I lean over and kiss Birdie’s hair. “Baby… Birdie,” I tease, stroking the strands away from her face.

  She opens her eyes, and when she grins, my dick throbs and my body forgets all about Arrow and any job he might have.

  “Good morning, gorgeous,” she mumbles. She reaches for me. “Coming back to bed?”

  I hang my head and sigh. “Arrow’s got a client on the move. He wants me to work today.”

  She looks disappointed for a moment. “Noooo,” she mumbles. “Nooooo.” She sits up in bed, clutching the sheets to her chest. “Is this because you think I’ll give you food poisoning if I try to make breakfast? I promise, I’ve got more frozen sausage and egg biscuits downstairs.”

  She’s grinning, her gray eyes as light as the sky after a rain. Something’s different between us now, and it’s not just the fact that we’re both naked in her bed. It’s like a little wall, that steel behind her eyes, has been knocked back. I feel it too, lighter. Safer. Like I can trust this. I can trust her.

  “You’re nuts,” I say, claiming her lips with mine. “Last night was fucking perfect. You’re perfect. Whatever you feed me for breakfast…” I shake my head. “All right, we’ll cook together. When we have time. Another morning.” It’s a reach, a leap, but I need to believe this wasn’t a one-and-done. I need to believe she’ll want this again as much as I already know I do.

  I lift her chin with my fingertips. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I wish I could spend the whole day naked with you. I’d stay for as long as you’d have my ass.”

  “Mmm-hmm, that ass,” she sighs. She sits up straight and takes my hand in hers. “You should go,” she says. “If you want to give this PI thing a try.” She lifts the back of my hand to her lips and kisses my sparrow. “By the time you come back, I’ll have condoms.”

  I growl and lunge at her, kissing her lips and fisting her hair. God, even first thing in the morning, she’s sexy as fuck. She meets my kiss again and again, until finally, she’s the one to pull away.

  “Unless you want to spend the entire day like this…which, I’d be damn happy to do…let’s get you on the road. You want me to drop you off?”

  I nod. “That would be great. You mind if I shower? Since I’m putting the same clothes on I wore yesterday, at least Arrow won’t have to smell all this on me.”

  She laughs and climbs out of bed. She strides naked to the hall closet and pulls out towels, a fresh bar of soap, and a brand-new toothbrush.

  “Help yourself,” she says. “I’ll go start coffee.”

  I shower quickly, stepping around Mia’s colorful bath toys and bath products that look more like paints than soaps or shampoos. I’m surprised at how many things a kid her age needs just to shower, but it’s not a bad thing. After spending years showering in flip-flops with a stale sliver of soap to my name, all the products and choices feel like humanizing luxuries. I’m glad they have them, and if I can contribute to giving Mia and Birdie that kind of financial stability, I’ll do the work, take the job. Swallow my hesitation and give this thing a real chance.

  Not just for me. For Mia. For Birdie. And the future I am starting to hope the three of us can have together.

  I leave my wet towel hanging over the bar that holds a palm-tree-printed shower curtain and put on my clothes from last night. The smell of coffee greets me, and when I head downstairs, Birdie is dressed in a long sleep shirt, but she’s wearing nothing underneath.

  “Seriously…” I groan and take the travel mug of coffee from her. “If you want to distract me from going anywhere today…” I slide a hand up the back of her shirt and fondle her firm, smooth ass.

  She leans her head against my chest. “That wasn’t the plan, but…” She lifts her face to mine and says, “Two minutes. I need pants and a bra. Be right back.”

  She’s gone for closer to ten minutes, so I text Arrow that I’m just getting a ride and will be on the way any minute. We head out when Birdie comes back down, her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. She’s got on skintight yoga pants and a tank top instead of the loose sleep shirt. Just remembering what’s underneath that tiny bit of fabric, the tasty berries of her nipples, makes me want to forget all about Arrow and any shitty job.

  But Birdie slips on sunglasses, and we head out to the car. “First time I’ve driven since this all started,” she says, climbing behind the wheel.

  I reach across from the passenger side and hold her hand. “Too soon? How are you feeling?”

  “I’m great,” she says confidently. “I really am. I’m going to be okay.”

  We drive in silence for two miles to the car rental place, lacing and unlacing our fingers. It’s a peaceful silence, like we’re both still stuck in the erotic haze of her bedroom and not being forced out into the real world. I’m okay making that feeling last as long as possible. When we pull in, I turn to face her. “Be safe today. Take it easy. If you need anything at all, you need me to pick up Mia, anything, you call. Got it?”

  She leans over, and we kiss, a long, sweet taste of tongues, the faint flavor of coffee on our mingled breath.

  “Have a good day at work, sweetie,” she teases. “I’ll be fine. But I’ll keep in touch.”

  I finish the coffee and leave the travel mug with her. Then I get out of the car and close the door. Before she pulls away, we spend a solid thirty seconds staring at each other through the closed window.

  “Much as I love young love—” a voice comes from behind me just as I feel a hand clap on to my shoulder “—work’s a-awaiting.”

  Birdie waves at Arrow and blows me a kiss goodbye. Then she pulls away.

  “That seemed cozy,” Arrow says.

  I don’t know the guy well, and while Leo vouched for him, I still don’t know Leo that well yet. I just grunt and get down to business. “So, what’s the job?”

  Arrow points at Birdie. “Hey, man, I didn’t mean to pry. I’m happy for you. After all you’ve been through, if you’re picking up the pieces in your private life, that’s cool. I meant no disrespect.”

  I roll my shoulders and nod. “Thanks, man. All good. What’s the gig here?”

  As much as I’m sure Arrow’s trying to be cool with me, we’re not friends. Might never be. If I work for him, I need to maintain that distance and detachment. I’m still not all that excited about following cheaters or scammers, so dragging me out of bed with the promise of work is all that I am up for right now. Braiding hair with my new best friend Arrow isn’t in the playbook.

  “Yeah, all right. Let’s head in.”

  We go inside the rental office where Arrow has set me up as an authorized renter on his corporate account.

  “Obviously, this isn’t for personal use if you’re not on a job,” he tells me. “But if you’re working a case, I want you in a rental.”

  “Got it.” I hand over my license and insurance info to the guy behind the desk, a squeaky-clean-looking college kid in a golf shirt embroidered with the logo of the rental place.

  “Good morning, Mr. Taylor.” The kid looks at my license and says my name, all professional and serious. His close-cut blond hair and deep tan remind me a little too much of the kids I intervened on behalf of that night so long ago, and a shiver runs up my spine. Is this a subtle sign that I shouldn’t be here? Shouldn’t be doing this? Or am I looking for signs because I’d rather be eating Birdie for breakfast than chasing cheaters on a Sunday morning?

  I look away from the kid with his innocent eyes and peach-fuzz face and get down to the job. Arrow’s got a slim folder in his hands. While the kid runs my identification through the system, Arrow explains.

  “We go at this old-school,” he says. “I’d prefer you not have any client images or data on your personal devices.” He hands me a cell phone—it’s a nice one. Newer than the one I have. “Use this for all client work. Even for mapping or Googling and other basic functions. That way, if the phone is ever confiscated or recovered, it’ll be traceable to me, the licensed agent.”

  “Wait…there’s a license involved?” This is news to me.

  “Yeah,” Arrow explains. “If you want to testify at trials or work with insurance companies and lawyers, you’ve got to be legit. There’s a background check, education, and private investigator licensing requirements. But I’m only going to send you on what I call the civilian cases. You can follow cheating spouses and basic crap that won’t ever make it to court.”

  I’m sure Arrow thinks what he’s saying is going to bring me some comfort, but it does the opposite. If there’s a background check involved and state licensing requirements, I’m damn sure I won’t pass. Felony convictions don’t bar me from every type of job, but I’m going to guess if PIs are regulated by the state of Florida, they won’t be too keen on me spying on private citizens with my background.

  “You know I have a record, man.” I don’t want to press the issue because I’m damn sure there’s no way Arrow doesn’t know. But I want to make sure.

  He nods. “That’s why I want you on board. You can talk the talk with people I never could. Consider this a paid internship. I’m trying you out, and you’re trying this out. If you like it and do a good job, I’ll cover the costs of getting you legal with the state to be licensed.”

  That all sounds well and good in theory, but what’s he going to do if I get pulled over in a rented car with a phone that doesn’t belong to me because I’m tailing somebody who notices me? Calls the cops because a strange man is following him or her?

  I scrub my face with my hand, not sure this is where I want to be or what I want to be doing at all.

  “Here.” Arrow hands me the folder. “I’ll pay you in cash for today just in case this doesn’t work out. Inside is five hundred. Use the money to fill the tank on the rental before you return it. That’s all yours, minus the gas.”

  I take the manila folder and open it. Inside is a printout with some factual information about the guy I’ll be tailing. His picture, a picture of his car with the license plate up close. Arrow points to a small map. “That’s his home address. His wife texted this morning that he said he was going to play golf at the Falcon Ridge Country Club. 10:20 a.m. tee time.” He checks his watch. “You’ve got over an hour. I’d head to the house and watch him leave. Follow him to the club and confirm that’s where he goes.”

  I have a million questions spinning through my head.

  It’s one day of work. If it goes well, I’ll hold Arrow to his promise to get me set up and legit with the state as a PI. And if it doesn’t, I made a bit of cash and can put the whole experience behind me.

  Arrow’s giving me a list of instructions, explaining what documents I’ll need, what photos I’ll need to take, and how to do it subtly and without calling too much attention to myself. It feels like a lot of trickery and deception and dishonesty. But this is a legit profession. Arrow is licensed, and if he’s willing to vouch for me and back all this shit up… It’s an honest day’s work, even if it doesn’t feel so honest.

  I grab the keys to the rental car and memorize the code to the phone Arrow gave me. As I walk out into the lot to grab my totally nondescript rental sedan, I look back into the rental office. And I just hope that the preppy behind the counter isn’t some kind of sign.

  A warning.

  14

  BRIDGET

  I’m smiling, thinking about last night, feeling light as air, when there’s a knock at my door. I haven’t even showered yet, so the smells of Crow and the fun we had last night still cling to my skin and hair.

  I check the peephole and see an elderly man I don’t recognize. I open the door a crack.

  “Good morning,” I say to him. “Can I help you?”

  “Hello, ah…”

  The sun is bright, and the man is blinking like he can’t quite see me through the glare.

  “I…I was wondering…” The man was once tall, but his stooped shoulders and sunken cheeks show his age. He’s well-dressed in nicely pressed khakis and a short-sleeved dress shirt, but he looks confused and disoriented. I don’t recognize him as one of my neighbors, so I’m immediately concerned he’s in some kind of distress. I look up and down the street for an unfamiliar car or other people, but my street looks exactly the same as it always does. Nothing unusual except the man on my doorstep.

  “Sir,” I ask, “are you okay? Do you know where you are?”

  “I do, yes…” He’s staring at me, looking lost and like the polar opposite of knowing where he is. “Is your…mother here?”

  “Let me grab my phone.” I shut the door behind me and grab my cell phone. Old man or not, I’m not going to invite a stranger into my home, but I’ll happily go outside with my phone and see if I can be of help. Before I head back out, I check the peephole again. The man’s still standing there, looking down at his shoes. Not moving. So, I grab my keys and open the door, then join him on the patio.

  When I open the door, the man says, “I know she’s gone. I guess when I got here, my mind just went back, and I… It was habit or hopeful thinking. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Who are you?” I ask. “Did you know my mother?”

  His eyes are the same rainy gray that mine are. “I sure did. And I know you too, Birdie.”

  I cross my arms over my chest as a small flare of alarm courses through my body. “Who the hell are you?” I demand. “What do you want?”

  Old or not, this man is a stranger to me. And he’s scaring me.

  “I’m your father, Birdie. I’m sorry to surprise you this way. I know it’s been a long time.”

  When he says those words, it’s like a thousand-pound weight falls on my chest. I suck in a lungful of air and glare at him.

  “I don’t believe you. What’s your name?” I demand.

  “James Sanderson,” he says quietly. “Your mom called me Jimmy. I should have extended my condolences a long time ago. I know it’s been a very long time, but I thought maybe we could talk.”

  In that moment, the world beneath my feet feels like it’s shifting. I’m hot, I’m cold, I’m shaking, and I’m furious.

  “Your condolences?” I blurt. “You’re here to extend your condolences? Mom’s been gone for months. And you—you’ve been out of my life for twenty-five years, Jimmy.” I say his name like it tastes bad in my mouth. Because it does. “No,” I say. “You cannot do this. You can’t just show up on my doorstep now. No.”

  I look the man over, in shock and disbelief that this is the man who created me. We look so alike, it’s impossible to deny the relation. I always thought I looked like my mother, not that it matters all that much. But I suppose since I didn’t have many memories of my dad, not having a photo to look at to know where I came from, I searched all the harder for a resemblance to Mom. But looking at this man now, even in his advanced age, I see it. The same steely eyes. The same nose… I mean, it’s almost as if someone took his nose and put it right on my face. My lips are fuller, so those I’m sure I got from Mom. No matter how his presence makes me feel, there’s no denying this man is my father.

  “You’re not welcome here,” I say, a crushing wave of anger and sadness rushing over me. “Don’t you ever come back.” I think of Mia, of how she would feel if she were here and this man showed up on my doorstep. “I mean it. Stay away from me, and stay the hell away from my daughter.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just looks at his shoes as I go inside, and I slam the door behind me and turn the dead bolt.

  Fury and sadness wash over me, and I can’t decide what to do first. I want to scream and throw something. But part of me wants to run after him. Demand answers. Hurl insults at him for every day he missed, every moment Mom and I struggled because of his deception and lies.

  I throw myself onto the couch and start crying. The tears flow, hot and furious. I’m gasping for air and beating the couch cushion to vent some of my emotions. It’s all too much. The pleasure of last night. The pain of this morning. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t release some of these emotions, and I think if Jimmy is still there, I’m going to take all of this out on him. He wants to talk—screw talking. I’ll scream in his face and make him see what he’s done, how many lives he’s hurt being a piece-of-shit, lying deadbeat.

  In a rush, I get up and yank the door open. I half hope he’s still there. If he is, I’ll demand answers. I’ll let him in if only so I can get what I want for once. But of course, when I look out the door, he’s gone.

  My disappointment that he’s gone starts to take over my anger.

  It’s not fair that I should be in this position. That I should feel like a bad person for not letting him just walk into my house and invite himself over for a catch-up. That I should feel this mix of guilt and shame because I’m so mad and I want to take it out on him. It’s not fair he left us. Not fair he lied.

  I pace my house frantically, wondering what he could have wanted after all this time. The usual maybe. He’s sick or feeling guilty or something bad happened, and he wanted me to know about it. I don’t know. Can’t even guess. If he’s dying and wanted to say goodbye and make peace…

  No. No. No. No.

  I take a few deep breaths and try to calm myself down. I’m feeling dizzy and stressed and my head is throbbing, but it’s just a warning. It’s not a full headache yet, but I realize I’m crying so hard that I’m probably dehydrating myself. I stumble into the kitchen and grab a glass of water and a fist full of tissues from the powder room. I take some pain meds for my head and drink a whole glass of cold water, the liquid cooling my overheated mouth and throat.

  I pull out an old picture of myself lying facedown on a soft baby blanket, a blanket I still have in a closet upstairs. I’m playing with a toy and smiling, the tiny tips of two brand-new teeth poking through my baby gums. That sweet little child had no idea what life had in store for her. I trace my fingertips along my baby face and head, and the tears come. No one else is going to cry for me. No one else cares. I’ve always been alone, abandoned by unreliable men, and so has my mother. No matter what James Sanderson wants, I don’t want him.