“Come on, Bud, cut the kid some slack.” Sloan claps my shoulder. “I bet you fucked up in school plenty, and look at you now – owner of a billion-dollar company. That’s billion, with a b. Ben doesn’t have to worry about grades. He's got your blood.”

“Yes, he does,” I say, staring at the report card that's just arrived in the day’s mail. “Just because we have money doesn’t mean he can be a slacker. He needs an education.”

“Were you an A-student?” Sloan asks with a smirk. He knows the answer, waving the open end of his beer bottle at me. “Hell, those grades are probably Mr. Average. Cs and Ds get degrees. And then if they've got the natural smarts and the cojones like our boy, they go on to do awesome things. You're worrying too much, Hunter.”

Maybe he's right. But deep down, I suspect he isn't.

I’d never gotten straight As. Neither had Cory, but our grades had been a hell of a lot better than this.

“This.” I wave the mid-term report in the air. “Isn't average, Sloan. Cs are average. Ben has one of those.” I glance at the slip of paper and toss it onto the coffee table. “In gym class, dammit!”

Sloan crosses the room and leans against the massive stone fireplace in the den. Standing there, he could give a medieval knight a good run for his gold. He's big, about my size, former military and always lifting regularly. His long black hair and aviator jackets would disqualify him from most senior corporate positions, if he didn't have an in with me, and he hadn't proven his worth time and time again.

I think there are seven – no, eight fireplaces – counting the one in my bedroom, in the house, all gas. All with remotes to turn them on and off.

“Well, then, perhaps Benjamin needs a tutor rather than a job.” Sloan empties his bottle of beer. “I could find one for you. Hire them. Let Uncle Sloan fix everything right up.”

I take a pull off my dark, thick beer and set it on the side table. “I’m sure you could. Probably one that'd look like those nannies you hired over the years. You know. Little ass and big tits.”

Sloan waves his empty bottle at me while walking toward the double mahogany doors that hide the bar in the corner. “Some of those women were fine, brother. Mighty fine. Still can’t believe you didn’t appreciate what I’d put in front of you, ripe for the picking.”

I roll my eyes. It's incredible that this walking party animal is my age, and my official executive support to all of Landmark.

He's damn good at his job, though. Always focused. Never misses anything.

“Have you always thought with your dick?” I ask, shaking my head.

He laughs, drops his empty bottle in the trash bin, and opens the door of the fully stocked fridge.

I shake my head when he holds up a beer, asking if I'll have another. He closes the fridge door and then the double doors, pops the top off his beer with the underside of his ring, and takes a long swallow.

“Why didn’t the school call me?” I ask while picking up the slip of paper again. “His old school would've. It's supposed to be the best in the district since the lines changed.”

“He’s in high school now, bucko. They aren’t gonna call you. Classes are...what? Like forty kids average? Some underpaid teacher sure as shit don't got time to go chasing after everybody.”

I frown. I'm not liking his attitude, or where this is going. Something tells me Ben's teachers are working plenty hard, and the problem isn't there.

Sloan walks over and sits in one of the leather recliners flanking the couch I’m sitting on. “Did yours ever call your parents? Mine sure as hell didn’t. Thank Christ. They sure as hell didn’t need to know what me and the librarian did in the janitor’s closet.”

I shake my head at the way he waggles his eyebrows. “You've always thought with your dick, haven’t you?”

“Gotta say it’s served me well over the years. Very well.”

I should laugh. I know he’s trying to help, to lighten the mood as always, but this is different.

Ben’s grades are nothing to joke about. If I fail at this, fail Ben, it means I’ve failed Cory.

Failed my only brother all over again.

“Hey, Bud.” Sloan leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “You have your mind stuck in the past again? Is that what’s happening here?”

I say nothing. I don't need to.

Sloan knows better than anyone how old tragedies that happened a dozen years ago can get under my skin. Things I haven’t yet come to grips with because I haven’t figured them out. Stuck searching for the same fucking answers, which always seem to be elusive.

I appreciate how he’s always been here for me during those times.

Encouraging me to stay focused on the present, on what really matters.

Today, this isn’t one of those times.

“Bud? Hello? You in there? Ground control to Major Forsythe?” He reaches up and knocks against his own thick forehead several times, then sweeps a lock of hair away.

“No. This is all about Ben. Honestly.” A shiver pricks the skin on my arms. “He could've been killed yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t. Wasn’t even hurt, so stop worrying about it. Time to get over it and thank our lucky stars someone was watching over him.”

Yeah, someone. I'm glad Wendy was there rather than a more reckless driver.

Of course, I'm thankful Ben wasn’t hurt, but don’t think I’ll get over it so easy.

How the fuck can I? I’ve agreed to be Wendy’s date for her sister’s wedding.

A woman I barely know. Set up with a man who hasn't gone on a real, honest-to-God date in over a decade.

Sure, the look on her face when I told her the big secret was priceless.

Spending the morning with her assembling the unicorn had been fun, too. I hadn’t meant to be there so long. When I’d knocked on the door of that little back room, I’d only planned on telling her about the deal her mother was offering, willing to let her decide if I should take it or not.

Her father seems like an understanding enough guy for simple business transactions, but her ma...she's one demanding woman.

I figured Sugar and Spice might need a little support, if she was ever to decline the deal offered, and figured helping with the cake would be the least I could do.

But then, I’d seen her again.

With her maroon Gophers sweatshirt, sleeves off and neck cut open, that mass of blonde hair clipped up in a ponytail. My mouth had gone dry. All my senses transferred to my dick, ready to burst out and mount her right there on the steel counter like a wild animal.

Until I saw the cake.

What was a clump of shapeless brown slowly became a majestic unicorn. It was like watching an artist working, how she’d gone on to transform it.

Maybe I've got a thing for artists. Who the hell knew? Wendy Agnes is certainly an amazing one.

A damn cute one, too. Not even Ben’s sour grades have been able to force her out of my mind.

I have no idea – she’s too full of surprises for me to predict her next move – what would've happened if the phone in her hand hadn’t gone off right when it did. Right after I'd dropped the wedding date square on her sweet little head.

Whoever sent her a message, it must've been important because she’d nearly pushed me out of the room.

That was right after she’d said, “Oh, hell no!”

I’d stayed long enough to tell her mother, Sammy, the deal is on, and then made my escape.

Now I have a feeling I’ll be hearing from Sugar and Spice soon. Her mother swore up and down Wendy didn’t have a date, but I have to wonder if that’s who sent her a text, one she’d needed to respond to right away.

Sloan cups his hands over his mouth, muffling a bad impression of radio static. “Earth to Hunter! Come. In. Hunter.”

I cast a loathing glare at Sloan, letting him know this isn't funny. Never has been.

“Bud, you're fretting way too much over this,” he says. “Tell you what, let Uncle Sloan take Ben out for supper, get him to open up about school, and figure out what we can do. Figure out how he wants to be helped and go from there.”

“No.” I take a swig off my beer, which has gotten warm. “Not this time.”

Thinking about something else Wendy said, I add, “He doesn’t need a fun uncle. He needs his father, Sloan, and that’s me. You know I'm grateful, but hell, you're right about one thing. I've spent too much time lately sifting through the old case. Not enough with a hundred percent focus on Ben.”

“Yeah, man. I know how it is...this time of year. The holidays. Fuck. Makes you think, don't it?” Sloan props one ankle over his knee and leans back. “So...what are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I admit.

“You’ll think of something, Hunter. Always do. You wouldn't have a billion dollars to your name if you didn't know how to think.” He takes a swallow of beer. “You’re good at thinking on your feet. It not only saved your own ass, and others, during the war...it’s gotten you more than one contract. Including your first government one. Hell, we got that without even having a prototype!”

“All Cory. He got our first government contract,” I say bitterly.

I shouldn't be so annoyed.

Sloan means no harm. Even if he has an annoying habit of leaving out the fact Cory was my partner long before him. I don’t hold it against him.

Half the time I’m sure it’s because he knows I get moody when I think too much about Cory and Juno, and the fire, and no fucking answers all these years later.

“Damn, yeah, my bad. He was a good brother.”

“The best,” I say.

“Second only to you.” Sloan holds up his bottle of beer. “I’m sure that’s what old Cory would say if he were here now, I mean.”

I should appreciate his sincerity, so I tap my bottle against his and take another sip. It’s piss-warm. I swallow it anyway.

Sloan finishes his beer and stands. “Well, I guess I’ll head out, leave you and Ben to your vices.”

I nod, but then say, “Don’t mention the grades to Ben, if you talk to him.”

I know they text every now and again. Ben tells me, or Sloan does.

Sloan truly is the fun adopted uncle and a godsend to me. Always taking Ben to football, basketball, baseball, and hockey games. Whatever's in season. I just don’t need Ben thinking I’m sharing his report cards.

I probably wouldn’t have told Sloan, but he’d been here when I got home. He'd brought in the mail like usual and pointed out the one from the school amid the pile he’d left on the kitchen counter.

“You know me,” Sloan says. “I’ll go to my grave with more secrets than a mob boss.”

“Thanks, brother, I appreciate it.”

He claps my shoulder again. “This isn’t that big of a deal, Hunter. Don’t make it into one.”

“I know, and I won’t.”

I wait until after Sloan leaves.

Once I hear the ding of the alarm saying the back door is shut, I pull out my cell phone and open one of the pictures. Me, standing next to the unicorn cake.

I maximize it, so just the cake fills the screen. Even though I’d seen it from nearly beginning to end, I can’t hardly believe it’s a cake. Looks so damn real, a person could almost believe in unicorns.

The way she’d fluffed up that packaged cotton candy and surrounded the cake makes it look magical, too.

I shake my head.

Magic. Unicorn. What’s next? Miracles?

I know they aren’t real. Don't happen in this life.

I wish I'd gotten her cell number.

Then I wonder why? She has my card, with my number on it, and from the look on her face right before I left, she’ll call it. Call me.

Sugar and Spice must've gotten the spice part from her mother. In all honesty, I’m glad I wasn’t around when those two went head to head over this date idea for her sister’s wedding.

I even feel sorry for Will, Wendy’s old man. I can believe more than shit hits the fan when those two women disagree and he's caught in the middle.

Which, considering the way she was when we were alone today, is a bit surprising. It's hard to imagine her having a truly bad side.

There was nothing but sugar. Sweet ass. A woman focused on her pride and joy.

So engrossed in her cake, she couldn’t think about anything else. I saw it in her eyes. Even while chattering away, she’d kept looking at the cake, thinking about it, sketching out the next step in her head.

I maximize the picture more, focus in on the eyes. I hadn’t thought it could get better, but then she’d added those eyelashes and that tiny white dot, bringing the eyes to life.

Even without tasting it, I get what Mary from Top Notch meant.

There's something about Wendy’s cakes that make them unforgettable.

And something about that barb-tongued woman that makes her damn near unforgettable, too.

I'm pissed I'm even thinking it. This is all insane, a favor and nothing more. Something I agreed to do after her ma threw a wild proposition in my face. I had to so I could seal the deal with Ben's job prospects.

I haven’t had a date in years. I've fucked my one night stands and had my fun. Never let them get closer, in range of upending any obligations I have as a single dad and owner of a national defense company.

When her ma suggested it, the mere idea caused a knot in my gut. I thought she was joking.

But I couldn't say no right away, and considering how she’d reacted to my offer to help with the van, I figured Wendy would put an immediate stop to that idea. Not without some leverage.

By the time we were done with the unicorn cake, I knew I had to see her again. The sister’s wedding became my ace in the hole. It may take some time and effort, but I’m not letting her back out of it.

I'm too curious. Maybe too eager for a little fun – the safe, teasing kind that doesn't necessarily lead to her under me. But if that happens, fuck if I'm not game.

More than anything, I'm curious. Ready to find out exactly why Wendy Agnes doesn't have a hundred men as big and brash as me beating down her door.

“Dad?”

I click out of the picture and set my phone down, a little hurried, feeling almost like I’d just been busted looking at a porn magazine rather than a unicorn cake.

Fuck. For a grown man, the first one would make more sense.

“Hey, Ben.” I look over my shoulder and wave him into the room.

“Sloan left?” he asks as he enters, glancing around the room.

I grab the letter off the table and stick it in my pocket while standing up. “Yeah, he had to get going. Landmark business. He said you barely said hi before taking a burger that he brought over and going back upstairs.” Catching the way he’s squirming, I ask, “Ben, are you okay?”

“Yea, fine. I...I, uh, was just wondering if someone could stop by. Around five maybe?”

I freeze, my ears perked up at the nervous twitch in his tone.

“Sure. Of course.” Hopeful, I ask, “A friend from school? Tommy again?”

If it's that little punk...

“Nah. He's up north with his grandparents. It's just...well, I didn’t meet her at school.”

Her? Shit. No wonder he’s squirming.

A girl would explain a lot of things. The grades. The distance. The absent mind that almost got him hit.

“That's fine, Ben.” I’m not sure how to approach this. I reach behind my head, scratching at my neck. “Does she need a ride? Or need me to call someone, let her parents know it’s okay, that I’m home? Maybe a chaperone if you're planning on a movie or –”

“No!” He says it like a machine gun burst. “But could we order out? Some Chinese maybe?”

His nervousness makes me want to cross the room, put an arm around him, tell him whatever the hell's up will be okay. Lately, though, he’s entered that age where hugs are uncomfortable, and I abide by that. “Whatever you want, son. Or you can wait till she gets here.”

“No, I’ll order it ahead of time. We can keep it warm in the oven, can’t we?”

“Right, we can.” There’s a bit of excitement in my stomach for him. For me, too.

Finally. It's something to go on. Girls his age especially aren’t my specialty, but at least it gives me a starting point. “Want me to call it in?”

“No, let me.” He’s already heading for the doorway.

“Okay, then, you know where the menus are,” I say needlessly. A kid his age knows it like the back of his own hand when he's hungry. “Order plenty. Extra spicy for me.”

He’s disappeared, and I sit back down, feeling as if a weight just lifted off my shoulders. A girl.

Fuck.

I should've known. Damn, I wish there was someone I could call. Besides Sloan.

He’s the last person I need advice from in this situation.

If Aunt Margo were still alive, I’d call her. She’d stepped in when our parents died, and did all she could for both Cory and me.

My mind instantly goes to Wendy. How she’d said I’d been a teenager once upon a time.

I mull it over, stroking my short beard. How I’d have wanted my parents to act the first time I’d taken an interest in a girl. Hell, can I even remember anything about it? I’d had a crush on Lisa Williams, but she’d been a neighbor, and was at our house as much as I’d been at hers.

Hours later, I’m still trying to remember something helpful, but I'm coming up with blanks.

The food has arrived and it's in the oven. Ben took care of it. He's showered, too. Wearing a button-up shirt, he's getting more nervous with every tick of the clock. I have to bite my lips to keep from smiling.

“Dad?”

He’s standing in my office door. Actually, not standing, more like bouncing from heel to heel. I figured I’d stay out of sight till I'm called to be introduced to whatever her name may be.

“Yeah?”

“Could we wait in the front living room?”

We? And the most formal room in the house? Neither one of us ever use that room for that very reason. Our whole house has been through several rounds of my custom renovations, and that's the one room I haven’t had re-done. Simply because I can’t find any use for it.

“Sure. If you want.”

He spins around and disappears faster than Jingles does when he hears the can opener.

“Are you coming?”

“Yeah. Right now,” I answer, pushing away from my desk. I reach down and close the picture I’d been looking at again. I’d transferred the cake ones off my phone. I’m damn near obsessed with that cake. I just wish I'd gotten the sweeter perfection who'd made it standing in there for a shot.

Ben has the fireplace going and all the lamps on when I show up. There’s also a tray on the table, holding an assortment of sodas, water, and beer.

Beer? He must expect me to join them for a short time at least. Or he's lost his mind in his nervous shuffle and thinks I'll let him and his new girlfriend drink.

Perplexed, I look at him. His back, that is. He’s peering out the window. “How long have you known this girl, Ben?”

He goes stiff, ignoring me, gazing through the glass. “She’s here!”

My heart goes out to him, the way he’s almost shaking. “You'll be all right, Ben. Just be yourself.”

Dumb advice, I know, but I can’t think of anything better.

“I’ll go let her in.”

“You do that,” I say, biting back another smile.

“You’ll wait here?”

“Yeah, right here.” Chuckling to myself as he leaves the room, I pluck a beer off the table and walk over to one of the massive, red velvet upholstered chairs with elaborately carved arms and legs.

The entire place had once been furnished like this, too formal and stuffy for either of us.

The security tone chimes, stating the door has opened and closed. I can’t hear any voices. She must be as nervous as him.

I keep an eye on the door, and when Ben reappears with his guest in tow, I’m so stunned I can’t move.

Can’t even blink.

It’s not until after Ben makes the introductions, telling me she’s Wendy Agnes and I’m his Dad, Hunter Forsythe, that my jaw unglues itself from the floor.

“This is your company?” I ask him, still wondering if there's been some insane mix up.

She answers. “In the flesh!”

With a hand on Ben’s back, she guides him into the room. They both stop near the sofa that matches the red velvet chair I’m standing in front of.

“Why?” I damn near choke on the word.

A gleam appears in her eyes. One that's full of gotcha challenge. It disappears the instant she turns to Ben and offers him a sweet, encouraging smile.

My hackles are up. Fuck, I think they're hacking their way through the ceiling right now.

And something else will be up, too, if I let my eyes linger on her a little too long.

She turns to me again. The gleam reappears. “You made a deal with my mother, and I made one with your son. Even-Steven.”

“Deal?” A shiver rips up my spine, turning my next words into a snarl. “What sort of deal?”

She takes Ben’s forearm and leads him between the sofa and drink laden coffee table. After they both sit on the sofa, side by side, she nods at me. “Sit down and we’ll tell you.”

Questioning if I should, I lower myself onto the chair.

Skeptical, I ask, “Did you two know each other before yesterday or what?”

“No,” she answers. “But yesterday's the reason why I'm here. Ben has...something he’d like to tell you, and I agreed to be here when he does.” Patting Ben’s knee, she adds, “Moral support.”

The skepticism in my gut instantly turns to anger. “Support? What the hell are you talking about? Ben doesn’t need support when he has something to tell me. He can tell me anything. Anytime. Can’t you, Ben?”

“Perhaps he needs my support as someone who can ask you to listen.”

The mouth on this spitfire. I'm fucking bristling.

Her chin is in the air, and those big, brown eyes are full of defiance, which pisses me off even more. “Listen, who the hell do you –”

“I am here as Ben’s friend. Promise,” she snaps, jumping to her feet. “And at his request.”

Once again, her attitude is bigger than she is, and after this morning, encountering her mother, I see where she gets it.

Doesn't mean I'll have it holding me hostage under my own roof. I’m fully prepared to put her in her place, until I see Ben stand up beside her.

He’s taller than her, but that’s not all I see. I see him ready to put himself between the two of us, to protect her. I’ve never seen him do that before, and feel a bit ashamed that he thinks he'd need to protect anyone from me.

I'm not a violent man. Not since I left the Marines. Plenty of bark, but I haven't had to sink my teeth in and bite for years.

I let that settle, head still spinning, silently choking back the bile at the idea of anyone coming between Ben and I. What the hell is going on here? Really?

I keep my anger in check as I force myself to sound calm, normal, as I ask Ben, “What is it you need to tell me?”

His chest heaves as he draws in a deep breath, and she folds her hand around his wrist. When he glances at her, she nods, offering an encouraging smile.

I can’t imagine what he might have to say.

Certainly nothing good if he feels he needs this much support from a complete stranger.

I have to bury the desire to ask again, to force him to spit out whatever's on his mind.

“Yesterday, Dad, when I caused the a-accident...” He bites on his bottom lip and draws in another breath. “There's something I haven't told you.”

I bite my tongue and merely nod. Waiting.

“I didn’t see Wendy – er, Ms. Agnes, the van, because I was running. Fleeing, really.”

“Fleeing what?”

My blood goes magma hot for another reason. Fuck, if he was in danger, and he didn't tell me...

Wendy looks at me, eyes wide, clearly telling me to listen, not speak. I don’t need anyone telling me how to interact with my son, and I'm fully prepared to say so, when Ben speaks again.

“The game shop owner,” he says. “I’d taken a game that wasn't mine.”

Confusion clears as the full implication of what he’d just said hits. “Taken? As in...stole?”

Ben nods glumly, eyes pinched shut, before they open, full of pain. “I stole a game. I'm sorry.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been so dumbfounded. Stole a game?

Anger surges again. I've never heard anything as nonsensical as this.

The debit card I let him use for emergencies that he carries in his back pocket, could buy the entire store. He knows that. And he knows I’ve rarely denied him buying the occasional game or food.

“I told Ben that you'd be disappointed by what he did,” she says quietly. “Very disappointed.”

She isn't wrong.

I stand up, needing a second where I'm not looking at either one of them. Scratching against the tingles on the back of my head, I walk to the fireplace and stare at the flames.

Stealing. How do I deal with this?

I can practically feel Cory and Juno's ghosts hanging over me. Judging. Sad. Frustrated.

If he was anyone else, it'd be easier. I could skin them with little more than words.

I still could do that to him, sure, but that must be what he’d expected.

What he'd been afraid of. The reason he’d asked her to be here.

He's never had a tyrant as a father, and I'm not about to turn into one now.

“I am disappointed, Ben. Very disappointed.” I turn around. “Not only in you, but in myself. For letting this happen.”

My son blinks, the same blue eyes we share filling with a fresh horror.

“Huh? Dad, no! It wasn’t your fault. It was...I...” Ben’s shoulders slump. “God. I don’t even know why I did it.”

A thousand possibilities from philosophers and theologians and child psychologists suddenly tear through my brain. None of them offering answers.

“Tell him everything,” Wendy says quietly. “Please.”

There's real concern in her eyes. Empathy.

She’s asking me to have that, too. I can read it on her face, and her silent plea goes deeper than I’ve felt from anyone before.

I don’t have to say anything. Not with the way she slightly bows her head and lets me know she understands I have even more concern and compassion for Ben than anyone.

“Tell me everything, Ben.” I take a step closer to them. “From the start.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Dad. The other kids were saying that Mr. Murray, the guy who owns the store, is half-blind. Said we could walk away with whatever we wanted and...and he’ll never catch us. I know I shouldn’t have listened to them. I took a stupid bet, a dare, really, and I wish I hadn't. Shouldn’t have believed them.” He swipes at his eyes. Here come the tears, and damn if it isn't like lead injected into my thudding heart.

Wendy looks at me. “Peer pressure is a real thing. I remember how bad it could be.”

I nod. It can be downright dangerous, too.

A danger I know we've talked about on several occasions. Too bad words don't always stick, however well intentioned.

I’ve been afraid that with some of his old friends out of the picture, he might end up with the wrong crowd. “Did the other kids steal, too? Did Tommy?”

I swear, if that little fucking punk put him up to this, I'll have his old man up against a wall.

“No! No way. Tommy tried to talk me out of it and...and I was the idiot. I didn't listen.”

My eyes search his, wondering if he's covering his only friend's ass. But his words are too honest. Too real.

Ben hangs his head. Doesn’t say more. Doesn’t have to.

I get the entire story from Wendy with one look. The other kids were wanting him to get in trouble, apparently. He'd told her Tommy was the only one who stuck up for him.

I’m instantly furious, wanting to know their names and addresses so I can hunt down their parents and demand to know how they ever raised such little shits. Wendy knows that and shakes her head.

I have to hold my breath to keep the fury inside. Not let it show. Not let it consume me.

“Ben took the game back today,” Wendy says.

“You did?”

“Yes.” Ben glances at her then back at me. “I did, and Mr. Murray said he won’t press charges, but that he wants to talk to you.”

Good. One more way I'll find out the names of those other kids. “Let’s go.”

Wendy shoots around the coffee table and grasps my arm. Her hands are so small, it's almost like Jingles trying to hug the trunk of a tree.

Somehow, her touch soothes.

Somehow, her touch restores.

Somehow, her touch softens the need to roar in someone's face. Or worse.

“The store's closed now. I told Mr. Murray you'd be over to talk to him tomorrow. Around ten, when the store opens.”

Dumbfounded twice in the same hour has to be a record for me. “You’ve talked to him?”

“Yes.” She glances at Ben as he sinks down on the sofa. “Ben sent me a text this morning, asking me to call him. He just wanted to know how bad it would be.”

Realization strikes. “That was the text you received while I was at your cake shop? Before...”

“Yup. Before I ran off like a crazy woman.” Deviancy once again flashes in her eyes.

Neither of us mention the reason for that. Not in the middle of this.

His text is the reason she hadn’t followed me out of her decorating room. “How'd he get your number?” For some reason, that’s the most important question flashing in my mind.

She looks at Ben.

“Off her website.” He frowns then. “You were at her cake shop? Why?”

“We’ll discuss that later.” Getting to the critical part, I ask, “Why did you contact her and not me?”

Ben hangs his head lower. “Mr. Murray wants to talk to my mother, so...I called Wendy to see if she’d talk to him.”

My jaw tightens. My fists clench at my sides. How I manage not to lose my shit then and there might be the first miracle I've seen in eons. Maybe they're real after all.

“That’s the deal you made with him?” I growl, raging blood rushing to my face. “To pretend to be his mother?”