She’s so nice and seems so thoughtful, I feel like an asshole for wanting this woman to leave. But it’s a lot to absorb in just a few minutes. I’m about ready to ask her to leave when the front door opens.

  Two enormous men are talking in hushed voices. Logan comes through the door first, a huge, relaxed grin on his face. Seeing him like that, looking light and happy, strikes me. He’s so serious, so focused, that something loosens in my chest at the family feeling he seems to have with the other guy. Morris, I assume.

  “The lady of the house.” The second man is wearing a baby-blue T-shirt that stretches comically over his giant biceps. He’s got a bandanna around his head, and he tugs it off with one hand and mops sweat from his brow. In spite of his size and gruff look, he’s got a huge smile and he holds out a hand to me, but then pulls it back. “I’d shake your hand, ma’am,” he says, “but I worked up quite the sweat out there. Pleased to meet you. Name’s Morris.”

  I look from him to Alice, who is watching him and just beaming. “Honey,” she says, “I think all these people in Bridget’s house is a bit much. We should leave her to rest. I was just going to get Zoey.”

  He nods and gives Logan a slap on the shoulder. “Catch up to ya later, brother. You did good work here.”

  Logan nods, accepting the praise. “Thanks for the hand, man. Couldn’t have done it without your truck.”

  Morris calls up the stairs, “Zoey. We got to go.”

  I must have winced at the sound, because Logan tenses and Morris shakes his head.

  “Oh shit. I’m an ass. Apologies. I didn’t think.”

  I wave a hand. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I should thank you for what you did here. I’m sorry I’m… I’m not at my best today.”

  That is true. With the darkness of my deep sleep fading away and the shock of finding strangers in the house with my daughter, I realize my defenses are sky-high.

  There is nothing more to this than a contractor calling on a friend to help him haul away my trash. And they were kind enough to bring along someone to make sure my daughter wasn’t essentially home alone with a passed-out mother.

  Clearly, Mia is having no problem accepting these people, because neither she nor Zoey seem to listen to Morris’s call.

  Alice is at my side, her bag full of papers in her hands. “I think we may have to break up the new best friends in a slightly more direct way.” She grins at me. “Mind if I go up and get my daughter?”

  “Of course.”

  While Alice heads up the stairs, Morris and Logan talk quietly about supply costs, materials, and permits.

  “Only the GC would need a license, so we’ll have Alice look through the specs and build a budget.” Morris is explaining things to Logan, and he’s nodding, but his eyes never leave my face.

  Zoey comes down the stairs hand in hand with Mia.

  “Mama.” Mia runs up to me and claps her arms around my waist. “Can Zoey come back for a sleepover this weekend? Please.”

  Alice shakes her head and says, “Mia, your mama might need a little more time to recover before I let my wild angel loose on your house for a whole sleepover. But I’ll make sure Bridget has my number in case she wants to set up another playdate.”

  Alice looks at me and asks, “Is it okay if I get your number from Crow?”

  I nod, watching Mia and Zoey hug like they never want to say goodbye. But they do, and Zoey literally jumps from Mia’s arms to Morris’s in one leap.

  “Off we go, Zoey,” he says. He waves to me. “Nice meeting you, Bridget.” Then he maneuvers around so Zoey can ride on his back, and he heads off toward a huge pickup truck parked in front of the house.

  Alice touches Logan’s cheek as she passes by. “Come for dinner?” she asks.

  He nods. “Yeah, soon. Thanks, Alice.”

  Alice waves and smiles, and then it’s just me and Logan and my girl.

  “Mama.” Mia is wound up, hyper and in a great mood. “Zoey did the funniest thing. I have to tell you everything.”

  “I want you to, sweetie,” I say, bending over to hug her. “But can I have a minute to catch up with Logan?”

  She runs up my newly bare stairs and goes back to playing in her room. “Come up when you’re done, and I’ll show you what we made.”

  I sigh in spite of myself. I’m happy that Mia made a friend. I’m grateful Logan had help with the stairs. But this is all becoming much more complicated than I ever expected. Help with a bit of loose carpet is one thing, but all this…

  “I ran into a small snag,” Logan says, his voice low. “Some of the steps need to be replaced. Now that the carpet and the padding are gone, you can hear the rot when you step.” He walks up to the staircase and puts his full weight on one of the stairs. The wood squeaks, and I can see a little bit of give when he shifts back and forth. “It’s safe for now for you and Mia to walk up and down, but I’d like to come back and replace a bit of the wood. That’s a bigger job, though. More mess, more noise.”

  He’s looking at me as though asking my permission, but the truth is, I feel as if I’ve lost control of my own life.

  “Right.” I turn away and head into the kitchen. I’m hungry and confused. This doesn’t feel like me. Hours ago, I was thinking about Logan’s muscular arms and sexy chin, and now I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into. I feel crabby, groggy, and out of control.

  “Hey, Bridget, did I do something?” Logan follows me into the kitchen. “Did you eat? Alice brought sandwiches—”

  “I’m not hungry.” My words are sharp, the edges intended to cut.

  From the look on Logan’s face, I did, in fact, hurt him. The lightness in his face from when his friends were here fades, and that shadowy mask comes back up.

  “I get it.” He pulls out his phone and punches in a text. “I’ll gather my stuff. You look like you’re ready to have your house back.”

  Part of me doesn’t want him to rush out. I just want all the confusing and frustrating feelings to slow down. I feel like I need more time to process, to think through what’s going on. It’s as if I can tell the wheels in my brain are spinning much more slowly, fighting their way through a light fog. I’m not disoriented, but I’m also just feeling irritable about everything. As good as it felt to rest, now things are happening, and I don’t have any control of my own house, my life.

  I’m trying to decide whether I should apologize or be apologized to, or neither, when I hear the faint honk of a horn outside. Logan meets me in the kitchen where I’m still standing, staring into the sink.

  “Bridget?” His voice is soft. Understanding, but also still hurt.

  “Crow, wait,” I say. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. Thank you for all you did today. The stairs look great, and I… I can’t believe your friends just showed up like that to help. I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  “Believe me, I get that. You need rest and quiet, not a stream of people running through your place.” He nods, and he sounds a lot less hurt. “I’m incredibly fortunate to have the brotherhood I do,” he says cryptically. “They are more than I deserve. And these days, the guys come with wives and kids that somehow sort of complete the package.”

  He looks happy again, like he did when Morris and Alice were here. The dark intensity of his eyes is warmer now, and I can see his beautiful lips part in a full smile.

  “Here are your keys,” he says. “I texted Morris to come back and give me a ride.” He sets my key chain on the counter and steps a little closer. “Don’t drive yet,” he says. “Okay? Follow the doctor’s orders as best you can. If you need anything, you know how to reach me. When you’re feeling better, if you want to talk about the rest of the work on the stairs, the invitation’s wide open.”

  I feel him hesitate at my side, but when I turn, he’s walked to the bottom of the stairs and is calling for Mia. But he surprises me by addressing my daughter’s stuffed animal.

  “I got to roll, Gavin. Take good care of Miss Mia.” His voice isn’t loud, but it’s loud enough for Mia to hear him.

  She runs to the top of the stairs. “Are you coming back tomorrow?” she asks. “Are you going to finish the stairs?”

  Logan just smiles. “I’ll wait until your mom’s ready for more noise and mess in her house.” He gives her a nod and then looks at me. “Birdie.”

  He says my name, and Mia runs back to her room, calling out for me to come see what she made with Zoey. Bag in hand, he heads toward the front door but stops before he leaves. He turns to me, and those intense eyes meet mine.

  “You said something earlier,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “That you’re not this. That you’re more than this.” He presses his lips together. “You’re not the only one who feels that way about their life. Sometimes, the sum of the parts doesn’t look like much more than a pile of shit. But that doesn’t mean the parts are bad. You might just need to reassemble. That’s what I’m trying to do.” He looks down at his feet and then yanks open the door. “You know how to reach me,” he says.

  And then he’s gone.

  I lock the door behind him and wander into the kitchen. His friend Alice has left a small assortment of sandwiches and a large salad in my fridge. My stomach gurgles at the food, but first, I want to check on my baby.

  I don’t know why I’m so irritable, so sensitive. Maybe it’s the stress of the last twenty-four hours. But something about my feelings doesn’t feel right. Under normal circumstances, I would have been the first person to invite these people in. To make small talk and enjoy the company. I miss the days when Mom would have friends over after work, older ladies, mostly widows or divorcées. Mom never dated after Dad, but she had a crocheting circle, volunteer groups… She wouldn’t have shut down strangers in her house for any reason.

  I miss her presence more than ever. I walk up the smooth stairs, marveling at how quickly he removed the carpeting. And I slept through the whole thing. When I make it upstairs, I tap on Mia’s door and plop down beside her on the bed.

  “What a day, huh, kiddo? Want to tell me everything?”

  Mia is drawing something incredibly complex, and I lean over to look.

  “Is this what you did with…what was her name?” I can’t believe I can’t remember the little girl’s name… Shit. “Zoey.”

  Memory loss, mood changes. It’s hard to deny that I’m dealing with a mild concussion. No matter how badly I want to be totally fine and normal, I’m not.

  “Yes. Look, Mama.” Laid out on Mia’s bed are a dozen sheets of paper with pencil drawings made by two different hands. I can make out the distinctive drawings that Mia made, the eyes of all the characters big and round, and I assume the other elements were made by Zoey.

  I’m trying to make out what all the characters are doing, but Mia walks me through each frame.

  “We wrote a story.” She traces the animals and figures that Zoey drew, reverently explaining that Zoey is older and has a better grasp on animal anatomy than Mia does. They drew page after page—together on the same sheet of paper. Artwork illustrating an adventure between a little girl who doesn’t have a best friend and who is on the hunt to find one. She tries riding an elephant and playing with dolphins, but the girl’s story isn’t finished. The kids ran out of time.

  “So, does the little girl find her best friend?” I ask, stroking my daughter’s hair. I feel I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from her.

  “I hope so, but Zoey and I have a lot more to draw before the end. Can she come back this weekend, Mama? Please,” she begs, more intently this time.

  Whoever these people are, whatever I did to bring them into my life, I close my eyes and nod.

  It may be hard for me to accept help, to welcome new people into the mess that is my life, but Mia is that little girl without a best friend. And Zoey probably is too in some ways. If life brought someone to us who can fill that role, there’s no chance I’m going to stand in their way.

  I pick up my phone and compose a text to Logan, making plans for the weekend.

  9

  CROW

  When Saturday rolls around, I’m up before sunrise. I’m in the kitchen of the compound, making some coffee and trying not to get ahead of myself.

  Today, I’m starting the repair to Birdie’s stairs.

  We’ve been texting every day since I pulled the carpeting off her stairs. Nothing big. Me checking in on her. Talking about my day. Getting caught up on how she’s been feeling. She sent Mia back to school with some carpooling help from the other moms and has set up all her doctor appointments for the coming weeks. She’s been resting, and even though it’s only been a few days, she’s feeling well enough to think about trying to find a job.

  I think it’s too soon. The ER doc said a week to ten days, so when I see her today, my plan is to let her know how I feel. She only gets one chance to heal from a concussion, and rushing it…

  At the same time, I know what being unemployed means. She’s got a house that, I don’t know, probably has a mortgage and a kid who needs feeding.

  My phone buzzes with a new voice mail. I’m checking my phone when Morris rolls into the compound.

  “Yo, yo,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You ready to roll?”

  “You’re early, man.” I check the time on my phone and nod. The call was from a New York number. One I don’t recognize, so it’s not Birdie, and it’s not something I want to deal with today.

  “Tell me about it.” Morris rubs his eyes and yawns loudly. “Zoey was up at the butt-crack of dawn, begging me to take her to Mia’s. It’s Saturday, Dad. It’s Saturday. Can we leave? To have the energy of a kid.” He’s groaning, but I’ve known Morris long enough to know he’s loving every minute of it.

  “Dad?” I repeat.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles. “That never gets old. I love the sound of it every time.” He lifts his chin at me. “You thinking about kids?”

  “What?” I dump the last bit of coffee into the sink and load my mug into the dishwasher. I toss him a look. “Where the hell’s that coming from?”

  He crosses his arms over his T-shirt. He’s wearing his leather vest over it, so he looks more like the old Morris than the dad version of the brother I remember from before. That man wore leather, cursed up a storm, and could drink three times his body weight in beer. Now, I feel like I’ve got a grizzled, tattooed dad trying to give me life lessons.

  “Bridget’s single, right?”

  I slip my phone into my pocket and pull my sunglasses over my eyes. “Doesn’t matter if she is or isn’t.”

  “Why not? She’s hot, unattached, as far as you know. Great kid.”

  I know Morris is trying to make a point, but it’s having the opposite effect. “You just listed every reason she’s not going to want anything to do with me.” I look at Morris and, for the first time, admit what’s burning under the surface. “Come on, man. A guy with a record? I killed a guy. You think she’s going to want me around her kid when she finds that out? I’m just going to do the work and hopefully end up with a reference when it’s all done. Nothing more.”

  Morris shrugs. “Suit yourself. You’re not the only one who’s running from the past. A lot of people do. Maybe not from a record, but I can’t look at a single person I know who doesn’t think their shit stinks worse than everybody else’s. Maybe to her, your shit’s not all that bad.”

  “It’s early for the deep fucking thoughts, Morris.” I clap my brother on the back. “But I get it.”

  It doesn’t change anything, though. If I’d met Bridget seven years ago… Shit. Right about the time I was getting my ass locked up, she was giving birth to Mia. She’s raised a kid on her own, lost her mother… Somehow, next to that, my life seems too dark and totally out of place. I don’t see how there’s room in her life for a guy like me.

  Which is why I have to shove aside the way she makes me feel. Pretend that I’m not more excited about seeing her than I am about doing a job that could lead to more work. I’m just going to go in, no expectations. Except the expectation that I’m putting on myself now. That I do my job and do it well. That way, I probably won’t be disappointed.

  Morris drops me off in front of Bridget’s house just as Alice and Zoey are pulling up. Morris hands me the keys to his truck and meets his wife on the sidewalk. Zoey’s carrying a backpack so loaded with who knows what that she can hardly carry it, so Morris slings the backpack over one shoulder and grabs Zoey’s hand. They walk up to the front door, while Alice greets me.

  “Are you coming to Lia’s baby shower next weekend?” she asks. “You’re welcome to invite Bridget. It’ll be kid-friendly, and I think Zoey would love having Mia there.”

  I shake my head, but I don’t know what to say. Alice and Morris are clearly playing matchmaker, but they’ve got it all wrong. I give Alice a look, but then I just decide to say what’s on my mind.

  “Would you date a man like me?” I point to Zoey, who’s jumping up and down with excitement on the front stoop while they wait for Bridget to open the door. “Little kid, single mom, and a convict?”

  “Ex-convict,” she corrects me. “Crow,” she says gently. “Some of the best people I know have the worst luck. And some of the worst people look like heroes on paper.”

  I’m sure Alice is talking about her ex. The dude was manipulative and borderline abusive. I don’t think he laid a hand on her, but he had a choke hold on her soul, from what Morris says. The fact that the guy tried to burn down the building where Alice worked after he found out she’d left him tells me everything I need to know about the piece of shit. Prison is the right place for a son of a bitch like that.

  When it comes to me, though, I’m sure Alice is biased. She’s only known me a month, and everything she’s heard has been filtered through Morris.

  Alice is still looking at me with such kindness, I want to squirm. “Thanks,” I mumble, not because I really believe her, but because it’s the right thing to say.

  Then I head up to the house, where Birdie has opened the door for Morris and Zoey.