The enchiladas I’d smelled… Dammit.

  I choked, gasped, and bent over to settle my hands on my knees. Naese pounded my back again, the stupid turd.

  “Back off, Paxton. He is struggling to breathe.” My mother paused. A moment later, she bent down and looked into my face. “With me, hijo?”

  “No.”

  “You are very frightened,” she said. “Just as I told Silas and your team doctor.”

  Heat burned up the back of my neck. “They said⁠—”

  “Lennon, son,” my mother began, her voice soft. She rubbed my back in a soothing way—not trying to crack ribs like Naese. “Are you sure that criminal said those words?”

  “Yes! He said them to me, so of course I’m sure.”

  “But the police—I called the detective, Ahmed, and spoke to him.” She waited for those words to sink in. I blinked at her. “No one was near you when they arrived. That’s why they couldn’t apprehend the criminals. They’d done a jackrabbit and skedaddled.”

  I rose, frowning, confusion replacing my fear. Lightheaded, I stumbled. Naese gripped my arm while my mother continued to run a soothing hand up and down my back. “Wh-what?”

  “Those bad men were not near you. They ran away before the police turned the corner. They knew the police were coming because of the sirens and lights.”

  I licked my lips. “You’re saying… You’re saying that…”

  “Could it have been a hallucination?” Cormac asked. I’d never seen him look so worried.

  “I don’t… It was real.”

  “What was he wearing?” Maxim asked.

  I shrugged. I couldn’t remember.

  “Color of his hair? Eyes?” Stolly asked.

  I opened my mouth but shut it and shook my head.

  “Can you think of anything specific about the man who spoke to you?”

  “N-no…” I blinked at my teammates. With effort, thanks to my trembling limbs, I moved back to the couch. I took a minute to breathe with my forehead pressed to my fists. Then I lifted my head from the bent-over position, more in control of my emotions. “You think I hallucinated the man?” I tried to meet everyone’s gaze. They all looked worried.

  Cormac glanced at the others. “We remember what happened during your first concussion, how you hallucinated then. You were so sure we were there to hurt you…”

  “Made me sick,” Maxim said.

  Stolly looked away, his jaw tight.

  I narrowed my eyes. “So, because I have a history of hallucinations⁠—”

  “Specifically of deep, personal harm during them,” Cormac supplied. “I asked Amber if it was possible for that to happen again. She and Dr. Hutchins conferred, but they didn’t tell me anything about your case specifically.” He paused. “When I pushed, asking if it was possible hypothetically, they said yes. In fact, they think it’s likely—and that’s your mind’s pattern when it’s injured.”

  “A pattern. There’s a pattern for concussion.” I knew that. We all knew our symptoms usually amplified with more head trauma. But I’d never considered the hallucination possibility. It had all seemed so real. My chest squeezed. My heart ached. “You think I’ve spent months pushing away the love of my life for nothing?”

  The guys all looked at each other. Cormac grimaced as he answered for them. “Yeah. That’s what we think. And worse, we know Vivian’s been talking to some doctor, who sounds like a total shitbag, according to what we got from Hana.”

  I covered what could have been a horrifying shriek with a cough and clearing my throat.

  Cormac paused respectfully. “And for the record,” he continued after a moment. “The ladies were going to contact Vivian and bring her out here if we didn’t. So, we did it first.”

  My mother muttered something about men and egos and needing to win. She wasn’t wrong. “You’re a better man than this doctor,” she said, sitting beside me and patting my hand. “And Vivi loves you. So the boys hatched a plan to get her here. Because they love you. And also, they want to have a matchmake win.” She glowered at me, causing guilt to flare. “I don’t approve of this part of the process, but I like that they included me. And I wanted to see how you reacted to the news that your Vivi has a new man.” She smiled brightly. “You hate it.”

  “I do,” I said. “I really hate it.”

  “Good. So you fix the problem between you two, and I get grandchildren.” My mother started babbling on in Spanish about how cute my babies would be while I met each of my teammates’ eyes.

  They were more than teammates, though. We were family—a patchwork of backgrounds and hobbies and personalities that fit because of our love of hockey, competitiveness, and decency. These men were some of the best people I’d ever known.

  “Thanks. All of you. I appreciate you wanting the best for me.”

  “Took you long enough to realize that,” Stolly grumped.

  “You’re not going to hit me, are you?” Maxim asked. “I don’t want a big bruise on my face. Ida Jane fusses.”

  “But she makes you apple butter to soothe the booboo,” Naese taunted.

  “It is delicious. More addictive than drugs.” Maxim sighed. “I love that stuff, and I hate that I love it so much, but I love it too much to⁠—”

  “Got it,” Cormac said. “Back to Cruz. Look, man, we weren’t trying to piss you off or freak you out. We just want you to be happy.”

  “And Vivian makes you happy,” Naese said. “Or at least I know she makes you all wistful and shit when you’re not together.”

  “You boys may all be grown men, but your mouths offend my ears,” Mom informed them. “Speak like humans, not middle school children.”

  “Yes, Lola,” Cormac said. “Sorry.”

  “Good. Now, let me talk to my son un momentito.” My mom turned toward me. “Son,” she said in Spanish. “I understand your fear. First your father, then Ruben. But Vivian won’t be hurt because you love her. Well, not more hurt. You’ve put her through a bad time.”

  “How do you know.”

  “I got the Facebook, don’t I?”

  “You’re stalking Vivi on social media?”

  “I needed to know if this woman was good enough for you.” Mom sniffed. “She’s lovely. I think she likes animals more than you,” she added with a smile.

  I chuckled. Noticing my friends frowning, I switched to English. “She does love them. In Michigan, she asked to pet every dog we met.”

  “This is how I know she is for you, my son. She has a big heart.” My mother also switched to English.

  I chewed my lip as I tried to work through my thoughts. “What if…what if she can’t forgive me for pushing her away?”

  “Oh! I go this one!” Stolly said. He plunked his butt down on Cormac’s coffee table and put his hands on my shoulders. “You keep working at it. Like a drill. You give her your full focus, you make sure she knows she’s the priority. It’ll take time. You might have to sleep on a too-short couch⁠—”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Naese asked.

  “I’m just saying, it might be hard or uncomfortable,” Stolly snapped. “But you don’t give up. You’re an NHL player, man. You know all about perseverance. So…persevere.” He punctuated his point with a nod.

  “That’s very good advice,” Mom said.

  Stolly ducked his head, but we all saw the smirk he tried to bury in his shoulder.

  “I had to make Ida Jane love me,” Maxim rumbled. “She took time to trust that I was serious.”

  “If that guy can do it, so can you,” Cormac said.

  “Hey!” Maxim exclaimed.

  “What? You’re a dick…erm, difficult personality,” Stolly said with a side-eye at my mother.

  She turned her head away to show she was ignoring his potty mouth.

  Maxim shrugged. “True.”

  “So, as your friends were saying, you prove you’re trustworthy. If Vivian is smart, she won’t believe you,” Mom said. “So you’ll have to work for her, for your relationship.”

  Cormac rubbed his hands together. “We have some suggestions.”

  “You can discuss them over the enchiladas,” my mother said.

  “Don’t have to tell me twice,” Naese said, bolting to the kitchen.

  Chapter 14

  Chapter

  Vivian

  * * *

  “I shouldn’t be in Houston.” I fidgeted in the back of the rideshare, staring out at the massive sprawl and thousands of cars on the huge highway.

  I’d been at a low point the day before Lola Cruz had called me that first time two weeks ago. Over the span of the previous week, five of my patients had passed away, an alarming number, and I’d gone on a disastrous date with Dr. Dewan Kapoor. The man was kind, thoughtful, respectful of my limits—everything I should want in a partner. Yet the evening had been an epic bust that ended with me rage-eating an entire bag of caramel corn. Dewan wasn’t Lennon. Full stop.

  I hated that I couldn’t get over him. I remained stalled, stuck in this stupid spot where my heart continued to yearn but my mind knew the relationship was over.

  “Why not?” the driver asked, looking up at me in the rearview mirror.

  I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  Perhaps that’s why I hadn’t been immune to the appeal from his mother. Perhaps. More, though, she reminded me of my mother, and because I was in a place where I needed guidance and love, I’d been more than happy to respond to the text she sent me the evening after that first call, then again the next morning, that afternoon, that evening, the next day and the next… We’d fallen into a pattern of communicating, and I’d mentioned that my mother’s family was from Oaxaca.

  Lola had then told me stories from her trip there in her teens. She’d told me about meeting Lennon’s father, a traveling musician who had become a truck driver to support her and their oldest child, Ruben. They’d had Lennon and his two sisters nearly ten years later. She told me about losing her husband, then Ruben, and how that had affected young Lennon. She told me how she’ d had to work as a waitress, slowly moving up to better and better restaurants, until she now ran front-of-house in one of the nicest restaurants in the city.

  Hers was a tale I understood, one that Lennon shared—perseverance, hard work, dogged determination to reach goals. I respected that story; I’d lived that story.

  Lola told me how Lennon didn’t understand health benefits and hadn’t ever asked about her salary. He sent her an allowance, and Lola was a saver, especially now that her kids were out of the house, which was why she could hire me as a private nurse. That and because she had a grant. I was pretty sure that meant someone on Lennon’s hockey team knew about her diagnosis and was helping her pay my salary.

  I’d suggested I take less, but Lola wouldn’t hear of that. She’d mentioned my Kryptonite—my own fault—that I’d only have to work with and for her, not a slew of other people, too.

  “Romance involved?” the driver asked.

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” he said. “I found the love of my life on a dating website.”

  I smiled. “That’s great.”

  “It was. Until she left me for an oilman last month.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. Houston’s huge and hot and has its problems, but it’s also a pretty great place to live.” He started listing the places he liked to go, and my mind drifted back to Lola—and how I’d ended up in the backseat of this car.

  She’d sent me recipes to try from the Yucatan, where she’d grown up. We talked about my mother’s hot chocolate and Lola’s version. I’d tried them both, loved them both, and felt as if my mother were there giving me a hug.

  All of which was why I’d followed through on this crazy plan and now said to the Uber driver, “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Anytime. Hit up the aquarium!”

  I stepped out into the late afternoon and immediately felt like I was melting. It was February, for goodness’ sake, yet I was hot, sticky mess. How did people handle this heat and humidity? Why would they want to?

  I tugged my suitcase up the walkway of Lola Cruz’s small, neat house not far from the city’s secondary downtown. At least it didn’t seem that far, but I had looked at a map of Houston and nearly choked. Talk about sprawl…

  The thoughts I’d kept at bay as I’d packed and traveled now hammered at my mind: Lennon might not know I’m coming. Lennon might not want me here. This will do nothing for my ability to move on. Am I just going to be torturing myself?

  What have I done?

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled up the mental map I’d created of Houston. For whatever reason, maps and interesting facts tended to calm my mind. Hana said they gave me something to latch on to besides my spiraling anxiety. She was probably right.

  The city ballooned and zigzagged all over the place, seemingly without end. There were two—two!—loops around the metropolis, connecting various highways and neighborhoods. And the place had a main downtown, but also a secondary one called the Galleria, where there was a big mall and lots of oil and gas companies, as well as restaurants, clubs, wine bars, pubs, jewelry shops, and just about everything else you could think of.

  Okay. So Houston was big enough to hold both Lennon and me, should I decide to stay. And it had some of the best cancer hospitals in the nation, should I need to get another position.

  Everything would be fine. As my mother used to say, these were obstacles, not Mount Everest. With a resolute nod, I opened my eyes and rolled my case up onto the little stoop, where it caught on the step, and I smashed my big toe. Pain radiated upward as I winced. “Ouch!”

  I was a mess. A hot mess, which was the very thing I’d tried so hard to outrun since the night of the attack. I’d worked hard—really, really hard—to move beyond my panic about being alone outside. And about blood.

  I was a nurse, so getting over the sight of blood had been accomplished through continued exposure. The first couple of months back on the job had been rougher than during my school years, which had been hard enough.

  Clearly, that night in Michigan had left indelible scars on my psyche—just as it had Lennon’s. That was part of why I hadn’t simply called him or just shown up, like I’d dreamed about for weeks after.

  My nose stung, and I sniffled as I thought about Lennon’s gentleness with me before the attack. How I missed him.

  I wasn’t ready to cut the final tie, but I had to be prepared. We’d diverged on our paths because of our shared trauma. I couldn’t force him to look at me the same way—to not see the woman who’d been part of the assault, the catalyst for his wounds. Just as he couldn’t force the nightmares or squeamishness from my mind.

  Coming to Houston was a mistake, my mind suddenly blared. I was smart enough to admit it, and woman enough to own it. But there was nothing I could do to change it. I’d made a commitment. I was a nurse.

  “Pull it together, Vivian. This isn’t like you,” I murmured. “You’re stronger than this.” I rubbed three fingers over the space between my eyebrows, desperate for relief from the tension headache building in my skull.

  Then I heard the front door open. “Vivi? What…what are—why are you… How?”

  My head shot up. Lennon’s voice, all rich cream and smooth chocolate, flowed over my eardrums, making me want to purr. I adored his voice, had from the beginning. My gaze swept up to meet his, and I was shocked to see how much thicker and wilder his beard had become, probably an additional three inches stuck out from his face. His lips had all but disappeared into the mass. His eyes, though, were the same. Warm, focused on me, and filled with some of the off-kilter confusion I was experiencing.

  “H-hi, Lennon.” My voice was too high and thin. I swallowed, trying to get better control of myself. “It’s been a while.”

  He continued to stare with an intensity that disconcerted me. “I…I just found out you were coming.”

  I dropped my gaze, no longer able to bear the weight of his. “Your mother invited me.”

  “Ah. Yes. Well, um, hi. Welcome.” He said the word lamely with a slight wave.

  Oh, this was worse than awkward. Maybe I’d melt into a puddle and disappear forever. “Why are you here?” I asked. I glanced around, still waiting for Lola to pop out from behind Lennon. “Where’s Lola?”

  “Out—at my sister’s place.”

  My mouth dropped open. “What? No!” My voice dipped. “She’s supposed to be here…”

  “She said she had to step out, asked me to come by and take the enchiladas out of the oven. Sounded like an emergency when she called a couple of hours ago.” His voice told me he now had doubts about that.

  I clenched my fists. This setup wasn’t right. Or fair. I hadn’t prepared myself to see Lennon, and clearly he wasn’t ready to see me.

  “Hang on.” I pulled out my phone. I noted with irritation that I’d left it in airplane mode and now switched it over. Almost immediately, text messages popped up, the pings so rapid that they made one continual chime. Six from Lola.

  Okay, well, I guess I couldn’t be mad. She’d tried to warn me.

  “I clearly didn’t get the messages in time.”

  A petite German shepherd padded up next to Lennon, her dark fur a stark contrast to her sherry-colored eyes. She sat at his foot, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth, ears perked forward as she studied me.

  “Oh, you’re pretty,” I breathed. My gaze sought Lennon’s. “Belladonna?”

  At his nod, I dropped my gaze back to the dog. “Hi, pretty girl. Hi,” I cooed. “Aren’t you gorgeous.”

  Belladonna glanced up at Lennon, who said, “Go ahead.”

  The German shepherd seemed to grin even bigger as she rose and stepped forward, sniffing my outstretched hand before pushing her head against my palm and resettling herself against my leg. I laughed, charmed by her clear affection as I petted her ears. Lennon made a choking sound that caused me to look up at him—though I didn’t stop petting the dog.