Stan took the arm Remy offered as he stepped out of the car and sank into his wheelchair. Students and parents bustled around them, and Louis played with the straps on his backpack, his eyes wide as he stared at the old brick and stone school building.

“Louis, are you okay?” he asked, tugging his son’s sleeve.

“That’s a big school, and there are so many people,” he whispered. “I don’t know about this.”

“We can wait a few more days if you want. The Headmaster said he would understand if you needed more time to adjust,” Stan reminded him. “It’s up to you, kiddo.”

Louis puffed out his cheeks and shook his head, his brown, curly hair flying. “No—no, I can do it. Mom would do it, wouldn’t she?”

Stan smiled and patted Louis’ cheek. “Yes, she would.”

“Okay, then I can too.”

“You have her picture with you?” Stan asked, and Louis pulled it out of his pocket. “Good. Keep it with you, and if you start to get nervous or scared, you pull it out and you think of her.”

“And you,” Louis added.

Stan’s heart swelled with love, and he was quick to blink a tear away from his eye. “And me.”

Louis hugged him tightly, and Stan kissed the top of his son’s head. He hoisted his backpack up higher on his back, turned, and vanished into the throng of other students walking inside. A few boys introduced themselves, and before Louis even reached the front doors, he was laughing with them.

“He’ll be fine,” Remy assured Stan, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“I hope so. I didn’t think it would be this hard to watch him go to school. Damn.”

Remy’s warm laughter only made the love in his chest grow even more, and he wished he didn’t have to go into the office again today. Having alone time with Remy without the worry of Louis being in the house was another part of today he looked forward to. From the way her eyes darkened and her hand remained on his shoulder, she had the same idea, but they would have to wait.

“You have enough to keep you busy so you won’t get bored?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. I’m going to walk for a bit and call myself a cab. Take the car.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, there’s a café not too far from here,” she said. “And possibly an art gallery right next to it that opens in an hour,” she added, grinning.

“I’ll see if I can’t get off work early,” he whispered and kissed her hand.

“Until then.”

She helped him back into the car while the driver folded his chair and slipped it into the trunk. He hated leaving her there when all he wanted was to spend the whole day showing her all the ways they could bring that painting to life, but duty called. His dad would be at the office to put together a new budget for the coming year. He stared at the side mirror until they turned a corner and Remy disappeared from view.

“She seems quite the woman,” David, one of the many drivers for his company, commented.

“She certainly is,” Stan agreed. “She doesn’t even know it.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you smiling again, sir,” David said. “I think most at the company would agree.”

“I’ve only been back a few days.”

“Yes, well, people notice.”

Stan chuckled and wished he could say he’d worked through all his issues since having Remy in his life, but sadly, that wasn’t the case. Her presence certainly helped, but even she hadn’t been able to draw out what still bothered him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her and have her deal with his burden. For now, he would keep working through it the way he always had: pushing his feelings down deep and hoping that one day, they would simply go away on their own. The days with Louis were getting better and better, and the pain in his legs was tolerable enough that he hadn’t taken his pain pills the last few days. He was able to take a few steps more than usual, giving him hope that when the time came for Remy to be ready, he would actually be able to love her the way he wanted, the way she should be loved for the first time.

He wasn’t shying away from his emotions and knew he was falling for her. Doubts rose in his mind that he might be the only one, but he’d glanced in her studio last night before heading to bed and the paintings he saw beneath the sheets gave him the only answer he needed. Besides the one of them making love in the garden as the rain fell against their bodies, there were several more. One of him and Louis sitting side by side as they worked on a ship model. The one beside that was another of Remy and Stan, their hands clasped as their heads rested against each other in a tender moment. The scenes weren’t what brought a smile to Stan’s face, though. It was the sudden appearance of subtle color in each painting.

David pulled the car up to the front of the Wellington Gunsmith Co building and parked. “I’ll get your chair for you, sir.”

Stan nodded, already planning on sneaking out of the office today as soon as he could. He knew his dad would bug him again about bringing Louis over to meet the family, but Stan wasn’t going to drag his son through that mess until he said he was ready for it. For now, he and Louis were making things work. They still had their moments, but given time, Stan had faith in his relationship with his son.

* * *

Remy left the art gallery inspired to work on the wire piece she’d started in her parents’ shed but had lost inspiration to finish. Now, ideas swarmed in her mind. She headed to the studio to get to work. She reworked the wires, snapping a few pieces here and there while twisting the other ones into a completely new shape she hadn’t considered before. Being with Stan had certainly opened another side of her creativity she’d not seen in herself. At some point, she would have to thank him for it.

She took a break around noon to grab some more water and give her aching hands a rest. As she drank from her glass of water, glancing out the window at the flowerbeds to see if they needed weeding, the phone rang. Stan had mentioned before not to answer it if she didn’t recognize the number, and after a quick look, let it go to the machine.

The woman’s voice that came through the answering machine, however, stopped her cold.

“Mr. Wellington, I have told you time and again the only thing I want is for you to suffer. I know you send flowers once a month to my son’s grave and to the other’s hospital bed, but flowers will not bring either son back!”

Remy stepped closer to the machine to listen, as if afraid the woman would jump out and strangle her instead of Stan.

“You caused that accident, and my family’s pain is on your head. I will keep calling to remind you of that. I hope you do not have a pleasant day.”

The woman hung up, but her words lingered in the air. Remy hit the play button and listened again, and each time, another piece of the puzzle that was Stan’s guilt and pain fell snugly into place. When Remy let the message play through for the fourth time, she deleted it afterwards, not wanting Stan to hear it when he came home from work. She hurried to her room, dug out the therapist card, and hoping Stan wouldn’t hate her too much for taking the initiative, called the only other number she could think of for help in this situation.

“Wellington residence.” A woman answered the phone on the other end.

“Hi, is this Mrs. Wellington?” Remy asked, peeking out the front curtain, watching for Stan returning home.

“This is she. Who might this be?”

“I’m not sure if Stan told you about me, but I’m Remy Reagan, his nanny?” She bit her tongue hard, praying Stan hadn’t kept too much from his family, but his mom let out an excited yelp and Remy heard her clapping on the other end of the line.

“He has! I’ve wanted to meet this miracle nanny who is changing his life.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, my dear. You have no idea how much he’s changed in the past month with you around. Now, what can I do for you? Are you calling to set up a family dinner?”

“Unfortunately, not yet, but I was hoping you might be able to help me with something else that’s probably going to get me in trouble.” Remy held up the family therapist’s card and took a deep breath. “I’m trying to set up a therapy session for Stan at home to get his butt back into it, but I don’t know who to call. Do you happen to have a number?”

Silence met her words, and at first, she feared she’d overstepped her bounds. But Mrs. Wellington yelled excitedly again and told her to hold on. “I have that number around here somewhere, and don’t you worry about calling. I’ll get it all set up on my end. What day were you thinking?”

“Next Monday? I might try to get him a meeting with a regular therapist too.”

“Really? And he knows nothing about that one either, does he?”

“No, and I’m trying not to pry into his life,” she promised, speaking in a rush. “I just found out what really happened with the boating accident and know why he’s so damn broody all the time and I think… I think it’s time he talked to someone about it so I’m forcing the issue because that’s what friends do.”

“Oh, hon, from what I hear, you might be more than just a good friend.”

Remy’s grip clutched the phone. “From who?”

“From Stan himself, of course. He’s told my husband quite a lot about you, and from the way he says your name, and how much you care about him, I’m going to guess there’s something more going on than simply you taking care of his stubborn ass.”

“Well…I, uh, I mean… I do like him as a friend, you know, and a boss, but there might be a little more…there… oh, God.” Her face fell into her palm as she groaned, and Mrs. Wellington laughed warmly through the line. “He’s going to kill me.”

“I’m his mother, hon. I know more than he likes to admit.”

“Can we keep this conversation between us? For now, at least?”

“Of course we can. I won’t say a word, though I will get a meeting with this physical therapist going.” The silence that followed her words left Remy feeling she wanted to say more, but she mumbled something too quiet to hear on the other end. “Never you mind. I hope to meet you and my first grandchild soon.”

“If you need to talk to me again about the therapy session, I’ll give you my cell number to call so Stan doesn’t get suspicious if you call and ask to talk to me.” Remy gave Mrs. Wellington her number and hung up, wondering what the hell she just started.

Stan didn’t make it home before he had to pick up Louis from school, and when they crashed through the front door, chortling about something or other, Remy knew she couldn’t dampen the mood by confronting Stan with the message on the answering machine. That would have to wait until tomorrow when Louis was safe at school again.

“How was your first day?” Remy asked Louis as he slung his backpack onto the kitchen table.

“Awesome! I can’t wait until tomorrow and I already have like twenty friends and the art teacher is amazing, and we’re going to shoot bows next week!” he rambled excitedly. Remy set a snack for him on the table as he shrugged out of his tiny sports coat. “Were you bored all day without me around?”

“So totally bored, but don’t worry, I’ll survive.”

Louis scarfed down his snack. Taking his bag, he sprinted upstairs to do his few assignments before dinner so he and Stan could play afterwards.

“And what did you do all day?” Stan asked, rolling so he was next to Remy.

His hand snaked around her waist, and she smirked, bending down for a quick kiss while they were safely alone. Heat flared at his touch, and he groaned against her mouth, his fingers finding smooth skin beneath her shirt. She considered letting his hand go higher, but Louis could run back downstairs at any second. She straightened and cleared her throat, pulling away from his touch.

“I started a new project.”

“Can I see it?”

“No. This one you can’t see until it’s finished—if I ever finish it.”

“And if I sneak in there for a peek?” he asked teasingly, pushing his chair towards her studio.

“Don’t you dare, Stanford Wellington. Some things aren’t meant to be seen until they’re finished, so hold off for a while. Like a month or two, just for that piece.”

He frowned and sighed, giving in. “Yes, my lady. I’m going to change out of this damn suit.”

He was in such a good mood, and as the night wore on, his good mood only increased, playing video games with Louis until sunset when his son wanted to go outside and catch fireflies. Remy watched from the bench, tugging a blanket up her lap as the sun’s warmth faded into the cool night air. Stan and Louis were at the other end of the patio and their voices calmed her worries, her eyes slipping closed as sleep crept in. She dimly heard the patio door open and close, and squinted one eye open to see Stan rolling towards her.

“Fun over already?” she asked.

“He said he should get some sleep so he’d be ready for school tomorrow. That kid is amazing. I’m not sure I’d be that excited about school after such a huge loss.”

“He’s got you,” she said and rested her hand on his.

He held it, lacing their fingers together, and kissed the back of her hand. “I know. But I worry I’m not enough. You saw the other night. I still don’t have all my shit together.”

There it was, the perfect opening to bring up the message, but fear at his reaction held her back. “You’ll get there in time. We all have our issues. Sometimes they take a while to be brought to light, and sometimes they keep getting buried deeper and deeper until you don’t even realize they’re there anymore.”

Stan shifted in his chair, and she raised her gaze to his sharp blue one, filled with curiosity. “Are you talking about me or you?”

“You, clearly.”

“No, not clearly,” he replied.

Callie’s words appeared in her mind again, telling her she spent too much time wrapped up in other people’s lives, but this time was different, wasn’t it? She wasn’t here anymore to help Stan and Louis. She was here because Stan wanted her—no, needed her here because of who she was to him. Or because he hadn’t had sex in so long and she was the first attractive woman to walk through his door. There were moments she couldn’t decide if what she felt for him went more than skin deep, and without the chance to explore that avenue, she would never understand these feelings rampaging through her.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she said lamely.

“No, you’re not. There’s something bothering you. Talk to me.”

“Oh, like you talk to me so openly?” She tried to stand, but he still held her hand and drew her back down to the bench. “I want to go to bed.”

“What did I do this time?” he asked, exasperated.

“Nothing,” she said, sighing and forcing her anger down. “You didn’t do anything. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning?”

“Sure,” he said and let go of her hand.

Remy’s heart sank. Leaving him confused and dejected on the patio hurt her, but this was not a conversation she wanted to have at night with Louis in the house. Yelling was the last thing he needed to hear when he was finally getting into a good routine. Remy had to choose her words carefully tomorrow as it was. Anything could throw off the happy home Stan and Louis had created so far, and ruining their relationship by completely breaking Stan would stay with her for a long time. She tossed and turned all night, groaning when her alarm went off, and considered not getting up at all. Except she wanted Louis to have a good breakfast before Stan took him to school.

“Remy, you sick or something?” Louis asked when he appeared in the kitchen.

“Nah. I didn’t sleep too well. Here’s your eggs and toast. Eat up, kid,” she said and ruffled his hair as Stan rolled into the kitchen.

Without a word, she set his coffee on the table and he murmured, “Thank you.”

Louis stared between the two of them as silence descended in the kitchen. “Wow, you two suck at fighting but not fighting. You know that, right?”

Stan’s eyes widened, and Remy shrugged, turning away. “Who said we’re fighting?” Stan asked.

“You two are obviously not talking. I’ve been around enough adults to see it.” Louis rolled his eyes as if they were the ten-year-olds and not him. “Ready, Stan?”

“Yep, let’s get you to school. I’ll be back,” he told Remy, who nodded absently.

The front door opened, then closed, and she sagged against the counter, glaring down the dark drain as she cleaned up the dishes, pulled her hair back from her face, and trudged to her studio. The paint didn’t call to her today, so she went to the wire figure coming to life in the corner and tugged the sheet off it. The form was bigger than she anticipated, and she had to move a few of her other works to the side so the back piece would have room to expand as the figure grew up and out. She worked her way up the main torso, twisting the wires around and shaping the chest, when her fingers found their way to the back piece instead. She picked up new wiring, connected it and shaped it, fanning the metal out to encompass the massive form. Sweat dripped down her face and her fingers ached, her hands cramping, but she kept going.

When she returned to the front of the figure, she picked up another post to start the second form and connected it to the first, twisting wires around to begin on the more slender second form she saw in her mind’s eye. She twisted two wires together when the end of one stabbed into her palm.

“Shit!”

“Remy?” Stan asked worriedly and rolled into her studio from the hall. “Let me see it.”

“I’m fine,” she grunted with a wince, pressing a rag to her palm.

“I said let me see it,” he ordered, and she held out her hand. “That rag’s filthy. Come with me, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

She glared but followed behind his chair as he pushed his way into his bedroom then to his large master bath. He pointed to the edge of the tub so she could sit as he pulled out a first aid kit from under the sink.

“What are you doing in there with the wires?” he asked, dabbing at the puncture wound with a wipe. She flinched, but his hand caught her wrist and held her steady.

“A new project. I told you.”

“Maybe you should slow down a bit so you don’t hurt yourself anymore.”

“It was an accident. It’s not like I’m in there purposely beating myself up over what happened in my life.”

His hands stilled and he raised his eyes to hers. “What was that?”

She pinched her tongue between her teeth, but she might as well tell him now. “You got a phone call the other day while you were out from a woman ranting about how you ruined her family’s lives.”

Stan swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he continued to work on her hand. “I thought I told you not to answer the phone.”

“I didn’t. She left a message, which I promptly deleted.”

“You had no right!” he ranted and tossed the alcohol pad away.

“Yeah, I think I do when I’m living in the same house as someone who keeps brooding about an accident that wasn’t his fault! That’s what’s been wrong this whole time, isn’t it? You’re not upset about some damn boat or your legs. You think you need to keep punishing yourself because one of those brothers died and the other won’t wake up.”

Stan whipped his chair away from her, but she simply followed him, planting her hands on the arms and glaring at him. “Move.”

“No. You’re not going to keep running to that cave of yours to sulk.”

“I don’t hide,” he growled. “And it is my fault.”

“No, it’s not! Everyone knows you tried to avoid their boat. They were drunk, Stan. That’s not on you. You can’t keep carrying this guilt around with you. It’s not worth it, trust me. It’ll eat you alive if you’re not careful.”

“And what would you know of guilt, huh? You and your perfect, happy life of watching other people’s kids and their families. What have you ever done that would make you feel guilt like this? Tell me, damn it!” he raged.

Remy’s mouth opened and words poured out and she had no idea where they even came from. “I was born, all right? I was born and I ruined my parent’s lives.”

Stan leaned away from her. “What?”

“I was born when my mom was sixteen, remember? They gave up everything for me. Gave up their dreams of going to college,” Remy rambled. “They lost their friends, their parents… they lost so much of their lives because of me. Try being a kid and carrying that shit around with you. Try understanding why the other kids at school won’t talk to you or why everyone in the damn town looks at you like you’re trash.”

She stumbled backwards until she hit the rim of the tub and sank onto it, holding her head in her hands. Where had that come from? She’d thought those feelings had vanished a long time ago. Her parents had found out what she carried with her and had told her very firmly they loved her and they wouldn’t change their decision for anything. But Remy, apparently, never got over it.

“The paintings,” he whispered. “That’s where they all stem from—your guilt?”

“No, not all of them,” she murmured, not lifting her head. Why was she even telling him this? “I’ve always been scared to live my own life, scared of who else I might hurt by being around.”

“So you live vicariously through the families you take care of?”

She nodded, her hair flying everywhere. “I love what I do, but when I leave a family, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do…and this is way too much information.” She stood abruptly and tried to skirt around him to the door, but he whipped his chair around too fast, catching her legs. She cursed as he dragged her down onto his lap. Before she had a chance to push away, he grabbed the nape of her neck and kissed her intently on the mouth.

“No running away, not this time,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Stan,” she replied, but he kissed her again and she melted at his touch, unable to resist him any longer. She had no idea where this might lead and, frankly, didn’t give a damn. In that moment, her fears lifted, and she and Stan were all that mattered as he wheeled them from the bathroom to his bedroom. She clung to him, not wanting to leave his touch even for a second. Since coming here, being at this house with him, new emotions awoke within her and she saw the possibilities of her future laid out before her.

All she had to do was be brave enough to believe in herself and believe in him to reach them.