Jordan shakes his head. “Don’t mind her. It’s just her hormones.”

  I nod and open the front door.

  Darby and Nana stand off to the side videotaping me, but I’m … I’m so fucking speechless I can hardly breathe.

  “Patrick.”

  I blink my eyes trying to register what I’m seeing as I hear my name from a familiar voice. This can’t be … there’s just no way … they’re … dead …

  “Son.” Another familiar voice.

  I shake my head and start to cry like a fucking baby … but I can’t help it. “Mom? Dad?”

  My dad hugs me and I fist the back of his coat like a young child. “We’re so sorry, son.” His voice breaks.

  I release him and lean down to hug my mom—in a wheelchair. “Mom.”

  Her voice is helpless against her tears, so she just wraps one arm around me and kisses my cheek. My parents, they’re alive. I just don’t get it. I clench my fists to feel my nails dig into my palms—to confirm I’m alive and experiencing this surreal moment.

  “Maybe you should invite them in,” Darby suggests, chasing her own tears with a tissue.

  I help my dad get her wheelchair inside. Then I grab my wife and hug her so hard I think I could break her. “My God, I love you. I don’t know how they’re even here or what you did but—”

  She kisses me. “They’re here for you … we’re all here for you.” She smiles past her tears. “From the very first time you told me about them, I just couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that maybe they didn’t die.”

  This feels like an out-of-body experience. I haven’t felt so disoriented and confused since I’ve been sober and clean. We make our way to the living room where everyone takes a seat—Darby on my lap.

  “Alice, Ray, I’d like you to meet Tamsen, Jordan, and Lyla. And this is Grady and Abel.” My wife introduces everyone to my parents when I should be introducing my parents to my wife.

  My dad scoots to the edge of the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, Darby’s shared our story … with everyone but you, son. We wanted to be the ones to tell you.”

  Darby interlaces her fingers with mine.

  “Your mom was sick. We didn’t know what it was, but she kept having seizures and migraines.” My dad, the strongest person I have ever known, chokes on his own words while my mom rubs his back. “You were fifteen and in school with friends, and we knew you’d be fine. By that point you had been taking care of us more than we were taking care of you. Somedays we felt like a burden. We knew eventually your talent would take you places, get you off the street. It was the hardest decision of my life. I knew if I told you, you’d insist on coming too, but I didn’t think they’d accept you. I didn’t think they’d accept me.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Your mother’s parents—your grandparents. I got enough money to get us on a bus to Minnesota. I was taking her home, praying to God that her parents would take her in and help her—save her life. I knew they hated me and so I was willing to leave her if they would agree to help her. They agreed to get her the medical help she needed and they even let me stay; although it wasn’t easy for any of us.

  She was diagnosed with a brain tumor. They removed it and by some miracle it was benign, but in the process of removing it there was nerve damage. She lost feeling in her left arm and leg. It’s taken years of therapy to get her speech back and now she has some movement on her left side but not enough to get her out of the wheel chair yet. By the time we felt like we had the money to come back and find you, you were gone and nobody knew where you went.” He clears his throat as everyone else in the room wipes their eyes. “Pastor Edwards told us about your accident and memory loss. He said one day you were asking questions about your past and the next day you were gone—no goodbye, no forwarding address, nothing.”

  “We thought we’d lost you forever,” my mom whispers through her soft cries. “Until the private investigator showed up.”

  I look at Darby. She grins with a guilty shrug.

  “My parents are both dead now and your dad and I are living in Des Moines. I just don’t know how Darby did it, but I thank God she did.” My mom looks at Darby with such love.

  I squeeze her, kissing her neck.

  “We did it.” Darby looks around the room, and I can tell she’s in awe of the people who are now our family.

  All these years I let myself believe I was orphaned at the age of fifteen. It was too painful and unimaginable to believe my parents abandoned me. I’m not sure twelve years ago I would have understood. They never felt like a burden to me. But now I know what it means to love someone more than life itself, the way my father has loved my mother. I will forever feel honored to be Raymond Roth’s son.

  “I-I don’t know what to say. I still can’t believe you’re here.”

  Everyone smiles at me, and as if on cue, Lyla yells, “Presents!”

  We all laugh and agree to open presents before eating. I don’t take notice of anything that’s being opened, even when Darby bounces on my lap after opening the certificate for the spa getaway. I’m not sure how long it’s going to take for the shock to wear off. I still swear this is a dream.

  “Here, Patrick.” My mom holds out a small box and Lyla brings it to me.

  “You didn’t need to get me anything. My God, you are the gift.”

  My mom smiles. “It’s not from us, but it’s for us too.”

  I squint, not understanding, but my brain is fried so I don’t question it. For the second time this morning, all eyes are on me and the room falls silent. I tear off the wrapping paper. It’s a long gold box. I think it’s the box from Darby’s bracelet that I gave her for our anniversary. I open the lid.

  It takes me a few long moments to let everything about this day sink in. I look up at Darby, fighting back those fucking tears again. “Yeah?”

  She nods, allowing her honest emotions to flow freely down her cheeks. “Merry Christmas, husband.”

  I fist her hair and kiss her senseless as our family laughs and cries together in celebration. Releasing her lips, I rub the tip of my nose against hers. “Mommy,” I whisper.

  I have the whole world on my lap, beaming at me with an enormous smile. Burying her face in my neck, she whispers back to me, “Daddy.”

  The End

  Author’s Note

  DEAR READER,

  Thank you for reading Only Trick! I would love for you to share your thoughts. Please consider writing a review; I value your suggestions and feedback.

  A special note: The word “sinceriously” is used in this book in support of Stephen Amell’s campaign to raise awareness for Stand for the Silent and Paws and Stripes.

  adverb

  1. the ability to speak freely, openly, and honestly; about anything: if you’re going to say something, say it sinceriously.

  2. to initiate any action while spreading as much good karma as possible.

  For information on upcoming books, exclusive excerpts, and giveaways please subscribe to my newsletter.

  jeweleann.com

  Also by Jewel E. Ann

  Holding You Series

  HOLDING YOU

  RELEASING ME

  * * *

  Jack and Jill Series

  END OF DAY

  MIDDLE OF KNIGHT

  DAWN OF FOREVER

  * * *

  Transcend Duet

  TRANSCEND

  EPOCH

  * * *

  Stand-Alone Novels

  IDLE BLOOM

  UNDENIABLY YOU

  ONE

  SCARLET STONE

  WHEN LIFE HAPPENED

  LOOK THE PART

  A PLACE WITHOUT YOU

  About the Author

  Jewel is a free-spirited romance junkie with a quirky sense of humor.

  With 10 years of flossing lectures under her belt, she took early retirement from her dental hygiene career to stay home with her three awesome boys and manage the family business.

  After her best friend of nearly 30 years suggested a few books from the Contemporary Romance genre, Jewel was hooked. Devouring two and three books a week but still craving more, she decided to practice sustainable reading, AKA writing.

  When she’s not donning her cape and saving the planet one tree at a time, she enjoys yoga with friends, good food with family, rock climbing with her kids, watching How I Met Your Mother reruns, and of course…heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, panty-scorching novels.

  Wrong

  Jana Aston

  WRONG

  Copyright © 2015 by Jana Aston

  ISBN 978-0-692-52777-1

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Edited by RJ Locksley

  This book is dedicated to Kristi Carol for putting up with my insecurities all year. Beverly Tubb for loving the first draft more than I did.

  Chapter One

  “Sophie, your favorite customer is here." Everly snaps a towel on my ass and grins at me.

  "Everly, shut up! He'll hear you."

  Fuck, I'm already blushing. Luke. He comes into the coffee shop every Tuesday morning. It's the highlight of my morning shift at Grind Me, a coffee shop just off campus. I work around my classes at the University of Pennsylvania. The Grind Me location I work at caters mainly to professionals and students living in off-campus apartments.

  Luke definitely falls into the professional category. I'm not sure what he does, but he strolls into Grind Me in very expensive-looking suits and sharp ties. Nothing like the college boys in athletic pants and graphic-print tee shirts. He must be ten, fifteen years older than me. It doesn't matter. He's beautiful and I have a bit of a thing for him, which is bad because I have a boyfriend. An age-appropriate boyfriend. But it's just a harmless crush, right?

  But Luke… he makes my panties wet just ordering coffee. He's tall, over six feet by my estimate. Thick dark hair, brown eyes and eyelashes any girl would kill for. He's wearing a dark gray suit today with a plum-colored tie. Fucking swoon.

  His hands, I'm a little obsessed with them. Long fingers ending in short, impeccably clean nails. They just look… capable. I have a lot of fantasies involving his hands and my body. He's gotta know what he's doing with those hands. I bet he could get me off in minutes—those perfect fingers would know just where to curve while his thumb pressed down on my clit. He could probably make me come one-handed while he finished a phone call on his cell with the other.

  I have a lot of fantasies about Luke based on nothing more than pouring him a cup of coffee every Tuesday and ringing him up. Always cash. I have no idea what his last name is. I wouldn't even know his first name if I hadn't listened in to one of his calls while he pulled a twenty from his wallet. "It's Luke, tell Dr. Kallam it's urgent, I'll hold."

  Unfortunately, I don't think my fantasies are returned. I don't think he'd even know my name if it wasn't stamped in bold on a pin stuck to the front of my apron.

  "Sophie." He always addresses me by name. Good morning, Sophie. I'll have the dark roast, Sophie. I think you have a bit of whipped cream on your nose, Sophie. That stuff splatters, okay? "Sophie?" Oh, shit. Has he been talking to me while I fantasized?

  "Sorry! Um, daydreaming." He smirks at me. Bastard. "Large dark roast?"

  "Please." He slides a five-dollar bill across the counter. "Have a great day, Sophie." He smiles again as he turns and strolls out of the shop. I watch him walk, free to eye-fuck him without being caught. The door jingles shut behind him but I keep watching until he's out of sight.

  "Whew, that was hot." Everly fans herself with a takeout bag. "Sexual tension. Is it warm in here?"

  "Stop it."

  She loves teasing me. We go through this every week. He must hear her snickering in the background. And she ensures I'm the one who waits on him every time. If she's at the counter when he arrives she immediately finds something else to do so she can step back and watch me ogle him. It's embarrassingly obvious.

  "Enough of the mysterious hottie. Are you going to put out and fuck Mike or not? You've made him wait like, a month? That's a long time in horny college-boy time. Plus, you're the oldest virgin on campus. Not even our campus. All the campuses."

  "It's not my fault I dated a gay guy for two years." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and cross my arms across my chest. I'm a little defensive about this.

  "Hello? Earth to delusional. You didn't find it odd you were dating a twenty-year-old guy who never tried to stick his dick in you?" Everly dumps beans into the industrial-sized grinder and raises a skeptical eyebrow in my direction. I hand her a stack of one-pound Grind Me bags labeled for individual sale and lean against the opposite counter.

  "I thought he respected me, not that he was afraid of vaginas," I tell her, kicking the rubber mat on the floor over an inch. "He let me suck him off." I add this in, hoping it's a valid point in my defense.

  Everly snorts. "Yeah, with the lights off."

  I bite my lip and look away.

  "Oh my God! I was joking. I'm so sorry, Sophie. Shit, seriously? Guys love to watch themselves get sucked. But Scott was probably picturing a dude while his dick was in your mouth, so… Oh, fuck. I’m making this worse." Everly drops the coffee bag under the dispenser. Beans scatter across the counter and drop to the floor while she grabs me into a giant hug. "Lots of guys would love to fuck you, Sophie. I promise. Like Luke. That guy would love to stick it in you, he's just concerned you're jailbait. But you should start with Mike anyway. Tall, dark and handsome looks like he's packing a donkey dick."

  "You've got a really charming way with words, Everly. You should write a book or something." I break out of her hug and grab the broom to sweep the coffee beans off the floor.

  "Anyway, it's a go with Mike, right? Just get it over with. Mike will do, he's hot. I'd fuck him."

  "Everly!"

  "I wouldn't do him without a condom though. Safety first. And tell me you made an appointment with the student clinic. You should always have two forms of birth control, because I'm not ready to be a grandmother." Everly hops up onto the back counter and watches me sweep. "You missed a few to your left."

  "Everly, you're twenty-one and we're not related. You wouldn't be the grandmother."

  "Whatever. Semantics."

  "That's not what semantics means. What are you majoring in again?" I glance over as she swipes a muffin from the bakery case and peels the wrapper back.

  "I'm majoring in Professor Camden," she replies around a mouthful of muffin. "Which is better than this muffin. Jesus. Who pays for this crap?"

  "Not you, clearly," I observe as she tosses the muffin into the trash. "Yes. I have an appointment at the clinic today after shift. I shaved my legs and everything." I pull an elastic from my wrist and gather my long brown hair into a ponytail before bending down to sweep Everly's mess into a dustpan.

  "What about your vagina? Did you shave that?" Everly reaches back into the bakery case and extracts a brownie covered in caramel.

  "Noooo," I respond slowly. "I don't think the gynecologist will expect me to be bald. Right?"

  "Holy fuck. This brownie. Now this is good. Orgasmic good. How much are we charging for these things?" I'm guessing she doesn't care because she doesn't stop talking or check the shelf tag for a price. "Oh my God. Do you want a bite?" I shake my head no and she continues.

  "I can't wait for you to have an orgasm. Not a brownie orgasm, a penis orgasm. Which you won't have this weekend unless Mike is really, really talented. Which he's not old enough to be, trust me. But that fucker better make you come with his tongue or fingers before he sticks it in you. ’Cause that is not going to feel great the first time or two. So yeah, Mike might want you bald. I'll hook you up with my girl Leah. Her waxing skills, amaze."

  She drops the half-eaten brownie on the counter and pulls her cell phone from her pocket while I’m distracted with a customer. By the time I finish making a medium vanilla hazelnut latte and turn back to Everly, she's finished her phone call and gone back to devouring the brownie.

  "You're all set. Thursday. I texted you the address. You're welcome."

  "Everly! I never agreed to get waxed."

  "Don't be a pussy. The gynecologist is more uncomfortable than a waxing. You're going to love it, trust me. The friction is so much better during sex. God." She smiles. "Plus even in your jeans. I swear you're going to be horny all day Friday with your bare vagina rubbing against your jeans."

  I shake my head. "This conversation is so wrong."

  "What are you girls talking about? Naked pillow fights at the dorm?"

  "Shut up, Jeff." Everly doesn't even look up from her brownie.

  "You can't speak to me that way, Everly. I'm your manager, it's insubordination." Jeff is a senior at the university, just like we are. His father owns this little chain of coffee shops and gave Jeff this one to manage.

  "You can't sexually harass us either, yet you do. Why don't I conference-call your daddy and we can discuss my sexual harassment lawsuit while you lodge your insubordination complaint?”

  "Fine," Jeff mutters. "At least get off the counter. And write down all the food you steal on the stale list. My inventory is always off when you work." He turns around and heads back into his office. It's not really an office, it's a desk he set up in the stock room—complete with an executive chair he picked up at Costco one weekend, dragging it through the back door like he was setting up shop to run a small empire, not manage other college students at a coffee house.