To this day, I struggle to believe he never responded when I told him I was pregnant. Sure, Dad was monitoring the heck out of my phone back then, but that only makes it less likely we missed a text or call from Micah.

  I duck my chin and smile sheepishly. “I thought you’d be disappointed in me. That you’d tell me I was making a dumb decision to look him up and it’s better to leave him in the past where he belongs.”

  “Fair enough.” Grandma bobs her head and crosses her arms, showing off the lean muscle she earned in Senior Yoga. “And that last bit about him belonging in the past might be true. But tell me this. Why did thinking I might say those things make you so uncomfortable you had to hide what you were doing instead of owning it?”

  And just like that, Grandma’s point comes into focus. “Because all I ever hear is how I’m making dumb decisions. Because Julian has a comment on everything I say and everything I do and none of it is pleasant. Because I’m tired of feeling like I’m not doing anything right. So, I hid what I was doing because I was afraid you’d say something nasty like he does.”

  Grandma nods sagely. “Now,” she says, holding up a finger, “it’s important to remember that every ounce of autonomy he took, you handed over with your own free will. You’ve had a choice in the matter this whole time, and I only say that because—”

  “It’s important to see how I can avoid similar mistakes in the future.” From the moment I moved in, Grandma’s managed the perfect blend of tough love and safe space. She’s helped me see Julian for what he is without letting me make myself a victim. Taking responsibility for the choices I made has been hard, but it’s necessary if I want to avoid finding myself in the same situation in the future.

  I will never be dependent on someone else again. Especially not someone who considers himself a hero while being so cruel.

  “I’m not trying to beat you up, Ives. I know how people like Julian can seem like they’re the answer to all your problems…and then bit by bit, piece by piece, they become the biggest problem you’ve ever had—while making it seem like it’s your fault.”

  I bob my head, processing the info. When Julian and I met, he was kind. Understanding. A welcome break from my father’s judgment. He went so far out of his way to take care of me and Nell that I was ready to award him sainthood. I took everything he said as gospel without questioning, even when the things he said started to hurt. I didn’t notice the leash tightening until I couldn’t catch my breath.

  Thankfully, I had the good sense to call my grandmother on one of my worst days, sobbing, scared to death, and certain something was wrong with me. Julian was a prince who took mercy on me, taking in me and my daughter and lavishing us with luxury we hadn’t earned. I must be a special kind of asshole to turn around and question whether he was worthy of forever.

  Boy, did Grandma have a surprise for me on that topic.

  The women in my family have a pattern—and I’m caught in it.

  She told me how much better things got for her after Grandpa passed—a man so like my father, so like Julian, the comparisons made my head hurt. As she healed and saw the pattern for what it is, she tried to save my mom from my dad, but it was too late. Mom wouldn’t leave Dad and cut her mother out of her life instead.

  But it’s not too late for me.

  I can leave.

  I can break the pattern of gentle wives and overbearing husbands before Nell gets caught in it too.

  “Now,” Grandma says, sitting beside me, clasping her hands under her chin, “what did we learn about that Micah Hutton? Did he grow up to be as handsome as I thought he would?”

  Is she kidding me? We’re going to talk about how handsome he is?

  “This is the man who abandoned his pregnant girlfriend and never acknowledged his daughter’s existence, remember? We hate him. Bigly.”

  I still can’t believe he thought I’d be happy to see him.

  Like just because he carried my grandma out of a burning house, I’d forget the last seven years.

  Talk about overbearing, over cocky, overconfident men…

  “You can think someone is hot and still hate them.”

  “Grandma!”

  She arches a brow and I flare my hands.

  “Fine. He’s…well…see for yourself.” I unlock my phone and pull up the pics I found of him at the firehouse. Doing a photoshoot for a calendar. For charity. Without his shirt. While streaked with sweat and soot and wielding heavy tools.

  Butterflies take flight in my stomach before I mentally tamp them down. We hate him and all his broken promises. He doesn’t deserve butterflies.

  “Sweet Jesus, Ive! Is he a looker or what?” Grandma blows a long whistle before zooming in. “That has to be Photoshopped.”

  “I don’t think it is. I mean, they probably used tricks with the lighting to make his abs look so…you know…”

  “Ripped?” She shakes her head as if to clear her mind, then zooms in even closer.

  “Right. Ripped.”

  “And his chest, too.” Grandma scrunches her nose, and I can’t tell if she’s messing with me or not. “That’s probably lighting as well.”

  “It has to be.” Though my statement sounds more like a question.

  “And that face. No one’s that handsome in real life.”

  Do I have sucky news for her, or what? Micah Hutton is every bit that handsome in real life, which makes him all the more disappointing. If he’s going to look that delectable, the least he could do is…I don’t know, care he has a daughter.

  “Oh my God. Ivy Cole! He is that handsome in real life. I can see it all over your face.”

  “He is. But that only makes me hate him more. Bad people shouldn’t look like angels.”

  “Honey. I don’t know what shows you’ve been watching, but the angels aren’t the ones who look like sin.” Grandma cackles and swipes through the photos, stopping to ogle one of him solo, bare chested, sweaty, soot streaked, with an axe flung over his shoulder. I’d stared at that one a long time myself.

  “Between your genes and his, we’re gonna be chasing the boys away with a firehose when Nell gets older. I wonder if he’d let us use his. Though I guess you kind of already did…”

  She grins in that crooked way of hers I’ve come to love so much. Grandpa used to tell her she looked “touched” when she smiled that way, so she did everything she could to change it until she finally stopped smiling altogether. To me, that crooked grin is charming and full of character, and I love it all the more because it’s hers.

  It gives me hope.

  “Enough!” I shove her shoulder and laugh. “I can get used to lots of things, but dirty jokes from my grandma might be pushing the line a little hard.”

  “Fair enough, I suppose.” She hands my phone back. “What else did you learn while you cyberstalked your high school sweetheart?”

  “His aunt runs a charity for underprivileged kids. The Reversal of Fortune Foundation.”

  “Now that sounds like something a Hutton would do. To this day, I find it hard to believe Micah disappeared on you when you needed him most. That boy is so lucky your grandpa was still alive when we found out you were pregnant. I wanted to march over to his house, drag him out by the collar, and tell him a thing or two about how to take care of people who matter. But your father had decided it best for everyone that we go no contact, so that’s what I did. Even though it killed me.”

  Seventeen-year-old Ivy couldn’t believe Micah disappeared either. Seventeen-year-old fought like hell to text him every chance she could when she found out she was pregnant shortly after moving to Seattle, shocked to her core when he never responded. Twenty-four-year-old Ivy had some time to get used to the idea.

  But I’m tired of talking about Micah. He’s used up all the airtime I’m willing to give him, so I shift to an even more uncomfortable topic.

  “I was thinking of applying for housing assistance through his aunt’s foundation.”

  Grandma blinks. Cocks her head. Sighs as she sizes me up. “You know you’re welcome here as long as you need.”

  “I do. But we’re crashing in an insomniac’s living room who would probably love to stop tiptoeing around the house when she can’t sleep.” And I need to learn to support myself, no matter how hard it gets.

  “It’s the men I really miss,” Grandma says with a wistful sigh. “Can’t have them knocking on the door with you two in the living room.”

  My jaw drops.

  “Joking. Joking.” Her eyes twinkle. “I sneak ‘em through the back when you’re asleep.”

  The transformation in her is inspiring. When I was younger, she was meek, quiet, always looking to Grandpa before speaking. I thought she was shy, but this version of her, the real, unadulterated, unfiltered version? She’s big and bold and not afraid to make a stupid joke. She just lives her life the way she wants to and—

  “I want to be you when I grow up.”

  “You want to live in a little house and sneak men past a sleeping granddaughter and great-granddaughter?”

  “No. Or yes. I don’t know, yet. What I do know is that I want to feel comfortable being who I am. All the time. No filters. No fears.”

  “Oh, honey. I still have my fair share of fears. Just now, I get to face them my way.”

  “Exactly. That’s what I want. I want to do things my way.”

  “Then that’s what you need to do. Contact that Reversal of Fortune Foundation and see what they say.” Grandma nods like it’s a done deal, like it’s the right decision, like there isn’t a million reasons why my idea is stupid or wrong.

  It’s a strange feeling. Julian would be five paragraphs deep on that topic by now.

  “I have no idea if we’d qualify or if she even counts as underprivileged—”

  Grandma holds up her hands, stopping my statement in its tracks. “With a mom like you, she’ll never be underprivileged. She might be underfinanced, but that girl has all the love and support she’ll ever need. And that, my dear, sweet granddaughter, is a privilege not everyone gets to experience.”

  “Love and support won’t put a roof over her head and until I find a job, I’m not going to be able to do that on my own.”

  I’ve never had to support myself. Dad made it impossible for me to get a job and Julian swore I didn’t need one. Until recently, I wasn’t sure how long I was staying in the Keys, just that I needed time to figure everything out.

  But I enrolled Nell in school here and this break feels more permanent with each passing day.

  “Do you think Micah will finally step up if he gets word you’re seeking help through his aunt’s charity?”

  His name brings a montage of memories of us as kids, back when I was madly in love, and certain we’d stay that way until we were old and gray. School dances. Watching movies, cuddled in his room. Laughing. Talking about our future. Him promising we’d stand the test of time and me, giving him my virginity the night before I moved to Seattle.

  The night that changed the course of my life forever.

  “At this point,” I say with a mental middle finger to the boy I used to trust, “the only thing I rely on Micah Hutton to do is not be there when it counts.”

  “And look sexy without a shirt.” Grandma tosses me that crooked smile again and I laugh lightly in return.

  “Yeah…he’s pretty much got that down to a science.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Micah

  Pushing through the front doors of The Pact Bar and Grill feels like coming home. My parents opened the place right before I was born, and I basically grew up here. They got some flak from people who said a bar was a shit place for a kid like me, claiming the reason I spent my childhood on the verge of serious trouble was the negative influences here. Those people had their heads so far up their own asses they had to bend over to see straight. Not only did I learn the right way to treat a woman by watching my parents live, love, and work together, but I learned a lot about the human condition by watching the patrons of The Pact. Turns out, despite our differences, we’re all pretty much the same. We want to have fun with good friends, and make enough money to eat, sleep, and keep a roof over our heads.

  Besides, everyone knows we can thank my dad for my personality, not The Pact Bar and Grill.

  I am, according to family legend, a carbon copy of Eli Hutton. Except I’ve never had a job as a stripper—something he definitely did. Though, to be fair, he never got in trouble for ‘suggestive dancing on the playground’—something I definitely did.

  The familiar energy of the bar puts some much-needed pep in my step as the hubbub of people having fun washes over me.

  This will be good for me.

  The music coming from the old jukebox in the corner.

  The laughter coming from the crowd.

  And some riveting conversation with the people who love me most.

  Just the prescription to get me back into my groove, which I’ve been out of since my run-in with Ivy. Seriously, what did I ever do to her to deserve such a cold shoulder? She’s the one who ghosted me. We’d been working so hard to stay together, despite the distance, and she sends me two texts, out of the blue…

  I’m so unhappy.

  This isn’t working.

  And then nothing else. I texted. I called. I obsessed. She was just gone, and it killed me.

  Fuck.

  That was probably right around the time she met her little girl’s dad.

  Her parents never thought I was good enough for her and she swore they were idiots who couldn’t see me for who I really am. Maybe that was just something she said to make me feel better…

  Either way, I believed her, and I’ve loved her ever since.

  I rake a hand through my hair because enough! I’ve spent too many hours and too much energy on Ivy Cole.

  My cousin, Angela, catches my attention, waving vigorously from a table near the back of the bar. Our cousin, Nathan, sits across from Angela’s husband, Garrett, the three of them in deep conversation. They look like mob bosses, or CEOs negotiating billion dollar deals with their expensive clothes, arms folded on the table, heads close, voices low as I approach.

  It’s always a little weird, sitting with these rich assholes when I’m just a blue-collar guy. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, given my family. And I am. For the most part.

  “Look at this somber fucking atmosphere. Guess the party arrived just in time.” I puff my chest and take a seat while Angela punches me in the arm.

  “Nate’s got more drama with you know who,” she whispers.

  “I don’t know who,” I whisper back, “and shame on you for assuming I would.”

  “Yes, you do know who.” Angela leans even closer, widening her eyes like I’m the fool in this conversation. She should know by now that I’ve turned fucking with her into an Olympic sport.

  “Blossom,” she hisses. “The super yucky girlfriend he’s always having drama with, so I just assumed you’d be able to connect those dots on your own since you…”

  I lose the battle with my laughter, and she sits back, frowning.

  “I know who you’re talking about, Angel.”

  She slaps my arm. “Why do you always have to mess with me like that? Not cool, Mi. Not cool.”

  “I don’t know. For me, the cool part was watching you think I’m an idiot only to realize you underestimated me once again. It’s one of my favorite things.” I pause as a waiter arrives to take our order, then turn my attention to Nathan. “I hate to hear there are still problems between you and Blossom, Nator Tot.”

  Problems that should have been ironed out long ago because that woman is a massive pain in the ass.

  “I’m sorry.” Garrett grins like he’s been handed another million dollars. “Did you call him Nator Tot?”

  “You bet your sweet ass I did. And he loves it.” I jerk a thumb at Nathan’s scowling face. “Just look at him.”

  My cousin rubs his hands together then shoots me the bird. “It’s an old nickname everyone but this asshole has let me shake,” he says to Garrett. “And believe me, I wish he’d let me shake it.”

  “You’ll get no judgment from me.” Garrett holds up his hands. “My sister still calls me Bear. As in Gare Bear. Who calls a grown man Bear?” he grumbles, more to himself than any of us.

  “Maybe she keeps it up because it’s the perfect name for a grumpy guy like you.” Angela shrugs, beaming at her husband who scowls, then kisses her forehead while our waiter arrives with our drinks.

  “There’s trouble in paradise, huh? Again?” I take a long swig of beer, eyeing Nathan over the rim of my glass.

  Not a day goes by that Blossom doesn’t give him hell for something decidedly not his fault. That woman is a ballbuster and a parasite. Sure as shit, she knows he’s got more money than God and the patience of a saint and plans to drain him of both. I try to give everyone space to be themselves, but she needed to figure out how to be anyone else a long time ago.

  “Not really trouble. No…” Nathan peers down the neck of his beer before taking a swig. “Blossom’s feeling guilty because she doesn’t make enough money to send her girls to private school. She keeps beating herself up over wasting their potential and I…” He shrugs, running his hands through auburn hair. “I do have the means to send them to private school.”

  And there it is.

  There it fucking is. Ball-busting parasite.

  “It’s not okay for her to ask that of you.” Angela scowls, instantly defensive of our overgenerous cousin.

  “That’s the thing.” Nathan sits back, hefting his beer and shaking his head. “She didn’t ask. She’s just so hyper-focused on the topic. It’s all she talks about and I’m starting to feel bad.”

  Which is probably the entire reason she’s bringing it up so much, I think but don’t say.

  Garrett folds his arms on the table. “You guys aren’t even living together. Isn’t it kind of a leap to start paying for her kids’ education?”

  Angela pats Nathan’s hand. “It’s incredibly noble of you to want to take care of her girls, but I agree with my husband.”