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The Better Man
Amy Vastine


This might be his last chance at fatherhood… Kendall Montgomery's six-year-old son has barely spoken in the past year, locked in his world of silent grief. Then one day, he spots his dead father across a crowded street.Max Jordan moved to Chicago to be closer to his own son and prove he can be a better father than his deadbeat dad. His striking resemblance to Kendall's husband and his track record with fatherhood make her determined to keep her distance…until Max helps her little boy come out of his shell. But can she trust him with their future? How can she be sure he won't take off just when they need him most?







This might be his last chance at fatherhood…

Kendall Montgomery’s six-year-old son has barely spoken in the past year, locked in his world of silent grief. Then one day, he spots his dead father across a crowded street.

Max Jordan moved to Chicago to be closer to his own son and prove he can be a better father than his deadbeat dad. His striking resemblance to Kendall’s husband and his track record with fatherhood make her determined to keep her distance…until Max helps her little boy come out of his shell. But can she trust him with their future? How can she be sure he won’t take off just when they need him most?


“You remind Simon of his father. You kind of look like him.”

Kendall almost laughed at her gross understatement. It felt too strange to tell Max the whole truth.

“Simon told me—” Max paused, shifting his gaze to his feet before peeking back at Kendall “—about his dad. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The strain of the day, combined with the way Max’s face messed with her head, left her speechless and overcome with emotion.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry.” He gently wiped a tear from her cheek with his fingers. The physical contact caught her off guard. It was so familiar, yet not. It made her want to cry harder. “I didn’t mean to—”

Kendall shook her head and stepped back, out of reach. She couldn’t let him get too close. “I’m fine,” she lied. She hadn’t been fine in a long time. “I better get home. Have a good night.”

He didn’t stop her from going, but he looked like he wanted to.


Dear Reader (#ulink_464f6121-f4cf-5d43-8905-1970c2b9094d),

My career in social work has placed me in the lives of many children and families in the middle of crisis. I’ve worked with children, like Simon in The Better Man, dealing with the death of a parent or struggling with school anxiety. I’ve seen the toll it takes not only on the child but the entire family.

The Better Man is a story about parents trying to do right by their children and ultimately themselves. Kendall and Max both feel lost and are afraid to trust. The pain their kids feel is their pain, as well. It’s not until they open their hearts that the real healing can begin.

Time and time again, I have witnessed people find their way out of the darkness. I wanted to write a story about characters who do just that. Overcome. Persevere. Start again. Kendall and Max aren’t perfect. They’re flawed just like the rest of us. But by trusting one another, they find a way to be better than they were.

Thank you for joining me on their journey of love and self-acceptance. I hope you enjoy the story and come visit me at www.amyvastine.com (http://www.amyvastine.com)!

Amy Vastine




The Better Man

Amy Vastine





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


AMY VASTINE

has been plotting stories in her head for as long as she can remember. An eternal optimist, she studied social work, hoping to teach others how to find their silver lining. Now she enjoys creating happily-ever-afters for all to read. Amy lives outside Chicago with her high school sweetheart turned husband, three fun-loving children and their sweet but mischievous puppy. Visit her at www.amyvastine.com (http://www.amyvastine.com).


Dedication (#ulink_0d3a6c38-63f5-59f2-bd9b-af2077fbf92b)

To my husband and my dad. Forget about the better man, you two are the best! Jerry, I’m a lucky girl to have someone who supports me and loves me unconditionally. I will love you forever. Dad, you’ve always been my hero. Your big heart and generous spirit are a gift to everyone who knows you.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank everyone at Harlequin for their hard work and dedication to making this book everything it could be, especially Victoria Curran for taking a chance on me, and Claire Caldwell for being an amazing editor. Claire, your encouragement and keen eye make this such a painless process. Thank you for making me look good!

Thanks to my dear friend Jo for her constant support and willingness to hold my hand whenever I need it. I am so fortunate to have you in my corner!

A big thanks to Eden, Lisa, Suzanne and Jen for the friendship and laughter you bring to my life. It also helps that you are so awesome at brainstorming character names! I’m sure I’ll use one of your suggestions…someday.

To Christine for being my friend even though I feed my kids Cheetos and refuse to try kale. Lucy wouldn’t be who she is in this series if it wasn’t for you!

To all of you who have encouraged me. My family and friends, my MSN family, my FIPsters, and every reader, blogger and writer who has supported me and my writing career. I couldn’t do it without you.


Contents

Cover (#u5eb53857-1847-553c-a8b2-db3918f2bfb2)

Back Cover Text (#u0d547b12-0f73-5e3d-b4ea-dbe20af87001)

Introduction (#u2b24e2c8-9412-5aae-8b51-68e0c2939b82)

Dear Reader (#u84785372-fc60-577b-8487-41afc35ac253)

Title Page (#ud7dfb4d4-1009-5e84-a070-b0388580683c)

About the Author (#u1522cd94-605a-5ad1-9e49-b5e8f2ebbc1f)

Dedication (#u2b039d64-61e0-52a0-a902-47c4a80a2821)

Chapter One (#u2f516b81-8daa-55aa-a719-1d2586e1200a)

Chapter Two (#ub8e6aa61-0bf5-5d03-9317-b25bca6a7570)

Chapter Three (#ua23b090a-3a25-59d1-b156-2a7c290f33e9)

Chapter Four (#uaaf50ce8-e044-5473-8c1e-aae9c50aa8d0)

Chapter Five (#ud3a8135a-2e9c-5c7c-ae1a-0a355d169691)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_dd7c7406-3769-5f46-b5a6-671751dfb8a8)

A CONSISTENT MORNING routine was the key to a successful day. Toast popped up and the tea kettle whistled. Kendall Montgomery carefully ripped open the instant oatmeal pouch and dumped the contents into a bowl before adding the hot water. Brown-sugar-and-maple was Simon’s favorite. The time Kendall bought strawberries-and-cream had been a disaster. It was a mistake she would not repeat.

“You want to stir this time?” She offered the spoon to her sleepy-eyed six-year-old. He nodded and took it from her as she turned her attention to buttering the toast. They had fifteen minutes to spare before they needed to leave for school. If they weren’t the first ones there, Simon wouldn’t go in. Kendall had a busy day ahead of her; she needed him to go to school today.

“What two things are you worried about today?” she asked, taking the seat next to him and pushing the plate of toast his way. It was the same question she asked every school day.

Her son’s frail shoulders, which always carried more weight than necessary, lifted and fell. Nothing was said. The only sound in the room was the hum of the refrigerator. It was the single most irritating sound in the world some mornings.

Kendall didn’t fill the silence, even though she wanted to do nothing else. Experience had taught her that if she waited him out, he would answer. If she spoke first, he’d hold it all in.

“Calendar and free time.” The whispered words were spoken to the bowl of oatmeal in front of him but were spoken nonetheless.

“Calendar and free time,” she repeated. These were typical, easy ones. Thank God. “Let’s remember Mrs. Taylor promised that she wouldn’t call on you during calendar unless you raise your hand, right?” Simon nodded, spooning in another mouthful of oatmeal. “And free time is free time. You get to choose your activity. If you want to listen to a book with the headphones, you can do that. Or maybe you’ll want to play with the blocks today. Remember when you made that tower almost as tall as you last week?”

Simon’s slate-blue eyes met hers and stared. They were the same color as his father’s and always caused that familiar ache in her chest to flare up. Simon nodded again. No protest was a good sign. His shaggy brown hair covered his eyes as he glanced back down at his breakfast.

“Two things you’re looking forward to today,” she prompted. It was Psychologist #4 who helped her realize that if she could get him to focus on the positives, even if it was going home at the end of the day, he would have a better shot at making it through the day.

“When Nana comes to get me.” These words were a tiny bit louder than the last. Kendall smiled at both his volume and the choice. Her mother had a way with Simon, brought out the spirit that sometimes dwelled too deep.

“I bet Nana is looking forward to that part of the day, too. She told me last night that you guys get to take Zoe for a haircut.” Zoe was Nana and Papa’s dog, a feisty Bichon with a gentle heart and an endless need for affection. Simon loved the dog almost as much as he loved his grandparents.

The little boy perked up significantly. He snatched a slice of toast from the plate and began tearing off the crust. Kendall resisted the urge to remind him how wasteful it was to not eat the whole piece.

“Zoe gets haircuts? Like me?”

Taking the crust for herself, Kendall nodded. “Just like me and you, but she has to go to a special place for dogs. She can’t go to Supercuts like you.”

“Number two is seeing Zoe get a haircut.” Simon was bouncing in his seat, making his mother happier than she expected this Monday morning. She kissed him on the head as she got up to get her coffee. Today had potential. Great potential.

Hand in hand, they walked along the shaded sidewalk. Simon’s green camouflage backpack gently bounced up and down in time with their steps. Fall was quickly making its move on summer’s final days. It wouldn’t be long before Kendall would have to drive the three blocks to Wilder Elementary. Chicago was just too cold in the winter for walking.

The closer they got to school, the more Simon reverted into his shell. The term selective mutism was so deceiving. Silence was not something he selected, but rather was what held him prisoner. His hand tightened around his mother’s, squeezed it like it was a lifeline. It broke her already battered heart.

“It’s going to be a great day, buddy. I can tell,” she tried to reassure him as her cell phone rang in her bag. Without letting go of Simon’s hand, she fumbled and struggled to get hold of her phone. “Good morning,” she answered, trying to believe in the power of positive thinking and all.

“I’m stopping at Starbucks. What do you want?”

“Nothing, Owen. I’m good.”

“Nothing?” he screeched. “We have a presentation in less than two hours that will make or break us in the Chicago interior design world, and you’re willing to go in there not jacked up on something with an obscene amount of caffeine? Am I hearing you correctly?”

“I don’t want to be a jittery mess. We need to give off an aura of calm and Zen, my friend.”

“I’m Asian, sweetheart. People see me and can’t not think Zen.”

Kendall laughed. “That’s funny, I see you and automatically think crab rangoon.”

“For the love...” Owen let out a dramatic sigh. “How many times do I have to remind you that I’m Korean, not Chinese.”

“Well, the term Zen is Japanese, so don’t start with me.”

“Okay, no coffee for you. How’s the kiddo?” The levity of the first part of the conversation was immediately weighed down like a lead balloon.

Kendall gave Simon’s hand a loving squeeze as they crossed the street. He didn’t look up at her but kept his eyes on his feet. “I’ll tell you in about ten minutes.”

Owen switched her to speaker. She could hear more of the background noise around him. “My fortune cookie app says...you are in for a pleasant surprise. That sounds promising.”

“Let’s hope so, Mr. I-Thought-You-Were-Korean-Not-Chinese.” They were close to the school. Simon’s steps grew slower. Kendall had to pull him along. “I’ll see you in a few.”

“In a few, K.”

Dropping her phone back in her bag, Kendall stopped and crouched down so when Simon chose to look up, they would be eye to eye. “Owen says good things are going to happen today. He said we’re in for a good surprise. Can you try to remember that when the yucks come?”

Uncertain eyes rose to meet hers, while his small mouth twisted. Yucks were what Simon called the anxiety. He gave her the tiniest nod, allowing her to stand and start for the school steps.

They were the first ones in class, as usual. Mrs. Taylor welcomed mother and son warmly. The woman was a godsend. She was a million times better than last year’s teacher, who thought Kendall was a coddling helicopter parent.

“His grandmother will be picking him up today. They’re taking Nana’s dog to the groomer this afternoon. He’s very excited. Right, bud?” Simon didn’t speak but moved his head affirmatively. Again, Kendall bent down, gripping her son’s upper arms. “I love you and I’ll see you tonight. Keep an eye out for that surprise, okay?”

The little boy who existed before his father died pushed his way to the surface for a moment. He smiled and hoped. “Okay,” he whispered so quietly Mrs. Taylor couldn’t hear, but Kendall certainly did.

He spoke. He spoke in the classroom.

Kendall tried not to react too emotionally, but she wanted to squeal and cry and hug him. Instead, she kissed his cheek and gave his arms a firm squeeze. “I love you, baby.” She bit down on her bottom lip and held back the tears until she made it into the hallway. If that was her pleasant surprise, she’d take it.

* * *

“SO, MY COUSIN has a friend. Works for Abbott. Good-looking, great hair, super nice guy.”

“Don’t start with that today. I am not in the mood to discuss men. We have one hour before we sell this design to Mr. Sato.” Kendall stood in front of the presentation boards with her arms folded in front of her. She had spent the last month putting them together and was now sixty minutes away from sharing them with their potential client.

“You’re never in the mood to discuss men, which is what concerns me more than anything,” Owen said. “I mean, I’m not an expert in selective mutism, but I have to believe if Simon saw you living a life, he would realize that it’s okay to live his.”

He was lucky he wasn’t in arm’s reach because she would have hit him. Hard. She was much too stressed to be having this conversation.

“Trevor’s been gone just over a year,” she said wearily. The anniversary of his death had led to Simon’s regression. It seemed every time Kendall thought they were making some good progress, something would set him back. She was not going to give her son another reason to worry. “Simon does not need to see me running around with men on dates. He needs me home. He needs to know I’m not ever going to leave him.”

His father had left. His father had left them both.

“Avoiding a date here and there isn’t going to make him better.”

“He spoke in the classroom this morning. He whispered to me when we were standing in his classroom.”

Owen wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder. “That’s so great, K. He’s doing better. Before you know it, he’ll be like me and the teacher will be calling you because he won’t shut up.” He hugged her tightly.

Kendall leaned against her business partner and friend and smiled. “I would give anything to get that call.”

“As much as it kills you to see him close himself off to the world, it kills me to see you do the same. Trevor didn’t just leave Simon. He left you, too. Simon stopped talking and you stopped believing you deserve good things.”

Kendall patted Owen’s arms. “Trevor was the only guy I’ve ever truly been in love with. I can’t imagine feeling that way about anyone else.”

“People do it all the time. Hell, I’ve been in love more times than I can count.” Owen let go of his friend and threw his hands in the air.

“Love and lust are not the same,” Kendall corrected him.

He winked. “I know. I know. Lust was Brian, Greg and Manuel. Love was Hector, Johnny, Gil, Milo...oh, and Dylan. Wait, Dylan was lust and love. A lot of lust. A little love.”

Kendall shook her head. It was so easy for him. She couldn’t afford to be so careless with her heart. She had to be careful and cautious for Simon’s sake. Simon had to and would always come first.

* * *

MR. SATO SAT like a statue. He didn’t smile, didn’t comment, didn’t give any indication of loving or hating their design. When Kendall finished, the only sign of life he showed was the gentle tug he gave to the cuff of his shirt.

“We would love the opportunity to work with you,” Owen said.

Kendall’s rapidly beating heart was becoming a distraction. She unclasped her hands and tried to stand tall in front of her unreceptive audience, reminding herself that Mr. Sato never displayed emotion. The outside might scream apathy, but inside he could love it.

Mr. Sato leaned to his left and whispered to his son sitting beside him.

“We have a few questions,” the younger Sato said. Kendall felt her confidence surge. Questions were promising. She welcomed any and all questions. “And it’s likely Mr. Jordan will have some as well. We expect him any minute.”

Mr. Jordan was the restaurant manager who was already twenty minutes late. Kendall had no problem waiting.

Until her phone vibrated in her pocket.

She knew immediately that it was the school. Her family, Owen and the school were the only ones who called her. Her family knew not to call right now and Owen stood next to her.

“Excuse me.” She faked a smile for the Satos and looked to her partner for reassurance that he could handle this on his own.

“I got it. Go.”

She grabbed her bag and pulled out her phone as she headed out of the room to take the call. Not today. Not today.

“Kendall Montgomery,” she answered on the fourth and final ring.

“Mrs. Montgomery, it’s Lisa Warner.”

“Hi, Lisa.” Kendall sucked in a deep breath. Lisa was the social worker at Simon’s school. Lisa was always the one to call with the bad news.

“We need you to come in.”

“I’m in a meeting. Is he with you? Can I give him a pep talk over the phone?” She hoped but knew the answer would disappoint.

“No, he won’t come out of the bathroom.”

Kendall pinched the bridge of her nose as she made her way outside and prayed for a taxi. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. What happened?”

“We had a dad volunteer in class today,” Lisa said solemnly. The word dad was all Kendall needed to hear. She hung up and texted Owen, feeling every bit like the burden she had warned him she would be when he’d asked her to go into business with him.

The drive to Wilder seemed long, longer than it should have been. Kendall shoved money at the driver and jumped out of the cab. Her feet moved swiftly across the pavement, up the steps and into the building. Deep breathing did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach or the pain in her chest.

Trevor would have had mixed feelings about this school. He would have liked that the children wore uniforms, and not just because he was a military man. He had loved the simplicity of them. “No nonsense” had been his middle name. Trevor believed time should not be wasted worrying about things like “What color should I wear today?”

Trevor would have wanted a school with a male administrator, however. Not because he was sexist, although it might have come off that way, but because he felt more men should show interest in the development of young minds. Trevor, like his own father, took the role of father seriously and believed boys needed a strong male presence in their lives to survive in today’s world.

Familiar faces greeted her in the main office. Her welcoming committee consisted of Lisa, the social worker, the principal, and the school nurse. They quickly ushered her to the first grade hallway, into the small boys’ bathroom with blue-and-white tiles on the wall and worn-out linoleum on the floor.

“Simon, it’s Mommy.”

Black sneakers with neon green striping poked out from under the one closed door. He knocked as if she was the one who needed to open up for him.

“Can you unlock the door for me? We can go back to class together.”

His little feet shuffled back, recoiling from the suggestion of going to his classroom. Avoidance, escape—these were his friends. These were his comfort when the anxiety took over.

“I talked to Nana and she said you can hold Zoe’s leash when you go to the groomer, but you have to make it through the school day. If you don’t make it through the day, then there’s no playtime with Zoe.” It was a bribe, plain and simple, but sometimes that was the only thing that worked.

Silence.

Kendall hated the silence. She wished it was a tangible entity that she could strangle and put out of its misery. Her hand rested on the stall handle.

“Come on, Simon. Open up, honey.” She resisted the urge to say she would take him home. As soon as she made that promise, she was done for. One thing she learned from Psychologist #1 was that she couldn’t make a promise in the middle of one of these episodes and not follow through. His trust was essential. He had to be able to rely on what she said.

She wanted him to stay and finish his day of school. She wanted to try to save the mess she might have made of the Sato project. Yet what she wanted was of little importance when the anxiety was in charge.

“I’ll stay for lunch. We can have lunch together. Then you can tell the yucks to take a hike and finish your day. I know you can do this. I know you can.”

Silence.

Sometimes she wished the silence would finish her off. It was good at choking her, but she always survived its evil games. Survived but never won. No, the silence was always the victor.

Kendall could feel the three pairs of eyes watching her. Watching. Judging. Pitying. She hated that the most. The pity. Pity and sympathy made her almost as angry as silence. Almost.

Everyone at school knew why the boy didn’t talk. Kendall had sat in the principal’s office on more than one occasion to discuss the difficulties Simon was having at school, at home, in life. She had accepted their referrals for counselors and behavioral specialists. They had done the charts and incentives. She had taken him to Rainbows grief support groups, which ended up being filled with more children dealing with divorce than the death of a parent. She had read every book written on both grief and selective mutism. Still, she felt lost. She refused the medication because he didn’t need medication. He needed his father. There was no pill to cure a broken heart. She would have taken it a long, long time ago if there was.

“I’m going to count to ten and then I want you to open the door for me. Ready? One, two...” she counted slowly, each number that went unacknowledged by the boy on the other side of the door tearing at her paper heart. “Ten.”

Silence.

In an alternate universe, she pounded on the door with both fists, making it quiver and rattle. She screamed at the top of her lungs, “Knock it off! Stop being afraid!! It’s just school!” In her fantasy, she stormed off and back to her meeting with Mr. Sato.

But in the real world where she had to live, Kendall dropped to her knees and pushed her pride and dignity aside. She buried her rage and her fear. She crawled under the door and into the stall with her son. She righted herself and pulled him into her arms. He melted against her.

“I love you. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make the world okay for you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.” Kendall’s tears fell on top of Simon’s head as the weight of his world began to crush her.

He clung to his mother, not caring that her body had been in contact with an elementary school boys’ bathroom floor. He hugged his mother like he wished he could make the world right for her, too. But the world would never be right because his dad was dead and he was never coming home. He was never going to help out at school or eat lunch with him. Dead was forever.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered. Resigned. Defeated.

The walk to the house offered much less promise than the one in the opposite direction a few hours earlier. Simon held tight to his mother’s hand. Kendall’s eyes were focused solely on the sidewalk ahead of her. She was a failure. A complete and utter failure.

Trevor would never have given in. He would have made the boy tough it out. Told him to man up. Trevor wouldn’t have given in to the silence. He would have filled it with a firm voice and a confidence that couldn’t be ignored. Trevor would never have surrendered.

At the last stoplight, they had to wait for the signal before crossing the street. A blur of colors went by as car after car moved past them. The city was alive. Her husband was not. The city roared, a myriad of noises—buses, people, machines, music. Her son was a mute.

Simon pulled on Kendall’s arm. Tugging and tugging.

“Stop it, Simon!” she snapped.

“Dad! It’s Dad!” he yelled over all the street noise. He pointed across the street to a man jogging toward a cab. Simon pulled on her arm again, almost taking them both into the busy road. “Dad! Wait! It’s us!”

Kendall’s whole body froze like it had that day, one year, two months and three days ago. The man looked up at the screaming boy and his mother. Eyes met. Her mouth fell open and she was sure her heart stopped.

“Trevor?”


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_5a364f00-1d43-50c7-924a-3c55d1aa3952)

MAX JORDAN WAS a punctual man. Always on time. Never late.

Except when meetings were scheduled before noon, that is. He tended to be a little tardy for those.

In his defense, he was still adjusting to the time change. It was only eight-thirty in Los Angeles, and the only time Max saw eight-thirty was if he was getting ready for bed after an extremely late night. In the restaurant and night club business, daytime was bedtime.

Even though the restaurant he was here to run wasn’t open yet, it was difficult to change his sleep schedule. There were plenty of places for him to scope out, as competition in the restaurant business was tight in the Windy City. He wanted Sato’s to be a success. He needed it to be.

Managing a successful restaurant would look good, and right now, Max needed to look good—in the eyes of the court, his ex and, most important, his son. Being late to his first meeting with the interior designers was not going to help.

The invitation to sit in on the presentation had been unexpected, especially since Max knew Mr. Sato had the only vote that counted. Sato was a shrewd businessman who only hired the best of the best. Whomever he chose to design the restaurant’s dining area would be top-notch.

That didn’t excuse Max’s lack of punctuality, however. He should have been there. On time. How he was going to explain his late arrival was the only thing on his mind as he raced down the steps and out the door toward the cab he had called. Just as he reached for the car door handle, he heard a voice.

“Dad! Wait! It’s us!”

Max stopped, looking up and across the street. Nobody called him Dad. Not even Aidan, his own son. It wasn’t the name that captured his attention, but the desperation.

The boy across the street looked much older than Aidan, but they shared the same brown hair and strong lungs. Aidan’s scream rivaled that of any horror movie leading lady. Max glanced around, searching for this other child’s father. There wasn’t anyone on his side of the street and the boy looked like he was about to dart into traffic.

Max felt his heart skip a beat until he noticed the boy held a woman’s hand, his mother most likely. She’d keep him from getting hurt.

Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and he could’ve sworn she recognized him. But that was impossible. There was one thing he hadn’t made time for since he moved to Chicago and that was women. The only person he’d spoken more than a couple of words to was the nice—almost too nice—guy who owned the condo under his in their three-flat.

Max slid into the back of the cab and rattled off the address and a plea for haste. Rubbing his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he tried to refocus on his excuse for being late. He had texted Mr. Sato’s assistant that he’d be late the moment he’d woken up and realized the time. He hadn’t, however, given a reason.

An accident. A boy ran into the street and was hit by a car. Max had to stop, wait for help to arrive.

Nah. Boys being hit by cars would probably make the news. He needed to think less dramatic.

Traffic? Traffic in Chicago was almost as terrible as in L.A. Almost. Unfortunately, it wasn’t bad enough to make him an hour late.

He could almost hear Katie now. His ex-wife would be reading him the riot act if she knew. This is what you call being responsible? The only thing you’re good at, Max, is lying. Doesn’t this prove Aidan deserves better than you?

Some days he hated her. Her, her sanctimonious attitude and her new attorney husband. Nothing bugged him more than the way she acted like a saint. As if he didn’t know who she used to be. As if her life in L.A. never existed. Sadly for her, he did remember and she wasn’t perfect.

Max took a deep breath and stared out the window as the buildings grew taller and the streets more crowded. He swore things would be different in Chicago. He would be different. He came here to prove something and he wasn’t going to blow it. He was not going to be like his deadbeat father. Not if he could help it.

* * *

MR. SATO’S OFFICE was in the heart of the West Loop. Max knew they were close when they passed the Willis Tower. He threw in a couple of extra dollars of tip for the speedy service and jumped out of the cab.

With no excuse but the truth, he marched into the building and headed for the elevators. Hopefully he hadn’t missed the entire presentation. Perhaps they’d waited for him. The designers were sure to be less than pleased with him if that was the case. That accident excuse felt less wrong for a minute until the elevator reached the correct floor.

The dark gray marble beneath his feet matched the color of the imaginary cloud above Max’s head. He approached the receptionist seated behind a curved glass block desk, buttoning his jacket closed before smoothing down the lapels. He smiled, hoping the friendlier he was, the friendlier others would be in return. “Good morning. Max Jordan. I’m here for Mr. Sato’s meeting with the interior designers.”

The woman pushed her red glasses up her nose and tucked her jet black hair behind her ear. Everything about her was severe, from her hair color to the angle of her chin. “Mr. Sato’s nine-thirty meeting?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“That’s the one. Better late than never, right?”

The woman’s lips didn’t even twitch. “Let me see if it’s still happening,” she said, her tone as judgmental as the look she gave him. She picked up her phone and dialed. “I think the designer left,” she told Max.

That figured. Max bounced on the balls of his feet and patted his pockets for the cigarettes that weren’t there because he’d quit. He needed to figure out a way to make it up to Mr. Sato. Work harder. Do more promotion. Put in more hours when the place opened.

“Through those doors and to your right. The conference room is at the end of the hall.” The receptionist glanced over her shoulder at the glass double doors.

“Thank you,” Max said, trying to still appear professional while nearly sprinting to his meeting.

He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his neck around before pushing open the conference door. Mr. Sato’s eyes were the only part of him that moved when Max entered the room. His son, Jin, wore a look of disapproval that spoke louder than any words could. A third man stared like he was seeing a ghost. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

“Mr. Jordan, how nice of you to join us,” Jin said, without an ounce of sincerity in his tone.

The designer approached him cautiously and held out his hand. “Owen Sung, the O in KO Designs.”

Max shook it firmly and apologized for being late.

Max turned to Mr. Sato. “I wish I had a better excuse than sleeping through my alarm. I will not let it happen again. I assure you, sir.”

Mr. Sato’s head bowed ever so slightly in acknowledgment.

“Shall I go over our design for Mr. Jordan?” Owen asked, handing Max a folder filled with the breakdown of the design elements and cost.

Mr. Sato whispered to Jin, who relayed the man’s wishes. “Just a brief overview. Time is of the essence.”

Max felt the sting but took a seat. Owen quickly outlined his firm’s vision for the restaurant and Max listened with rapt attention. It was a beautiful, contemporary design. There was a hipness that would attract the younger crowd but a sophistication that would lure the more established money in the city.

“Where in the world are you going to find an artist to paint a mural of this size for nothing?” Max asked as he reviewed the price points, hoping to win back Mr. Sato’s approval by finding a hidden cost.

Owen immediately squashed that dream. “My partner will be painting the mural, so her services are already paid for.”

Mr. Sato whispered a few questions to Jin while Max asked about project management. Owen stated both he and his partner would be overseeing everything on a daily basis.

“Where is your partner today?” Max asked. His tardiness was troubling, but for the K in KO Designs to be missing seemed inexcusable.

Owen puffed out his chest, an offended tone coloring his words. “Kendall was here earlier, Mr. Jordan. She had a family emergency and couldn’t wait on you any longer. I assure you, there is no need to worry about her dedication to this project. She put her heart and soul into this design.”

Properly put in his place, Max decided to stay quiet for the rest of the meeting. There was little fault to be found in the design. He could see why Mr. Sato had solicited KO Designs to make a bid. At his father’s whispered request, Jin called the meeting to an end and informed Owen they would be in contact soon. Escorting the designer out, Jin left Max and Mr. Sato alone.

A full minute passed before Mr. Sato broke the silence. “I hired you because I believe you are the best at what you do, Mr. Jordan.” His voice was deep and gravelly. He was a man of few words, and when he spoke it sounded like he hadn’t done so in years.

“Thank you, sir.”

“As manager, I expect you to be a role model. Being late is unacceptable. Understand?” Max nodded and tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. “You will be at the site every day. Early. No excuses.”

Mr. Sato’s warning had magically tightened the tie around Max’s neck. Slipping his fingers under his collar and giving it a tug, he promised, “I’ll be there every day, sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I hope not.” Mr. Sato stood, his stature not nearly as intimidating as his usual silence. At six foot two, Max was a giant in comparison. “I will accept the bid from KO later today and request we begin as soon as possible.”

Max got on his feet. “That sounds perfect, sir. I’ve been scoping out the competition to ensure we’ll be better than all the rest.”

“Glad we have the same goal, Mr. Jordan.” As if on cue, Jin opened the door as Mr. Sato made his exit.

Jin shut the door after his father left the room and began to circle Max like a lion stalking his prey. He had voiced his displeasure with his father’s choice to hire Max from the beginning. Jin had been under the impression the job would be his simply because of his last name.

Jin wasn’t exceptionally good at hiding his dislike for Max. The man was more of a boy, fresh out of college and overeager. His sense of entitlement was annoying. He believed himself worthy of the same respect his father had spent decades earning. He was child with a lot to learn.

“It won’t take much for me to persuade him to let me run the restaurant if today is any indication of your work ethic,” Jin said.

“It’s not.” The only job Max had ever handed over to someone else was parenting Aidan. He planned to earn that job back and prove himself worthy of this one.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Jin said snidely. “For some reason, I have little faith in you, Mr. Jordan.”

Get in line, Max wanted to reply. Instead, he smiled and wished the junior Sato a good day before leaving. He certainly wasn’t going to prove anyone right or wrong standing in a conference room arguing with someone who had no idea what he was talking about.

* * *

MAX TIPPED HIS cab driver less generously on the ride home. Feeling deflated, he headed up to his condo with much less vigor than when he’d left. The guy from the second floor, who’d previously introduced himself as Charlie, was the hare to his turtle, nearly running Max over as he dashed down the stairs.

“Sorry about that, Floor Three.” Dressed in jeans and a navy T-shirt with the Chicago Fire Department logo on the front, Charlie gave Max’s arm a friendly punch. “I need to remember someone lives above me and might be on these stairs now and again.”

“No problem,” Max assured him, hoping for a quick escape.

“You home for lunch or something?”

“Or something.” Max continued his ascent.

Charlie stopped him. “I’m grabbing lunch down the street. Best burgers on this side of the city, and as a good neighbor, I feel it’s my duty to expose you to the finer things we have to offer around here. You have to come with me.”

“Maybe another time.” He didn’t want to be rude, especially since Charlie was nicer than anyone he’d ever met in L.A., but right now, he wanted to be alone.

Charlie relented with a smile. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Max didn’t doubt he meant it. He retreated into his condo and loosed his tie, pulled it over his head and tossed it on the couch. Stepping around a stack of boxes, he made his way to the kitchen to grab a drink. He’d had big plans to unpack and make this place a home, but work was always his default. His apartment back in L.A. had been spotless because he was only there to sleep. This place was going to take a little more effort once Aidan started coming around.

Max bypassed the television and headed for his music. His records were the first thing he unpacked when he got to Chicago. The vinyl collection really belonged to his mother, but she had lost her love for it long ago and he had happily taken it over.

Joanna Jordan currently lived in Portland, where she was exploring her newest fascination—healthy living. Max couldn’t complain. It was much better than her former love affair with alcohol or her cosmetic surgery phase. She’d traded her vodka in for kale shakes and did hot yoga instead of Botox injections. But Max knew it was only a matter of time before she moved on to something else. Another obsession. Another addiction. His mother re-created herself every couple of years. He never knew who she’d become, but he could always count on her to be different from the last time he saw her.

Max rarely benefitted from her frivolity, but the record collection was a wonderful exception. He had everything a music lover could want, from the Beatles to Buddy Guy. He slipped his favorite Pink Floyd album from its sleeve and set the record on the turntable. The music filled the room and Max lay down on the couch and closed his eyes, letting it take him away for a moment or two.

He patted his chest pocket, looking for something he knew wasn’t there. Old habits died hard. As a teenager, Max spent more afternoons than he could remember blowing off class, listening to music and smoking his mother’s cigarettes. It used to be what calmed him down, allowed him to escape his life.

Responsible parents didn’t expose their children to secondhand smoke, however. And Max was determined to be a better parent than either one of his had been. He’d failed thus far, but that was going to change. Giving up cigarettes was step one.

Scrubbing his face, Max sat up. Step one of a hundred. Maybe a thousand. He got up and went to the kitchen for more water and something to eat to keep his mouth busy.

The catalyst for his reform was taped to the refrigerator. The single sheet of monogrammed stationery was wrinkled from being crumpled up into a ball and thrown across his apartment back in L.A.

A little over four years ago, Max met Katie, who was on the rebound from some guy who had failed miserably at giving her the attention she desired. She was the stereotypical wannabe actress working as a waitress. Max’s nightclub was a favorite hangout for her and her friends.

Max, being Max, made her feel like the most important person he’d ever met. She was fun to be around when she wasn’t partying too hard and didn’t seem any more ready to settle down than he did. Neither one ever spoke of marriage or of moving things along too quickly. Not until she told him she was pregnant. Proposing was his first attempt at not being like his father, who hadn’t bothered to stick around when his mom dropped the baby bomb.

The marriage lasted about as long as the pregnancy. They fought about everything—Max’s work schedule, his friends, his cleaning habits or lack thereof. Things didn’t get any better when the baby came along. Aidan was born with what Max thought had to be the worst case of colic in medical history. He cried and wailed day and night.

Katie warned Max she would move back to Chicago to be closer to her family if he didn’t help out more, and he prayed she would. Aidan was three months old when she made good on that threat, and he had shamefully felt nothing but relief. Katie and Aidan left California and Max went back to the way things were before he met her. For the next three years, he worked hard and made a name for himself in the restaurant business. Life was good.

Until the letter came.

She had handwritten it, which made it that much more personal, more real. Her words leaped off the page in attack like they had fired out of her mouth when they were together. Her low opinion hadn’t changed over the years.

He was a deadbeat dad. He was an unfit parent. He was a pathetic human being. She wasn’t looking for any more of his money. She didn’t want anything from him except his signature.

Katie had remarried. She was Katie Michaels now. A swirly K and M were embossed in glossy black on the top of the heavy ivory paper. Her new husband was a brilliant attorney in Chicago. He was rich and well connected. He was the man Aidan called Daddy. He wanted to adopt Max’s son and change his last name. All Max had to do was give up his rights. When he refused to do that, Katie filed for sole legal custody of Aidan with no visitation rights, effectively finding another way to cut Max out of Aidan’s life forever.

It was the wake-up call of a lifetime. He had not only done what his own father had done, he’d let someone else be the father he had promised he was going to be.

He was Aidan’s father and it was time he acted like it. Every decision he’d made since that letter arrived was made with Aidan in mind. Those decisions brought him here to Chicago, where he was going to do things right. Max and Katie weren’t made for each other, but Aidan was made for them. Both of them. And no one was going to replace Max in his son’s life. Not anymore.

Max made himself a sandwich and pulled the lid open on one of the boxes. A father needed a home for his son to visit. This would be that home for Aidan.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_feeb415f-df13-516e-9431-52cb8e14acbc)

SIMON DIDN’T STOP talking about his dad all through lunch. He had a thousand theories about what Trevor was doing on their street that morning. Kendall knew she should stop her son from fantasizing about his father being alive, but she couldn’t deny what she had seen with her own eyes.

The experience may have made Simon a chatterbox, but the shock of it all had left Kendall speechless. She was still trying to make sense of it long after they ate lunch. She didn’t even bother reminding him not to speak with food in his mouth as he hypothesized his father was a guardian angel and couldn’t stop for them because he had to save someone.

Kendall had no explanation as to why Trevor didn’t come home first to tell them he was an angel or why he might not have heard Simon yelling for him, especially since the little boy was fairly certain angels had better hearing than humans. She couldn’t bring herself to answer any of Simon’s questions. Mainly because she had no answers.

After cleaning up lunch, she sat on her overstuffed sofa lost in her own thoughts. She twirled her hair around her finger while Simon pondered if they should go looking for Trevor or wait for him to come to them. Her phone rang, bringing her out of her head. It was Owen.

“Please don’t dissolve our partnership,” she pleaded.

“Are you joking?” he replied with a laugh. “How would I ever explain to Mr. Sato that he only hired the O in KO Designs?”

Kendall jumped up, a huge weight lifted. “Hired? He hired us even after I disappeared?”

“He hired us because we came up with the most amazing design concept he’s ever seen, and he knew he’d be a fool not to hire us.”

Kendall hopped up and down like a child. At least one thing had gone right today. They had needed this account, not only for the money but also for the new business it would bring in after the restaurant was done.

“Thank you for covering for me, for answering all the questions, for being the best business partner in the world.”

Owen laughed on the other end of the line. “We all know I’m the lucky one. How’s Simon?”

Kendall glanced at her son, who had moved on to drawing pictures of his dad with the scented markers his grandmother bought him last Friday as a reward for making it to school on time for one whole week. The joy she felt in getting the job quickly dissipated. Trevor wasn’t running around the city playing guardian angel. There was no chance of him showing up on their doorstep later tonight. Whoever they saw today was not who they thought he was, and the reality of that would certainly hit Simon hard.

“He’s good.” She left the room so little ears wouldn’t overhear. “But something tells me the worst is yet to come and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I stink at being his mom, O. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Stop it,” Owen scolded her. “You are the best thing that kid could ever ask for. You have the patience of a saint and always have his best interest at heart. The only thing that stinks is that your husband died, which wasn’t your fault, either.”

Kendall sank into a kitchen chair, already physically and emotionally exhausted at three in the afternoon. “My patience isn’t what it used to be. I may want the best for him, but I’m beginning to wonder if I know what that is anymore.”

“You’ll figure it out. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

She appreciated his faith in her, but she knew herself better than he did. Kendall was losing her grip. It wouldn’t take much to push her off the edge. She thought she’d seen Trevor today. Nothing said losing your mind like seeing ghosts.

“Thank you. And I promise to carry my weight on the job. In fact, I can make some calls and start ordering materials.”

“Take care of Simon and worry about Sato’s tomorrow. We’ll split up the responsibilities and start filling out purchase orders then.”

As she said goodbye, someone knocked on the front door and opened it at the same time. “Anybody home?” The sound of Kendall’s mother’s voice reminded her that she’d neglected to call about taking Simon home early and there being no need for her mother to pick him up.

“Nana!” Simon burst into the foyer, his drawing clenched in his hand. “You won’t believe it! You’ll never believe who we saw today!”

Kendall gave her mother an apologetic grimace, but Nana was too startled by Simon’s verbosity to notice. “Who? Who did you see?” she asked, crouching down to his level. He handed her the picture he’d drawn.

“My dad! We saw my dad right down the street!”

Kendall’s mother looked to her for confirmation. “We saw someone who looked like him,” Kendall explained. “I know you want to believe it was Daddy, Simon, but we know he’s in heaven, right?”

“Mom,” Simon said, exasperated. “You saw. It was Dad. I prayed he would come back and he did. You should have seen him, Nana. He was for real and he got in a cab by the park. I can show you.” He took his grandmother’s hand and tried to pull her out of the house.

“Hold on,” Kendall said, placing a hand on the door as he tried to pull it open. “Why don’t you go clean up your markers and let me talk to Nana a minute. Then you can take her to the park, okay?”

“Moooom,” he whined.

“It’ll only take you a couple of minutes.”

“I don’t wanna.”

The whining was much easier to fight than the silence. “Go.” She pointed back at the family room.

Snatching his drawing back from his nana, Simon spun around and stomped all the way down the hall. He was lucky he was cute when he was mad.

“I forgot to call you back and tell you I had to bring him home,” Kendall said when the two women were alone. “I’m so sorry.”

“What in the world is going on? Did he see this Trevor look-alike on the way to school? Is that what set him off?”

Kendall sighed. “They had a helper dad in the classroom today. That’s what set him off. We were walking home when we saw...Trevor.” Saying his name brought back her own version of the yucks.

Maureen Everhart knew her daughter better than anyone. The look she gave her daughter as she pulled her back into the kitchen told Kendall she understood today had taken its toll. “It wasn’t Trevor.”

Kendall leaned against the counter and wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head. Her mom was right. It wasn’t. Trevor was dead. He had left and now he was dead.

“Was it a soldier in uniform?”

“Oh, my gosh, Mom. Trevor was a marine. Never call a marine a soldier. That’s like...blasphemy.”

Maureen rolled her eyes. “Apologies, dear daughter. Was it a marine? A man in uniform? Is that why he thought he saw his dad?”

Kendall shook her head again. “I know it sounds crazy, but the man we saw looked exactly like Trevor. I mean, he was across the street and we only saw him for a second or two, but...Mom, he looked exactly like Trevor.” The tears she’d gotten so good at holding back fell for a second time today.

“Nana!” Simon called. He ran into the kitchen. “Come on, let’s go to the park. Maybe he’ll be there and we can see him again. Mom, can you come, too?”

Kendall wiped her cheeks and pushed all the emotion away. She knelt down so she and her son would be eye to eye and gripped his arms with both hands. “I know how badly you want that man we saw today to be your dad, baby. But that wasn’t Dad. Dad is not coming back.”

“It was,” Simon argued.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“It was,” he said more softly.

She could feel the silence creeping back in. “It looked like him, but it wasn’t him.” Simon sealed his lips shut, splitting Kendall’s heart in two. “But we can still take a walk with Nana,” she tried. “Or maybe we can go to Nana and Papa’s and see Zoe.” Kendall looked to her mom for help.

“You know how much Zoe loves it when you come over to play. What do you say? Let’s go, huh?” She held out her hand, but Simon didn’t take it. Instead, he pulled out of his mother’s grasp and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Kendall was grateful she was on her knees because her legs most certainly would have given out if she’d been standing. Her mother wrapped her arms around her.

“Why does this have to be so hard? When is it going to get easier? Isn’t it supposed to get easier?” Kendall cried on her mother’s shoulder.

“The Lord never gives us more than we can handle. You have to believe you’re strong enough to get through this.”

“I don’t feel very strong. I feel tired, Mom. I’m so tired.”

The two women clung to one another. Kendall’s mom stroked her daughter’s long chestnut hair. “Lean on me, honey. Lean on your father, your sisters. That’s why you moved back, so we could be here for you.”

Kendall and Trevor had met in Chicago, but his military career took them away soon after they married. After he died, Kendall returned, needing to come home so Simon would be surrounded by family. Her parents and both of her sisters were in the city, and Trevor’s parents were less than an hour away in the northern suburbs.

She loved her two sisters and they had been nothing but helpful, picking up Simon from school when their mother couldn’t, stocking her pantry with food when she didn’t have time to run to the grocery store, offering to listen when she needed to talk. Kendall didn’t take advantage. She had always been the quiet one and hated to burden people with her problems. She tended to bury them instead.

“I’m sorry for falling apart. I hate whining.” Kendall let go and ran her hands over her face until the only sign she’d been crying was her red eyes. No one’s life was easy, and people like her mother knew the true meaning of being tired. In remission for five years this winter, her mom had endured a double mastectomy and a year of chemotherapy. She still wore her gray hair short and spiky, never letting it get as long as it had been before she was sick.

Maureen held her daughter’s chin gently but firmly enough that she had to maintain eye contact. “You have a right to your feelings, Kendall Marie. Never apologize to me for crying. Or whining, which, by the way, wasn’t what you were doing.” Kendall nodded, and her mother continued. “We’re going to get through this together. Stop thinking you’re alone.”

She did feel alone. She’d felt alone for much longer than anyone knew, really.

“You want me to bring Zoe over here after I take her to the groomer? Maybe Simon will perk back up if he can play with the dog.”

If only it was that easy. Kendall feared just how far today was going to set him back. “He needs time to process what he thought he saw. I’m just going to leave him alone for a little bit.” She wrapped her mom up in another hug, this one full of appreciation. “Thank you, though.”

“Call me tomorrow,” her mom said as she squeezed Kendall a little tighter.

As soon as the door closed behind her mother, the phone rang. Kendall was relieved that she didn’t have to experience the silence she knew was waiting to greet her until she looked at the caller ID. Trevor’s father never called when he was anything other than miserable. Kendall almost wished for the quiet.

With a deep breath, she pushed the talk button on the phone. “Hi, Paul.”

“Oh good! You’re home. I planned to leave a message since Simon is usually being shuffled all over the city because of your schedule.”

In the year since Trevor died, his father had gone from the man who believed his son could do no wrong to the depressed and delusional man who believed that his daughter-in-law could do no right now that his son was dead. Paul once had the audacity to suggest Simon’s selective mutism was related to Kendall’s “selfish need to work.” His wife, Nancy, had been a stay-at-home mother and, according to Paul, that was the reason Trevor turned out the way he did.

However, unlike Paul, Trevor hadn’t made millions of dollars for Kendall and Simon to live off for the rest of their lives. Military pensions and dependent compensation weren’t nearly enough to pay off the debts Trevor had left behind or provide the life Kendall wanted for Simon. Taking the leap and partnering up with Owen had definitely provided her with a much-needed artistic outlet, but it was far from a selfish decision.

“I’m working from home this afternoon.” It was a small lie. Kendall planned on doing some work. Plus, telling Paul that Simon had to leave school would only lead to some condescending comments for which Kendall had no patience today. “What’s up?” she asked, keeping her voice light and upbeat.

Paul was the complete opposite of light and upbeat. She could hear the clinking of ice in an empty glass. “Can I talk to Simon? I really need to talk to my boy.”

“Oh...I’m sorry. He crashed after school. Fell asleep watching some TV. Long day and all.” This was a bigger lie than the last. And part of her felt terrible about it. The man had lost his wife and his son within a year of each other. He was lonely. On the other hand, Kendall felt justified. Without Trevor to dote on, Paul had become bitter and fixated on Simon. The little boy represented everything he’d lost when Trevor died, and Paul was bound and determined to hold on to him with both hands.

Simon, however, found his grandfather a little overwhelming. So much so that he never spoke around him and begged his mother not to leave them alone. He told Kendall that Grandpa Montgomery only wanted to talk about his dad and it made him too sad.

“Well, go wake him up,” Paul said. “It’s not good for him to sleep in the afternoon at his age. You won’t be able to get him to bed tonight, and then you’ll wonder why you have trouble getting him up in the morning. This is half your problem, Kendall. Trevor would have made sure Simon kept a consistent routine. Children need a consistent routine.”

Apparently a lecture was unavoidable. Kendall plucked a pencil from the holder by the phone and began doodling on a notepad while her father-in-law enlightened her for the hundredth time about the way to perfectly parent a boy. This was something Paul didn’t feel Kendall’s parents could properly teach her because they only had daughters. Raising sons was not the same as raising daughters, said the man who had one son and no daughters.

“Trevor was such a good boy when he was Simon’s age. That’s what proper parenting accomplishes. When you’re in charge—more importantly, when you’re present—boys respond. Of course, a boy needs a father. I always said that.” Paul’s voice began to crack. Whatever he was drinking was only making him weepy. “It’s so unfair. Poor Simon had the best role model a child could ask for. And now...now he has no one.”

Kendall shaded in the fire she had drawn coming from a dragon’s mouth. Talking to Paul used to make her cry. Now she only felt exhausted. She knew what her father-in-law wanted to hear.

“Trevor was an amazing father and husband,” Kendall said. It was the truth.

Mostly.

“He was, wasn’t he? He really was.” He said before blowing his nose loudly. “And a hero, too.”

Kendall crumpled up the sheet of paper into a ball and tossed it into the garbage. “Maybe Simon and I can drive out to Lake Forest this weekend. Are you going to be home Sunday night?” She was going to regret this later.

Trevor’s father was a partner at one of the bigger investment banking firms in the city. When she first met them, Kendall thought the Montgomerys had more money than anyone she’d ever known. Trevor’s mother had had a closet full of designer clothes and another one just for her shoes and purses. Besides the mansion in Lake Forest, they had a summer house in Michigan and a winter home in Naples. There were also several rental properties, including the house she and Simon currently lived in. There was no way Kendall could afford to live in Lincoln Park otherwise. As much as she hated needing Paul’s help, she loved being close to her family.

Kendall heard him capping the crystal decanter in the background. “I fly out west Sunday afternoon. You could come for lunch on Saturday. If the weather’s nice, Simon could ride the horse.”

“We’ll see. I’ll call you later this week, all right?”

“Sounds good. Tell Simon I called. And that I love him, okay?”

The familiar guilt poked Kendall in the gut. She should have tried to get Simon on the phone. He wouldn’t have said a word, but at least Paul could have spoken to him. “I will.”

She hung up and climbed the stairs to Simon’s bedroom like she was hiking up Mount Everest. Slow and steady, trying to ignore the pain in her chest. She hated when he wouldn’t talk in front of other people, but when he refused to speak to her, it was torture. She feared they’d soon be eaten up by the silence.

She knocked softly on his door, giving him a chance to let her in. He didn’t answer. Her hand gripped the doorknob as her forehead rested against the wood. “Simon.”

No answer.

She twisted the knob and pushed the door open. From the other side of Simon’s twin bed, she could see the top of his head, his cowlick stuck up like it wanted to make sure she didn’t miss him sitting there.

Kendall walked around the bed and joined him on the floor. He had all of his Hot Wheels lined up in front of him. Cars were his passion, something he shared with his father. He had over a hundred little cars in his collection and used to play with them every day. Anything could be turned into a roadway or racetrack. Nowadays, the cars were stored in boxes under his bed. Simon only brought them out when he was missing Trevor the most.

“Remember when Daddy came home with that bright yellow Mustang?” Kendall picked up a toy car that looked much like it. Simon had a photo of it taped to the mirror above his dresser. “I thought he was crazy. Until I saw your face. Your eyes got so big, I thought they were going to pop out like they do in the cartoons.”

She smiled at the memory. She hadn’t only thought Trevor was crazy, she had been so angry. He’d spent way too much money on a car they didn’t need, but he promised her it was no big deal and the expression on their son’s face made her want to believe him. Trevor had a way of making her forget her head. With him, her heart made all the decisions.

Simon took the car out of her hands and turned it around and around in his.

“Your dad loved you so much,” Kendall said. “He would have done anything for you. If he could come back from heaven, I don’t doubt for a second he’d do it.”

“But you can’t come back from heaven,” Simon whispered.

Kendall put an arm around him and pulled him against her. The words pushed their way through the emotion. “No, you can’t.”

Simon tossed the car aside and wrapped both arms around his mom. He buried his face into her chest. “Don’t ever go to heaven, Mommy.”

In that moment, Kendall knew exactly how it felt when Trevor set off that roadside bomb—destroyed.

* * *

SIMON REFUSED TO go to school the rest of the week and Kendall didn’t have any fight left. She had to bring him to her office twice, and her mom stayed with him the other days. She cancelled her plans to take him to Lake Forest, claiming he was under the weather. Paul wasn’t too happy about it, but Kendall wasn’t up for the million questions and couldn’t deal with the disappointment she’d certainly see on Paul’s face when Simon couldn’t talk to his grandfather.

Monday meant going to Sato’s to meet with the contractors. She couldn’t have a tagalong, and Kendall’s mom had a doctor’s appointment. Simon needed to go to school. They had talked about it several times on Sunday. He knew the expectations.

Kendall woke him up on time and left him to get dressed in the clothes they had laid out the night before. She turned on the stove and heated up the water for oatmeal while she waited for him. Sleepy-eyed, Simon shuffled into the kitchen looking none too happy about going anywhere.

“What two things are you worried about today?” she asked as she set a glass of orange juice in front of him, ignoring the frown.

He shrugged.

She waited him out, making his lunch instead of talking for him. He finished his juice and watched her cut the crusts off his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Seeing Dad and it not being Dad,” he said softly.

Kendall held her breath for a second then spun around. “We aren’t going to see Dad.” She quickly corrected herself. “I mean, it’s highly unlikely we’ll see that man again. If we do, maybe we’ll walk up to him and introduce ourselves. That way, it won’t be weird anymore.”

She prayed they wouldn’t see the man now that she’d promised to speak to him. She could only imagine how embarrassing it would be to approach a stranger on the street.

Hi, my name is Kendall and this is my son, Simon. We just wanted to say hello because you look exactly like my dead husband and my son thought you were him and now hasn’t gone to school for four days. Beautiful morning we’re having, huh?

Nope, not awkward at all.

The teakettle whistled. She poured some water into the oatmeal and set the bowl in front of Simon, handing him the spoon. “What two things are you looking forward to today?”

Simon took the spoon but set it down. With his elbow on the table, he rested his head on his hand. “My tummy hurts. I want to go to work with you.”

It was disappointing but not unexpected. Stomachaches were a sure sign of the yucks. “We talked about this yesterday. Mommy has to go to the restaurant today, and you can’t come with. School is your job. You need to go to your job and Mommy needs to go to hers.”

“It hurts too bad. I can’t go,” he protested, shoving the oatmeal away.

Kendall stirred his oatmeal and pushed the bowl back in front of him. “Eat. It will make your stomach feel better. It hurts because it’s empty.” He frowned but picked up the spoon and took a bite. “What two things are you looking forward to today?” she asked as he ate.

He finished the whole bowl before answering. “Coming home and seeing Aunt Lucy.”

Kendall’s sister was picking him up from school today. Lucy swore she was never getting married or having children, so she reasoned that spoiling Simon was her God-given right.

“I’m sure Aunt Lucy is looking forward to seeing you, too. She told me on the phone that she’s bringing something very special for any boy named Simon who makes it through the whole school day.”

Simon’s mouth twisted then fell back into a frown. “My tummy still hurts.”

Kendall sat down next to him. “Mine, too. I’ve got the yucks about this new job. It’s going to be a lot of work.”

“You have the yucks?”

She nodded and put a hand on her stomach. “Everybody gets the yucks sometimes. But we still have to go to work. I’ll tell your yucks to beat it if you tell mine, okay?”

Simon almost smiled. “Okay. Beat it, yucks!” he said to her stomach.

Kendall jumped in her seat. “Whoa! I felt them run away. Good work, mister. My turn.” She held on to his waist and whispered, “Beat it, yucks.”

“Mom. They can’t hear you when you talk so soft.”

“They can’t?”

He shook his head. Kendall put on a determined face and bent closer to his belly. “Beat it, yucks!” she said firmly. She glanced up into those big, blue eyes. “How was that?”

Simon looked down at his stomach. “I’m not sure.”

Kendall sat back and surveyed the room like she might spot the yucks running away. “Let’s try this,” she said, before tickling his sides. “Beat it, yucks!”

Simon giggled and squirmed. It was the best sound she’d heard in a week. “Stop, Mom. They’re gone. Stop!”

Kendall obliged and stood up. She held out a hand. “Let’s get out of here before they come back, huh?”

With only a moment’s hesitation, Simon took his mom’s hand.

* * *

KENDALL REALLY DID feel the yucks coming on as she got out of the cab in front of Sato’s. The restaurant was located in a great spot not far from the Mag Mile and just a couple of blocks from Ontario. She couldn’t remember what used to occupy this space, but she was going to make sure no one forgot Sato’s.

Owen was waiting outside for her. With coffee, because he was the best partner anyone could ask for. “He made it to school?” he asked, handing her the Starbucks cup.

“He made it. Let’s hope he makes it all day.” She sipped the warm, caffeinated goodness and thanked him.

“Let’s get to work.” Owen held the door open for her. “Oh, K...” He gestured with his head for her to come back outside. Her brow furrowed, and Owen glanced around nervously. “I meant to mention this to you earlier but with all the stuff with Simon, I didn’t want to freak you out.”

The yucks danced in her gut. “What?”

“Don’t panic,” he said, giving her arm a squeeze. “I forgot to tell you something about Mr. Jordan, the restaurant manager.”

Kendall relaxed immediately. She was sure Owen was going to confess being in love or lust or whatever he felt. She hoped this wasn’t about wanting to set her up again because she had no time for men.

“When he finally showed up for the meeting last week...this is going to sound strange...but he sort of looks like...”

Kendall stopped listening because behind Owen, Trevor was stepping out of a cab. Even though her brain told her it couldn’t be Trevor because Trevor was dead, she watched as this Trevor ran a hand through hair that was much too long. Her Trevor always wore his hair short—military short. This Trevor patted his pockets then shook his head like he should have known there was nothing there.

It wasn’t until he looked up and right at Kendall that she noticed the world around her had gone fuzzy, not just the sights but the sounds, too. It was like she was underwater. Owen seemed so far away. Did he see Trevor, too, or was she the only one? Owen’s voice as well as the street noise was muffled. The only thing that wasn’t blurry was this Trevor, who was smiling as he glided over to her.

He was beautiful, dressed in dark gray slacks and a light purple button-down. Her Trevor never would have worn purple. Ever. But it looked so good on him. The sleeves were rolled up like he was ready to do some work. His arms were as tan as the first time he came back from Afghanistan.

She wanted to touch him. Hold him. Cry on his shoulder. Beg him to be real. Then let him have it for leaving her, for not choosing her and Simon. She would have done all of that if her arms and legs weren’t numb. There was a tremendous burning in her chest, but the rest of her was frozen.

Trevor’s eyes never left her and his grin widened as he got closer. He was right in front of her, and she wasn’t sure how she was still standing, or breathing for that matter. “You must be the K in KO Designs,” he said in a voice that wasn’t at all like her Trevor’s. It was deeper, rougher.

Before she could say anything or hold his hand like she wanted, the world went from fuzzy straight to black.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_17f448de-acff-5ffc-bcc4-3c9d428c662d)

“SIT HER DOWN over here,” Owen said, clearing some junk off a dusty chair. The poor guy was almost as pale as the woman in Max’s arms.

“Does she have low blood sugar or some kind of medical condition I should know about?” Max asked. He wasn’t sure how she was going to hold herself up when she was unconscious, so he held on to her.

“Not that I know of.” Her business partner was flustered. “You should put her down. She’ll pass out again if she wakes up and you’re holding her.”

Max’s eyebrows pinched together. There was no way he was blaming him for this. Who passed out at the sight of someone? Although... His mother had always teased him about being a knockout. Kendall Montgomery was indeed out cold, and all he had done was smile and attempt to introduce himself. Maybe he had KO’d the K in KO Designs with his devilish good looks. He fought a smile. It was funny, even though it wasn’t.

Her eyes began to flutter open and, though it was absurd to think he had anything to do with her passing out, Max wanted to set her down before she came to. She looked up at him as he set her on the chair.

“Oh, God, did I die?” She was horror-stricken. Her eyes were wide and wild. “I can’t die. What about Simon!” Her hand covered her mouth.

“No, no, no, K. You’re fine. You’re alive,” Owen said, pushing Max aside and helping her sit up straight. “Mr. Jordan, here, brought you inside.”

“Mr. Jordan?”

The beautiful but somewhat strange designer rubbed her forehead and stared at Max. She was pretty enough to be forgiven for spilling her coffee all over his shoes. This time.

“Please, call me Max,” he said to both of them. This Mr. Jordan stuff made him feel uncomfortable. The only Mr. Jordan that Max ever knew was his grandfather, and his mother’s father was nothing but a mean, old man. He scanned the room. “Let me find you some water.”

The restaurant was a big, torn-apart space with nothing to offer but broken furniture and an empty bar. He decided to duck outside and spotted a Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner, down the street.

He bought Kendall water and a glazed doughnut, just in case low blood sugar really was the culprit. When he returned to the future home of Sato’s, the two designers were hugging. This was not how he expected day one to start. He waited for them to break apart before he handed over the food and drink.

The biggest, softest brown eyes stared up at him. This woman was the knockout. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a ponytail that fell halfway down her back. The navy V-neck shirt she wore accentuated the length of her neck, and her skin was the color of the cream he put in his coffee.

“I figured everyone likes glazed doughnuts. I’m a Boston cream fan myself, but some people don’t like stuff inside their doughnuts. I love vanilla pudding but hate jelly. I mean, if I want jelly, I’m going to put it on toast, not in my doughnut.”

Both designers stared and blinked, blinked and stared. They were beginning to make him self-conscious. He hadn’t had a pimple since the twelfth grade, but all their gaping had him wondering if he didn’t have a giant red bump on his nose.

“You should probably eat something,” he said, filling the awkward silence. “I bet you skipped breakfast this morning. Am I right?”

Kendall glanced at Owen, then nodded her head. “Yeah. I was in such a rush, I totally forgot to grab something. Thank you...Max.” She said his name like she was testing the way it sounded. As if he might correct her and tell her it was something else.

“You’re welcome,” he said with a wink. “Eat up so we can get to work.”

Kendall pulled out the doughnut and took a bite, humming in appreciation. She ate and she drank. She smiled and she blushed. She was even prettier with a little color in her cheeks. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand instead of the napkin he had stuffed in the small paper bag, and she never stopped staring.

* * *

MAX WAS HOPEFUL things would be less awkward as the day progressed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was under a microscope. During the morning meeting with the contractor, he caught her studying his shoes. When he was pointing out some issues in the blueprints, she seemed completely distracted by his hands. Not to mention the five minutes she spent fixated on his chin. Max had to go the bathroom to make sure there wasn’t something there.

Getting a woman’s attention was nothing new. One of Max’s favorite things about his job was working the room, sparing no one from his charm. He was used to women watching him, flirting with crooked smiles and batted eyelashes. Those looks fueled his ego nicely.

This was not that.

Kendall was currently talking on the phone, but she was also watching Max tour the room with one of the subcontractors. The crease between her eyebrows was the dead giveaway that she wasn’t flirting. She was judging. Why was she judging him? All day he felt like he wasn’t meeting some standard.

As soon as she got off her phone, he intended to find out what her problem was. He finished with Joe the subcontractor and strode over to Kendall, who, even though she was looking right at him, didn’t seem to notice he was headed her way.

“I bought you breakfast and still I feel like you’re holding the whole fainting spell against me.”

She startled when he spoke. “What?”

“Is there a problem I should know about?”

She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes as she peered at his. “Brown,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear. She was officially odd.

“What?”

“What?” She pulled her head back and folded her arms across her chest.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he said, trying his best not to seem confrontational. “I’d be flattered if I thought you were simply appreciating my awesomeness, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Kendall’s gaze fell to the floor. “Sorry. You remind me of...someone.” She shook her head and made eye contact again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Apology accepted. It’s actually good to know there’s somebody out there who looks like me. Especially the next time I get picked out of a lineup for robbing a bank. I mean, the last time, they wouldn’t take my word for it when I said it must have been my evil twin,” he joked, but she didn’t laugh. In fact, she may have thought he was being serious. “I’m kidding.”

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time he was talking. “Okay, well, I’m heading out to make sure our flooring gets delivered on time.”

“Well, until tomorrow, then,” Max said, stepping out of her way. “Don’t forget to eat something for breakfast.”

Confusion clouded her face for a moment before the light came on. She smiled and laughed at herself. It was the kind of smile that gave her lines that bracketed her mouth. She had full lips and lots of white teeth that had to have spent some time in braces when she was younger. “I will definitely eat something so you don’t have to pick me up off the floor, Mr. Jordan.”

“Max,” he corrected.

“Right.” Her smile faded for some reason. “Max.”

* * *

MAX HAD THIRTY minutes to get from the Loop to the corner of North Avenue and Milwaukee Avenue. Joe, the helpful subcontractor, told him to jump on the Blue Line because a cab would cost him a bundle and take too long this time of day. Max was used to getting around in the safety of his own car. Everyone in L.A. had a car, hence the massive traffic problems. Chicago had its issues, but many of the people behind the wheel were making money doing so or commuting from the suburbs. True Chicagoans, Max had been told, walked, got around on bikes, or unlike everyone he knew back in L.A., they used public transportation.

The CTA station was crowded and smelled like a dirty bathroom. A man in a stained shirt and muddied khakis wove his way through the waiting commuters. He held out a paper cup that contained maybe a buck in change if he was lucky. “Spare somethin’?”

Max dug in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He pushed it into the cup. “Get a good meal tonight,” he said.

The man’s face broke into a grin of appreciation. “God bless.”

Max tipped his head and smiled back as the man moved on.

The woman next to him snorted. “He’s just gonna buy some booze with that money, you know.” Dressed in a navy suit and flashy running shoes, she held on tightly to her humongous designer purse with one hand while the other scrolled through something on her phone. Neither the diamonds in her ears nor the rings on her fingers looked like they came from a Cracker Jack box. She could have easily spared a dime.

“Maybe. Maybe not. You never know someone’s story until you ask them to tell it,” Max said as the train pulled up.

“Pfft.” The woman rolled her eyes and made her way toward the train.

She was probably right. It was very likely the guy would use the money for some vice rather than food. Still, there was also a possibility he’d buy dinner with it. That was enough for Max. Things happened. Sometimes life threw people a curve ball they weren’t expecting and all they needed was a hand up. Max had no problem offering help to others, though he had trouble asking for or accepting it himself.

When Max was twenty-two, he found out his mother was panhandling after she had lost her job working as a blackjack dealer in a Las Vegas casino. He was thankful for the people who offered her help. Who knew what else she would have been willing to do to keep from starving. But he hated that she’d hidden her desperation from him, opting to beg strangers for help instead.

He had taken her in after that, even though he was living in the tiniest apartment in all of California. She stayed for about two months, then she met some guy who persuaded her to follow him to Denver to start a church. Thus began her “religious” period.

Max’s mom made him look at everyone a little differently. Her weaknesses taught him to trust no one to take care of him but himself. Her quirky strengths reminded him that people were interesting creatures, capable of both good and bad, depending on the day. To keep his faith in her, he had to have some in everyone else. Everyone except his father. His father lacked any redeeming qualities, he was sure of it. Anyone who would walk away from a pregnant woman and lay no claim to his son didn’t deserve forgiveness or understanding.

Max wasn’t going to be that kind of man. He was going to be a better man than his father. That was what he told himself as he rode the Blue Line to meet his lawyer. He had to believe that if he had any shot at winning joint custody of Aidan.

Wayne Faraday’s office was three blocks from the CTA station. Max managed to walk there and still be on time. The temperature had begun to drop as the sun set. Chicago weather in early fall was unpredictable. Sometimes it felt like summer wasn’t ready to go, and the next day it was rainy and forty degrees. Max dreaded his first Midwestern winter.

Wayne’s administrative assistant was a young guy with blond hair and black hipster glasses who always wore a bow tie and skinny pants. Max imagined he spent his free time in offbeat coffee shops where people drank lattes, ate organic muffins and competed in poetry slams. “Mr. Jordan. Right on time. Mr. Faraday will be with you in just a minute. He got a call right before you walked in.”

“No problem,” Max said, taking a seat—the only seat—in the reception area. The law firm of Faraday and Associates was small. In fact, the name was a bit deceiving. There actually weren’t any associates. Wayne worked alone, but he had a passion for fathers’ rights, which made him the man for this job. Max needed someone who knew what he was doing and was willing to take him on as a client, given the fact that Max’s case wasn’t particularly strong. At least not yet.

Picking up a copy of Men’s Fitness magazine, Max tried to occupy his thoughts with something other than his crazy day. He still struggled to shake the strange feelings Kendall Montgomery had stirred in him. It had been a relief when she’d explained he simply reminded her of someone else. Hopefully that meant the constant staring would come to an end. Of course, it was the way she looked at him that was unnerving. Even when she smiled, there was this sadness about her. Like it made her sad to see him. That was an unpleasant thought.

Maybe he reminded her of some horrible ex-boyfriend or a bully from high school. Whoever it was, it distracted her all day and distractions led to mistakes. Max couldn’t afford any mistakes on this job. Sato’s needed to open on schedule. The restaurant and Max’s success depended on it.

“Max.” Wayne Faraday strode out of his office and extended a hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Come on back.” They shook hands and Wayne turned to his assistant. “Feel free to take off, Jake. I’ll lock up when I’m done with Mr. Jordan.”

Jake nodded and wished them both a good night. Wayne ushered Max into his office, which was just big enough to hold a desk, one file cabinet, a bookcase filled with dozens of law texts, and two small office chairs. Max stepped over a pile of manila folders and sat down in one of the chairs. Wayne bent over to pick up the files, but set them down when he realized there was no room on his desk for anything else.

“Sorry. I think I need to hire one of those companies that help people maximize their small spaces,” Wayne said, taking his seat on the other side of the desk. He didn’t look like the kind of lawyer who’d be crammed into a tiny, disorganized space. In contrast to his office, Wayne was completely put together. He wore a designer suit and a TAG Heuer watch. The diploma that hung on the wall was from the University of Chicago and the picture that sat on his desk was of him and a happy bride and groom at a wedding in Paris.

Max had no idea what a guy like Wayne was doing in this dinky office instead of some corner office in a shiny building overlooking Lake Michigan, but he knew the lawyer’s track record with these kinds of custody cases, and that was all that mattered.

“Okay,” Wayne said, opening the file that lay in front of him. “We need to talk about a couple of things before we have our first appearance before the judge. The good news is you’ve consistently paid your child support.”

Max had been willing to pay whatever Katie needed to care for Aidan. The divorce was easy. They’d had little money at the time, so they shared a lawyer. They’d agreed on joint custody, but Katie was the custodial parent. Max was granted visitation, but that hadn’t really happened. As soon as everything was finalized, Katie moved Aidan to Chicago.

Max could have fought her, could have forced her to stay in California, but he hadn’t. Sadly, his only excuse was that it was easier for him to have her gone. He made plans to fly out for visits, but work picked up and he kept pushing the trips back. Weeks turned into months, months turned into years.

Max’s biggest regret was that he had thought his name was on the birth certificate and the money he put in Katie’s bank account made him a better father than his own. There was so much more he could have done and so much time had been wasted.

“I’m fairly certain we can get a judge to consider some form of visitation between appearances even if Mrs. Michaels fights us on it. It would be even better if you two would agree to arbitration or mediation.”

“I’ll do whatever. I don’t think Katie will agree to mediation, though.”

“We’ll ask for that first. I need confirmation from you that her moving was the reason your visitation agreement was not followed. Then we need something to go to the judge with that will cast you in a better light. It also wouldn’t hurt if we had some character witnesses. Friends, family, people who will testify that you’re a good man with every intention of being a good father.”

Character witnesses? His mom was the only family he had, and she was unreliable at best. Friends were a luxury he couldn’t afford. He was always friendly, of course—it was required in his profession. Max made it his job to know his patrons and keep regulars coming back by getting personal. He knew details about their lives only a friend would know, but they knew nothing about him. Did they like him? Everyone liked him. But no one really knew him.

“What if all my character witnesses live too far away?”

Wayne took a breath and held it for a second before exhaling. He held his hands out, palms up. “Then I need you to make some friends. And fast. Because right now, she’s making a fairly strong case that your lack of involvement in your son’s life is because you’re negligent. We need people to tell the judge they know you as someone other than a guy who deserted his kid.”

It felt like a ball of fire exploded in Max’s chest. “I never deserted my son! Katie moved. What was I supposed to do? I had a job and a life in California.”

“Okay, that, right there, you cannot do that in front of the judge or the arbitrator,” Wayne said firmly. “But what I’m hearing you say is, had Mrs. Michaels not left the state, you would have continued visits with your son. Am I right?”

Max wanted to say yes, but the truth wasn’t that simple. Even if she’d stayed, it probably wouldn’t have changed how much time he’d spent—or not spent—with Aidan. He hadn’t deserted his son. He’d let them walk away from him and chosen not to follow.

“I’m sure I would have spent more time with him if he’d lived closer,” Max answered, the heat of his earlier anger slowly fading.

“But was her moving out of state the major obstacle?” Wayne prompted him with a nod of his head.

“Yes?”

“Is that an answer or a question?”

“An answer?”

Wayne sat back in his chair, his lips turned slightly upward. “Don’t do that in court, either. When you answer a question, you need to answer decisively. There can be no doubt. The judge isn’t going to believe someone who sounds like he doesn’t believe himself.”

Max scrubbed his face with his hands. This was going to be tougher than he thought. “I’ll work on that.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Wayne unleashed his full smile. Two rows of perfect, white teeth. “Well, that and make some friends, Max. Quickly.”

* * *

IT WAS A short cab ride back to his condo. The sun had set and the streetlights cast an orange glow on the pavement. It was only a little after seven, but Max was tired. And hungry.

He pulled out his keys and searched for the right one to open the main entrance. Before he figured it out, the door opened and Charlie nearly bowled him over.

“Oh, man, sorry about that!” His hulk of a neighbor stepped back. “Seems like every time our paths cross, I’m running you over. I swear I make my living saving lives, not taking them.”

Max waved off the apology. “Don’t sweat it. It’s my ninja skills. They make it impossible for you to see me coming.”

Charlie’s caterpillar eyebrows scrunched together before lifting along with one side of his mouth. “You’re funny, Floor Three. Ninja skills. That’s a good one.”

Max shrugged and reached for the door.

“Hey, I’m meeting a couple of guys for some dinner and the Hawks game, you wanna tag along?” Charlie offered.

As much as Max wanted to climb those stairs and lock himself inside his condo for the night, Wayne’s voice played in his head. Make friends, Max. Charlie was a nice, upstanding citizen who worked for the city and saved lives daily. Who wouldn’t want someone like that as a character witness?

“Sure. Thanks, man.” Max let the door close and followed a grinning Charlie down the steps.

Make friends, Max. Quickly.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_acfc9eaa-694e-5a9a-bbb7-3b9e1d19d6b2)

KENDALL POURED TWO glasses of wine with shaky hands as her sister sat at the kitchen table, watching and wondering. Lucy had no idea what kind of bomb Kendall was about to drop. Kendall’s older sister was a realist. She didn’t believe in things like fate or miracles, ghosts or doppelgängers. She was also the rock in Kendall’s life. Strong and sure. It was six-year-old Lucy who told four-year-old Kendall that the tooth fairy wasn’t real, but Lucy was also the first one to drop everything and fly to North Carolina the day the two marines showed up at Kendall’s door to inform her of Trevor’s untimely death.

Lucy plucked the wine glass from her sister’s hand. “Okay, dish. What’s going on with you?”

Kendall stepped out of the kitchen and tiptoed down the narrow hallway, allowing her a clear view of Simon on the couch in the family room, snuggling the snowy white stuffed seal his aunt had given him for making it through the entire school day. The television was a tad too loud, but she didn’t ask him to turn it down since what she had to say wasn’t for his ears, anyway. The little boy giggled at the antics of the cartoon puppies. It made Kendall smile to see him so content. His moments of peace were hers, as well.

That warm fuzzy feeling didn’t last, though. As soon as she sat down across from her older sister, the ball of anxiety inside her chest pushed against her ribs and made it hard to breathe. “So, the guy Simon and I saw last week...” she whispered.

Lucy leaned in. “The one who looked like Trevor?”

Kendall nodded and took a sip of wine. “I saw him today.”

“This is about seeing Trevor’s freaky clone?”

The sound of his name scratched Kendall’s skin, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable. Trevor, Trevor, Trevor. His name had run through her head all day, a distraction she couldn’t afford. “He works for Sato.”

Lucy choked on her drink. She coughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “What?”

Kendall wished her thoughts weren’t so scrambled. It wasn’t Trevor. It was Max. Max, Max, Max. That name, associated with that face, felt so strange as it bounced around her head. “He’s the restaurant manager. I spent the whole day with him.”

“Oh, honey.” Lucy grabbed and squeezed Kendall’s hand. “No wonder you were ready to fall apart when you got home.”

Snatching her hand away, Kendall sat back in her chair. “I’m not falling apart. I can’t fall apart. This is the biggest job of my career. I can’t mess it up because this guy reminds me of...” She shook her head, unable to say his name aloud.

Lucy frowned at her sister before getting up and grabbing the wine bottle off the counter. “How Trevor-like are we talking here?”

“Very,” Kendall said. Almost identical from a distance. Up close, she noticed the subtle differences—his nose had a small bump, there was no scar on his chin, and his eyes definitely belonged to another soul. Max had brown eyes like hers. Brown with little flecks of gold. They were so warm compared to Trevor’s icy blue.

“You freaked out when you saw him, didn’t you? Did you faint? Please tell me you didn’t faint. That’s so cliché.” Kendall didn’t answer, but gave a little shrug. Lucy’s mouth dropped open before she began laughing. “Oh, my God, you totally fainted!”

Kendall’s foot connected with Lucy’s shin. “You have no idea what this is like.”

Her big sister shook her head. “Oh, K. What am I going to do with you?”

“Tell me I can do this. Tell me I’ll get this job done and not feel like I’m being haunted.” Haunted was exactly how Kendall felt. Her heart pounded in her chest. Had it always been this relentless? Maybe she was falling apart. This felt like some sort of sick cosmic joke. She had no idea how she was going to survive working side by side with Trevor’s double. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t him. This man would always be a ghost.

Lucy moved her chair so it was butted up against Kendall’s. “You can do this. This guy is going to be in and out of your life faster than you think. Not to mention, the more you’re around him, the less he’ll seem like Trevor. What’s his name?”

“Max,” Kendall replied, still testing the name as it came out of her mouth. It was still strange no matter how many times she said it.

“Max is just some guy. No different than the mailman or the guy at the art store you love to go to.”

Kendall dropped her chin. “The mailman doesn’t remind me of my dead husband. The guy at the art store is close to Dad’s age. Max, on the other hand, could fool Trevor’s father into thinking his son was still alive.”

Lucy blew her blond bangs out of her green eyes. “Any chance the Montgomerys had twins and gave one up for adoption?”

“I seriously doubt it. There was no way Paul would give up anything that belonged to him.” Trevor was gone only because he had been taken. Kendall rested her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Every time I think I’m getting better, something like this knocks me back down.”

“Stop it,” Lucy said sternly. “You are strong and you are my sister. This is nothing. There are setbacks, and there’s this. This is some weird coincidence, not some terrible twist of fate. Keep your distance from this Max, do your job and keep moving forward.”

Lucy was right. This was why Kendall confided in Lucy. Her level head came in handy.

Shuffling feet alerted the two women to Simon’s presence. The head of his stuffed seal was nestled in the crook of the little boy’s elbow. He gave them a closed-mouth smile and scurried around Lucy to Kendall’s other side.

“I’m hungry,” he whispered in his mother’s ear. Simon didn’t speak aloud in front of Lucy or their other sister, Emma. He talked to Kendall’s mother, but not to her dad, and when everyone was around, he didn’t make a peep.

“I’ll start dinner in a minute. Did you think of a name for your seal yet?”

Simon shook his head.

“Her name should be Lucy, don’t you think?” Lucy asked, petting the seal’s head.

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Kendall questioned.

“I adopted the real harp seal. I think I get to choose if the stuffed version is a boy or girl.”

Kendall shook her head and stood up to start dinner. Of course the seal was part of some bigger cause. Lucy never did things the easy way, like go to a big box store and pick out something from their enormous toy section. In fact, Lucy refused to shop at most chains. She’d even participated in some big rally a couple of weeks ago, protesting against one company’s employment practices. Lucy loved a fight, regardless of whether it was hers or not.

Simon pulled on his mom’s shirt, and she bent down so he could whisper in her ear. “I want to name him Seal Lo Green.” CeeLo Green, his cat and The Voice had been a big hit in the Montgomery house not too long ago.

Kendall smiled. “Sorry, sis,” she said, patting Lucy on the shoulder. “Looks like it’s a boy!”

Lucy scrunched up her nose and pouted. She playfully tugged on Simon’s arm. “You were the last hope I had for your gender, buddy, and you blew it.”

Simon gave her a confused smile before darting back out into the family room. “I love you, Aunt Lulu,” he said when he was out of sight.

Kendall’s eyes flew to Lucy’s. He spoke! He wasn’t in the same room with Lucy when he did it, but he spoke. Kendall was going to put that little nugget of positivity in her pocket and keep it. Any good that could come from today was priceless.

“He is so lucky I love him,” Lucy said before downing the last of her wine. “Anyone else who called me that would be dead right now.” She wasn’t a fan of that particular nickname, even though Simon had been the one to give it to her. It was taboo because someone else used to call her Lulu and that someone was no longer allowed to call Lucy anything.




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