“You play?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah. I, uh, just got back from camp a few days ago. Music camp,” he said, and then he squinted his eyes and studied me hard. “Are you really him?”

  Unable to keep my smile from spreading, I shrugged. “If you mean, am I Dean Finlay? Then, yes, I’m really him.”

  “You’re here. At my apartment building. Here. You.” He shook his head again and continued to stare. “Mom said you didn’t come to the office. I thought maybe you had changed your mind.”

  What? Did I know his mom? Maybe that was it. But what office?

  “Your autograph. She was supposed to get it for me. On my old drumsticks actually. I left them for her to get you to sign them. They were my first drumsticks. The ones I’d learned on. I’d saved up enough money from mowing grass and running errands last year to help her pay for camp and buy these better sticks.”

  I, too, had once mowed lawns to pay for my drumsticks. The kid wanted to play. He wanted to be the best. He wanted it bad enough to make it happen. It wasn’t a passing thing for him. He was invested in it. I didn’t see that much anymore.

  “You live here then?” I asked him, waving a hand back at the apartment building. Perhaps I’d seen him from a distance once and forgotten about it.

  He nodded. “Yeah. If you could wait a second, I could run and go get a Sharpie. Maybe you could sign these sticks?” he asked me with so much fucking hopefulness in his voice that it made my chest tighten.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ve got to go see this man for a few minutes to handle a situation. You can walk with me, and there’s a good chance he’ll have a Sharpie in his truck. That way, you can tell me about this camp you went to. They didn’t have music camps when I was a kid. You could show me what you learned. We could play a set together.”

  The way his eyes lit up with complete joy made me want to go sit down and play a few sets with the kid right now. Give him some pointers. Show him how to develop it. I hoped to God he had talent. For his sake.

  “Sure!” he replied.

  “This way,” I told him, and he fell into step beside me.

  “How long you been playing?” I asked him.

  “Three years ago, the music teacher at school let us pick an instrument we wanted to learn. I chose the drums. I thought they were cool. Mom said I’d been drumming on things since I was little. I learned basics that year, but I wanted my own drums. Mom saved and worked some extra jobs to get me a set. She thinks I believe they were from Santa, but I don’t have the heart to tell her that I haven’t believed in Santa for years. I know she worked hard to buy it for me. It was used, but it was the one I had picked out. We can’t afford lessons, but my music teacher helps me at school during the year. He’s not as good as you though.”

  Where was the kid’s dad? Why was his mom paying for everything? Fucking deadbeat parents. I hated that shit. I’d had my own set of fucked up parents. Rush’s mom had her issues too. When you chose to bring life into this world, you should put your kid first.

  “What about your dad?” I asked him, already knowing the answer was going to piss me off.

  The kid shrugged. “Don’t know. Never met him. Mom got pregnant young, and he didn’t want to be a dad. She tried to get in touch with him several times. She doesn’t know I know that though. I overheard her talking to her best friend about it.”

  Yep. I was pissed. Poor kid knew his dad didn’t want him. No one should feel like that. Especially a kid.

  “Mr. Finlay,” Norton, the general contractor, called out my name, and I turned my attention to the man waiting for me.

  “Where is it?” I asked him.

  He pointed at a palm tree that did look like it was dying. I studied it a moment.

  “Think it can be saved if we call someone who knows something about this stuff?”

  He shrugged. “Doubtful, but I can try.”

  I hated to chop it down if it had a chance. “Try,” I replied. “It’s not completely dead. There could be hope.”

  Norton nodded. “Also, what about the pool? You made a decision on its renovation yet?”

  “I’ll let you know by the end of the week,” I said, then added, “Do you have a Sharpie on you?”

  Norton fished around in a pocket on his work belt, then pulled out a black Sharpie. “This work?” he asked.

  “Perfect,” I told him, then turned to the kid, realizing he’d never told me his name.

  He held out his sticks to me. I took them and signed each one, then handed them back.

  “Thanks! This is the best thing ever. Mom isn’t going to believe it,” he said, staring at my signature like it was the holy grail.

  “I’m sure there are some things better in life,” I replied.

  He shook his head emphatically. “No! There isn’t. I gotta go show her,” he said. “Are you serious about playing a set with me sometime?” he asked nervously.

  I nodded. “Yes. But first, it might help if I knew your name,” I replied.

  He grinned brightly. “Cam. Cam McGinnis,” he said. “You want our apartment number?” he asked.

  Cam. McGinnis. This was Cam. The pictures. I’d seen him in the pictures. I’d thought … I’d thought he was her brother. I’d assumed they were siblings. I stood there, replaying every conversation, every moment, every single mention of his name. Words didn’t come right away, and I knew I needed to say something. But the fact that I’d just been slapped in the face with information I’d never expected had left me speechless.

  “I got a phone too. I’m only supposed to use it to talk to Mom and my best friend, Jeremy, but she won’t mind if I give it to you. Mom used to be a big Slacker Demon fan. She almost got to go to your concert a long time ago, but her foster mom wouldn’t let her go.”

  He continued to talk. To tell me things. Things I should have known. Things I hadn’t asked.

  All the assumptions I’d made … fuck!

  “Your mama ever tell you that beauty is only skin deep?”

  Jesus! She was a foster kid. Fuck me! Damn, I was lucky she ever spoke to me again. I was a royal asshole.

  “Uh, yeah,” I managed to get out. “I know your apartment number.”

  He looked confused but didn’t argue. He waved the sticks at me. “Thanks again! See you soon!” Then, he turned and ran back toward the entrance to the building.

  I stood there and stared at him. How had I not realized it the moment he looked up at me with those eyes? They were her eyes.

  How old had she been when she had him? And she was a foster kid? How the fuck had she managed to keep him? Take care of him? She’d worked extra to send him to music camp. That was where he’d been. That phone conversation where I’d thought she was giving some guy hell, she’d been a worried mother.

  I was one stupid motherfucker.

  And I realized I didn’t know Brielle McGinnis at all.

  eighteen

  brielle

  The smell of lasagna filled the apartment. When Cam was at camp, I hadn’t made real meals just for myself. Now that he was home, I was cooking daily. Yesterday, it had been tacos. The day before that, it had been fried chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans. The day he had gotten home, it had been fettuccini Alfredo with fresh Gulf shrimp. I had missed having a reason to cook.

  I finished folding the rest of the laundry and left it in little piles all over the sofa to go pull the lasagna out of the oven. Cam would be back by five for dinner, and I’d have him put the laundry away, so we could sit in the living room after dinner and watch the new Marvel movie he had been wanting to see. It was available to stream, and I’d already purchased it as a surprise.

  The door swung open, startling me since it was at least thirty minutes sooner than Cam had said he’d be back from meeting Jeremy at the park. I spun around, and Cam ran into the apartment with a huge smile on his face. His drumsticks were in his left hand. He rarely went anywhere without those things. It had been that way since he had played for the first time. It was as if they had become a part of him.

  “MOM!” he called out louder than necessary since he had my attention already. “You are NOT going to believe this!” he said with pure excitement all over his face.

  In that moment, I knew. He didn’t have to tell me anything else. I knew. There were few things in this world that excited Cam that way, and I knew without a doubt what this was about. But I said nothing, and I let him tell me. I would smile and act as happy as he was. I would pretend for him. Because the truth was, right now, the man who had made my son so happy did the exact opposite for me.

  He held out his drumsticks to me. “Look at that,” he said with awe in his voice. “Just look real close.”

  Dean’s signature was on not one, but both of them. The fact that he had jerked me around emotionally and messed with my head didn’t seem to matter right now. He’d signed Cam’s drumsticks. I had never seen Cam this happy in my life. Except possibly on the Christmas he had gotten his drums. But even then, he hadn’t been glowing like this.

  “Wow, bud, that’s awesome,” I replied.

  “It’s crazy! Mom, he was right out there. Right outside our apartment. I was standing there, and he walked by with a hat and glasses on, but I recognized him. I saw the tattoo on his right arm first, and I knew it. I just can’t believe it. He talked to me. Said he’d play a set with me. He wanted to see what I learned at camp!!”

  But would Dean give him pointers once he knew whose kid he was? I felt a sick knot in my stomach. I didn’t want Cam to be disappointed and all because of me. Maybe I could promise not to be here when Dean came if he was avoiding me. This was a moment I didn’t want to take from Cam. Even if it scared me.

  “That’s—that’s—wow, Cam.”

  I was going to have to talk to Dean. Make sure he didn’t change his mind.

  “RIGHT! I gotta go call Jeremy,” he said as he raced from the living room to his bedroom.

  I didn’t call after him to put his laundry away. I didn’t say anything at all. I stood there, staring at the wall. Trying to sort out how to handle this. What to do. If I could do anything. Was it best just to let it play out?

  As if on autopilot, I went to the oven, took out the lasagna, placed it on the hot plate I’d put on the counter, turned the oven off, then stared at the lasagna the way I’d stared at the wall.

  What should I do? Why hadn’t I just told Dean who Cam was? After the day in the office, I could have just told him and stopped the stubborn pride thing.

  The doorbell rang, and I lifted my gaze from the lasagna to the living room. When I didn’t hear Cam’s footsteps running down the hallway, I moved toward the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and if it was Clara, I was not in the mood to hear her talk about stuff. I had my own problems.

  I checked through the peephole, then froze. Placing a hand on the door, I steadied myself. He hadn’t wasted any time on coming through on his promise to Cam. Or was he here to confront me? I mean, I hadn’t done anything wrong exactly. The wrongs I had committed, he didn’t know about. I had just withheld information from him, but it was not his business. My personal life was never his business.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, and then I stepped outside and closed it behind me. I needed to speak to him a moment without Cam overhearing us.

  “Hi,” I said, not sure how to start.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “That’s how you’re going to start this?” he asked me.

  “Uh, yeah, that, and thanks for signing Cam’s drumsticks. You have no idea how happy you made him.”

  There. He’d deserved that. He had been kind when he wasn’t required to be. I appreciated it. More than he would ever realize.

  “So, Cam,” he said, “isn’t your boyfriend.”

  I sighed loudly and shook my head. “I never said he was. That was your assumption.”

  “You’re twenty-eight. What else was I supposed to think?” he said pointedly.

  “I didn’t see a reason to correct you,” I replied.

  “Letting me make a complete ass of myself with my comments was a better idea?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t your business who he was.” That wasn’t a fair response, and I knew it.

  Dean took a step toward me, and I backed up until I was pressed against the door. “The time I had my face between your legs, it would have changed everything if I’d known you weren’t a cheater.”

  I stiffened. Not sure what bothered me—the memory of my having an orgasm on his face or that he’d called me a cheater, which I was clearly not. Probably both.

  “You know, he mentioned what a big fan you were,” Dean said, bending his head down so that his face was closer to mine. “That you never made it to a concert.. That I was your favorite Slacker Demon.”

  I closed my eyes as my face heated. “He has an imagination,” I said quietly.

  Dean’s hand cupped the side of my face, and then he slid it into my hair. “I don’t think so. I think Cam was telling me the truth.”

  Dammit, Cam. Why did you have to talk about me? To him?

  “You were once. Maybe for a little while,” I replied.

  “Hmm,” he said, running the tip of his nose up my neck and inhaling deeply. “You admitted it. That was a hopeful guess.”

  Knowing Cam could open this door at any moment, I placed my hands flat against Dean’s chest and pushed him back. He barely budged.

  “Cam is inside. I’m cooking dinner. I have to go,” I said, sounding breathless and hating it.

  Dean nodded, then reached behind me for the doorknob. “Excellent. I’m starving.”

  I covered his hand with mine, stopping him from opening the door. “I didn’t invite you.”

  He tilted his head to the side and grinned wickedly. “But what would Cam want? He’d want me here for dinner. I could watch him play and give him some pointers. You’d keep that from him? After how happy he was to meet me?”

  Damn him. He was right, and he knew it. I took a deep breath.

  This was what I was afraid he wouldn’t do. I had been afraid he’d let Cam down but he was here, doing exactly as he had promised. I was being ridiculous and selfish.

  “You’re right. Thank you,” I said and started to turn to the door.

  He stopped me. “I’ve got other ideas on how you can thank me. A lot of ideas. So fucking many.”

  My eyes flared, and I wanted to slap him, shove him, possibly kiss him until my legs were weak, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that last one. That was one road we never needed to go down.

  “You don’t need me for all your ideas,” I said angrily.

  He chuckled. “Oh, but I do, Brielle. I so fucking do.”

  I opened the door to get some distance from his hard, warm body. I needed air. Clarity. To calm myself down.

  When I stepped inside, my eyes went directly to the laundry still on the sofa.

  “I wasn’t expecting company,” I said to him, walking over to it and quickly gathering my panties and bras. That was what I got for not putting it away immediately.

  “Don’t move them for me. I’d enjoy going through them,” he said, standing entirely too close again.

  I turned to look at him. “Personal space. It’s a thing. One you need to respect.”

  He smirked. “But do you really want that? Your mouth is telling me one thing, but your body is telling me something different.”

  His eyes dropped to my breasts. My nipples were hard, and I muttered a curse.

  “Just move. Go stand or sit over there. I’ll call Cam in here,” I said to him.

  “You do that,” he replied in an amused tone.

  What was he up to? Why was he being weird? He had ghosted me the morning he left me pancakes. It had been two weeks. Nothing. Not that he had to contact me, but it had felt like there was a connection or a bond the morning I woke up with him asleep on my bedroom floor. Then, he had disappeared. Poof.

  Now, this?

  “Cam!” I called out.

  “What?” he replied.

  “You’ve got a visitor!” I told him.

  I glanced back at Dean, who was standing over by the television, looking at the photos on the shelf above it.

  “God, you were a child yourself,” he whispered.

  The picture in his hand was Cam’s first birthday. We had gone to the zoo that day because my former employer had given me passes. He had loved the elephants.

  “You’re here!” Cam’s surprised voice cracked.

  Dean set the photo down and turned around to Cam. “I said I wanted you to show me what you learned.”

  Cam nodded his head. “Yeah, you did,” he agreed.

  “Let me see those drums,” he told him.

  Cam beamed up at him and nodded again. “Okay! This way. They’re in my room. We got them used, remember, but they’re real nice.”

  “My first set was used too. A well-loved set makes a damn good set,” Dean said.

  They disappeared down the hallway. I moved the towels out of the way, and I sank down onto the sofa. This day had taken a turn. Another emotional one. Where Dean Finlay was concerned, my feelings and head were all over the place. He could mess me up so easily. I just didn’t want him to mess with Cam’s emotions.

  I didn’t expect him to visit Cam again, but this one time could be magical. Cam could remember it for the rest of his life. We would have dinner together. Heck, I’d even invite Dean to watch the movie with us. Then, when he left, it would be good-bye. That would be it.

  nineteen

  dean

  Things I hadn’t known about Brielle.

  She could cook, she had been a single mom since she was eighteen years old, she never dated—at least, that Cam knew about—she worked a side job as a food delivery person for one of those apps when they needed extra money for something, and she was a great mom. Every word out of the kid’s mouth said she was. He had praised his mom by telling all of this in conversation.