The sound of my heels clicking on the floor as I walk into the Children’s Hospital is incongruous with how I’m walking on air. I should hear nothing but the soft swooshing as I bounce from one puffy, white cloud to another. But despite the lightness in my steps, I haven’t yet learned to fly, so my feet are tethered to this tile like everyone else.

“Hello, Anne, how are you?” I greet the receptionist.

“I’m great, Wendy, thanks for asking. I don’t have to ask how you are, you’re positively glowing,” she says, beaming at me.

“Well, thank you, I am feeling pretty great today.”

She picks out a visitor badge and offers it to me. “You ready for the big meeting?”

Big meeting is right. The meeting where I lay out all the things I have planned for the biggest event of my career that’s only two days away. The meeting where I have to pretend I’ve personally confirmed that the main focus of the entire event—the thing that can potentially raise the most money this fundraiser has ever seen—is completed, instead of telling them I haven’t seen it yet, but I will tonight, as per my agreement with Peter.

But I’m not worried. I trust him implicitly, and if he’s been a little distant this week, it’s probably only because he’s busy getting it ready. Plus, I think he might be planning an extra something special. I don’t know for sure. It’s just a hunch, but one I’m excited about.

“Absolutely,” I say with confidence. “Everything is falling into place. I think the board is going to be very happy with the update.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. Oh, look,” she says, pointing behind me, “there’s some familiar faces.”

I turn to see my brothers walking with a teenage girl between them. Her black hair is in a loose ponytail like it got snagged on something and pulled halfway out. Besides the pair of ripped jeans and faded Eminem concert T-shirt, she’s wearing a pissed-at-the-world scowl I’ve seen regularly on a certain blond fairy.

As soon as my brothers notice me, their faces light up and meet me in the middle of the lobby. John and I haven’t seen much of each other since I’ve been back, so I welcome the big hug he gives me, though it’s slightly uncomfortable with all the gear on his duty belt and the Kevlar vest under his shirt.

“This is a nice surprise,” he says in his deep voice. “How are ya, little sis?”

Pulling back, I scoff. “I’m two years older than you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Yeah, older—which isn’t something I’d brag about by the way—but you’re way smaller than us, which makes you our little sister.”

Michael chuckles. “I like that.”

“It’s not my fault you two shot up like the Jolly Green Giant. Come to think of it, all the boys turned out huge. Maybe there’s something in Neverland’s water,” I mutter.

John tenses next to me. “There’s definitely something going on in Neverland, and I intend to find out what.”

John’s ominous tone worries me and reminds me that Starkey is still in jail for unknown reasons. I wonder if there’s any way he can help, maybe do some discreet digging.

“Can I go now?”

The three of us turn our attention to the disgruntled teen who clearly wants to be anywhere other than here.

Michael raises a single eyebrow, secretly communicating something that has her rolling her eyes. She starts to cross her arms in a huff, then yanks her bandaged hand back on a hiss.

“You okay? Let me see it.” Michael reaches for her injured hand, but she pulls it away.

“I told you I’m fine.”

My youngest brother tries to hide it, but I see the disappointment flash in his eyes. He wants to help this girl, but she’s not interested in letting him. I’m assuming she’s one of the kids the foundation works with at the Heart House, a local group home for orphans. Shifting my laptop bag higher on my shoulder, I extend my hand and offer her a warm smile. “Hi, I’m Wendy.”

“Hi, I’m not interested,” she drolls.

“Jade, enough with the attitude already,” Michael says. “Apologize for being rude or you lose your art supplies for a week.”

The girl’s brown eyes flare like he just threatened her with walking the plank into a shark-infested sea. Michael challenges her with a raise of his eyebrows, and she relents with a dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry I was rude. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Jade,” I say, playing along like she’s not being forced into politeness.

Looking at Michael, she asks, “Now can I go?”

“Since I have a meeting with Wendy soon, yes, you can go. Officer John will take you back to the house.”

“I’m almost fifteen. I can get there myself.”

“So you can vandalize something else on your way? I don’t think so.”

“It’s art,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

“Yeah, I know, and it’s damn good art, too. But when you put it on the side of a public building—regardless if it’s abandoned—it becomes vandalism. You’re lucky my brother was the one who found you this time. So please just do me a favor and go back to the house with Doughnut Boy here, and we’ll talk later.”

“Hey,” John says, crossing his arms over his big chest.

Jade bites the inside of her cheek like she’s afraid cracking a smile might be lethal.

“I don’t even like doughnuts,” he says. “It’s been so long since I’ve had sugar, I’d probably keel over. And if I resembled half the guys on the London force, I wouldn’t have caught up with Jade the Jackrabbit when she took off running.”

Jade glowers at her bandaged palm. “I would’ve gotten away if it hadn’t been for that stupid fence.”

John hooks his thumbs on his belt and puffs his chest out. “Please, I still would’ve caught you. I’m in peak physical condition.”

“Yeah, for an old guy,” Jade counters.

John’s mouth drops open, and now I’m holding my stomach and laughing. At twenty-six, John is hardly a geezer, but he’s super sensitive about his appearance. Last year at Christmas, he found a single gray hair in his goatee and almost had a meltdown.

“Careful, brother,” Michael teases with a chuckle. “Your gay is showing.”

“If caring about one’s health is gay, then I don’t want to be straight,” John says.

Jade laughs, and I can tell by the soft look on Michael’s face, this is a rare and precious moment. “You don’t want to be straight because you’re into dudes.”

Smiling, John winks at the young girl. “That too. All right, come on trouble maker. Let’s get you back to the house, so I can continue chasing bad guys.”

We say our goodbyes while Jade gives a reluctant half-hearted wave. As they start to walk away, she asks John, “Am I getting my spray paint cans back?”

“Not a chance, kid.”

Michael watches them until they disappear through the front entrance then checks his watch. “We’ve got about thirty minutes before the meeting. Wanna grab some horrible coffee first?”

“How could I say no to that tempting offer?” I quip, and we head in the direction of the cafeteria. “Jade seems nice.”

“If by nice you mean a giant pain in my ass, then yeah, she’s super nice,” he says wryly.

I see right through my baby brother’s act. His heart’s as big as North Carolina, and if he thinks someone needs saving, he does everything in his power to be whatever they need. He’s a lot like Thomas in that respect. It’s what makes Michael so perfect for social work.

Threading my arm through his, I give his bicep a squeeze. “You care about her that much, huh?”

He sighs. “Yeah, I do. She’s been in the system from the time she was a toddler, placed in dozens of homes over the years, none of which worked for very long, which is why she’s at Heart House now. No one wants a teenager with anger management and authority issues. But now she’s causing problems there, too. It’s like she wants to push the whole world away.”

“What happens if she keeps causing trouble?”

We enter the cafeteria where Michael buys two coffees then ushers me to an empty table. “They’ll look to place her in another home and hope for the best. Then when she gets out of control again, she’ll get sent back. Rinse and repeat.”

“That’s awful. There has to be somewhere she can feel at home. She just needs to learn how to let people love her.”

“Yeah, I’m working on it.”

He scrubs a hand down his face, trying to hide a stifled yawn. That’s when I notice the dark circles under his eyes. He’s not getting enough sleep, and I wonder if it’s from worrying about Jade.

“How are things with you and Peter? Does he still wanna kick my ass for flirting with you?” He grimaces. “Ew, I can’t even say that with a straight face.”

I laugh. “He forgave you the second I told him it was you. And now that the black dye is washed out and you’re back to your natural golden brown, he’ll probably have no issue recognizing you, so you don’t have to worry about catching his right hook from a spontaneous sighting.”

“Good to know. I thought he was intimidating as a scrawny teenager, but the dude looks like he could go five rounds with John and never break a sweat.”

I smile behind my cup as I take a small sip of my coffee, then promptly spit it back out. “Wow, that really is horrible,” I say.

“Yeah, no shit, I could run my car on this stuff. You never answered my question about you and Peter.”

My smile grows so big my cheeks hurt. “We’re…great. When I came home, I wasn’t sure how he’d react, but he only had his walls up for all of ten minutes. Then like a switch, he decided to reclaim what we once had, and he didn’t hold back.”

He gestures to my face with his coffee cup. “From the way you’re glowing, I’d say it worked.”

“Anne said the same thing.” Self-consciously I touch my cheeks, expecting to find them hot or beaming with light. “Am I shiny? Maybe I need more powder.”

Chuckling, he leans forward and rests his arms on the table. “You look great, sis. Happy. But I know you’re planning on going home after the event. What’s Peter think about that?”

I chew on my bottom lip while I mull over my answer. We haven’t really had time yet, but I’m hoping that once the stress of the event is behind us, we can talk about where we go from here. “I think I’m going to stay.”

My baby brother raises his eyebrows. “What about the life you’ve built in Charlotte?”

I shrug. “It’s a good life, I’m not denying that. But how can I live there when my heart is in Neverland?”

Michael nods, rubbing two fingers over his chin. “Yeah, I get that. I’d just hate to see you give up on everything you’ve worked for over the years. Maybe Peter would move to Charlotte with you.”

“And ask him to leave the Lost Boys? I would never do that. I would never want him to do that. He belongs with them and vice versa.” I grin. “Besides, I don’t want to leave them now either. They’re all so wonderful in their own way. Even if one of them does wish I’d fall off the face of the earth.”

His tired eyes spark to life. “How is the feisty pixie these days? I’ve been trying to get a hold of her, but she’s dodging my calls. Think she’s playing hard to get?”

I sigh and swirl the liquid tar around in my Styrofoam cup, wishing I’d stopped at a Starbucks on the way in. “Sorry to break it to you, but she’s not playing any kind of game. She’s in love with Peter—always has been, always will be.”

Michael sits back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest, furrowing his brow in thought. “Nope, not buying it.” His firm rejection surprises me and drags my gaze up to his as he continues. “I’m not saying she doesn’t love the guy, and for good reason. But in love? I don’t think so. A woman in love doesn’t react to another man, and without going into any details that might otherwise make a sibling uncomfortable, that woman definitely reacted to me that day at the hospital.”

A tiny kernel of hope dares to flare inside of me. Could Michael be right? I honestly don’t see how when Tinker Bell was as friendly as a rabid dog around me. She’s very territorial about Peter, that much is obvious, but maybe it isn’t because she’s in love with him like I thought.

Then again, just because a woman finds another man attractive doesn’t mean she’s not in love. Ultimately, none of it matters because Tink has hated me for the better part of two decades. Whatever her reasons, I doubt that’s going to change any time soon.

My phone dings with an incoming text, and the butterflies erupt in my belly thinking it might be Peter. Then I push past the disappointment that it’s not. I’ll be with him later tonight and then the butterflies can whip themselves into a frenzy.

“Crap. The caterer had something come up and can’t finalize things with me this afternoon. She needs to reschedule for tonight.”

“That’s no big deal, right? Still getting it done today.”

“I know, it’s just that I had plans with Peter tonight to go over and see the finished car.”

“Call him and see if you can go over earlier.”

“That’s a good idea.” I find Peter’s name in my favorites on my phone and give him a call, chewing on my lip while I listen to it ring. And ring. And ring. “That’s weird. He’s never not answered when I call.”

“Probably has the music up loud or he could be under the car or covered in grease. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“You’re right, it’s okay. I’ll try again after the meeting.”

Michael’s watch beeps. “Speaking of which, time for us to go,” he says, standing and tossing both our coffees in the trash. “Ready to show the board all the amazing things Second Star Events has lined up?”

I push to my feet, shoulder my laptop bag, and place my hand in his with a smile. “Ready.”

When we get to the conference room, all five board members are seated and waiting. But there’s an extra man I didn’t expect to see, making me stop in my tracks. My stomach sours with an ominous feeling as I paste a smile onto my face.

“Dad, what a lovely surprise,” I say, trying to sound sincere as I walk over and bend to kiss his cheek. “What are you doing here?”

He smooths a side of his mustache between thumb and forefinger, a habit he has when he’s in professional mode. “Since I handle the finances for the Lost Ones of London foundation, I’m here to get an update for our part of the investment of the event.”

“Wonderful.” As I take my seat, I catch Michael’s gaze and arch an accusatory eyebrow. Thanks for the warning, butthead. Except the look he tosses back tells me he’s just as surprised as I am, so I cancel my plans to throttle him after the meeting.

I set up my laptop and start the presentation. I show them pictures of the venue, as well as a computer-generated rendering of what the space will look like once fully decorated. I go over the schedule for the evening and the menu, complete with pictures and descriptions of all the food and specialty drinks. I hand out lists of the songs I gave the DJ and make adjustments and additions based on their suggestions of what they would and would not like to hear.

Everything is going great, until we get to the discussion about the Bel Air.

I click through pictures I’ve taken of it in various stages, the last being the one from a week ago—painted a shiny, bright red but missing the doors and everything that belongs on the inside of a car. The final picture I show them is one I pulled from Google that’s as close as I could get.

“Is that the same car?” one of the men asks.

“No, but that’s what it will look like when it’s completed.”

“It’s not finished?”

“I’m sure it is by now,” I say, injecting every ounce of confidence into my voice. “Mr. Pan assured me that it would be done by today. I have plans to go there this afternoon to see the car.”

My father taps the end of his pen on the notepad in front of him. “So, you haven’t seen it in person yet, but you have received verbal confirmation that it’s done?”

The dubious arch of his brow shoots an arrow of doubt straight into the heart of my confidence. I actually haven’t received confirmation. I haven’t heard from Peter at all this week. I assumed it was because he was busy, like me, with last minute details. I’m sure that’s it. But still, I’d feel better if I could just hear him tell me everything is fine. I planned on trying to call after the meeting to ask if we can switch our plans around. Now I need to call for reassurance.

“Well, no,” I admit tightly. “I haven’t wanted to bother Mr. Pan as I know he’s hard at work on the car. He told me to stop by today, and I have every confidence that I’ll see a beautifully rebuilt 1955 Bel Air when I get there.”

“That’s another thing,” my dad starts, “I looked into this LB Automotive place and couldn’t find anything about them on the internet. No website or online presence to speak of other than their number and location. When I called to ask them about their rebuild business, I was told they don’t do that type of work.”

My stomach churns, and my fists clench under the table. The hospital board never questioned who I hired to rebuild the car. They didn’t care as long as I produced what I promised. My dad’s trying to find a flaw in my plan, a misstep I’ve made that will prove I’ve thrown away my future for a silly dream.

“Is there a question in there somewhere, Dad?”

“Why them? Why go with an unknown shop in Neverland with no prior rebuild experience instead of an established London company with a history of doing this sort of thing?”

Michael squeezes my leg in support as I work to keep my composure. My dad doesn’t know anything about Peter or the Lost Boys. As unlikely as it sounds, my parents never discovered my six-year-long secret. I had my fair share of close calls, but that part of my life had never been discovered.

In that respect, my father’s concerns are valid. On paper, LB Automotive is a horrible choice, and I could kick myself for not being better prepared for this line of questioning. I didn’t even know that Peter doesn’t have a website. Who doesn’t have a website nowadays? Everyone and their brother has a website for things as ridiculous as pranking people or posing their Chihuahua in different costumes. A credible business should definitely have one. That’s something I’ll talk to Peter about later, but it doesn’t do me any good now. And as I meet the gazes of the seven people waiting for me to answer, I realize my blind assurance isn’t going to do much good either.

Pulling my shoulders back, I fold my hands onto the table in front of me. “It’s true that LB Automotive hasn’t done rebuilds as part of their business, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t experienced in doing them. The owner did a complete rebuild of a 1970 Barracuda, which is a very rare American muscle car. It’s beautiful and runs perfectly, as it’s his personal car for everyday use. I also know the owner on a personal level, and I’m confident in his abilities to provide us with a car that will impress our guests and raise more money for your event than in previous years.”

Mr. Fitzgibbons, head of the board and blunt as a baseball bat leans forward in his chair. “I sure hope so, Ms. Darling. Michael assured us you’d be able to handle the job. I’d hate for that to not be the case.”

“Michael?” A chill skitters through me, and my throat tightens. I don’t dare turn to look at him, but in my periphery, I see him lower his head in his hand.

“Yes. We liked your idea, but we were going to hire a different company that has a history of planning large events. But Michael vouched for your capabilities, so against some of our better judgements, we took a chance on you.”

“I see.” Michael whispers my name, a plea to understand, but I can’t deal with that on top of everything else. My emotions are stretched too far, like a sheet of paper-thin glass. If I think about how he let me believe I earned this, I’ll break.

“Gentlemen, I appreciate you taking a chance on me. Believe me when I tell you that I don’t take this opportunity lightly,” I say, my nerves fraying more with every word, “I also understand your reservations. I’ll head over to the shop and take a picture of the finished product, then email it to the group. Now, if there’s nothing else, I have a myriad of last-minute details to attend to.”

I don’t give them a chance to protest. I don’t give my brother a chance to speak privately with me. I don’t give my father a chance to ask more probing questions. I simply gather my things with a seemingly calm efficiency, bid them all goodbye, and stride out of the room.

As soon as I hit the hall, I head for the main exit while calling Peter. An hour ago, I was on top of the world. Now I feel as though the ground is crumbling beneath my feet. Peter can make me feel better. He can fix all of this for me just by telling me that the car is done, and I have nothing to worry about. That the Bel Air will be the most beautiful thing these socialites have ever seen, and they’ll bid ridiculous amounts of money for the chance to own it, and I’ll be the hero of this event.

Peter has the power to solidify my world and rebuild my rusting confidence the way he rebuilds rusting cars. All he has to do is pick up the phone.

Except I’m already out of the hospital and on my third call to him, and he’s not answering. With trembling hands, I toss my phone into my purse and tell myself not to freak out. I’ll just go to his house, and he can tell me in person. Show me that I have nothing to worry about. It might ruin whatever he had planned for us later, but it can’t be helped. I need him right now, and he said he’d always be here for me. So I’m about to cash in on that promise.