his right cheek.

“I’m gonna need you to fill me in, because I don’t know what the fuck is happening.” Tucker grabs Ruth’s chair, pulling her closer like he needs to physically have her against him. “Ruth said something about Maren’s work computer being stolen, but I don’t get why that’s an issue. No one can do anything on it without the passcodes and a fingerprint.”

“It’s a big deal because they didn’t simply steal it.” Trevor leans back in his seat, stretching both legs beneath the table in a pose that looks casual and relaxed even though I know he’s not. “They replaced it with one that looks similar enough that she didn’t notice it right away.”

Tucker’s brows pinch. “Why the fuck would they do that? I thought they were stealing stuff they could pawn to pay off her mom’s drug debt. It doesn’t make any sense for them to actually bring something of value and leave it behind.”

“It doesn’t.” Titus blows out a long breath. “They left it to buy them some time, hoping she wouldn’t immediately notice her work computer had been switched.”

My stomach clenches as I listen. Titus and Trevor are both confirming my fears. I’ve been stolen from countless times, and never was anything that could be pawned left behind. It certainly wasn’t brought and traded.

The room falls silent as everyone looks at each other. Finally, Walker says what no one else is willing to voice. “So there’s a good chance this isn’t about her mother.” He meets Titus’s gaze. “It’s about us.”

“But that wouldn’t make any sense.” Ruth speaks carefully. “Maren said this has happened many times before. And they did take a number of items. How could this be about us while still being so similar to past burglaries?”

Oh God.

I’m super glad I didn’t drink any more than that tiny sip of the coffee Trevor brought me, because it’s crawling back up my throat.

“It can be about us while being so similar to past burglaries,” one of Trevor’s hands slides under the table to grip my knee, holding on, “because whoever is targeting us has been watching Maren.”

I swallow, trying not to puke. Because they would have to have been doing more than just watching me. They would’ve had to look into who I am. My past. Where I came from and who was there.

So they could use it against me. Against the Bradshaw family.

My whole body goes numb as Titus and Trevor bark out orders, forming a plan for what to do next. None of it registers, so hopefully I’m not one of the people assigned a task. Once they’re done, everyone files out of the room as quickly as they entered, leaving me alone with Trevor.

He turns to me, spinning my chair so we’re facing each other. Leaning close, his voice is low and deadly serious. “Just so we’re clear, you and Zara aren’t going to be leaving my house anytime soon.”

27

Trevor

“Top to fucking bottom.” I give Tucker a final set of reminders before he leaves to go through Maren’s trailer. “I want every damn inch of that place searched.”

“Understood.” He pulls out his phone, scanning the screen. “Dad’s on his way. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

I wish I could join my brother and father, but I trust them. If there’s something in—or around—that trailer that could help us identify who is actually responsible for the break-in, they’ll find it.

As Tucker heads out to meet our dad at Maren’s home, I practically sprint to where Titus is setting up so we can go through the feed from the cameras I put on Maren’s house. When I reach the conference room, the lights are dimmed and the recording is displayed on a large portable screen.

Maren is already seated at the table, her skin pale as she watches the slightly sped up video, ready to point out anything that seems suspicious.

Sitting down next to her, I drape one arm across the back of her seat, leaning close. Having her right beside me—near enough I can grab her and run if anything happens—soothes a little of the unrest inside me.

“Have you found anything?” She’s only been in here a few minutes, and I’m positive we won’t be lucky enough to figure this out that quickly, but I have to ask.

If for no other reason than so she’ll snap at me over being impatient.

“No.” Her eyes come to me, moving up and down my sitting form. “You’re going to have to give me more than five minutes.” It’s not the tongue lashing I’m used to, but I’ll take it.

Anything to reassure me she’s okay. That this isn’t upsetting her the way it’s upsetting me. Because if it was, I would personally start dismantling her trailer piece by piece in search of a clue.

I can handle this stress. This uncertainty. She shouldn’t have to. Especially if we’re right and this ties back to the Dead Dans.

“Has your team found anything on the laptop?” I don’t have much hope that the laptop will provide anything—it’s probably a unit that was purchased from a pawn shop after being wiped clean—but it’s worth a shot.

Titus glances at the door I closed behind me when I came in. In spite of the barrier, he lowers his voice, speaking quietly, like he’s concerned someone might be listening. “My team doesn’t have the laptop.”

“What? Why not?” I get that it’s not our best lead, but it’s still a lead. One we should be investigating thoroughly.

“Because we still don’t know who we can trust and who we can’t.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think anyone on my team would betray me, but I’m not willing to bet our family’s safety on it.

“Fuck.” I didn’t even think of that. I always think of all the fucking variables, and now—when it matters most—I missed one of the most important ones.

“So I overnighted it to Heidi.” Titus turns back to the screen. “If anyone can find something on that computer, it’s Heidi’s team.”

That is a fucking brilliant idea. One I probably would have thought of if I wasn’t so fucking twisted up over everything.

I need to focus on the task at hand, but all my thoughts circle back to Maren and Zara. What could have happened if they were in the trailer when these fuckers showed up. How far they would have gone to get what they wanted.

How far they still might go.

My head snaps to Maren. “Who’s allowed to pick Zara up from school?”

“Only me.” She continues watching the screen. “And I already called to remind them of it.”

I want that to make me feel better. Want to believe Zara will be perfectly safe. That no one will be able to get their hands on her.

But then I think about what happened to Toby and Walker. What could have happened to Maren and Mariah.

I’m out of my seat and striding for the door before I fully process what I’m doing. “I’m going to call Pierce.”

Hopefully it seems like I don’t want to distract them by being on the phone. In reality, I don’t want Maren to attempt to shut down what I’m about to do. I wouldn’t listen to her regardless—I have no problem making hard decisions even when I know there will be fallout—but I would feel like an asshole about it.

Pulling my cell from my pocket, I go to an empty conference room a few doors down, closing the door before dialing the owner of Alaskan Security. I pace as I wait for him to answer, practically wearing a hole in the industrial carpet over the course of only a few rings. When the call finally connects, I don’t wait for Pierce to say anything.

“I need you to send me one of your men.”

Pierce sent a trio of men after Dead Dan attempted to blow up our servers, but they couldn’t stay here indefinitely. So when things seemed to quiet down, they went back to their regularly scheduled programming. Whatever the hell that is. Probably killing people.

Hopefully killing people. Because I’ll feel better knowing Zara is being protected by someone willing to kill to keep her safe.

“I take it something new has happened.” Pierce is annoyingly calm.

And he remains calm as I fill him in on this newest development. I continue pacing as I explain about the burglary. The missing electronics. The switching of the laptops and how one is headed his way. I even offer a small bit of insight into Maren’s past so he understands why we weren’t initially concerned.

When I finally finish, I suck in a deep breath, replacing all the oxygen I expended word vomiting details of the last two days.

“I have to say, while I’m sorry something new has unfolded, I am relieved to discover it doesn’t involve you sending me human remnants in a plastic bag.”

I don’t know if it’s Pierce’s dry wit, or that I’m slowly unraveling, but I laugh. “There’s still time.”

I would love to send Pierce remnants of whoever did this to Maren’s home. Whoever decided to make her their target. Dozens of other employees have the same sort of computer she does, and while I don’t necessarily want to put the bull’s-eye on the back of someone else, I sure as hell wish it hadn’t landed on Maren.

To my relief, Pierce is more than willing to send someone to serve as Zara’s bodyguard until this is all cleared up, and assures me they’ll arrive before the end of the day.

One of the many perks of owning a private plane, I guess.

Once that’s arranged, I join Maren and Titus, but this time I can’t sit down. If I don’t keep moving, I’m going to lose my mind.

I pace the back of the room, going from one side to the other as I watch along with them, looking for anything out of the ordinary. From sitting outside her home, I’m able to identify a few of her neighbors—including the prick I ran off twice. Outside of that, I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to mark as unexpected.

Until I notice something.

I point at the screen. “Back that up.”

Stepping closer, I watch as the man walking his dog replays in front of me. I watched this in real time from my car, thinking I was going to have to kick his ass after the pup took a steaming shit on Maren’s lawn. That night, I was relieved when he crouched down to collect the pile in a bag. When I knew he was taking care of the mess, I stopped paying attention.

I wish I hadn’t. I don’t know that it would have changed anything, or if I would have noticed at the time that while he was picking something up, he was also setting something down.

“There.” I walk up to the screen, finger jabbing directly at the spot where he seems to shove something into the dirt. “What the fuck is that?”

Titus shakes his head. “I don’t know.” He backs the feed up again, standing directly beside me as we both confirm that prick definitely leaves something behind. “But if you didn’t see it when you were there, it can’t be very big.” He turns to Maren. “Did you notice anything weird in your yard?”

“I have a five-year-old kid, a full-time job, and your brother harassing me twenty-four hours a day.” She lifts her brows. “When am I gonna have time to do a complete surveillance of my yard?”

I know I shouldn’t be smiling right now, but hearing Maren’s spicy retort eases a little of the tightness in my chest.

Digging my phone out again, I dial Tucker’s number, giving him the approximate location to check. I wait as he does his search, the sound of his boots crunching over the grass carrying through the line. When they stop, so does my breathing.

“I don’t know what the fuck that is.” His boots begin to pace again. “But I think it’s probably some sort of a camera.”

My eyes meet Titus’s. “Is there any way for us to figure out where the feed is being sent?”

I’m sure the cameras I put up around Maren’s could be tracked to me—or at least McKinley—so there’s got to be some chance we can do the same.

“Possibly.” Titus props both hands on his hips as he considers. “If we can identify the IP address it’s using, we have a shot.” His eyes drift to the phone in my hand. “But it’s possible they’ll wipe it entirely before I get my hands on it.”

“Don’t pick the fucking camera up.” I snap out the warning to Tucker.

“Do you think I’m a dumbass? The second I figured out what it might be, I kept walking. I only looked at it for a second, so they might not realize we’ve found it yet.” Tucker murmurs something to my dad. “Are you all headed this way then?”

“Titus is.” I won’t be of any help in the situation. I can handle the basics of what Titus does, but hunting down IP addresses and network traffic monitoring are above my pay grade. “I’m staying here.”

“Good call. Now is not a good time for no one in the family to be in the building,” Titus explains.

“What do you mean, no one in the building?” My brows pinch together as I watch Titus collect his gear. “Where are Toby and Walker?”

I know Titus and I were both giving directions at the same time, but I’m pretty confident I would’ve noticed him sending Walker and Toby out to do something.

“They’re with Ruth at the police station, remember? Pierce got them into the cold case archives again.” Titus shoves his laptop into his work bag. “I told them to go. They should only be gone a few hours, and Walker’s already waited so long for this.”

Titus seems like he thinks I’m going to be mad. Upset my cousin is getting answers about his mother’s death instead of sitting here watching fucking camera feed videos with us.

“That was the right call.” I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension dragging them toward my ears. “Hopefully they find something that helps him finally move past what happened.”

At least then there would be some closure happening for someone. I’m not sure I’ll get as lucky, because Titus’s mouth is set into a grim line as he leaves. One that tells me he doesn’t have much hope he’s going to get anything useful from the camera in Maren’s front yard.

Once the door is closed behind him, I turn to where she sits, trying to gauge how she’s handling all this.

Maren looks… Surprisingly okay. A little murderous—but that’s normal for her. Possibly slightly unhinged—also normal.

And fucking stunning. Absolutely, totally normal.

“I guess you aren’t the only one putting cameras on my house, huh?” She stares at the frozen screen displaying the man with his dog. “How much do you think they could see if they put a camera right there?”

I bring a hand up to rub at the back of my neck, suddenly understanding how invasive my actions were. “If it’s a single lens, the field of vision would be pretty limited. If it’s a fisheye, the view would be distorted, but more complete.”

Maren nods, rubbing her lips together. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

The shift in conversation stuns me for a second, but then I’m rushing to her side. “Are you okay? Do you feel sick?” I press one hand on her forehead, trying to identify the problem.

She shoves at my arm, pushing me away. “Not like that.” Her eyes go back to the camera feed and she sighs. “I hate thinking some stranger was watching me.” Her focus shifts to me. “But I kind of liked it when I knew you were.”

“That’s probably a good thing, because I’m not sure I’ll be letting you out of my sight anytime soon.” I take a deep breath before confessing the full extent of my sins. “And someone from Alaskan Security is coming to town. He’s going to be assigned to protect Zara until we get this all figured out.”

I expect her to fight me. Zara having a normal life is of the utmost importance to Maren. She’s busted her ass to make sure her sister has the kind of childhood she never had. And now I’m about to put an armed guard at the five-year-old’s side. Not exactly normal childhood material.

“You can’t do that.” Her argument is much less aggressive than I anticipated.

“I know it’s not what you want, but it has to hap⁠—”

“No. I mean her school isn’t going to let you.” Maren’s eyes narrow. “I’d love for her to have an armed guard who shoots the shit out of anybody who tries to hurt her.”

“Vicious.” I lean in, pressing my lips to hers. “I love it.”

I take another kiss, but stop there. It’ll be a slippery slope if I’m not careful. Making Maren feel good makes me feel good, and right now I could really stand to feel good.

But I need to take care of all the loose ends before I can even consider that.

“Are you sure they won’t allow it?” I run both hands up and down the front of her thighs, the connection helping me think. “I’m sure I could get some sort of a note or permission slip if they need it.”

Maren snorts. “I’m pretty sure it would take more than a note for them to allow an armed mercenary on school grounds.”

I would think having an armed mercenary on school grounds would be a great benefit, all things considered, but that’s not a fight I’m currently in a position to take up. “What do they allow?”

Maren begins explaining. “Teachers and aides, obviously. School secretaries, lunch ladies, nurses⁠—”

An idea sparks. “What if Zara needed special care? Would they let her bring a medical aide?”

Maren considers. “Probably, but she would definitely need a doctor’s note for that. And they would need to run a full background check on whoever⁠—”

“Not a problem. I can make all that happen.” Relief courses through me, chased quickly by the desire I tamped down earlier. Leaning close, I breathe in a lungful of her scent, letting my lips tease against her ear. “I can also add a thousand dollars to your bank account if you’re interested.”

Maren angles a brow at me, her lips curving. “I could be persuaded.”

28

Maren

Pretty sure I’m not right in the head.

Not only did I just admit to Trevor that I liked knowing he was watching out for me on the cameras he stealthily set up around my home, but now I’m practically sprinting through the halls of his company, hand gripped tightly in his, as we race to his office.

To fuck on the clock.

I’m relieved to see Ruth’s desk is empty as we rush past. I’ve already traumatized her once. I’d really feel like a jerk if we did it again.

Trevor slams the door behind us so hard, I jump, giving me zero time to recover as he presses me against it, his mouth claiming mine. There’s a sense of urgency I can’t quite shake as I grab at his belt and attempt to work it loose. Urgency I don’t believe has anything to do with the fear of being caught. This is about something deeper. Something I don’t know how to name. I wouldn’t even if I could, because it would probably freak me all the way out.

When I fumble with the buckle a little too long, Trevor pulls his mouth from mine and takes over. I redirect my attention to something I am capable of removing. Hooking my fingers into the waistband of my panties, I shimmy them down, unwind the satin and lace from my ankles, and shove them in the pocket of his pants. “Hold on to those for me.”

Trevor pushes down the front of his pants, then shucks his jacket, giving me a devilish smile. “What if I don’t want to give them back?”

“Then you’re going to have to deal with the possibility of everyone at the company seeing my bare ass when I bend over.” I yelp as he grips my thighs, lifting me off the floor.

“I don’t like to fire people without just cause, Maren.” He shifts his grip on me, looping my legs at his waist. “But I would have to terminate anyone who looked at you. Without notice.” He lines the head of his dick with my pussy, sliding along my already soaked slit a few times before sinking deep.

We both moan, the combined sound loud enough Ruth would have definitely heard if she was outside. I bite my lower lip, trying to stifle any other sounds that want to come out. I’m not against a little bit of public indecency, but I can only imagine what people would say behind my back if they knew I was fucking one of the owners in his office.

Honestly, a few would call me a lucky girl. I’m sure there’s more than a handful of women here who would love to take my place.

Maybe I could get Trevor to fire them. Tell him they saw my bare ass.

I grip his shoulders tight, the thought of another woman feeling him from the inside making me a little feral. Raking my fingers into his dark hair and holding tight, I crush my mouth against his, kissing him with a desperation that threatens to consume me.

When I can’t stand the thoughts swirling in my head anymore, I pull away, using my grip on his hair to align our eyes. “You better not be fucking anyone else or I’ll kill you.”

Trevor buries himself to the hilt, rocking against me in a way that grinds his pelvis directly against my clit as he smirks. “I don’t think anyone else can handle me.”

I roll my eyes, because it is just like him to be fucking cocky as hell at a moment like this. “Yes, yes. Your dick is gigantic. Very impressive. So much girth.”

Trevor’s smile slips. “I’m not talking about my dick.” He changes the angle of his body, bringing our fronts closer as his movements turn more gentle. Our noses are practically touching as his hand comes to curl against my cheek. “I’m a pain in the ass, Maren. I’m demanding and controlling and bossy. I work too much, and I don’t think I’ve relaxed since I was a toddler.” He rests his forehead against mine, eyes closing as he continues to slowly fuck me against the door. “Every time I tried to date, I always had to hold back. Temper myself. I didn’t want to be too much. It was fucking exhausting.”

I smooth down his hair before circling my arms at his neck, losing myself in how good he feels. “Is that why you’re single?”

He opens his eyes, meeting mine. “No.” He tips his head, trailing warm lips along my jaw, nipping at the lobe of my ear before continuing. “I’m single because this company will always come first, and it’s difficult to find someone willing to accept that.”

Anyone who’s met Trevor should have easily guessed McKinley Security Systems is his priority. It kind of has to be. He’s responsible for so much of keeping everything running smoothly. If he drops the ball, it affects pretty much everything.

“And I don’t expect you to accept it either. I know one day you’ll realize what I can give you isn’t enough.” He lifts his head, eyes meeting mine. “But I’m selfish enough to take everything you’ll give me until that happens.”

“Don’t tell me what I think.” I give him a little shove. Probably not the best idea when he’s the only thing standing between me and the effects of gravity. “I’ve never said anything about the hours you work, or the way you prioritize this company.” And I wouldn’t. Not ever.

I grew up with the most unreliable person in the world responsible for my entire existence. It was fucking miserable.

“And you’re not the only one with priorities.” I’ve always put my sister first, and I always will. That’s why I’m single. I’ve never met anyone who would do the same, and I wasn’t willing to settle for less.

But Trevor would. In many ways, he already has. Zara’s healthcare depends on him. The job that provides us security exists because Trevor busted his ass to make it happen.

And he bought her a fucking petting zoo because she couldn’t get to all the animals in her chair.

Trevor’s eyes hold mine, then he leans in, mouth possessing mine with an intensity that steals my breath.

Or maybe that’s the orgasm that barrels down on me unexpectedly. Never in my life have I had a full-blown conversation while fucking, but apparently it really does it for me.

Evidently, I’m not the only one who enjoyed it, because Trevor comes along with me, the sexiest rumble I’ve ever heard vibrating through his chest as his dick jerks inside me.

I let my head tip back to rest against the door, eyes closing as I catch my breath. “I’m really glad Ruth isn’t here right now. She would have murdered me for this.”

“That would’ve been very hypocritical of her, considering she frequently comes back from spending her lunch hour with Tucker sporting pink cheeks and messy hair.” Trevor carefully pulls out, then lowers me to the ground. “And she wouldn’t kill you. She would kill me.”

“That probably is more accurate.” I do the awkward clenched half-jog required to avoid spillage as I make a beeline for Trevor’s bathroom. I attempt to close the door, but it bounces right off him as he follows me into the room.

I scoff. “Excuse you.”

“There’s no excuse for me, sweetheart.” Opening the cabinet under the sink, he pulls out a washcloth before switching on the tap. He runs it under the warm water before squeezing out the excess and passing it to me. “Use this.”

“Thanks.” I take it, looking around the room as I plop down on the toilet, releasing the little bit that’s in my bladder. “Your bathroom is really nice.” I do a quick wipe with the toilet paper before switching to the cloth. “But why do you have washcloths here?”

“Sometimes I don’t make it home at night. And since Tucker refused to retrofit the bathroom with a shower for me to use, I had to find a workaround.” Trevor opens one of the drawers and pulls out a comb and a tub of pomade, taming his hair before applying a thin layer of product and working the strands into submission.

“Why wouldn’t Tucker build you a shower?” I finish up and toss the washcloth into the hamper in the corner, then dig into Trevor’s pocket for my panties. “Was it too big of a hassle?”

“We didn’t even make it to the hassle part.” Trevor finishes up with his hair and replaces the comb and product. “He said if I had everything I needed here, I’d never go home.”

I snort as I thread my feet through the leg openings of my panties. “That’s probably true.”

Trevor turns to face me, his expression serious. “Don’t get too excited. I’ll be coming home every night until we figure out who the fuck switched your computer.”

And just like that, my postcoital glow evaporates.

“Ugh.” My head drops back as I groan. “I actually forgot about that for a few seconds.”

“I didn’t.” Trevor steps toward me, reaching out to carefully smooth his hands through my hair. “Pierce said Zara’s new bod—” he stops before correcting himself “—aide will be here later tonight. I think it’s important we make sure she’s comfortable with this before we make any firm plans.”

I nod, agreeing easily. “Maybe he can come over and hang out.” I don’t so much mind that I’m being affected by this, but Zara being involved has me struggling not to lose my shit. “I’m not sure how much we can tell her about what’s actually happening and who he really is, though.” It occurs to me that makes my sister sound like a tattletale, which she isn’t. “She does like to talk, and sometimes spills way too much information.”

Like the time she told her dance teacher about my experience with the stomach flu and how I shit myself because I could only stick one end over the toilet at a time.

Trevor nods, his hands smoothing down my neck and over my shoulders. “She’s a kid. Kid’s talk. We will just be extra careful with what we say in front of her.”

He keeps saying we. Lumping us together. And I don’t hate it.

Especially right now, when I’m facing something I’m incapable of tackling alone. Yes, I could’ve cleaned up the trailer, but I don’t know what I would have done when I discovered my laptop had been switched, not stolen. I couldn’t have figured out a way to keep my sister safe. I surely couldn’t have come up with a new location for us to live.

After a lifetime of tackling the kinds of problems most people can’t fathom on my own, it’s a little scary to let someone help. But I don’t have a choice. And honestly, I trust Trevor. Not just with my life—which he has already saved once—but also my sister’s.

And that’s saying something.

We go back into his office, and he situates me on the couch, getting me a bottle of water before sitting down to finalize our plan for keeping Zara safe. I guess Pierce—the owner of Alaskan Security—is the key to most of it. He has a staff physician who will be more than happy to write the note for Zara’s school. Her bodyguard will pass any background checks they do with flying colors—I’m guessing because he will not be giving them his real government information—and is one of their field medics, so he actually will have relevant training.

I don’t know if all of that makes me feel better, but it definitely doesn’t make me feel worse.

By the time Ruth knocks on the door, letting us know she, Toby, and Walker are back from their trip to the archives, the twisting in my stomach has subsided, and my shoulders no longer feel like they’re trying to masquerade as earrings.

Trevor looks better too. Still stressed and intense, but nothing like he appeared this morning in the conference room.

Since there’s work to be done, I say my goodbyes, then head back to my desk. A shiny new laptop waits for me, and I open it, logging into the private server so I can get at least a little bit of actual work done today.

It’s just after five when Trevor rounds the corner, striding toward me. “Are you ready?”

I look around, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “Ready for what?” I don’t have time for another meeting—or another quickie—before I leave to get Zara.

I considered skipping out early to pick her up from school instead of letting her go to after hours care, but the less I do to change her routine, or make her suspicious, the better off everything will be.

I hope.

I still called to check on her every hour, using the excuse that she’d seemed a little under the weather this morning, and I just wanted to make sure everything was going okay. I figured that would also help my cause when I send her in with a new, scary sidekick.

“Ready to go. It’s time to pick Zara up, right?” Trevor collects my bag, setting it on the desk beside my new computer. “What else do you need? Would you like a drink for the road?”

My brain trips over all his questions. “Yeah. It’s about time to pick up Zara.” I close my computer. “I don’t usually leave until five twenty, though.”

“I know, but her new buddy Quinn should be landing in about an hour, and I figured it would be easiest for us to pick him up rather than make him find a ride.” I must not be moving fast enough, because Trevor begins packing up my stuff. “Ruth is going to drive my car home, so he can use that to get around if he needs it.”

“Why is Ruth taking your car?” I manage to fish my keys out of the bag before he stacks my computer on top of them. “Don’t you need it to get home?”

Trevor picks up my bag, slinging it over one shoulder. “No.” He holds one hand out to me. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I scoff, lifting my brows at him. “You’re being awfully fucking bossy right now.”

“I know.” He gives me a grin, wiggling his fingers to encourage me to take his hand. “You can boss me around however you want tonight. But you need to get your ass in gear so we can get this off our to-do list.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t really be mad at him. Getting Zara protected is my number one priority. “Fine.” I stand, pushing my chair into place. “But I get to be the passenger princess this time.”

29

Trevor

“Idon’t know how I feel about this.” Maren stands close to me in the kitchen, watching Zara and her new buddy Quinn like a hawk. “He looks terrifying.”

I’m not sure we’re looking at the same guy. Quinn looks like the rest of the men I’ve met from Alaskan Security. Yes, he’s generally physically large and imposing, but he hasn’t been anything but polite and friendly since we picked him up from the private airport Pierce flew him into.

“Are you seriously terrified of him, or do you think Zara is terrified of him?” My attempt at gaining clarity earns me a scoff and a shove to one shoulder.

“I’m not terrified of anybody.” Maren looks from her sister to Quinn. “Zara doesn’t seem to be afraid of him either, but I’m a little worried about the rest of the kids at her school and the aftercare center.”

That has me looking at Quinn a little differently. “I can see how that might be a problem.”

We might be in the position of when it walks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.

Or in this case, a mercenary.

“Maybe it’ll be better when he’s not wearing tactical gear.” Maren sounds skeptical.

“I’m not sure it matters. We have a signed note from a doctor saying Zara is in need of additional monitoring for the foreseeable future. Quinn has identification showing he’s licensed to provide that sort of care. They don’t really have a leg to stand on if they want to fight us on this.”

Maren rubs at her eyes, looking tired. “I hope they don’t try to argue. I don’t want to make Zara’s time at school shitty because people are mad at me.”

I reach out to rest both hands on her shoulders, working the tight muscles there with my thumbs. “If they fight us, we’ll just pull her out and send her to a private school.” A private school won’t argue over Zara having a medical aide, even if he looks a little imposing. And if they do, I’m sure I can throw money at the problem and make it go away.

“I can’t just pull her out of school, Trevor. Private school is expensive. Where am I going to come up with the money to⁠—”

“I would pay for it.” I assumed that was understood when I suggested it. “She can go to the same school my brothers and I went to.” I like the sound of it already. Zara graduating from the same place I did. Getting to see her go across the stage where we all accepted our diplomas.

Maren snaps her fingers in front of my face. “You cannot just start paying for her to go to private school. That’s not how this is going to work.”

We haven’t really established what this is, so I can’t blame Maren for being confused about how it’s going to work. I know her well enough to recognize I can’t simply tell her I’m paying for everything now and expect her to be fine with it. Not after everything she’s been through. Not after how hard she’s worked to claw her way out of the life she was born into.

I’m probably going to have to fight her every step of the way. I’d like to think one day she’ll give up and let me take care of her and Zara without an argument, but that’s not the woman she is. Which is probably why my dick is getting hard right now. A lifetime of verbal sparring sounds pretty fucking good.

Almost as good as the makeup sex that will follow it.

“Are you sure about that?” I give her a quick kiss on the lips, moving fast, both so Zara doesn’t see and so I don’t get bitten. “I’m willing to negotiate the terms.”

Maren shoots me a stare she probably thinks is a glare. “You’re always willing to negotiate the terms.”

“Only with you.” I go to the fridge, grateful my mother dropped off food for us this morning so I have plenty of options to offer everyone. “Hey, Zara. Do you want lasagna or beef and noodles for dinner?”

Her little head pops up from where she’s sprawled on the floor with her coloring books. “Lasagna.”

“Lasagna, please.” Maren offers the correction as she reaches around me to grab a couple containers of salad from the fridge.

“Puh-lease.” Zara hollers the word, dragging it out before dissolving into a fit of giggles that makes me stop in my tracks.

For years, my house has been silent. Perfectly organized and impeccably clean. Everything exactly the way I paid for it to be.

Tonight, it’s loud. Chaotic. There are coloring books and crayons strewn across the great room and book bags and shoes piled next to the door. My counters are covered in lunchboxes waiting to be unpacked, half-filled reusable water bottles, and the artwork Zara did at school today. Voices fill the air as Maren reminds her sister she will be eating vegetables with her lasagna, and confirms Nana DeeDee did in fact pack a tray of frosted brownies for dessert.

For the first time, my house feels like a home.

“I know there’s a lot to choose from, but standing there with the fridge door open isn’t going to make the decision any easier.” Maren bumps me out of the way so she can grab Zara’s lasagna.

I hate that Maren’s trailer was burglarized. Fully intend to do everything in my power to punish everyone responsible for stealing the home she created for Zara. But in this moment—just for the tiniest second—I’m grateful it happened. That it forced my hand. Made Maren take a step she likely wouldn’t have otherwise.

Because having Maren and Zara here is everything I could have ever wanted, and all I never believed I would have.

Maren pops the first meal into the microwave above my oven and frowns at the digital panel. “What sort of spaceship bullshit is this?”

I move in close, punching in a few numbers before setting it to run.

“That thing is ridiculous, you know that, right?” She looks down at the oven. “Holy crap. That one’s worse.”

I make a mental note to replace them. I won’t tell Maren I’m doing it. She’ll question the reasons, and I’m not quite prepared for the fallout of telling her I’m going to do everything I can to keep her from moving out when this whole mess is cleared up.

Actually, I plan to do everything in my power to get her to stay indefinitely.

Because I think Maren might actually get me. Understand why I’m so committed to McKinley Security Systems. Why I will always stay as late as I have to in order to make sure everything is as it should be.

Not that I stayed late tonight. Leaving at five o’clock was strange as hell, but couldn’t be avoided. I wanted to be there when Maren picked Zara up, just in case someone was waiting to take advantage of the situation. Quinn also needed to be collected from the airport, so it only made sense to tackle both tasks at the same time. Plus, I need to be here while Zara and Quinn get to know each other. Because if it’s not going to work, someone needs to drive his ass back to the airport.

Leaving at five was really the only option I had.

Working together, Maren and I heat up one of my mother’s prepared meals for each of us, lining them down the surface of my never-before-used dining room table before calling Quinn and Zara in to eat.

I watch as Quinn carefully offers support as the five-year-old gets up and makes her way through the house. She chatters the whole way, telling him about her friends at school, how much she enjoys dance class, and the petting zoo I bought.

That last one has him raising his eyebrows at me.

I just shrug. There’s no rational way to explain buying an entire petting zoo simply because you want a kid to be able to enjoy it in its entirety. But no one has ever accused me of being a rational sort of guy.

No, I’m the sort of guy who sets up hidden security cameras. The kind who sits outside an employee’s house under the guise of responsibility. The man who refits his kitchen appliances so they’ll be more user-friendly to the woman he hasn’t told is now a permanent resident.

I guess it’s good Maren thinks there’s something wrong with her for liking me staking out her house, because there sure as hell is a lot wrong with me.

We all sit down and dig into our meals. It’s not a traditional sort of dinner. No fancy serving dishes or expensive china being used. We’re eating out of plastic meal prep containers, and wiping our faces on paper towels.

It’s fucking perfect.

Right up until my phone starts to ring.

My eyes immediately go to Maren, expecting frustration. Annoyance. Maybe even disappointment.

Instead she sits up straighter, eyes locked on the cell in my hand. “You should probably answer that.” Her gaze snaps to my face, eyes widening as she slowly says, “It could be important.” She continues staring at me, brows lifting when I don’t immediately connect the call.

I can’t tell if she’s daring me to answer the phone, or legitimately wants me to do it, but I don’t have a choice. When Heidi calls, I answer.

I swipe my thumb across the screen and lift it to my ear. “Hi, Heidi.”

Maren jumps up from her seat, grabbing me by the arm. She gives Zara an overly bright smile. “We’ll be right back. Are you okay here with Mr. Quinn?”

Zara nods. “I’m fine.”

The second she has Zara’s confirmation, Maren drags me out of the room and down the hall into my office. Shoving me through the doorway, she closes the French doors behind us.

“Did she find something?” Maren’s earlier behavior surrounding the call makes a little more sense as she steps close, eager for information. “Was the camera still in use?”

I tap on the speaker of my phone so Maren can be an active participant in the conversation, then ask Heidi, “Did you hear that?”

“Yup.” Alaskan Security’s extroverted hacking authority sounds as bubbly as ever as she offers up answers. “They did shut it off shortly after Titus began running diagnostics, but they weren’t fast enough, so I have quite a bit to work with.”

I can hear the air rush from Maren’s lungs as relief washes over her expression. “Do you know who put it there?”

“Not yet, but I think there’s a high likelihood we’ll be able to identify someone. Once I’ve finished compiling a list of names, I can cross reference that with the videos from the security cameras outside your trailer. I know the men who broke in were wearing masks, but that doesn’t mean there’s no identifying information. Same with the guy walking his dog. He had a baseball cap on and the collar of his jacket pulled up, so his face isn’t visible, but that isn’t a dealbreaker.”

Maren steps closer to me as Heidi starts explaining how proportions and mathematical equations can be used to determine height and weight. Her hands grip the front of my shirt as she listens intently to a monologue about how clothing alone can be enough to track someone down.

By the time Heidi finishes telling us all about the tools at her disposal and how she plans to use them, my brain is mush, but Maren is still sharply focused and hanging on every word.

Normally, I’d be taking this call on my own, trying like hell to absorb every word. But not tonight. Tonight I have someone just as eager to listen and understand as I am at my side. And I appreciate that just as much as I appreciate not eating dinner alone.

Heidi is launching into an explanation of her plans for the computer, when Quinn knocks on the door. I beckon him in through the glass, asking Heidi to hang on just a second.

“I just want to make sure Zara’s allowed to have brownies.” Quinn grins. “She’s real fucking convincing, and I don’t want to get my ass kicked right out of the gate.”

“Brownies, plural?” Maren groans. “I didn’t even think about her trying to butter you up for extra brownies.” She turns to me. “I’ll be right back.”

Quinn follows her down the hall as Maren goes to start a negotiation with a five-year-old.

“Is Maren gone?” Heidi whispers through the line.

I switch off the speaker and put the phone to my ear, stepping away from the open door. “She is.”

“I don’t know her super well, so I wasn’t sure how delicate information would be delivered best.” Heidi sounds abnormally cautious.

“What sort of delicate information?” Heidi is always brash and blunt, and her hesitancy doesn’t sit right in my gut. “Is it about the men who broke into her trailer?”

“No.”

I wait for Heidi to say more—she always does. Not this time, apparently. The other end of the line remains silent, forcing me to prompt her. “What is it about?”

“Her mother.” Another short, strangely hesitant answer.

Followed by another unusual silence.

“Do you think her mother was part of this?” It’s still one of the possibilities—far-fetched as it is—I’ve been considering. Maybe her mother’s dealers leveled up. Technology is always advancing, and people who want money always figure out a way to get it. It isn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that the camera was planted by someone looking to rob Maren. It could be exactly what we initially believed it was. Thugs who wanted to settle a debt.

It doesn’t explain the laptop, but who knows why people do what they do? Maybe they believed it was a personal computer and they’d be able to get Maren’s stored passwords somehow.

I’m still clinging to that possibility as I wait for Heidi’s answer. Hoping with everything I have that we can put all this behind us. That I overreacted by bringing Quinn here, and I don’t have to fear for Maren and Zara’s safety.

But then Heidi pulls the rug right out from under me.

“Her mother couldn’t have been involved in this, because she died six months ago.”

Fuck.

I rake a hand through my hair as I begin to pace. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Heidi still sounds cautious when she asks, “Are you going to tell her?”

“I have to.” Maren deserves to know. Not just because of what it means for this investigation, but also because it might provide some sort of closure for her.

After promising to find everything she can about Maren’s mother, Heidi hangs up, leaving me alone with the dread chewing through my gut.

I had plenty of expectations for tonight. Hoped maybe I could lure Maren into my bed after everyone else went to sleep. Instead, I get to tell her the mother who made her life a living hell is dead, and I’m essentially responsible for the break-in at her home.

Fucking great.

30

Maren

I’m fucking exhausted. Drained emotionally and physically. So tired I should have passed out before my head even hit the pillow.

Instead, I’m lying on a bed in one of Trevor’s spare rooms, staring at the ceiling.

I wonder if he’s still downstairs working. He left the office earlier than normal today because of me. Does he now have to stay up late to make up for it?

The possibility makes me feel sorta bad.

“Fucking hell.” I flip the covers off and swing my legs over the edge of the mattress. I swear, this man gets me out of bed more than he gets me into one.

Grabbing my favorite robe from the ornate brass fixture mounted to the back of the door, I stuff my arms into the sleeves as I exit and walk down the hall.

I pause to check on Zara as I go, ensuring she’s still sleeping soundly in her bed. It’s bizarre to see everything from her room in a different location, but it does seem like the familiarity of her own furniture has helped my sister feel less discombobulated by this sudden move.

She’s happily snoozing away, and I continue down the hall, stopping to confirm Trevor isn’t actually also asleep, before quietly making my way downstairs.

The first time I came to Trevor’s house, it felt like a museum. Sterile and echo-y. A place meant for looking at, not for living. But I must’ve just not been used to it, because already his home feels more comfortable. Less intimidating. I no longer worry if I smudge a surface or bump a table. The sofa actually felt cozy when I curled up on it after dinner, and the water pressure on the shower in my bathroom is freaking divine.

Staying here for a little while definitely won’t be a hardship.

There’s a soft glow coming from Trevor’s office, serving as a beacon for his location. I creep toward the doorway, listening for any sign of what he’s doing in there. Not because I’m being nosy. Just because I’m... Being nosy.

But it’s quiet. Nothing besides the tapping of the keyboard and the clicking of a mouse as I finally step into the open doorway.

Trevor looks up at me almost immediately. Like he was expecting me.

“Do you have cameras in here?” I remember how Titus watched Mariah move through his house, so I probably should have considered that as a possibility before now.

Trevor’s lips curve into a hint of a smile. “Yes, but they’re not on.”

So he wasn’t expecting me because he saw me closing in then. Could it be he wasn’t expecting, but maybe… hoping?

Trevor scoots back from the desk. “Come here.”

There’s something off in his tone. A softness that has me on edge. I’m not the sort of girl people are usually gentle with. I’m all sharp edges and biting teeth. It doesn’t matter how carefully you hold me, you’re probably still getting hurt. So I’m understandably skittish as I round his desk, not quite knowing what’s coming.

As soon as I’m within reach, he tugs me onto his lap, pulling me close. Burying his nose in my hair like he did this morning, Trevor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” Something has to be wrong. The only time I’ve ever seen Trevor act like this was when we discovered my laptop had been switched. “What happened?”

He takes another deep breath before slowly lifting his lids, meeting my gaze. “Your mother died.”

I’ve known those words were going to be said to me at some point. Probably sooner rather than later. I was expecting them to come from a social worker, or maybe even a police officer.

Never once did I expect to hear them in the quiet of a million dollar home, tucked safely in the arms of someone I trust.

“Oh.” I’m silent for a second. “Do you know when?”

“About six months ago. Heidi is sending her death certificate over tomorrow.”

I sit with the news for a minute, trying to decide how I feel about it. If I feel about it.

I don’t have love for my mother. Never have. She wasn’t someone I could trust or look up to. She was never a safe place for me or an ally I could count on.

I also always felt like if there was anyone in this world a person could trust, it should be their mother. And since I didn’t have that, there would never be—could never be—anyone I trusted. Anyone who was a safe place for me. Anyone I could count on.

I was wrong.

Trevor reaches up, stroking along my cheek with the back of his fingers. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Neither do I.” I look over his face, the concern and worry I see there making my chest tight because I know it’s for me. “Am I a bad person if I say I don’t really care?” I drop his gaze, studying my fingernails. “That I’m actually a little relieved?”

“Nothing could make you a bad person, Maren.” Trevor’s voice is soft but firm. “You are the best person I know.”

I snort, because no one has ever said anything like that about me before. “I’m sure there’s a long line of people who would aggressively disagree with you.”

“Probably.” His fingers move to my hair, gently working through the strands. “There are a lot of stupid people in this world.”

I roll my eyes. “They’re not stupid for thinking I’m a bitch.”

“People earn their treatment.” He traces a path down my arm, linking our fingers. “If someone thinks you’re a bitch, it’s probably because that’s the version of you they deserved to experience.”

“I just don’t have time for bullshit.” The sleepiness I couldn’t find a few minutes ago settles in, making me yawn. “So I don’t put up with it.”

“I know. It’s one of the things I like best about you.” Trevor’s dark eyes search my face. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.” I rest my head on his shoulder, letting my eyes close. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know your mom.” He tucks me closer. “Which is probably a good thing.”

“I don’t mean are you okay about my mom dying.” I snuggle into his embrace. “I meant, are you okay since my mom being dead means the people who broke into my trailer definitely weren’t there because of her.”

Trevor rests his chin on top of my head. “No. I’m not okay.”

“I figured as much.” I yawn again. “Life really sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?”

A rumble of a laugh reverberates through his chest beneath my ear. “Yeah. It really fucking does.”

Another yawn sneaks free, and Trevor shifts in his seat. “Come on. Let’s get you into bed.”

I let him stand me up, then tug his hand. “You need to go to bed too. It’s late.”

I’m a little surprised when he lets me drag him along without a single word of protest. I know all about Trevor’s late nights and early mornings. More than once, Ruth has lamented how he’s going to work himself into an early grave, and Brooke has talked about his brothers’ concerns over how he burns the candle at both ends.

But tonight, Trevor seems as exhausted as I am as I lead him up the steps, practically shoving him into his bedroom. “Good night.”

I hear him chuckle as I continue down the hall to the room where I’m staying. After shucking my robe, I climb under the covers, ready to find that comfy, cozy, drowsy feeling from just a few minutes ago when I was tucked on Trevor’s lap.

I wait for it to reappear.

I wait a little longer.

I make it another minute before I’m flipping off the covers again and huffing my way down the hall. I walk straight into his room, not really shocked to find he’s lying in bed, stretched out with one arm tucked behind his head as he scrolls through emails on his phone. His damp hair falls over one eye when his head turns my way.

“Are you okay?” He straightens, the covers dropping down to reveal the full expanse of his toned chest and stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“You are what’s wrong.” I practically stomp toward his bed, grabbing the covers. “Scoot over. We’re cuddling.”

A slow smile curves his lips as he practically throws his cell phone to the nightstand. “Yes, ma’am.”

I slide between the sheets as he flips off the light. The room is so dark, I’m pretty much blinded, and give out a little yelp as a strong arm encircles my waist and tugs me back against a solid wall of warmth. “I didn’t expect you to be a cuddler.”

“Shut up.” I wiggle closer, closing my eyes as the heat of his body soaks into mine, relaxing all my frayed nerves in seconds.

The sleep that has been eluding me finally arrives, dragging me under. But not before I’m able to confirm I was right.

Trevor Bradshaw does have the world’s most comfortable bed.

When I walk into work, Brooke is already in her office, looking put together and glamorous. Like she always does.

“Good morning.” I set my computer bag down on my desk, trying to look bitter and annoyed. Like I always do.

But it’s becoming more and more difficult to be my normal crabby self. Especially when I’m getting such good sleep every night.

In Trevor’s bed.

Three nights in, and I’m not sure he’s ever going to get me back out of it. The thing is ridiculous. Just as ridiculous as Trevor’s love of snuggling. I swear he stays attached to me the entire night. It’s smothering. Stifling. Makes it impossible to turn over or readjust.

I kinda like it.

“Good morning.” Brooke lifts her brows, cringing a little as she asks, “Think you’re ready for your first Bradshaw family dinner tonight?”

“Is anyone ever ready for their first Bradshaw family dinner?” I’m not sure one can prepare for that. “Luckily, I have Zara to keep everyone distracted, so I’m figuring it’s like I won’t even really be there.”

My sister is fucking great, but the thing I like best about her is that I can just trail behind her and she handles all social interactions for us. Even at five, she’s an amazing conversationalist. Remembers everyone’s name, and most of what they tell her. It’s pretty impressive. Some days I don’t even know my own name.

And I don’t generally listen to what people tell me.

Brooke gives me a tight smile. “Sure. Yeah. That might happen.”

I don’t like her reaction.

I already have too many things to worry about. I don’t need stress over the dinner I cannot get out of added to the pile.

I pull my computer from the bag, setting it up as Brooke perches on the end of my desk. “How are things going with you and Zara staying at Trevor’s?”

“Fine.” I try to keep my reaction in check, but the prickle of warmth spreading across my cheeks is a pretty good indication I’ve failed. “He’s got plenty of space, and I finally figured out how to work the microwave, so it’s been totally acceptable.”

Especially when he tries to put me through that miraculous mattress of his.

I fight the urge to fan my face, unable to look my friend in the eye as I continue finding things to adjust around my workspace.

“Good. I was really worried he would be a pain in the ass about other people invading his space.” Brooke smirks. “Especially considering how much Zara likes to be crafty.”

She does like to be crafty. So much so, the table in Trevor’s breakfast room is currently covered with a collection of jewelry making supplies, water-based paints, and her entire box of stamps.

Since we had to file paperwork and have a school-arranged background check done for Quinn before he can accompany her into the building, she’s been staying home from school, spending her days being babysat by America’s favorite mother.

And a mercenary.

“Ladies.”

I turn to find Walker striding toward us, a familiar woman at his side.

He gestures toward her. “This is Lindsey.” His hands swing our way. “Lindsey, this is Maren and Brooke.”

Lindsey gives me a megawatt smile, her curled blonde hair bouncing a little as she comes straight toward me. “We’ve actually met before. You were part of the interview process.”

Oh, I remember.

“It’s good to see you again.” I tamp down the ugly bite of jealousy already trying to rear its head as I shake her hand. There’s no reason to be jealous of this woman. Never has she indicated she has any actual interest in Trevor.

I was just concerned. Because why wouldn’t she have an interest in Trevor? He’s good looking, can be charming when he wants to be, has a great house, nice car.

And is very, very good at sex.

But I’m the one he’s sexing, and Trevor has made it very clear—on more than one occasion—that I’m the only one he’s sexing.

Which is good, since I now have a murder van.

“Lindsey is training to take over some of the responsibilities of running the warehouse.” Walker stuffs both hands into the pockets of his worn blue jeans, looking like he would rather be anywhere but here, talking to us. “She’s new in town, and I figured you guys could help her get acclimated.”

“Of course we can.” Brooke gives Lindsey a warm smile. “I know this place can be a lot when you first start, so if you have any questions, just ask. We’re happy to help.”

“Thank you so much.” Lindsey is still sporting her overly-wide smile, looking just as angelic and stunningly beautiful as she did the last time we met. “I’m really excited to get started. I think I’m going to learn a lot here.”

I force on a smile, doing my best to be nice. This poor chick has done nothing to earn my negativity, and it makes me feel a little guilty for everything I thought about her back when she was interviewing. “You’re always welcome to come have lunch with us.”

Her brows lift. “Really? That would be so great.”

I don’t know if great is the word I would use.

“Cool.” Walker backs away, his daily allotment of social interaction likely met.

Lindsey gives us a wave, the dimple in her cheek peeking out like it wants to say goodbye too. “Bye. It was great to meet you.” She points at me. “And great to see you again.”

Shit. She might be genuinely nice. I might be forced to end up liking her. In spite of all the excitement and positivity radiating off of her.

Walker pauses at the end of the hall, turning back. He must have found a few more words from his daily quota, and he uses them to remind me of what I’d finally put out of my mind.

“See you two tonight at family dinner.”

31

Trevor

“Can we drive this everywhere?” Zara isn’t even fully strapped in yet, and she’s already madly in love with my side-by-side. “Can it go on the road?” Her eyes widen. “Can I drive it?”

“We can drive it everywhere on this property, but not on the regular road.” I finish buckling her into the harness I ordered to keep her safe. “And you can drive it when you’re sixteen.”

Her lower lip pokes out. “That’s so far away.”

I make sure none of her hair is caught in the straps, then tap her on the tip of her nose. “It will be here before we know it.” Rounding the front of the vehicle, I climb behind the wheel, starting the engine before backing out of the garage.

Maren sits beside me, the dessert she made balanced on her lap. Her dark eyes scan the landscape as the setting sun casts it in a golden glow. “It’s really pretty out here.”

I take in her profile, backlit by the last light of the day. “Breathtaking.”

Work was crazy today, so I didn’t get to find my way to her wing of the building until it was time for us to leave. I hated not getting to see her throughout the day, but it was a necessary evil. I had a timetable to stick to. We didn’t have to leave early to pick Zara up, but we did have to leave in time to make it to my parents’ for family dinner. Or there would be hell to pay.

Primarily because we have one of their beloved grandchildren in tow.

When we reach my parents’, I park in the closest possible place I can, then work on getting Zara’s chair out of the back. I initially planned to bring the van, but then decided that wouldn’t be fair. Everybody else gets to ride in a side-by-side, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to make Zara do anything different.

It only takes a few extra minutes to break down her chair and reassemble it, so it’s not really that much extra effort. And watching her point out every squirrel and bird she saw as we wound our way through the trees was worth every second.

Quinn takes over the final steps—getting in a little more practice since he’ll be responsible for this if the need to dismantle Zara’s chair during the school day arises—while I help her get unbuckled. It takes a little trial and error to figure out the best way for her to transfer, especially since she prefers to do as much of it on her own as she can, but soon we’re rolling toward the back of my mother’s house.

She hosts enough events here that require caterers to bring in fully loaded carts of food, that there’s actually an elevator already in place. It’s not big enough to hold all of us, so I send Maren and Zara up together, sprinting up the stairs and into the house so I can beat them to their destination. It isn’t difficult to operate the small lift, but since it’s Maren’s first time, I want to be there in case she needs help.

“That was awesome.” Zara greets me with a bright smile as I slide open the door between us. “I’ve never been on an elevator in somebody’s house before.”

It’s something she’ll get used to very soon, because I’ve got a structural engineer working with the same company who installed my mother’s elevator to figure out where we can put one in my house. Zara is capable of making her way up and down the stairs, but one wrong move could send her tumbling. Plus it’s exhausting. I can only imagine how tiring it will be for her at bedtime after a long day at school.

“Hello, hello, hello.” My mother beams as she heads our way, an apron tied around her waist and a smudge of flour across her nose. “How was everyone’s day?” She points at Zara. “Not you. I already know how your day was.” She gives her a wink. “It was magnificent because you spent it with your Nana DeeDee.”

“It was great.” Zara leans to peer around my mother in the direction of the kitchen. “Are there lots of people here?”

“Just a normal amount.” My mother steps around Zara’s chair, taking over for Maren. “And you’ve already met everyone.” She pushes Zara down the hall, running through the list of everyone who’s coming to dinner.

Maren takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she watches them walk away. “I guess I better just get this over with.”

“It’s just like being at work. With more food.” I tip my head from side to side, considering. “Or like girls’ night with less alcohol.”

“The less alcohol is the part I’m worried about.” Maren doesn’t look enthused as she peers down the hall. “It already sounds chaotic in there.”

“Oh, it definitely is.” I loop an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “But you have my permission to yell at anyone you want to.” I grin. “Especially my brothers.”

I can’t imagine what Maren’s childhood was like. Don’t have the first clue of how big of a shift it would be for her to go from essentially being an only child with no relatives to speak of, to being sucked into a big, loud family with boundary issues.

“I guess that sounds like fun.” Maren sighs again before stepping out of my embrace. “Let’s go before your mom starts getting suspicious.”

“Sweetheart, you’re living in my house, working for my company, and I just bought your sister a petting zoo.” I hook an arm around her shoulders. “Suspicious doesn’t begin to describe what my mother is right now.”

Probably planning a wedding. I know my mom is champing at the bit to get us all paired up and settled down. It’s been relatively smooth sailing up to this point, so she likely has an inflated sense of optimism about how the rest will play out.

I’m not as optimistic.

Maren seems to be accepting of how much I work. Not a single time has she said anything about my commitment to McKinley Security Systems. And it may genuinely not bother her. Now. But that doesn’t mean it never will.

I’m also sure Maren wouldn’t even consider letting me drag her to the altar. And it wouldn’t be fair of me to try. Especially when I don’t know what’s going to happen next. When the next shoe will drop.

Who it will hit when it lands.

So my mother’s hopes and dreams of another wedding will have to put their target on someone else’s back.

“Oh my God.” Maren presses both hands to her head, eyes wide. “Do you think she thinks we’re fucking?”

“We are fucking.” Will be again as soon as I get her home and in my bed. “But I’m pretty sure my mother prefers not to think about her children screwing, so you’re probably safe there.”

“Good.” Maren seems relieved. “That would have made tonight extra uncomfortable.”

“I should probably warn you, though…” I can’t resist the urge to aggravate her. Just a little. “Everyone else totally thinks we’re fucking.” I give her a wink before dropping my arm and stepping away. “Come on. Let’s go eat.”

She stands in the same spot for a second before finally following, catching up to me in a few rushed steps. “I hate you.”

“You’re a liar.” We reach the doorway opening to the kitchen that serves as the center of my parents’ home. Resting my palm on Maren’s lower back, I urge her toward the breakfast room. “Go sit with your friends. Talk some shit about me. It’ll make you feel better.”

Maren shoots me a glare, but does as I suggest, going to take her place at the table where Mariah, Brooke, and Ruth are already seated. They pour her a glass of fruit-filled sangria from the pitcher my mother prepared as she plunks into a chair.

“She know you love her yet?” Titus steps in beside me, casually tipping back the bottle of beer in his hand. Like he didn’t just ask me the most loaded question ever.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” I turn back to watch the women as they laugh hysterically, likely at my expense. “We aren’t even close to being at that point.”

My older brother chuckles, shaking his head. “Man, you were at that point the day you saved her from the fire.”

At that point I’d known Maren for two months. We were already at each other’s throats. Anytime our paths crossed, we fought. Annoyed. Instigated.

And our paths crossed a lot.

“She deserves someone who can give her more time.” I can’t seem to make myself deny Titus’s claim, so I deflect. “So does Zara.”

“Bullshit.”

My attention snaps to my brother. “Fuck you.”

“Stop being a fucking coward.” Titus shakes his head, gaze drifting to his wife. “I did enough of that for all of us.”

“I’m not being a coward. I’m being realistic.” I grind my molars together before admitting, “I know what I am and what I’m not. I can’t make her my top priority, and that’s not fair.”

“Bullshit.”

“You gotta stop saying that.” I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated with the conversation. “It’s not bullshit. Trust me. It’s the same problem I have every time I try to get into a relationship.”

“And Kara dying didn’t fuck me up for relationships?” Titus’s expression turns a little judgy. “If I can get past that, you can sure as hell get over thinking you have to make McKinley your top priority.”

“I do have to make McKinley my top priority.” Why doesn’t he get this? “Hundreds of people count on me making it my top priority.”

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings here, but you aren’t the be-all end-all of our company’s success, dick.” His eyes shift to where Zara is helping my mom at the counter. “And it’s okay to have more than one top priority.” He gestures at our mother and Maren’s sister with his beer. “Look at mom. She made dad build a mini ramp and platform so Zara could reach the counter. But that doesn’t mean she loves Birdie or my twins any less.” His focus comes back to me. “Two things can be true. McKinley can be a top priority, and so can Zara and Maren.”

“I’m stretched fucking thin enough as it is. How in the hell do you think I’m going to⁠—”

“You could probably start by buying a fucking petting zoo.” Titus tips his head. “Oh, wait. You already did that.” His lips press into a pondering curve. “I guess you could move them into your house, hire Zara a bodyguard, and build a ramp to your front door.” He clicks his tongue. “Shit. You did all that too.” He turns to me, expression filled with false confusion. “It’s almost like you’re already making them a priority.”

“The ramp isn’t actually built yet.” I want what he’s saying to be true. Want to think there’s enough of me to go around. But history has shown me there’s not. “And I didn’t see Maren once at work today. I didn’t have time. I literally ran from one problem to the next and didn’t have a second I could offer her.”

Titus now seems genuinely confused. “So? You think she wants you up her ass all the time?” He shakes his head. “That one will kill you if you annoy the fuck out of her all day.” He gestures at the group of women happily sipping sangria and enjoying each other’s company. “And they would help her hide your body.”

Could it be that simple? That easy?

A smile curves my lips. “She would kill me, wouldn’t she?”

Maren is independent as hell. Has been on her own pretty much her entire life. Having someone around all the time probably would drive her fucking nuts.

It’s possible, my extensive work hours could be something she wouldn’t hate.

“Absolutely she would. And probably wouldn’t feel bad about it either.” He grins. “She’d think you deserved it.”

“I probably would. I’m kind of a pain in the ass.” And I think Maren actually likes that about me. The same way I like that she’s not one to back down or take shit.

“You would definitely deserve it.”

Titus sobers as Walker walks in, the whole feel of the kitchen shifting with my cousin’s arrival. He watches Walker go straight to where Birdie is hanging out with my dad and the rest of our brothers in the living room, waiting until Walker’s out of earshot before asking, “How’s he doing?”

I’ve been so fucking busy with Maren’s move, getting Quinn set up to go to school with Zara, and figuring out the logistics of making my house accessible, I haven’t checked on our cousin nearly enough. While I spent Monday dealing with the laptop fiasco, he was sifting through the records of his mother’s death, hunting for the closure he’s never had.

“He seemed okay when he brought Lindsey around and introduced her to everyone.”

Titus shoots me a questioning look. “Who’s Lindsey?”

“A woman I hired to help out in the warehouse. She’s got a pretty great resume, so we’re hoping after she goes through training, she might be able to take on a more managerial position.” Now that I’ve got Ruth, everyone has someone helping to carry the load of their division except Walker. It would be great if we could find someone reliable to fill that void.

Someone who’s also willing to put up with a whole lot of silence.

“Don’t let mom find out. She’ll start plotting.” Titus keeps his voice low. “And that’s the last thing Walker needs right now.”

I watch my mother as she teaches Zara how to cut the flat, herb filled dumplings that are Ruth’s favorite with a pizza roller before carefully sliding them into simmering broth. “He might not have anything to worry about for a while. I think she’s managed to get her hands pretty full for someone who had zero grandchildren a couple years ago.”

“Yeah, but you know our mom.” Titus chuckles. “She’s always been an overachiever.”

Girl Gang Group Chat

Mariah

Brooke was telling me about the new girl working in the warehouse, and I was thinking maybe we should invite her to girls’ night tomorrow.

Ruth

Lindsey. She seems nice. Perky, but nice.

Brooke

She’s new to town, so she would probably love the invite.

Maren

Are we having it at Brooke’s house?

Ruth

Technically, I think it’s my turn to host. But maybe we should all show up on Trevor’s doorstep and take it over.

Mariah

He would shit his pants. That guy is so weird about his house.

Maren

You might change your mind when you see the current state of his house.

Brooke

Now I’m curious, so we’re definitely coming to your place, Maren.

Maren

It’s not my place.

Mariah

What should I bring? Ohh! Maybe we could have a taco bar and margs.

Brooke

That sounds amazing. I’ll bring the margaritas.

Ruth

I’ll message Lindsey with the address and time. I won’t assign her to bring anything since it’s her first girls’ night, but I’ll make rice and beans.

Mariah

I can bring the taco fixins.

Maren

I’m guessing I’m still assigned dessert?

Mariah

Listen… If you didn’t want to always have to bring the sweet and salty bars, you shouldn’t have made them the equivalent of crack.

Maren

You know I can make other things that are just as good, right? And you guys JUST had them last night.

Mariah

It’s been too long. I barely remember what they taste like anymore.

Ruth

What if you make something new?

And the crack bars so Mariah doesn’t have a meltdown.

Maren

Fine.

Mariah

Yay! I’ll see everyone tomorrow at Maren’s house!

Maren

It’s not my house.

Ruth

Sure.

Brooke

We believe you.

Mariah

Lol.

32

Maren

“Ilove your place.” Lindsey’s eyes bounce around the entryway as she makes her way inside. “It’s so pretty.”

I want to tell her it’s not my house, but I also very much want her to know I licked Trevor—a few minutes ago actually—and he’s mine, so I just say, “Thanks.” I look down at the covered dish in her hands. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t feel right showing up empty-handed.” She passes over the foil wrapped pan. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some angel bars.”

“Angel bars?” I peek under the foil, peering in at the fluffy, slightly crusty, pale squares. A citrusy scent wafts out of the opening, making my mouth water. “Those look really freaking good.”

Good enough I might not have to make the sweet and salty bars for every event anymore.

“They were my dad’s favorites.” For the first time ever, Lindsey’s smile dims. “He could eat a whole pan all by himself.”

I can’t imagine what it’s like to have fond memories of a parent. Don’t have the first clue how to converse with someone who does. So I change the subject. “Come in and sit down. I’m sure everyone else will be here soon.”

Lindsey follows me down the hall and into the kitchen, where I set her bars beside mine. Her eyes widen when she sees the other pan. “Oh no. Should I have made something else? I didn’t even think⁠—”

“Bringing dessert was probably the best choice.” I attempt what might be a reassuring smile. “These girls love sweets.” I go to the fridge to pull out the corn salad I made. “And what they don’t eat, the guys will.”

Lindsey traces a vein in the marble counter with the tip of one finger. “The guys?”

Sometimes I forget not everyone is as nosy as I am and makes it their personal mission to know all the things about all the people. “The owners of the company are all brothers.” I tip my head as I amend, “Plus their cousin, Walker. But he’s pretty much a brother.”

“Oh. That’s interesting.” Her eyes move around the kitchen. “And they all live here?”

“Yup.” I pull plates from the cabinet and turn to stack them on the island. “Well, not here, here. It’s just me and Trevor who live here, plus my sister.”

When what I’ve said registers, I almost drop Trevor’s expensive dishes onto the floor. Because Zara and I don’t live here. We’re just staying here until...

I don’t really know when.

For all I do know, it could take another year to figure out what’s going on at McKinley Security Systems. To discover who hired the Dead Dans and who broke into my trailer.

And what happens at the end of that year? Am I going to pack up and go? Rip Zara away from the first place where she’s been truly safe?

That would just be silly.

The lock on the front door beeps as someone punches in the code, letting themselves in.

“Hello.” Mariah’s voice echoes down the hall. “I’ve got taco stuff.” She comes in carrying a triple-well slow cooker, a giant bag slung over one shoulder. “I hope you guys are hungry, because I made a crap-ton.”

“Oh my gosh, let me help you.” Lindsey quickly goes to Mariah’s side, taking the crockpot so Mariah doesn’t lose her hold on the bag. “This smells fantastic.”

“Mariah’s a chef.” Might as well continue filling Lindsey in on all the details. Especially if she’s going to be part of our friend group. “She’s also married to Titus, the oldest brother. He runs the tech department at McKinley Security Systems.”

Lindsey’s brows pinch together. “I don’t think I’ve met him yet.”

Mariah slings her bag up onto the counter. “He’s only in the office one day a week. Most of the time he works from home.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Because he likes to be up your ass.”

“I like having him up my ass.” Mariah starts unloading containers of chilled taco toppings. “He’s my favorite person.”

I snort. “I can’t imagine Trevor being around me twenty-four seven.”

Mariah stops what she’s doing and grins at me. “Is that your way of admitting he’s your favorite person?”

Goddammit.

“No.” I reach for her giant crockpot so I can move it close to an outlet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So, Mariah is married to Titus, Ruth is married to Tucker, and you’re married to Trevor.” Lindsey counts off on her fingers as she goes. “Who are Tobias and Walker married to?”

“I am not married to Trevor.” I manage to get the crockpot into place, plugging it in and setting it on low. “We’re just…”

Living together. Fucking. Cuddling all night. Supporting each other when we get stressed and co-juggling my sister’s care.

“They’re just in love,” Mariah says in a singsongy voice, batting her lashes at me. “It’s adorable.”

I shoot her a glare. “If you ever refer to me as adorable again, we are no longer friends.”

Hoping I can move this conversation away from myself, I answer Lindsey’s question. “Tobias is married to Brooke, the woman I work for. She’ll be here soon. And Walker isn’t married.”

“Because finding someone to marry would require him to use more than three words a day,” Mariah adds on.

Lindsey frowns. It’s the first time I’ve seen her do anything besides smile, and it kinda throws me for a fucking loop. “Walker says more than three words a day.” She sounds oddly defensive of him.

Interesting…

But it also makes sense. He’s responsible for her future advancement at McKinley Security Systems. And advancing there is pretty fucking sweet.

“You’re right. I take it back. He does talk.” Mariah starts searching Trevor’s cabinets. “When I first moved here, we actually had a pretty nice conversation.”

“A conversation that led to your husband having a total meltdown.”

And considering Walker did it on purpose, maybe he does have a little bit of the same orneriness in him that the Bradshaw boys do. He might just be better at hiding it.

“Titus is still weird about sharing my caramel cake because of that chat.” She fishes out a serving platter and starts layering on lettuce, tomato, and jalapeno. “And I think Walker’s capable of conversing when he wants to.” She grins. “He just doesn’t usually want to.”

Lindsey, who’s been hanging on Mariah’s every word asks, “I wonder why?”

Mariah glances at me before answering, “Probably stress.”

Yeah. Sure. Definitely not because he’s emotionally stunted thanks to his mother’s untimely and unexplained death.

Not that I’m judging. I’m quite confident my own mommy issues fucked me all the way up.

The front door opens again, this time as Ruth and Brooke enter. They both greet Lindsey, and soon we’re pouring margaritas and munching through chips and guac, talking about work and parenting and everything in between. Eventually, we move on to the tacos, filling our plates and carrying them into the formal dining room since Zara has claimed the breakfast room as her art studio.

I’m partway through my first steak-filled tortilla when I realize we haven’t really asked Lindsey any questions about her life. We’re too used to already knowing just about everything about each other, so it didn’t even occur to me before now.

Pausing my inhalation of Mariah’s fabulous cooking, I focus on where she sits next to me. “So, what made you move here?”

Lindsey takes a sip of her margarita to wash down her own mouthful. “I actually came here specifically for the job at McKinley Security Systems. It seemed like such a great place to work, and once I got the offer, I started packing my bags.”

I understand that. I probably would’ve moved to get a job at McKinley too. Hell, I took a pay cut and a temp job specifically to get my foot in the door, knowing the sacrifice would pay off eventually. “It really is a great place to work. The pay is great. They give more vacation right out of the gate than just about anybody. And their insurance is awesome. Especially if you have kids.”

“Do you have kids?” Ruth must have noticed the same thing I did, because she’s the next one to ask Lindsey about her life.

“No.” The pretty blonde shakes her head. “I’ve had a lot on my plate, and haven’t had time for much of anything. Kids. Relationships.” She gives us a soft smile. “Friends.”

“Well you have friends now.” Mariah lifts her glass, stretching it across the wide table. “To friendship.”

We all do the same, clinking Trevor’s super-expensive tumblers together as we repeat, “To friendship.”

I drink a little of my margarita, fighting the urge to say what I’m thinking. I don’t usually share how I’m feeling, but it seems wrong to keep everything inside like I always have. These women share so much with me. They trust me with their secrets. With their sadness. With their frustrations and with their celebrations.

I didn’t tell them about Zara until I absolutely had to. Even then, I didn’t fully explain our situation. What would have been the point?

Now I know. The point is to not feel alone. To be supported by people who want to lift me up.

People who I want to lift up in return.

And right now, that includes Lindsey.

“I know what you mean by not having time for friends.” I peek at Lindsey so she knows I’m talking to her, but then put my eyes back on my plate. Because talking about my feelings might be something I’m finally willing to dip my toe into, but it’s very fucking uncomfortable. “I didn’t have friends until I started working at McKinley.”

The room goes quiet, amplifying my discomfort. I feel exposed, and it has me regretting opening up. Wishing I continued holding everything close.

But then a tortilla chip bounces off my forehead.

I look up and Brooke waggles her eyebrows at me. “And now look at you. You’ve got a bunch of friends you can’t seem to get rid of.”

A smile tries to work onto my lips. “You guys are kind of annoying.”

“Yeah.” Mariah grins and tips her glass at me. “But we make really good margaritas.”

“That is definitely a perk.” I pick up the chip Brooke chucked at me, pointing it at Lindsey. “Now you’re probably stuck with them too.”

Lindsey smiles, but this time it’s not the giant, blinding, manufactured one I normally get from her. This one seems genuine. Real.

“I would really like that.” She picks up her glass, swallowing down a mouthful of sweetened lime juice and tequila. “I do love a good margarita.”

“We’re good for more than just alcohol.” Ruth tilts her head my way. “That one has a van that would be perfect for transporting bodies.” She winks dramatically. “You know, if the need ever arises.”

It’s something we joke about often, and I’m pretty sure it’s rooted in the shared trauma of what happened with the Dead Dans and Ruth’s ex. That’s probably why our friendship became so strong so fast. We’ve been through a lot together, and in a pretty short timespan. More than most people go through in a lifetime. The kind of stuff no one else would believe, let alone be able to commiserate.

Lindsey shrugs, her blinding smile slapped back in place as she perkily says, “You never know.”

The rest of the night is filled with more alcohol, more laughing, and more food. Lindsey’s angel bars are fucking fantastic. I like them even better than the sweet and salty ones I make, and I’m pretty sure Ruth does too. They’re citrusy and fresh-tasting and dusted with powdered sugar that gives them a delicately sweet finish.

We’ve just started winding down when everyone’s rides start showing up. Titus is the first one to come collect his wife. Mariah had so much fun, that collection requires a piggyback, since he doesn’t want her trying to navigate the stairs leading to the porch.

The rest of the crew shows up at pretty much the same time, and the volume in the house amplifies exponentially. Tucker walks in with Birdie, her blonde curls still wet from the pool. Toby and Trevor angle Zara through the door, one gripping each side of her chair while she cackles wildly.

The second she sees me she lifts both arms above her head. “Trevor and Uncle Toby carried me up the steps. I didn’t even have to get out of my chair.”

“That’s pretty freaking cool.” I look her over. “Did you have fun swimming?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Zara has fun wherever she goes, but she absolutely loves Brooke and Toby’s swimming pool. My sister could paddle around that thing all day. She’s only been a couple times, but already begs to go daily.

Which means she’ll probably ask tomorrow, and I will probably say yes. Because I don’t hate Brooke’s pool either.

Ruth and Brooke say their goodbyes, giving Zara hugs on their way out the door.

I look my sister over, taking in her chlorine saturated hair, and bleach scented skin. “You need a shower.”

“But I’m clean. I was just in water,” she whines.

“You might be sanitized, but you are not clean.” I unhook her bag from the back of her chair, unzipping it to tip out the snacks I sent just in case she got hungry. As I turn for the counter, I notice Lindsey’s still sitting on one of the stools.

In all the chaos, I sort of forgot about her.

“I should probably go too.” She slides off her chair, but the second her feet connect to the floor, she wobbles a little bit, bringing one hand to her head. “Oh my gosh. Those margaritas must have been stronger than I realized.” She pinches her lower lip between her teeth, eyes squinting as she asks, “Would it be okay if I called an Uber and picked my car up later?”

“Of course.” I definitely don’t want her driving right now. I’m sure she wants to go home—we don’t know each other well enough for couch crashing just yet—but getting a rideshare all the way out here is expensive, if not impossible. “But I can take you. Let me get my keys.”

“I’ll take her.”

I spin around to discover there’s another person I forgot about.

Walker steps in from where he’s been talking to Trevor in the foyer. “You need to get Zara to bed. I don’t mind giving Lindsey a ride home.” His steely blue eyes focus on my new friend. “As long as she’s comfortable with it.”

Lindsey bobs her head quickly. “Absolutely. Of course. I’m totally comfortable with it.”

That was sort of… Overeager. Then again, that seems to be a large portion of Lindsey’s personality, so maybe she’s just grateful.

“Okay.” I give Lindsey a quick sideways hug. “Let me know what you want to do about your car.” I don’t know what she has planned for tomorrow, but from the looks of it, it might be nursing a hangover. “If it’s easier, I can always pick you up Monday morning on the way to work and then you don’t have to come all the way back out here.”

“That would actually be perfect.” She grabs me again, this time giving me a full embrace. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks.” I give her back a pat, knowing she wouldn’t be saying that if she knew all the things I thought of her when we first met.

33

Trevor

“How was the rest of your weekend?” Ruth brings me a cup of coffee, setting it on the desk in front of me as I sift through the reports from last quarter. “Did Maren end up with a hangover?”

“No.” I smile, remembering the effect tequila actually had on Maren. “She seemed to be just fine.” Fine enough she tackled me Saturday night after everyone was gone, ripping my clothes off the second Zara was asleep.

And then did it again Sunday morning before her sister woke up.

“Lucky girl. I had a freaking headache all day yesterday.” Ruth rocks her neck from side to side like the pain is still lingering. “Which sucked, because I was planning to go through more of the documents we scanned at the archives last week.”

I was worried we’d never get a look at anything related to my aunt’s death, much less actually have our own copies of what exists. We had a hell of a hard time getting permission to search the archives to start with, and after missing the first appointment, I was concerned we might not get a second shot.

But Pierce came through and managed to secure an hour window. Which actually isn’t a whole hell of a lot when you consider they had to find the files before they could even begin to start going through them. I don’t know who in the hell is in charge of the county cold cases, but they should be fucking fired.

Thankfully, Ruth is a fucking genius and brought portable scanners for each of them to use. Instead of frantically searching each page while they sat there, they made a copy of each piece, saving everything directly to a hard drive. Now they just have to go through hundreds and hundreds of scanned documents—what they found was a mix of cases lumped together—looking for a needle in a haystack.

If it even exists.

“Do you have the drive with you?” I take a sip of my coffee. “You’ll have plenty of time to go through them today. I’m analyzing reports, so it’s going to be a pretty uneventful day.”

I also have a few other things on my schedule, but nothing that involves Ruth and would distract from her search.

“I might do that.” She moves toward the door, pausing at the opening. “Let me know if you need anything.” She walks out, then immediately comes right back. “Oh, and I’m leaving the building for lunch today. Lindsey wants to take us out as a thank you for inviting her to girls’ night.”

That’s a bummer. I was hoping that since it’s a slow day I might be able to lure Maren into my office for a little lunch time ‘thank you’ of my own. “Not a problem. Have fun.”

Ruth goes back to her desk while I go back to my reports. A big chunk of my job is dedicated to analyzing our numbers, and once a quarter, I dedicate almost a full week to the task. It’s boring and mindnumbing, but also enlightening. By the time I’m finished, I’ll have tons of useful data I can apply to future decisions and plans that will help McKinley continue to expand.

Since the analysis requires so much actual hands-on time, I keep my schedule light on weeks like this, which has conveniently afforded me an afternoon window to meet up with the builder who will be making modifications to my home. The effort it takes for Zara to move from the first floor to the second—and vice versa—is substantial. She allows me to give her a little boost occasionally, but for the most part, she insists on getting where she wants to go on her own. I love how determined and independent she is, but all it would take is one slip and she could end up taking a tumble.

That’s not an option. Getting started making her new home accessible as soon as possible is. Hopefully I can throw a little cash-based encouragement the builder’s way and get bumped to the top of his schedule.

It’s almost lunchtime when Ruth rushes back into my office. I’m expecting her to simply remind me she’s leaving, but instead she comes straight to my desk, slapping her palms against the surface.

“I think I found something.”

I’ve been staring at numbers for so long, it takes my brain a second to register her words. “From the files on my aunt’s accident?”

She nods, eyes wide. “It might not be anything, so I don’t want to tell Walker yet. I don’t want to get his hopes up.” She pauses, chewing on her lower lip. “When I saw the first mention of another person, I wasn’t sure it would be important. But then I saw what was scribbled in the margins of a report, and⁠—”

“Hang on.” I’m forced to interrupt her, because I can’t follow a fucking thing she’s saying.

Ruth is always calm and collected. Very little flusters her, which is why she’s such a great fit for the position as my assistant. Seeing her so ruffled is strange.

It also has me hopeful.

“Take a deep breath.” I inhale along with her, blowing the air from my lungs as she does the same. “Now. What did you find?”

“I don’t think Walker’s mom was the only person involved in that car accident.”

The words tumble from Ruth’s mouth—yet another unusual behavior for her—displaying just how affected she is by the discovery. She thinks it might actually be something, and Ruth is pretty fucking brilliant, so if she thinks it’s something, it probably is.

“Okay.” The word drags out as I process what this could mean.

The facts about my aunt’s death have always been limited. We were told there was an accident. Initially, there was mention of another vehicle being involved. Then, they claimed there was no other vehicle at all and the damage to her car was from the way it rolled down the incline. But when my mother went to see the car herself, hoping for closure, there were distinct transfer marks down the driver’s side.

“Exactly how is this other person mentioned?” We’ve always suspected someone else was responsible. There were too many unanswered questions. No explanation for why she left the road in the first place.

“There’s what might be a birth date. A basic description.” Ruth straightens, clasping her hands at her waist. “And a name.”

Oh shit. “You found a name?”

Ruth nods, still looking a little shell shocked. “I think so. It’s only one though, and I can’t tell if it’s first or last.”

“Shit.” That’s not a lot, but it is something.

I scrub one hand over my face, weighing our options. We could go to Walker now. Show him what Ruth found even though we don’t know what any of it means. Or we could call Heidi and have her do a little digging.

I wish we could use Titus’s team, but the circle of trust is really fucking small right now, and I’m not sure anyone could handle another employee betraying us.

“Send me what you’ve got and I’ll pass it on to Heidi.” I open my email and start composing. “We’ll see if she can come up with anything concrete before we tell Walker about it.”

“Got it.” Ruth turns to leave.

“Hey.” I wait until she looks back. “Good job. I don’t know what the fuck any of us would do without you.”

A hint of a smile curves her lips. “Thanks.”

I type up a quick explanation for Heidi, pausing when I receive the files from Ruth. Opening them, I look over what she’s found.

She’s sent two versions of each page, one with the discovery circled and one without. The date she thinks is a DOB would put the person referenced in the documents a couple years older than my mom. The description is brief—white male, 6’, med build—and could describe just about any man who’s ever lived.

But the name is what really throws me off.

Shelley

I’ve never met a man named Shelley, but I guess anything’s possible. It could also be a last name. The discrepancy makes me even more confident the best call is to put Heidi on this before we tell Walker. He’s looking for answers, not more fucking questions.

I attach the docs to the email and send it out just as Brooke and Maren arrive to collect Ruth for their lunch date with Lindsey. I’m not surprised at all when I hear Ruth telling them she’s not going.

“I just feel like I should stay here and keep looking through all the stuff since I didn’t get to it yesterday.” Her eyes dart to me as I come out of my office to join them. “You know, just in case I can find something.”

I get that she doesn’t want to quit looking now that she’s getting somewhere, but sometimes you need to take a break.

Not me. Just everyone else

“Go have lunch. This will still be here when you get back.” Ruth busts her ass for everyone, and she deserves to enjoy herself.

Plus, if she doesn’t go, there’s a chance Maren won’t go either. Out of solidarity. And she’s missed out on so much in her life, there’s no way she’ll miss out on another thing. Not if I can help it.

And I can help this.

“I’ll go through a few files while you’re gone.” The urge to reach for Maren and pull her close is almost overwhelming. I don’t think she’s quite comfortable with putting what’s between us out in front of God and all her friends just yet, though, so I stuff both hands in my pockets. “If I find anything interesting, I’ll call you.”

Ruth nods. “Okay. That sounds great.” She gives me a little smile. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

I know I’m not easy to work for, but Ruth makes it look that way. Whatever I can do to make her life easier—or to help ease her slightly OCD nature—I’m happy to do.

My assistant collects her purse and cell phone, making sure she has everything she needs before joining Maren and Brooke. The trio heads out, and I watch them until they’re out of sight.

I’ve just turned to go into my office when quick footsteps race down the hall behind me. I barely get turned back around before Maren jumps at me, arms looping my neck, and she presses a kiss to my lips.

Pulling back, she reaches up to wipe away the bit of gloss smeared on and around my mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t know what to do when they were there. I didn’t want Ruth to see us kiss and then think about how she caught us fucking all through lunch.”

“I’m pretty sure Ruth does her best to never think about how she caught us fucking.” I kiss her again, because I don’t give a fuck about a little lip gloss. “Enjoy your lunch.”

“I will.” Maren’s brows lift in question as she smooths down the lapels of my jacket. “Want me to bring you anything back?”

“Just you.” I kiss her on the tip of her nose. “I would be very, very upset if you didn’t come back to me.”

The admission is a baby step toward eventually telling Maren how I truly feel about her. I won’t make the full confession until I know she’s ready to hear it. To believe it.

“We can’t have that.” She smiles, backing away. “Because you’re a total pain in the ass when you’re upset.”

She’s not wrong. But the level of my pain-in-the-assery would grow exponentially if anything happened to Maren. There’s not much I wouldn’t do to keep her. I’d fight. Steal. Lie.

Even walk through fire. A fact I’ve already proved once.

She reaches the end of the hall, turning to blow me a kiss before catching up with her friends.

I sit down at my desk, smiling in spite of the discovery Ruth made. The discovery I hope Heidi has better luck with than she did the computer that was slipped into Maren’s bag. The thing hadn’t been wiped clean, but everything on it belonged to a horny, teenage boy with a love for ‘big, bouncy, anime titties’. At least that’s what his search history indicated.

That and all the saved images hidden in a file marked sports statistics.

“Hey.” Tucker raps his knuckles against my door as he leans against the frame. “What are you doing for lunch?”

“I promised Ruth I’d look through some of the documents they scanned in the cold case archives.” I look him over. “Why? Are you lost without her?”

“You know damn well I’m lost without her.” He gives me a grin. “You would be too.”

“Of course I would. That’s why I told her I’d do this while she’s gone.” I return Tucker’s smile. “I don’t want her to get any ideas it might be more fun to come work for you.”

“It absolutely would be.” Tucker shrugs. “But for some reason she likes your difficult ass.” He tips his head toward the hall. “Speaking of, get it out of that chair and go get something to eat with me.”

I am a little hungry. And without Ruth here, the only way I’m going to get lunch is if I find it myself. “I’m going to tell her you’re the reason I didn’t look at the documents like I promised.”

“That’s fine.” Tucker waggles his brows. “She can spank me later.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Gross.”

Tucker points at me. “You don’t have any fucking room to talk. She had to witness you balls deep in her friend.”

“Fair point.” I stand, grabbing my phone and my keys. “Let’s make it quick. I’ve got a ton of other shit to do too.” Including meeting the builder at my house in a few hours.

“You always have a ton of shit to do.” Tucker slaps me on the back. “But I like that you’re finding a little more balance in your life. It’s good to see you getting out of this place once in a while.”

“It’s actually not been the worst thing that’s ever happened.” Maybe it’s because I’ve streamlined all my processes over the years, but the company hasn’t crumbled because I’ve left at five o’clock a few days in a row.

And I’m glad, because I intend to do it a few more.

We walk through the lobby, checking in with security as we pass the front desk, before pushing our way into the vestibule.

That’s when I notice something is very, very wrong.

A handful of employees are scattered across the parking lot, running between cars as they search for safety.

“What the fuck?” Tucker shoves his way outside with me on his heels.

That’s when I hear the soft snap of silenced gunfire.

“Holy shit. Someone’s shooting out here.” I automatically get low, looking for anything to use as cover, but Tucker and I are basically sitting ducks. I grab his arm, dragging him toward one of the large ornamental rocks that are part of the landscaping.

Sliding through the gravel around it, we both hit the ground hard, grunting at the impact.

Tucker already has his phone out, calling security to make sure they’ve seen what’s going on and are on their way.

It’s great that’s his first thought, because it wasn’t mine. Mine is that Maren and the rest of the girls were just out here. I hope to God they left before this started.

Because if they didn’t…

“Fuck.” Tucker slaps my chest, pointing in the distance.

I don’t need to look to know what I’ll see.

Halfway across the lot, a familiar head of wavy hair is ducked behind Brooke’s SUV. I watch in horror as the bullets bounce off the reinforced body of the vehicle, getting closer and closer to hitting something I love.

Because I fucking love Maren.

Titus was right. I should’ve stopped being a coward. Should’ve told her. Said it as many times as it took for her to believe it’s true.

“We have to go to them.” I peer around the rock, looking for the source of the shots. “Get ready to run like hell.”

34

Maren

Iknow I’m smiling, and I don’t care. Happiness isn’t an emotion I’ve possessed much of over my life, and now that I have it, I’m finding it hard to keep the feeling under wraps.

Brooke gives me a knowing smile. “Feel better?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I sigh, because that’s not really true anymore. “I don’t know how to talk about it.” That’s a much more accurate statement.

Opening up is not something I’ve ever done. There was no one to open up to. The years when most kids learned how to communicate their thoughts and feelings, I was busy trying to find food and a clean-ish place to sleep. Even as an adult, the only person I’ve genuinely been close to is my sister. And there’s no way in hell I would burden her with my baggage.

All that has left me woefully unprepared for adult relationships. Of all types.

“I understand.” Brooke keeps her voice quiet as we trail behind Ruth, who seems to be on a mission to get this lunch process started as quickly as possible. “You know you can talk to someone who might be able to help you figure that out.”

“I’m pretty sure Bert’s dance card is full.” I’ve never met Bert, but he’s inherited at least three of the Bradshaw boys as therapy patients, which means he’s likely filled with regret and questioning his career choice.

“I’m not talking about Bert.” Brooke loops one arm through mine. “He’s great and all, but not really what I was looking for.”

That has my brows lifting. “You’ve been going to therapy?”

My friend gives me a sad smile. “You’re not the only one who’s not great at sharing.” She sighs. “I started to realize I didn’t have the first clue how to move past my parents being what they are.” She tips her head. “Plus everything that happened with Matt.”

I should probably thank my lucky stars I never accidentally ended up entangled with someone like Brooke’s ex-fiancé. Because I wouldn’t be looking for a therapist, I’d be looking for a defense attorney. I’m not always great at knowing when it’s in my best interest to chill the fuck out, and I probably would have ended up on the hook for a murder.

With no murder van to move the body.

I think about what Brooke has said for a second, and realize she’s probably right. I could use a little therapizing. “You could send me your therapist’s name, if you wanted.”

“You got it.” My best friend doesn’t make it a big deal, which I appreciate. The thought of telling a stranger about my childhood makes me feel a little gaggy, and I’d really like to enjoy my lunch hour.

Even if I’m not spending it getting railed against the wall in Trevor’s office.

We reach the warehouse where Lindsey works to find her waiting on us. She looks a little pale, and a lot less perky than normal, as she gives us a halfhearted wave.

“Hey.” She almost manages a smile. “Are you guys ready?”

Ruth tips her head, looking our new friend over. “Do you feel okay?” Her eyes narrow. “Are you still hung over?”

“I’m fine.” Lindsey hugs her purse tight to her chest. “We can go if you guys are ready.”

Ruth studies her for a second longer, but then Lindsey walks to the door, and we don’t really have a choice but to follow behind. She’s weirdly silent as we make our way through the halls, heading for the lobby.

Something feels weird. I don’t know exactly what it is, but everything seems off about Lindsey today.

Or that could just be me. My whole life has changed dramatically in the past two weeks, and it’s taken some adjusting. Not in a bad way, but different is still different. Plus, this is Zara’s first day at school with Quinn at her side, and I’m a little nervous about it. I’ve gotten to know the mercenary relatively well since he’s been here, so I know my sister is completely and totally safe.

But different is still different.

As we reach the vestibule leading to the lot, Brooke fishes her keys from the purse looped over one shoulder. “I promised Tobias we would take my car.” She gives Lindsey a smile. “It just has a lot of safety features on it, and he likes to know I’m as protected as possible.”

Everyone’s been a little on edge since we discovered my computer had been switched. And while no one has explicitly said we can’t go anywhere on our own—that would go over like a fart in an elevator—the boys probably don’t love not having us in their sights. For a group who grew up getting pretty much anything they wanted, the Bradshaw brothers are still really fucking territorial and protective of what’s theirs.

Ruth bumps me with her hip as we step out into the lot. “You’re smiling.”

I groan. “I really wish people would stop pointing shit like that out.”

“I get it.” There’s a hint of sadness on her features. “Sometimes it can feel wrong to be happy. Scary, even.”

That’s exactly it. I’m a little scared of being happy. Of course I’ve been happy with Zara in my life, but this is different. Being happy with Zara and loving her is a completely different sort of experience than being happy with Trevor and loving him.

Fuck a duck. I love Trevor.

I don’t know why that annoys me, but it does. Trevor annoys me in general. At least, I thought the nagging, gnawing sensation I get when I think of him was annoyance.

Is that actually what love feels like?

“Yeah. I’ve made that face before.” Ruth hooks an arm around my shoulders, tipping her head against mine as we continue walking. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

Brooke uses the fob in her hand to unlock her SUV, the lights blinking back at us when she pushes the button. “Who wants shotgun?”

I glance over to find Lindsey is now even paler than before, and her steps are starting to slow.

That definitely isn’t just me. Something is for sure wrong.

I step away from Ruth and hook my arm into our new friend’s. “Ruth can have it. I’ll sit in the back with Lindsey.”

“Aweso—” Brooke yelps, doing a little bounce in her heels as one of the front headlights on her car breaks, the plastic cover shattering across the blacktop in front of us.

“What the fuck?” How the hell did that happen? I’ve never seen something spontaneously combust like that.

There’s a weird whistling sound behind me, and I turn, thinking maybe Trevor came out to tell me goodbye one last time and is trying to get my attention. But instead of seeing Trevor, I witness the side window explode on a sedan a few feet away.

“Holy shit.” My brain can’t make sense of what it’s seeing. Things don’t just blow up like that. Not for no reas⁠—

“Get down.” Lindsey uses the arm still looped in mine to fling me toward the passenger side of Brooke’s SUV.

Somehow, I manage not to fall on my face as I stumble forward, a little offended at the way she just hurled me at the blacktop. I regain my footing just beside the passenger door and turn. “What the fuck, Linds⁠—”

The pretty blonde has now grabbed Brooke and Ruth and is forcing them my way, a wild look in her blue eyes. She must be strong as hell, because she gets them moving so fast the three of us collide, all going down in a heap.

With me at the bottom.

“What in the hell is your problem?” I try to wriggle my way free of the pile. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Stay down.” Lindsey grabs the front of my sweater as I start to stand up. “You’re going to get shot.”

“Shot?” What the fuck does she mean, shot?”

There’s another whistling sound and suddenly there’s a hole in the corner of the hood on the truck next to us.

“Oh my God.” I go down to my hands and knees, crawling away from the impact. “Is someone shooting at us?”

“No.” Lindsey manages to get free of Ruth and Brooke’s tangled limbs and begins pushing them my way. “Someone’s shooting at me.”

“You?” Brooke scoots closer to the body of her SUV. “Why would they be shooting at you?”

“It’s a really long story.” Lindsey gives Ruth another shove, getting her between me and Brooke. “You guys stay here. They should leave you alone once I’m gone.” She peeks through the side window in the direction the shots are coming from, then gets into starting position.

Like she’s gonna make a run for it.

“No fucking way.” I grab for her, managing to get a grip on her purse. “You can’t go out there. They’ll kill you.”

“I’d rather they kill me than you.” Lindsey slides free of her purse and my hold on her. “This is my fault. I brought this here.”

She attempts to take off again, only to be tackled by Ruth, who wraps both arms around Lindsey’s legs, taking her down and sending us into a pileup again.

“Seriously.” Lindsey struggles to get free, a cut she must have sustained in the fall leaking blood toward one eye. “Just let me do this. You guys have stuff to live for.”

“And you don’t?” I latch onto one of her arms like a spider monkey, holding on as tight as I can.

Some of the fight seems to bleed out of her at my question. “No. I don’t.”

“Well, we’ll find you something.” Brooke grabs her other arm. “Stay here. My SUV has been through Toby’s shop. We’ll be safe for a little while at least. It’s got reinforced everything.”

“Not headlights,” I point out as a bullet pings against the other side of the vehicle.

“No. Obviously not headlights.” Brooke kicks off her shoes since the heels seem to be hindering her leverage, then plants her bare feet against the blacktop so she has the balance to push into a sitting position. “I’ll have to let him know about that.”

“I’m sure he’s gonna figure it out on his own.” I crane my neck to look toward the building. It won’t be long before the security team sees what’s happening and when they do⁠—

“Oh shit.” My stomach drops.

Someone has noticed what’s happening, and it doesn’t seem to be the security team.

“Please go back inside.” I know Trevor can’t hear me, but I’m not sure he’d listen if he could. The man has a habit of racing right into situations I already have under control.

Mariah and I totally would have found a way out of the supply room that day. Just like the girls and I are doing perfectly fine managing this situa⁠—

The side window on the truck shatters, raining safety glass down on us. I yelp a little as it hits me. Not because I’m hurt, just because it’s unexpected.

And that was the wrong thing to do.

Because Trevor must have heard it and has now decided the only reasonable action he can take is to fucking run through gunfire to get to me.

“Fucking idiot man.” I drop Lindsey’s arm. Honestly, if she wants to be stupid and run out there, that’s on her at this point. I’ve got more important things to worry about.

The most important thing to worry about.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Ruth drops Lindsey’s legs, her eyes locked on the same spot mine are. “If he gets hurt, I swear to Go⁠—”

Tucker is hauling ass toward us, every bit of his focus on Ruth as he sprints across the lot. He’s so intent on getting to her, he doesn’t notice when Trevor stumbles.

But I do.

“Maren.” Ruth grabs at me, thinking she can stop me like she did Lindsey.

She can’t. Because I definitely have something to live for.

And he’s sure as hell gonna keep living for me.

I reach Trevor just as he goes down, hitting the ground with a solid grunt. I don’t have time to assess the situation or see what’s wrong. We’ve got to get back to the safety of Brooke’s SUV, and since I can’t pick him up the way he did when he saved me, I’m gonna have to drag his big ass.

Hopefully I can prove myself just as capable of moving a body as I like to think I am.

“Get the fuck back there.” Trevor tries to send me away. “You’re going to get hurt.”

“You’re going to get hurt, because I’m gonna kick your ass for running out here like this.” Hooking my arms under his, I lock on and start to move. “Holy fuck, how much do you weigh?”

“I’m serious, Maren.” Trevor gives me his best boss voice. “Go.”

“Don’t fucking take that tone with me, asshole.” I jump a little when one of the whistling sounds is a little closer than I’d like. “It’s your fault I’m out here.” I catch a glimpse of the blood trail we’re leaving behind and fight the urge to puke. Not because I’m grossed out, but because the thought of losing him makes me physically ill. “If your dumb ass didn’t make me go and fall in love with you, I could have just let you get yourself killed.”

Trevor’s suddenly wrenched from my grip and then his body is hefted into the air. I stumble a little in surprise as Tucker picks him up—bridal style—and uses their combined bodies to block mine as he shoves me back toward the SUV.

“Go. Run,” Tucker snaps at me.

Together, we race the last few feet between us and safety, dropping down just as the shots take on a different volume. They get louder. More frequent.

Then they stop completely.

“We got him.” A man calls out. “Stay where you are while we secure the area.”

Tucker sets Trevor down, tipping his head at Ruth. “Call an ambulance.”

“Already on it.” She’s got her phone to her ear, giving dispatch information as Tucker loosens Trevor’s tie. “In the leg, it looks like. Just once.”

Tucker gets the strip of fabric loose and goes to work tying it around Trevor’s thigh as I scoot in to cradle his head in my lap, smoothing my fingers over his clammy brow.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

Trevor winces as Tucker pulls the knot tight. “It better fucking be.” He reaches up, one shaky hand cradling my cheek. “I didn’t bust my ass to make you love me just to die.”

35

Trevor

“I’m fine. It was through and through.” I try to plead my case again. I know it’s a futile endeavor, but Maren has been glaring at me for the past hour while I wait for a doctor to come bandage me up. I’m starting to worry she’s actually plotting ways to get back at me.

And I’m both thrilled and terrified of what she’ll come up with.

“You should have stayed where you were.” She scowls at what’s left of my ruined pants. “Then we wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for someone to bring you a Band-Aid.”

I lift one hand, raising my pointer and middle fingers. “Two Band-Aids. Through and through, remember?”

Maren scans the room. “Do you think anyone would freak out if I screamed in here? Because I really feel like I want to scream.”

“Pretty sure that’s frowned upon.” I reach out, catching her hand and bringing it to my lips. “As soon as we’re done, I’ll take you home and you can stand in the backyard and scream your head off.” I hide my smile behind her knuckles. “I’m sure Ruth will want to join you.”

I’m not the only one in the dog house right now. Just the only one confined to a hospital bed.

Luckily, I’m also the only one who was hit by the gunfire a single shooter rained down on our lot until a member of our security team took him out. Lindsey was also injured, but Maren explained the cut through her brow was apparently the result of a spill she took thanks to Ruth’s quick thinking. Unfortunately, since I was taken away by ambulance pretty quickly, I’m not quite sure where Lindsey ended up.

Hopefully here getting stitched up.

Finally, my nurse and the doctor come in, spending an extraordinary amount of time cleaning my wound. It’s already been determined nothing of any importance was damaged, so no surgery is required. I’m a little surprised when they don’t stitch my wounds—apparently that can trap bacteria inside and raises the risk of infection. They simply slap a bandage around my calf, hand over a prescription for antibiotics and another for pain, then send me on my way.

Since my pants are now missing a leg thanks to the medics who stabilized my wound and transported me to the hospital, my dad brought me a change of clothes. Maren helps me out of my ruined slacks and into the running shorts my dad was smart enough to choose. Once my button up is replaced with a T-shirt and a pair of sneakers is tied on, I grab the hospital-issued crutches I’m required to use until my follow-up visit, and slowly make my way to the entrance.

My dad pulls up, and I angle myself into the back seat next to Maren, pulling her close to my side as we drive away.

Whatever pain medicine they gave me must have drowsiness as a side effect, because I doze off, not realizing it until I jerk awake to find we’re pulling into our driveway.

My mother opens the front door as I slowly work my way up the steps, waiting until I’m fully inside before wrapping her arms around me and squeezing tight. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“He’s an idiot is what he is.” Maren is still glaring, but it doesn’t hold quite as much venom as before. “Tell him to never do anything that stupid again.”

My mother releases me and turns to Maren, her expression soft but stern. “I’ll do no such thing.”

Maren’s jaw drops. “What? Why not?”

She was clearly expecting my mother to be on her side. Honestly, I kind of was too.

“Because I would have done the same thing if I was in his place.” My mother reaches out, taking Maren’s hands in hers. “And so would you.” She gives Maren a small smile. “Because when someone who matters to you is scared and needs help, you do whatever it takes to make sure they’re okay.”

Maren’s eyes flick to me before going back to my mom. “But I was fine. I wasn’t in danger until I had to go save his ass.”

“How could he have known you were going to be fine?” My mother shakes her head. “That’s not the kind of situation where you assume everything will be okay.”

Maren presses her lips together, probably because she wants to say more, but has figured out arguing with my mother is futile.

As much as I’m enjoying this bonding moment they’re having, I’ve reached my limit. Between the adrenaline crash, the drugs, and the stress of everything that happened, my ability to remain upright is severely lacking. “I need to sit down.”

Maren and my mom help me get to the great room, positioning me on the couch as Zara watches from where she’s playing with her plastic ponies on the floor. Once I’m settled with my foot propped up, she gets to her feet and carefully makes her way to my side.

“Nana DeeDee said you got hurt.” Her dark eyes fix on the bandage at my calf. “What happened?”

“I fell down.” That did happen. “And ended up with an injury on my leg.” Also technically true.

I hate lying to Zara, but there’s no fucking way I’m explaining to a five-year-old that I was shot by a currently unidentified man who was also aiming at her sister.

I can’t tell if she believes me, but Zara doesn’t press the issue further. Instead, she climbs up onto the couch next to me, bringing along a few of her ponies. She curls up against my side, continuing to play, using the throw pillows and my legs as her new pretend pasture.

I accidentally doze off again, jerking awake at the sound of voices filling my home. I swear my house has had more people in it in the last two weeks than all the years up to this point.

And tonight it’s full.

My mom and dad are still here, along with Maren, but now the rest of my brothers and cousin have arrived, bringing along their significant others and kids. It’s a fucking houseful, and I wish I could enjoy it.

But the only thing I can find room to appreciate is Maren being safe and sound. Seeing her in danger put everything into perspective. Not just the way I feel about her, but also my priorities. What should really matter, and what shouldn’t.

The seconds I had to watch her from behind that rock were the longest of my life. And I didn’t spend them wishing I’d accomplished more with McKinley Security Systems.

I spent them wishing I’d left work earlier last week. Colored with Zara more. Watched more murder shows while cuddling on the couch with Maren. Had more dinner nights at my parents’. Told my brothers how much I appreciate them. That they’ve become great men.

So that’s what I’m going to do. I don’t know how I’m going to make it work, but I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing.

And I don’t want to.

My brothers and cousin file into the great room, greeting Zara with smiles and teasing words. As everyone settles in, my mother manages to get Maren’s sister to join her, my dad, and the rest of the kids in the breakfast room. The twins and Birdie are small enough they won’t understand anything we talk about, but sending only Zara away would make her feel like she was being excluded. And there’s no fucking way anyone in my family would ever let that happen. She’s one of us.

Just like her sister.

Maren slowly lowers to the sofa next to me, like she’s scared she’ll hurt me.

That’s not gonna fly.

I grab her around the waist, pulling her into my lap. Because I’m more than willing to suffer if it means she’s close to me. Especially since I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna like the conversation we’re about to have.

“Have the police identified the shooter?” Maren jumps right in, asking the biggest question right out of the gate.

“They’re working on it.” Toby seems tired. Likely because he almost lost Brooke again. I can say with complete certainty, my brother wouldn’t have survived it this time.

“He didn’t have any ID on him, but they ran his prints and got a few hits.” Titus picks up where Toby left off. “I called Heidi and let her know what happened. Hopefully she can access whatever information they’re able to get and fill us in, but she and I are both suspicious we’re dealing with another hired gun like the Dead Dans.”

“Goddammit.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Why in the hell is someone willing to spend this much fucking money to come after us?” If we’d done something major enough to warrant what I witnessed today, I’m pretty sure we would fucking know what it was.

“So are we assuming what happened today is connected to what happened to Maren’s trailer?” Brooke asks. “Or do we think it was just a coincidence?”

Maren shakes her head. “It wasn’t a coincidence.” She takes a shaky breath before sharing the news I gave her last week. “My mother died six months ago of an overdose. She couldn’t have been involved.”

The room goes silent, the full extent of what we’re facing heavy in the air. Not just because of the weight of it, but also because there are still so many unknowns crowding together. Collecting.

“But if this is directed at us, I don’t understand why there’s so much time between each attack.” Toby holds up his hand when Tucker opens his mouth to argue. “I’m not saying I don’t think it’s directed at us. I’m saying maybe if we find out the reason for the gaps, we might be able to narrow down why it’s happening.”

Maren’s brows suddenly pinch, her spine straightening as she sits taller on my lap. “Lindsey said something weird after the shooting started.” Her eyes go to Ruth and Brooke. “She thought she was the target of the shooter. That he was aiming for her.”

Walker’s brows lift. “Lindsey? The woman working in my department thought someone was trying to kill her?”

Maren nods. “That’s what she said. But then Trevor got shot, and the gunman was killed, and the police showed up, and everything was such a clusterfuck I didn’t even think to ask what she was talking about.”

Walker leans forward, the intensity of his blue gaze resting on Maren. “Did you guys see her when you were at the hospital? She had a pretty nasty cut on her eyebrow and it probably needed stitches.”

Maren shakes her head. “No. I thought maybe they were just able to get her in and out.” Her focus bounces between her friends. “Has anyone heard from her?”

Ruth and Brooke both shake their heads, the color draining from their faces.

“What if there was more than one person involved and they found her when we were all distracted?” Maren climbs off my lap, the movement jostling my leg enough to make me wince. “Where’s my phone?” She runs through the house, searching for her cell. “We need to call her. Make sure she’s okay.”

She locates the device on the kitchen counter and quickly taps the screen, switching it to speaker. We all wait as she paces across the great room, chewing on the tip of one finger as the line rings.

It goes to voicemail, the robotic voice of the generic greeting seeming overly loud in the silence.

“Someone should probably go to her apartment.” She turns to Walker. “You should go. You work with her all day and probably know her better than anyone.”

Walker gives Maren a single nod as he stands from his seat and turns for the door.

The alarm on my driveway signals the arrival of a vehicle before he can take a single step, and the tension in the room heightens instantly.

Walker turns to everyone. “Stay here. I’ll go handle whatever it is.”

“No fucking way are you doing it alone.” Tucker’s at his side in two long strides.

“Go fucking sit back down.” Walker stretches one arm out, pointing at Ruth. “She needs your stupid ass, and so does Birdie.”

Something uncomfortable and heavy settles in my chest at his words. The insinuation behind them. That since Walker is the only one of us who doesn’t have someone, he automatically should take all the risk.

That’s not fucking fair, but since I’m physically unable to kick his ass, all I can do is wave Toby and Titus after him and hope that if any shit goes down, it gets close enough to me I can take someone out with a crutch.

The foursome reaches my door before the bell even rings, the lock clicking softly as they open it up. I lean as far forward as I can, craning my neck to get a look at who’s here as low voices carry in. After a minute, the group files back into the room. This time with an addition.

Lindsey is with them, and she looks like shit. Her eyes are red. Her skin is mottled and flushed. The slice through her brow is held together with a butterfly bandage, and blood has crusted the fine blonde hairs around it. Her arms hug her middle, shoulders slouched, with no sign of the bright, smiley woman I hired in sight.

“Oh, thank God.” Maren runs to her, grabbing the blonde in an uncharacteristically tight embrace. “We were worried you were dead.”

Lindsey’s chin wobbles, but she doesn’t return Maren’s hug. “I kind of wish I was.”

Maren leans back, looking Lindsey over. “Why? What’s going on?”

Lindsey’s blue eyes move around the room, glistening with unshed tears as she takes us all in. “I came here to tell you I’m sorry and that I’m leaving.”

Brooke stands, moving closer. “Why would you leave?”

“Because hopefully if I leave, you guys will all be safe.” Her hands go to her face and she wipes at her eyes. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I thought I could…” She drops both arms, taking a deep breath. “I thought I could figure everything out before they found me.”

“Before they found you?” Maren sounds like she’s starting to get frustrated. “Who is they, and what are you trying to figure out?” Her voice pitches when Lindsey continues to hesitate. “Oh my God, just spit it out. Please. I promise we can handle whatever it is.”

Lindsey’s eyes move to Walker, hanging on where he stands for a minute before dropping to the floor. “I didn’t want to lie to you, but I had to. If you knew the truth, you would be in danger too.”

Now Ruth steps up, using her best mom voice as she asks, “What exactly did you lie about?”

Lindsey manages to stand a little straighter, giving Ruth her attention. “Everything.”

Ruth shakes her head, crossing both arms over her chest. “That’s not good enough, Lindsey. We need something specific.”

Again, her eyes drift to Walker before moving back to where Ruth stands. “Well, for starters, my name isn’t Lindsey.”

Epilogue

Maren

“This place looks gorgeous.” Deidre beams as she scans the landscape around us. “You two have done such an amazing job with all the upgrades.”

“I can’t take credit for any of it.” I open the door to the brand new building situated where a dilapidated hut used to stand. “It’s all Trevor.”

He threw himself into renovating the petting zoo the same way he tackled the modifications made to our home—like a man obsessed.

Which is honestly pretty on brand for him.

“He has such wonderful taste.” Deidre steps into the completed welcome center for the first time, sucking in a breath as both hands clasp together against her chest. “Oh my goodness. It is just stunning.”

Trevor really ran with the safari theme he chose for the redo. The walls of the main area are painted in different animal prints. One has zebra stripes. Another cheetah spots. A third mimics the coat of a giraffe. And the final one is shimmering scales like a reptile. It’s definitely busy, but the black glittering epoxy on the floor ties it together and helps keep it from feeling overwhelming.

There’s also now a large station in the center, where visitors can purchase tickets or yearly passes. It’s made of pale wood with rounded edges and the petting zoo’s logo carved in the center.

Deidre steps up to it, running one hand along the smooth surface of the counter. “I bet Zara loves it here.”

I snort, because saying my sister loves this place is a gigantic understatement. She is obsessed.

Also very on brand.

“When she found out the zoo was going to be completed in time to have her birthday party here this year, she was so happy she cried a little.” I didn’t have the faintest idea how to handle that freaking situation. Even over a year into therapy, I still haven’t tackled many of my issues. I am getting better at navigating a lot of them, though.

Sometimes I even initiate hugs now. On purpose.

“Then let’s make sure this is the best birthday party any little girl has ever had.” Deidre claps her hands. “Where are we having the caterers set up?”

Never did I think anyone would ever ask me that question.

“There’s actually a party room back here. It can be rented out, so other kids can have their birthdays here too.” I lead Deidre into the enclosed area Trevor decided would be a good way to help bring in additional funds to support the cost of maintaining this place.

And holy hell is there a cost to maintaining this place.

Fortunately, based on the projection models, it should be self-sustaining in a few years, which Trevor has assured me is pretty impressive for a place like this. I’ll believe it when I see it. Especially since he keeps adding more freaking animals to feed.

Deidre goes to work, moving tables around and situating chairs. Brooke and Ruth arrive not long after the caterers show up, and while the catering team handles the food, the four of us spend the next hour hanging decorations and organizing all the craft supplies.

Instead of games, Zara wanted all her friends to make a craft they could take home. It’s just like her to basically give other people gifts on her birthday, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My sister has turned into such a generous, kind, loving person, and I couldn’t be more proud.

Trevor tries to tell me I’m the reason she’s so awesome, but if I was responsible for who she became, my sister would be a smaller, meaner version of my pissy ass.

Not that I’m quite as pissy anymore. Regular fuckings and sleeping on the world’s most luxurious bed every night might have improved my disposition.

But only a little.

We’re just getting everything into place when Trevor walks in, Zara racing ahead of him. She’s got a new, motorized chair and loves being able to easily move around on her own. Unfortunately, she’s a terrible freaking driver. The bruise on my left big toe is a testament to that.

Everyone jumps out of her way as she barrels through, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the food and decorations.

Deidre handled the catering choices, and she really went all out. The spread is filled with easy to eat tea sandwiches, lots of fruit and veggies, and a number of sweet treats, including the cutest cake topped with fondant sculptures of some of the animals here at the petting zoo.

Including a capybara.

Kids start showing up early, eager to party and pet critters. Since petting the animals can be a dirty experience, we party first, spending an hour getting everyone fed, the cake cut, and crafts made.

Then it’s time to take a tour.

One of the ‘rangers’ takes us around the enclosures, passing out food pellets and hand sanitizer. He explains everything from dietary needs and habitat characteristics, to why Chompy the miniature pony has to wear a muzzle. That one’s pretty easy to deduce, in my opinion.

Trevor and I follow behind the group, hanging back while Zara has the time of her life showing her friends the petting zoo that sports her name.

Trevor slides his hand into mine, giving it a squeeze. “I think she’s enjoying her party.”

I snort. “How could she not?” I look up at him, lifting my brows. “This is pretty much the ultimate little girl dream.”

Trevor’s expression is soft but oddly intense as he looks down at me. “What was your little girl dream?”

I shrug. “I didn’t have one. I was too busy trying not to starve.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a slow breath and blows it back out again.

I know it’s not easy for Trevor to hear about my childhood. It’s not easy to talk about. But Patricia, my long suffering therapist, says I have to do it anyway.

So we’re both just gonna have to suffer through.

Trevor takes another deep breath before asking, “What if I take a guess at what your little girl dream would have been?”

He’s so weird sometimes. “Sure. Why not.”

I yelp a little as he tugs me away from the group, following a different branch of the beautifully paved path than the one my sister’s group is taking. This one cuts through the trees and leads to another of the new buildings that’s been constructed on the property.

I raise an eyebrow as he reaches for the door. “I can assure you, my childhood dream wouldn’t have been to tour the feed room.” I purse my lips. “Or to get railed in it during my sister’s birthday party.”

Trevor scoffs. “Do you really think I’d try to fuck you at a time like this?”

I laugh. “Do I need to remind you what happened during Brooke and Toby’s wedding?”

“You are just as responsible for that as I am.”

He opens the solid metal door, leading me into what appears to be a storage room. But it’s not filled with sacks of feed like I expect. It’s full of… Enclosures of some sort.

“Remember the first day we came here?” Trevor moves me between the rows of netting-wrapped frames.

“Of course I remember it.” How does one forget the day a man buys her sister a zoo?

“You wore a pair of earrings Zara got you,” Trevor continues as I finally identify what’s inside the water cooler-sized cages.

“Caterpillars.” The word is barely a whisper as my eyes land on a fuzzy insect inching its way across a stick.

“Caterpillars.” Trevor’s hand comes to my back, resting gently as he urges me along. “Zara said you love them, and for a while, I wondered why.” He continues pushing me along until we reach a set of doors. “Then I figured it out.”

The doors slide open automatically, revealing a curtain of weighted chains we have to weave through. Once we reach the other side, Trevor’s guess at what little Maren would have loved comes into full, spectacular view.

Butterflies of all shapes, sizes, and colors fill the air. They flutter from flower to flower, wings silent and graceful.

“You love caterpillars because you understand them.” Trevor’s voice is low in my ear as he steps behind me, wrapping both arms around my waist. “You know what it’s like to spend the beginning of your life doing nothing but trying to find food so you can grow.”

My throat goes tight as he continues.

“And you know what it’s like to do everything possible to change. To become something completely different from what you were born as.” His next words come as a whisper. “Because you, Maren Lucas, are a butterfly.”

I press my lips together, blinking hard as I try to take in his words. To actually hear what he’s saying instead of brushing it off.

Another thing Patricia says I have to work on.

After a few hard swallows, and a handful of slow inhales, I manage to get myself together enough to say, “You didn’t have to do all this. I already love you.”

Trevor chuckles, the sound rumbling against my back. “I’m not trying to convince you to love me.” He lifts one of his hands from my waist, a glittering ring pinched between his fingers. “I’m trying to convince you to marry me.”

Thank you so much for reading Trevor, Maren, and Zara’s story!

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I can’t believe we’re closing in on the end of this series. I’m sad, but I am so, SO excited to give you Walker's long-awaited story, and the conclusion to all the drama and chaos that’s been happening in Willow Bend.

I'm sure you've probably guessed, but our heroine for Unbound is...

'Not-Lindsey'.

Who is she really? There's a sneak peek on the next page...

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UNBOUND

Sneak Peek

‘Not Lindsey’

“Shit.” I squint around the dark room, searching shadowy shelves and barely discernable table tops for anything that might help cut through the blackness making my task impossible. I’m about two seconds from just giving in and turning on the desk light, when my eyes land on a collection of candles adorning a low table situated beside an armchair.

“Aha.” I hustle to the spot and crouch down. Fingers gripping the smooth wood knob of the table’s single drawer, I cringe a little as I pull it open, trying—and failing—to soften the screech of antique unwaxed wood against antique unwaxed wood.

The motion feels like it takes forever, and when it’s finally open I go still, holding my breath as I listen for any sign Walker heard my snooping and has decided to investigate the strange sound coming from his office. I count to thirty, ears straining. When I don’t hear anything, I exhale and I slide one hand into the dark abyss of the space, hoping to grab onto a stick lighter instead of one of those rechargeable electric versions.

Instead, my fingers connect with a small box sporting an oddly rough side.

I pull it out, holding it up in the dim moonlight filtering through the window. There’s just enough illumination to confirm my suspicions.

“Seriously?” I whisper. What sort of person uses matches in this day and age?

I guess beggars can’t be choosers, and I’m for sure at the begging point. Probably a little past it.

I leave the drawer open, since I need to put everything back where I found it unless I want to raise Walker’s suspicions, and crawl my way back to the desk, kneeling behind it as I light the first match. It flares to life and I work quickly, opening a drawer and sifting through the contents, finding nothing interesting. By the time I’m finished with the next one, what’s left of my fire has crept down the wood and is warming my fingers, so I blow it out, waving the charred stick around a minute to cool it down before tucking it into the pocket of my oversized sweats.

Then I light another match and move to the next drawer, repeating the whole process. All I find is more generic office supplies and a few checkbooks.

Who uses checkbooks when it’s so easy to pay bills online?  Obviously the same guy who uses matches.

If I didn’t already know exactly how old Walker McKinley is, what I’m finding would certainly make me think he’s way older than thirty-eight. Because in the next drawer, I dig through a box of heartburn medication, a stash of eyedrops, and a small bag of plastic tooth flossers.

“What in the old man trapped in the hottest fucking body ever is going on here?” I blow out yet another match, flailing around to cool it before stuffing it into my pocket with his friends.

Then I scoot around the rolling chair to reach the other bank of drawers. I cautiously ease the lowest one open, sitting crisscross applesauce on the fancy rug separating my ass from the hardwood. Pulling out another match, I snap it down the textured side of the box, ready to investigate another bin of boringness.

Instead, I end up coming face to glowing face with a very pissed off looking Walker McKinley.

“What in the hell are you doing?” His question isn’t loud or forceful, but it still scares the shit out of me, and I drop the flaming bit of wood aiding my investigation right into my lap, where it lands directly on the bunching of fabric at my crotch.

“Shit.” I go straight into panic mode, my short-circuiting brain deciding being set on fire is the scariest of the threats I’m currently facing. I don’t think my actions through, or come up with a game plan. I just go into automatic, shooting to my feet and shoving the pants down to my ankles, kicking them away to get the smoldering fabric off my body as quickly as possible so I don’t⁠—

I’m standing in front of Walker wearing nothing but a T-shirt when my mind finally catches up and decides I might have overreacted.

Just a little.

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Looking for the rest of the Bradshaws?

Find Titus and Mariah’s HEA in Unbroken

Find Tobias and Brooklyn’s HEA in Unfinished

Find Tucker and Ruth HEA in Untamed

About the Author

Janice Whiteaker writes contemporary and paranormal romance as herself, romantic suspense as Jemma Westbrook, and romantic comedy as Josie Watts.

Her stories are low-angst and filled with girl power.

Janice lives in southwestern Ohio with her husband, three wild children, and a few too many chickens.

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