My phone buzzes when I’m in the car. My mind is still on a fucking trip from kissing Amelia. There’s a tightening in the pit of my stomach as I watch the townhouse disappear from view. I can’t think straight, and I answer without looking at the screen, assuming it’s Davey. “Well, well. The degenerate shitball finally answers.”

Goddammit.

“Hey, Dad.” Must deflect. “How are you doing?”

“How the hell do you think I am? I’m pissed off because my only son doesn’t know how to follow simple instructions.”

Knowing I’m screwed, I run my free hand over my face. I can’t avoid this conversation forever; but dammit, I would’ve liked time for things to cool down.

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Complicated, my ass.”

“Dad, can we ah—”

I glance at the Uber driver, then back out the window.

“Talk about this later?”

“We’re talking about this now. And if you even think about hanging up on me like you did Renzo, I will come to London myself and beat the shit out of you. I might be getting old, and I might have a limp, but my cane is useful for things other than walking. Probably sturdy enough to break a few bones—”

“Okay,” I bite out. “Talk away.”

“Me talk? Oh, no. You’ll be the one doing the talking, or rather, explaining. You can start with why you thought it was okay to risk Renzo’s youngest daughter’s life by taking her out of the country.”

God, I don’t even know where to start. The best thing I can do is to get the old man to look at things from my point of view. An impossible fucking feat, but I have to try.

“Well, you see—”

“You always jump head first without looking. Just like the time I taught you to change a tire. What were you, all of thirteen? Impatient little brat, too. Couldn’t even wait to let me check if the jack was level before you started pulling off the damn thing. That car was bound to fall…”

I let out a frustrated sigh, moving the phone away from my ear. He just wants to yell and holler. There’s nothing he can do to change things. What’s done is done, so I might as well let him get it out. I just hate it when he gets so worked up. He’s already had one stroke, right after Mom died. If anything happens to him, I don’t know what I’d do. He’s all I’ve got.

I bring the phone back to my ear, but he’s still going on about the tire.

“The point is, Casper, you don’t think things through.”

“Dad, take a breath, okay? I get that you’re mad at me, and I’m sorry.”

Surprisingly, he stops yelling, and I hear him take a long breath.

“Now do you want to hear this or not?”

“Go on then.” He grunts.

I tell him about everything that happened in Florida, and how Amelia was determined to find her brother and sister. He listens quietly as I explain how I weighed her feelings against Renzo’s desire to isolate her again. “Part of me thinks that would’ve got her killed faster,” I explain to my dad. “At least here in London, she’ll be with people who can help keep her safe, people who will teach her how to defend herself. Don’t you remember how well Leo and Viv caught on to self-defense? There’s a huge gap between students willing to learn and students who need to learn for survival. Mila will catch on quick too.”

“You meddled, son. Regardless of whether it was the right or wrong thing to do, you interfered in Renzo’s family. God forbid, if something does happen to her, he’s going to blame you.”

I let out a long sigh. “Guilt is not a stranger to me. It’s my fucking constant companion. I accept the consequences, whatever they are.”

He goes silent for a second, dragging in a breath. “Casper, you’ve got to let all of that go. Evie wasn’t your fault.”

The car stops in front of an Irish pub connected to a hotel. “I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

He grunts. “Fine. But do me a favor and stay safe, kid.”

If he only knew. My go-to joy in life is doing whatever provides the opposite of safe, but I also don’t want him to worry. “Sure thing.”

I get out of the car and look around. According to the address the pub owner texted me, this is the right place. She called earlier to tell me Davey stumbled in drunk, so far gone he could barely stumble. Instead of calling the police, she called the last number dialed on Davey’s phone—mine. At least the idiot didn’t put a passcode on it.

I pay the Uber driver, grab my suitcase, and head to the pub first. I’ve been through this too many times to count. Back when I first met Davey, this kind of thing used to make me mad as hell. Then I found out his past is even more of a shitstorm than mine. I understand why he is the way he is. He’s coping with the hand life dealt him, the best he knows how.

“You Casper?” asks a slender, middle-aged woman from behind the bar.

I nod.

“You’re just in time.” Her voice is raspy, and she looks disgruntled, but she can’t be so bad; she didn’t call the cops, after all.

The woman pushes up her sleeves, comes around to the other side of the bar, and leads me through the sea of tables and chairs to the back of the pub.

“Found his key card and his id in his pocket. I think he came in here trying to get to his hotel room,” she explains over her shoulder. “Lots of people make that mistake because the doors are next to each other. I put him on that luggage trolley for you, so he’s ready to go. All you have to do is wheel him up.”

Sure enough, Davey’s lying there passed out on the bellhop cart, all six foot two of him curled onto his side, one arm slung on the ground. His sandy blonde hair is strewn across his eyes, drool seeping from one corner of his mouth.

“Keep watch of him tonight, will you?” the bartender says to me. “He’s been shivering in his stupor. He should probably go to a hospital, but that’s up to you.”

She hands me his key card, which lists his room number. I add my suitcase to the cart, grabbing hold of the metal bars. “He just needs to sleep it off. Thanks for calling me.”

The bartender nods, then walks away. I grunt as I push the cart, having forgotten what a heavy motherfucker Davey is. He’s got to be pushing two fifty. “Good God man, eat a few salads,” I grumble, steering the cart into the hotel.

Curious stares are cast my way, along with a few chuckles. Thankfully it’s late enough that there’s not many people inside the lobby. An uppity couple waiting for the elevator gives me the side-eye. I tip my head, unaffected by their judgy stares. They turn around, huffing, as if mine and Davey’s presence is insulting. Assholes. I can’t stand people like that—probably because I used to be one.

I dump Davey on the floor of his room, and toss a blanket over him. “That’s all you’re getting from me, man. You’re too fucking heavy to lift onto the bed.”

He mumbles something inaudible, smacking his lips. I think about forcing him to drink some water, but the last time I tried that, he nearly choked to death. Nah. I’ll just keep watch while he sleeps it off.

Since it’s bound to be a long night, I get out my laptop and make myself comfortable on the hotel sofa. The new information about Amelia’s grandmother is interesting. I doubt I’ll be able to find any of her adoption records since those are usually kept private, but it’s worth doing some investigating. I wish I could call Renzo directly and ask him what he knows. I would if I didn’t think it would be the phone call from hell.

Eyeing my cell, I pick it up and call my dad instead. If anyone can get to the bottom of Judith Serra’s background, it’s him. Besides, he’s there in New York, and I’m an entire continent away. He may actually be able to track down the grandmother’s birth family. If they’re still in the area.

He seems surprised by the new information. “This is not something I remember coming up when I worked for Renzo.”

“Yeah, me either. So you’ll look into it?”

“Of course. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Davey snores loudly from the floor, sounding like a wounded warthog. I toss a pillow at him. He sniffs, stopping for a second, then starts up again. Concentrating with all that racket going on is impossible. I shut the laptop and turn on the TV, hoping to drown him out.

But sleep is just as impossible. As hard as I try to distract myself, all I see is Amelia’s face, her perfect, glowy skin, and her impossibly long legs. Dammit if I can’t get that girl out of my head for two seconds.

What are you doing to yourself? Let this one go.

I close my eyes, groaning. I’m not sure what I was thinking when I said I’d be back. I shouldn’t go back. I’ll wait a few weeks for Amelia to settle in, then go check on her. Once I’m satisfied she’s okay, I’ll find somewhere on the other side of the world to put myself, so I’m not tempted again. Sykes’s surf competition is coming up in Huntington Beach, a perfect excuse to leave. I did promise the guy I’d be there. And it just might be far enough away to forget about Amelia Serra.