Okay, I need to take a step back and challenge all my preconceived notions…like the one where Griff received Britta’s letter advising him that he was about to be a father.

  I scrub a hand down my face and stare at my brother. Shit. I hope like hell I’m not about to betray Britta, but I think Griff has a right to know.

  “Jamie is James Tucker. His birth certificate says he’s a Stone. But it should say Reed. He’s your son. He’ll be three in July.” I whip out my phone and scroll through my pictures until I come to the ones I took the other night of him smiling while he played with his toy trucks.

  Griff grabs the phone, looking stunned and stricken and so fucking confused.

  Goddamn it, I should have known that he wasn’t the sort of man to completely ignore his own flesh and blood. Now I really regret not confronting him about this a long time ago. I’ve done both my brother and my nephew a disservice.

  “I… My son?” He’s grappling for words, staring at the picture like he still can’t fathom what he’s seeing, fingers hovering over the screen as if he wants to hold his son badly.

  “Yeah. He’s adorable. Smart. Stubborn. Loved.” I swallow. “Britta tried to tell you, I swear.”

  “She was pregnant when I walked out?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, rubbing at his temples and looking as if he’s fighting tears again. “I had no idea. Did she?”

  “I don’t know. She told me about a week after you’d gone.”

  “I have to talk to her. Now. Where is she? I know she moved after I walked out. I don’t know where she went.”

  “She didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t afford the apartment you two had,” I point out. And I can’t help the scolding note creeping into my voice. “Besides, Britta wanted a house with a yard for Jamie. I’ve been helping her with rent since she found this place.”

  He stands and throws fifty bucks on the table. “Thanks. I have to go. Where can I find her? Please tell me. I’m helping you with Keeley, man. Don’t shut me out.”

  “This isn’t necessarily a quid pro quo situation. When you didn’t respond to her news—”

  “I didn’t know,” he insists.

  “But in her eyes, you just didn’t care. You left her to give birth and raise a child alone. She says she’s moved on. I don’t know this for sure…but I’m pretty sure she got engaged tonight.”

  Griff slaps his hands on the table between us, looking somewhere between agonized and enraged. “Where. Is. She?”

  I think hard. I keep coming back to one conclusion: Britta loves him. And it looks a whole lot as if he still loves her, too. At the very least, a son deserves to know his father and decide for himself whether he wants the man in his life. Besides, if Griff hadn’t been willing to come forward to talk to me about Keeley, I’d still be a miserable son of a bitch.

  Sighing, I whip out a pen and one of my business cards. I write an address on the back and hand it over. “Go gently. You broke something in her. She’s not the same woman. And I doubt she’s alone.”

  Griff snatches the card out of my hand and claps me on the shoulder as he runs for the door. “Thanks. I’ll call you early in the morning.”

  I pick up my phone from the table and pause over my open iMessage. Tell Britta she’s got incoming…or not? Give her time to put her defenses up…or let whatever is going to happen between my brother and my assistant unfold naturally?

  I slide the phone back into my pocket and head to my condo with a little smile.

  I have my brother in my life once more. Soon, I’ll be with Keeley, too. And this time, I plan to make sure she never wants to be apart from me again.

  Keeley

  My head knows why I’m back in Maui. My heart still isn’t sure.

  The weather in Phoenix was sunny, warm, and much less humid. I had amazing Mexican food there—a must for me. The visit I shared with my mother did me so much good. She’s happy with my stepfather, Phil. She even stopped wearing the locket with my dad’s picture. She kept it because she’ll always love him. But she also said she had to give her current husband equal devotion. The sentimental part of me wanted to argue with that logic, but I can’t. She also said she tucked the locket away for another simple reason.

  Living in the past isn’t moving forward.

  She’s right, and that best explains why I decided to leave Phoenix for good.

  Oh, I had options to stay. Mom and Phil claimed they were traveled out for a while after their amazing South Pacific trip and offered to let me live in my childhood bedroom until I got on my feet. The day I arrived, I was convinced I should. I could be permanently closer to family and my roots. I could even see some friends from high school. It wasn’t as if I’d always planned to live on Maui for the rest of my life. Since my existing professors were great about working with me during my absence, I could have easily transferred my credits to Arizona State University and finished my degree as a Sun Devil. After that, I’d have been able to get a job in Phoenix that didn’t involve tourism and came with better hours.

  Best of all, if I’d stayed, I wouldn’t have Maxon Reed around to break my heart again.

  But my mom is right. Living in the past isn’t moving forward.

  I don’t belong in Phoenix anymore. The bittersweet week I spent there clarified that.

  So here I am, back in paradise. Lost.

  I’m glad that Maxon and Griff finally made up and decided to work together on the Stowe estate. They’re already marketing the property jointly to prospective buyers and getting a lot of interest, according to the younger of the Reed brothers. That’s great news. They will finally be on the road to whole hearts. My work there is done. Their future is looking up.

  Where is mine?

  I was really trying to decide that while I was in Phoenix. I started to miss the ocean and trees and the sultry breeze on my skin. I missed the incredible Asian food, the lazy pace of the days, and the quaintness of Maui. I definitely missed Griff—one of the best friends a girl could have. We talked nearly every day on the phone…but it wasn’t the same.

  I didn’t want to think about the sheer beauty of my adopted home—or that tall, infuriatingly ego-driven, looks-like-a-god Realtor I’m mad for—but I couldn’t seem to think of anything else. I still can’t. No matter how I try to shove the memories out, they creep back in. Maxon kissing me on the beach. Maxon holding my hand as we toured the amazing plantation-style house with the endless views, where I swore I could picture our future. Maxon trying to karaoke and leaning on me like a trusted partner and friend. Maxon making love to me on his bed that final, fatal night.

  I think he loves me…in his way. But being second to his ambition, to his need to win at all costs, isn’t something I can accept. I hope he understands.

  I’m disappointed that I haven’t heard from him since the night of the brothers’ reunion. Griff says Maxon was devastated about our breakup and even volunteered to give up the Stowe listing to prove how much he cares about me. That shocked me…and gave me a glimmer of hope, I admit.

  Maybe that’s the real reason I decided to return to Maui. No denying how badly I want to be with him. I’m still afraid that I’ll surrender myself and he’ll break my heart once more. But my future isn’t in Phoenix…and the romantic in me can’t stop wanting Maxon to love me enough to put me first.

  Yes, I know expecting him to change is unrealistic, which is why I’m as confused and conflicted as I was three days ago when I boarded the plane back to Maui. Since landing, I’ve picked up my phone a million times to call Maxon. And I’ve put it down again every time. I don’t want to be wrong about him. I don’t want to be hurt by him. I don’t want to know that the magical connection we once shared is gone for good.

  I’m not ready to face that.

  I glance around the little sports bar, relieved to see the surprisingly thick crowd just before I take the stage. I spot Griff in front. As I peek out from behind the curtain shielding the employees’ area, he waves. I wave back. He’s sitting alone. I try not to let disappointment overwhelm me.

  I guess that means Maxon either can’t forgive me for my well-intended lies to reconcile him and his brother or he got over me quickly.

  I should stop what-iffing because I can’t live in the past. It isn’t moving forward. Isn’t healthy.

  And trying to do it now is killing me.

  I don’t know what I expected from Maxon. More, I guess. But we were only together twenty-two days. Maybe it didn’t mean that much to him after all.

  I thought he was the love of my life. My soul mate. Actually, I have a feeling he still is—and always will be.

  It’s not his fault he didn’t feel the same.

  I meant well when I came into his life. Yes, I lied to him. I simply wanted to figure out how he felt about his brother and if he might have any forgiveness in his heart. When I got to know Maxon, I liked him. A lot. Of course, he was hot. And cocky. He was also different from anyone I’d ever dated. He made me laugh—usually with him, but sometimes at him. When he propositioned me about coming on to Griff, I realized it was the perfect way to achieve my end. Yes, I was insulted and annoyed at first. But then I saw the beautiful irony of his plan.

  Unfortunately, nothing turned out the way I thought it would.

  “Aloha, Lahaina. I’m Keeley Sunshine. I’m going to sing you some of my favorite songs, and since I’m a single girl who recently broke up with the man she loves, they’ll probably all be about heartache.”

  After a smattering of applause, the little band behind me starts, and I launch into one of the saddest songs I can think of in this moment, Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me.”

  The ballad’s melancholy melody fills the space between my ears and hits me right in the heart. Every word is enveloped in a grieving note and seems to tell my story. It’s a fight to sing without tears compromising my voice.

  I’m not even sure how I’ll make it through the end of the song. I try to focus on the subtle intricacies of the tune, my appreciation for the keyboard player Gus brought in to better fill the audial space of tonight’s set list—anything but Maxon Reed and his absence.

  The applause is somehow subdued and hearty at once. It preserves the moment. I’m weirdly grateful that the people in the bar seem to understand my mood.

  Right now, I have to revel in these small victories until I’m over Maxon and am able to appreciate the bigger ones again.

  “This is a song that I’ve been listening to a lot over the past week. I remember it from high school and didn’t quite understand it then. Now I completely comprehend the addiction Michelle Featherstone sang about.”

  The naked piano provides the sole melody for “Coffee and Cigarettes.” The bittersweet notes rake across my senses as I close my eyes and sink into the ballad that totally describes my mood in this moment, where I feel as if I’ve given up the vices I hoped would make my problems dissipate, but my pain hasn’t moved into yesterday, as the lyrics suggest it should.

  The second verse is a blur. I know it’s something about pouring booze down the kitchen drain. I’m not much of a drinker, much less a smoker, but I feel what she’s saying about the loss of something you love…and equating it to someone you miss more than anything, even if they’re bad for you. Often, the metaphor is more powerful than the straightforward explanation, so I’m grateful to music for helping me through this difficult spot in my life.

  But now we come to the part of the song where I can’t avoid admitting that I’m still blue, but I’ve finally figured out what I must quit.

  “You.”

  Some form of this sentiment repeats two times over, then I’m done with the song. It’s already hard to breathe, and holding my emotions back is getting so damn near impossible. Why didn’t I sing upbeat stuff? “Walking on Sunshine” or “I Got A Feelin’” or “Happy”?

  Probably because I would have cried through those, too. Despite what Maxon may think about my “deception,” I’m not a good liar. I only wanted the best for him and Griff. I try to be a good person and help others.

  I never imagined in a million years how badly it would mess me up.

  The small band begins the intro to the next song. I close my eyes and groan. Why did I ever imagine this was a good idea? Yes, I rasped out in the last song that I was going to quit him. It’s logical. But, for better or for worse, I’m a girl who thinks with her heart, and Plumb’s “I Want You Here” is a much closer representation of how I really feel.

  This is another sad tune with a simple piano melody. Is the keyboard the new plucker of heartstrings?

  I already know the song rolls and builds to a wrenching chorus. I doubt I’m going to make it out unscathed.

  When the lyrics start, I’m thankful the song isn’t really about romantic love. But too much of it echoes the sentiment in my heart, the fact that I can barely breathe because my ache is so deep. I’ve asked myself if it will ever heal.

  In truth, I’ve spent days pondering that question.

  I grip the mic desperately and try to hold on. I already know I have to change the whole next set. Everything I have planned is just sad and sadder. I’m a happy person by nature. I need to realize that this experience with Maxon was still valuable, even if we weren’t meant to be. He’s not my happily ever after, simply a lesson I needed to learn. I’m not sure what knowledge I was supposed to glean yet, but everything happens for a reason. I’ll figure it out someday.

  I just have to get through this last song, then I’ll fix everything—from my set list to my personal life—and start grieving in private.

  Then I sing that I’d waited so long for him to come into my life…and now he’s gone. I wasn’t prepared. I’m in agony. Maybe it sounds melodramatic, but I feel it.

  I’m devastated.

  Suddenly, I can’t see anything. My whole world is blurry. I feel wetness on my face. Hell, I’m crying in front of the whole audience, actually shedding real tears down my face. Music has always been therapy for me, and it’s probably good to get this out, but not in front of people who just want to be entertained.

  I suck.

  I’ll stick to karaoke in the future, only songs that make people smile. Things I can breeze through and not have to feel all this drag-down of pain that’s taken root in my soul.

  I’m almost done. The end of the song is close. I just have to get through the part that rips me up the most…

  I close my eyes and imagine Maxon in front of me as I sing how desperately I want him here, my voice a sorrowful cry.

  There’s a little bookend to the song that mirrors the beginning and wraps the whole thing up. I can’t sing it. I just can’t finish these lyrics. I have to get off this stage right now.

  “I’m sorry, folks. I’ll be back in thirty.”

  I try to run to the employees’ section of the bar. Griff is waiting for me by the back curtain with a hug. I tumble into his solace and hear deafening applause from the audience.

  “They liked it?” I choke.

  “Yeah. It was real and raw. It was you,” he assures with a smile as he drags me into a darker corner. “Even I felt it.”

  I’m grateful for the semi-privacy. Since the kitchen is right behind my escape drape, there really isn’t any way of being alone. So I stay with Griff. “You? But you never feel anything.”

  That makes him laugh a little. “I know. Right?”

  Wrong. Just the way he says it tells me he’s feeling something far more than nothing these days.

  “Where are you with Britta?” I change the subject.

  I’d rather talk about anyone’s problems—as long as they aren’t mine.

  His face shutters up quickly. The smile he wore becomes a grim press of lips. “She and I are going to come to an understanding. We’re not there yet, but I intend to make sure we do.”

  What Griff means is that he has some outcome in mind, that Britta isn’t cooperating, and that he’s looking for some bargaining chip to ensure that she does. She ought to know that nothing and no one can stop the Reed men once they’ve set their sights.

  On the other hand, Britta doesn’t seem like a pushover. Maybe she’ll put Griff in his place. God knows he needs it.

  “I hope you guys can work it out for the best,” I say diplomatically.

  “Me, too.” He drags me against his chest and hands me a tissue.

  “I’m sorry again that I didn’t tell you about Jamie when I first found out.” I really do feel awful about that.

  “You made the right decision. If you’d told me the night Maxon dropped the bomb on you, I would have hunted Britta down and made all sorts of demands. Maxon would have rushed to her defense. He and I would never have patched things up. Waiting another few weeks sucked…but it’s better for the long-term big picture.”

  Relief melts me. Griff wasn’t quite so understanding when we first talked about this. “Thanks for listening. I’m glad you understand.”

  “You’ve always had my back. Dry your eyes. It’s going to be all right. Hey, I think Gus booked another act to liven the place up in between your sets. Want to see?”

  “I should go to the ladies’ room and try to repair my makeup. I’m sure I’m a mess and—”

  “Three minutes,” Griff says in a tone that’s somewhere between persuasive and implacable.

  I open my mouth to argue.

  Then I hear the strains of a song I haven’t heard in exactly two weeks, since the crazy night I dragged Maxon out for karaoke.

  I tense. Freeze. Look up at Griff.

  He’s smiling, the expression between indulgent and superior. He knows what’s up.

  “This is for the beautiful woman I stupidly hurt. I could tell her that I love her but those are just words, and she deserves more.”

  My heart catches. I’d know that voice anywhere—in my sleep, a million miles from civilization, moments from death.

  Maxon Reed.

  With a gasp, I turn around and see him standing on the stage, holding the mic as the strains of the song continue to bloom in my ears.