I make a big show of being shocked when I discover him standing right beneath me.

  “There you are.”

  Donna shoots me a conspiratorial smile on her way out of the kitchen with her coffee mug in hand, and I lift Caleb up to strap him into his high chair. At this age, he’s fine sitting in a regular chair, but breakfast runs a lot smoother when he’s strapped in and has no chance of running around the kitchen like a wild banshee.

  After I cut up some fruit and drop it onto his tray, I scramble some eggs for the two of us then blend up a smoothie that he drinks down in three big gulps.

  He has a green mustache, and I tell him he looks handsome.

  He really is the cutest kid I’ve ever seen, and I don’t care that I’m biased; it’s a fact. He has dark skin and hair and eyebrows and these long lashes that highlight a pair of huge hazel eyes. He’s all cheeks and big smiles and curly hair. Shelby says he looks just like me, and I’m starting to see it.

  “Where should we go this morning? The park?”

  “Daddy,” he says, pointing to me.

  “Yeah, I’m staying with you.”

  He grins and looks back down at his fruit, smashing a good bit of strawberries into his pudgy palm then shoving it all into his mouth in one go.

  “Small bites, Caleb. Small bites.”

  He completely ignores me and goes right back to acting like a Hoover vacuum.

  I set more food down on his high chair tray, and he gobbles up every morsel of it. I think he’d keep on going forever if I didn’t stop him.

  “Trying to outgrow your dad?” I tease.

  Once he’s done eating, I lift him up and carry him to the sink to rinse off his hands and face. After, I dress him quickly. It’s a no-brainer on what he wants to wear: it’s Lightning McQueen or nothing in this house. I grab his hat, some sunscreen and bug spray, and extra diapers and wipes. When I’m with Caleb, I can’t leave the house without a whole damn arsenal of supplies, but I’ve learned it’s better to just take everything. I have a black backpack I use as a diaper bag, and I toss it into the front seat of my Range Rover as Donna buckles Caleb into the back seat.

  “I’ll have lunch ready for you both if you call me on your way home.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you know. We might eat out. I don’t have to be with the team until 1:30.”

  Out on my driveway, two security guards nod at me then hop into their respective SUV. They know to follow me. They’re always with me, especially when I have Caleb. I’ve had to keep security even tighter than usual since he was born. I don’t post images of him online, and I’m careful where I take him. If I had it my way, I’d keep him safe and sound at home at all times, but I know that’s no way for a kid to live, so today, I go out on a limb and decide to take him to my gated neighborhood’s private park. Paparazzi and press can’t get through the gates that surround my neighborhood, but there’s always the chance that helicopters could be circling overhead. I check the skies, anticipating them, but I think we’re lucky Caleb likes to wake up at the crack of dawn. We might have a little peace and quiet this morning.

  The park is deserted and my security guards hover near the street, giving me some privacy with Caleb. Even still, Caleb can’t resist picking flowers and running them back over to the guys.

  “Dunk-Dunk,” he says, holding one up for Duncan, my head of security.

  It’s pretty hilarious to see a guy with about three hundred pounds of muscle accept a tiny yellow daisy and tuck it into his suit pocket.

  “Thanks, Caleb,” Duncan says, all business, before he scans the perimeter of the park.

  After we’re there playing alone for a while, going up and down the slides, I glance up to see a woman pushing two toddlers in a stroller. I recognize her from around the neighborhood, and she’s always been polite and distant. Caleb has played with her son before, and he’s as eager as ever when he sees the little boy climb out of his seat and run toward the playground. Caleb trots right after him.

  Duncan looks to me for input, and I shake my head. I don’t think we need to have a discussion with the boy’s mom. She doesn’t have her phone out, and this neighborhood is filled with people who value privacy. There’s a reason we live behind two gates and multiple guard houses. Everyone is here for the same goal.

  I take a seat on the park bench after waving at the woman. She waves back but gives me distance, which I appreciate. I’m not really in a talkative mood. I like watching Caleb chase the little boy around to the stairs, climb up, and then slip down the slide. They go one after the other, over and over again before settling in the grass babbling to each other.

  I grab my phone out of my pocket, telling myself I’m going to check my texts, but I actually click on the maps icon, typing in the address to the Cahill Center and checking to see how long it would take me to drive there from Beverly Hills. Half an hour. That’s nothing.

  I consider it, and it fills me with a complicated combination of anxiety and excitement. I stuff my phone back into the pocket of my jeans and lean forward, dropping my forearms on my thighs.

  It would be insane, right?

  Showing up to see her?

  What the fuck would I say?

  I laugh out loud to myself, and the woman looks at me from across the playground like I’m utterly crazy.

  Guess what? Apparently I am. Because fuck. I’m doing it.

  I just have to figure out how.

  I can’t drive over to see Raelynn right now on a whim. For one, I have Caleb with me. I haven’t thought about how I want to introduce him to women I’m seeing—I’ve never had to deal with that issue—but it’s not the sort of thing I want to spring on him, or Raelynn. He shouldn’t be involved when I go to meet her for the first time. Second, I have to contend with my celebrity. As much as I wish I could, I can’t just walk freely onto a college campus. Not even my security detail would be able to keep the crowds at bay.

  In Pine Hill, I could get away with pretending to be a normal person, but in Los Angeles, there’s no way. Maybe if I dropped my security, I could blend in better, but then I’d be on my own, and things tend to escalate quickly around excited fans no matter how well meaning they are.

  I could never admit it aloud because it would be misprinted and misinterpreted a thousand different ways, but at this point in my career, more than appreciating my fame, I feel imprisoned by it. Every simple act from going to the grocery store to running through a drive-through line is impossible. I can’t live outside of a tight set of parameters, and part of me wonders if that’s why Texas was so memorable. With Raelynn, it was like I could press the reset button. To her, I was just Ben, and looking back, those few weeks seem too good to be true, like maybe it was all just a dream. I want to press the issue. I want to see her now, here, in California.

  The fact that I can’t just drop everything and go find her, talk to her—hell, just see her—makes me all the more eager to do so.

  I’m forced to sit on the idea. I hang with Caleb at the park the rest of the morning, and we head back to eat the lunch Donna makes us. After, I go in to watch film and run drills with my team, and then I make it home in time to tuck Caleb into bed. While I sit at my dining table, eating alone, I think about my options for contacting Raelynn. I can’t drop the idea of seeing her.

  I let two days pass, play and win another game against Sacramento Tuesday night, drop Caleb with Shelby and Mike Wednesday afternoon, and then tell Duncan he and I will take my car out the following morning, just him and me.

  “Where to?”

  “Caltech campus.”

  “Alright. I’ll have Lee and Nikko tail us.”

  I frown. “That’s fine, but I’d like them to stay in their car once we arrive.”

  “We’ll have to see what the situation’s like. I’m sure I could be more helpful if you told me what you’re planning. Will you meet with the coach or players? Is this a university event? I didn’t see it on the schedule.”

  He thinks this is basketball-related, and that’s fine. I’m not prepared to tell him the truth. It’s not a well-formed plan. In fact it’s…mostly idiotic, and I don’t need him to confirm that for me.

  “It’s personal.”

  He nods, understanding. “Then Lee and Nikko will remain in a car close by. Let me know when you’d like to leave.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Raelynn

  After Professor Olmsted’s class on Thursday, I have a dozen students block my way to the door with questions. Most of them would be answered if only they’d read the syllabus, but I feel bad saying that. The sheer desperation in their eyes is a familiar feeling for me, so I’ll respond to each inquiry, but I’ll do it while on the move. It’s lunch time and I’m starving, and I want to get some fresh air. I’ll be stuck in the lab all afternoon, hunched over a computer.

  “And is the final cumulative?” a student asks, walking fast to keep up with me as I head out into the hall.

  “Yes. Professor Olmsted has gone over that.”

  “How many review sessions will there be?” another student asks, holding his phone up so he can take rapid-fire notes on whatever I say.

  “At least two. Check your email over the coming weeks, I’ll send out the dates and times for both sessions. If neither works with your schedule, let me know and we’ll figure something out.”

  “And do you think she’ll really include—”

  I have no choice but to turn and cut them off; by now we’ve walked far enough that we’ve lost the lazy ones. The students standing in front of me are the absolute cream of the crop, the try-hard geniuses. “Listen, you all have good grades in this class. Unless there’s an earth-ending meteor or something, I have no doubt you’ll all finish on top. Stop overthinking it.”

  The student closest to me—Neal, I think his name is—laughs and shakes his head. “Right. Yeah, okay.” I think I’ve finally gotten through to him, but then his wide, frantic eyes meet mine again. “Concerning the group project—”

  Lord have mercy.

  I finally feign a bathroom emergency just to get away from them. I wait in there for a few minutes, until I know for sure the coast is clear. Then, finally, I’m free.

  I take the stairs down from the third floor and push open the side door. Blinding California sun instantly warms me, and I can’t resist the shiver of pleasure that runs down my spine. All day, I’m freezing. I swear they keep these buildings below zero. I peel off my sweatshirt and start to thaw as I walk toward a large cluster of oak trees in the Cahill courtyard. It’s a nice little pocket of green space surrounded by the building on all sides. Over the years, it’s become less organized and more overgrown, as if the university landscapers have accidentally abandoned it. It’s where I eat my lunch during the week, and it feels like it belongs solely to me. It’s a nice secluded spot compared to other parts of campus, but today, I’m disappointed to see that my usual bench by the fountain is occupied by two guys. The secret’s out about the courtyard, apparently.

  I peer over at them as I walk closer, trying to decide if I should take the bench across from theirs or head back inside and cut my losses. If I go over to sit by them, I run the risk that they won’t mind their own business. I hate the idea of having to endure awkward small talk with strangers during my one-hour lunch break. Or worse than that, they could be students from Professor Olmsted’s class, here to demand more answers from me.

  To better assess my odds, I give them both a surreptitious once-over and nearly trip over my feet when I do. Jeez, they stand out. For one, they’re both super tall. For two, they’re definitely not dressed like normal students on a college campus. The bigger one is wearing an all-black suit, for Christ’s sake. Is he in the Secret Service or something? Am I about to meet the president?

  When they notice me, the bigger one stands up and nods to his friend, who is wearing a black baseball cap and is hunched over with his elbows on his knees. I frown as a weird trickle of awareness makes me stop dead in my tracks.

  I look between the two of them rapidly, trying to process, trying to comprehend how this could possibly be, and then I flinch when I get a better look at the guy in the hat. A guy I immediately recognize.

  Clarity sinks into my stomach like a two-ton boulder.

  Ben stays sitting on the bench as his suited friend passes me by and disappears back inside the building. We both stay perfectly still. Outwardly, I’m a statue, but inside, my body riots. My heart races and leaps, trying to make sense of the fact that Ben is sitting in front of me, flesh and blood. Real.

  For so long, we just stare at each other, looking, appreciating, cataloguing, grasping, waiting for the other to disappear into a cloud of smoke.

  He’s wearing jeans and an unassuming gray t-shirt. Sunglasses rest on the bench beside him, and I wonder if he wore them, along with the hat, to better disguise himself. He has a bit of scruff that does a poor job of softening his sharp jaw, but I’m focused on his eyes. The ones that always used to carry a hint of sadness. The same eyes that drew me in from the very beginning.

  I finally start to walk again, going right to the bench beside his, and I drop my book bag down onto it with a heavy thunk.

  Ben sits up and leans back, and even though I’m watching him do it, he keeps right on inspecting every inch of me. He doesn’t even care that I’m observing him soak me in. There’s a confidence and a laziness to it, like he’s telling me he’s waited all this time and wants a good long look at me. I endure it, trying not to fidget. Finally, his brown eyes meet mine, and my stomach squeezes.

  “How’s your nan?”

  I wince and look away, surprised that’s his first question. Emotions, raw and tender, still live so close to the surface I can barely whisper, “She passed away.”

  “When?” he says, sounding more distressed than I anticipated.

  “Not long after you left.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a few long beats. Birds circle each other, chirping near the fountain. Then finally, he tells me sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head, not quite up to the task of talking as I take a seat on my bench. Finally, the lump in my throat eases. “It was quick. Better than it could have been.”

  “Still…”

  He doesn’t have to go on for me to know what he’s trying to say. I finally peer back over, willing him to be less intimidating than he seemed a few moments ago.

  Sadly, he’s not.

  “How’d you know to find me here?”

  “I didn’t, actually.”

  I frown in confusion.

  He looks between me and the building behind me. “I knew you had a class in the Cahill Center. I looked it up, but once I got here, I realized I couldn’t just walk in, not during the lecture. I was trying to figure out what to do—how to find you—when you walked out here.”

  Genuine luck. We haven’t had much of that in the past.

  “Well, you happen to be sitting in my favorite spot.”

  He glances around the courtyard, assessing it with careful attention.

  “It could use some love,” he notes.

  Yeah, well, couldn’t we all…

  “I like it,” I say, a bit defensively.

  “So do I,” he says seriously, his gaze flitting back to me.

  An unexpected pang of sadness and yearning settles over me.

  God, why does it have to be like this?

  I’d hoped I would run into him someday and get another conversation, maybe even one more night, but this isn’t how I imagined it would go. This isn’t carefree or fun. This isn’t one last hurrah between old lovers. This feels like I’m rubbing salt in an open wound. I realize now, to my chagrin, that my heart just doesn’t stand a chance against Ben. I’m right back in that diner dress, heart on my sleeve, desperate and hopeful.

  I force myself to look away and sit up straighter, pretend to be okay so I don’t have to pick my dignity up off the floor later, after he leaves.

  “If you’re wondering how I’m doing, I’m fine. Back in school, just like you wanted. Working on my master’s degree.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, but that’s not the only reason I drove out here to talk to you. Yes, I wanted to check on you, of course, but…”

  Nerves wash over me. I grip the edge of the bench, staring down at the worn path at my feet.

  More silence reigns. We’re both squirming and uncomfortable, dragging out this awkward moment and making it worse. Why is it so hard to see him again? Why can’t I just treat him as I would a friend?

  I swear I hear him curse quietly under his breath, and then he quickly asks, “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

  My wide-eyed gaze darts up to him then shyly falls right back to my feet.

  I shake my head slowly and gulp down a million questions.

  Why does he care? Why does it matter?

  Please, Ben, don’t do this to me again.

  “Are—are you?” I ask after mustering an ounce of courage.

  He shakes his head and I lean forward off the bench, hopeful despite all the warning bells blaring in my head.

  “What about Shelby?”

  He frowns. “What about her? She’s married.”

  And then suddenly I remember the most important question of all, the question I’ve been dying to know the answer to for the last year and a half. “And the baby?”

  He nods. “Caleb. My son.”

  I smile, and for the first time since I recognized him here in the courtyard, I feel weightless. “Congratulations.”

  He nods, studying me curiously. “Haven’t you looked me up online? You could have learned about Caleb. Seen him, probably. I try to keep him out of the public eye, but I’m sure people snap photos of him without my consent all the time.”

  My stomach squeezes in anger. “I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine what that must feel like. And no, I don’t look you up. I did…briefly in the beginning, but then I learned it’s better not to. There’s a lot of information out there about someone like you. A lot. Some of it is silly innocuous stuff, like which brand of coffee you prefer. But there’s other stuff too.” I can’t keep the sour expression off my face. “Things I didn’t like looking at, gossip about suspected girlfriends…”