Shards of terracotta crunched under London’s thick-soled work boots. Black potting soil with the white pieces of perlite carpeted the walkway. Jagged pieces of wood threatened his legs as he passed what used to be a table of perennials.

The police were in the office, reviewing the footage from the security camera.

“At least he didn’t touch anything inside.”

London rounded on his mom. “Don’t do that.”

She brushed dirt off the tabletop and set a flower pot at right. “Do what?” she asked without looking at him.

“Don’t give him any credit for what he didn’t do.” He clenched and unclenched his hands. He didn’t need to see the security video to know that his dad had blown through here in a rage. The old man had seen something or heard something in the news that had ticked him off.

Mom stopped moving and stared into nothing. She reminded him of a scared rabbit. The fear wasn’t because of him, but because of the history they shared.

“He didn’t hit my face, I can still attend service. He didn’t break a bone, you can still play ball. He didn’t destroy Grandma’s serving dish. You do this every time, Mom. Stop. No more silver linings. No more protecting him from the consequences of what he does.”

She nodded, her fist covering her mouth as a sob escaped.

London put his arms around her and pulled her close as she cried. All those years, all those times she’d been brave and looked for the positive in the most negative circumstances. The woman was stronger than she gave herself credit for. She’d stayed with Dad just long enough to get London into a college program. In her own way, she believed Dad was London’s best shot at making it big. The sick truth was, Dad had been the one to find him the best teams, the camps with a flock of recruiters, the trainer who guided him to put on thirty pounds of muscle. And he’d taken every bit of repayment out of London’s hide. He didn’t owe his dad a thing—and neither did his mom.

“I hate him,” she whispered against his chest.

“Good.” She deserved to hate him. Needed to hate him.

She shoved away from him, picked up a pot, and smashed it to the ground. “I hate him!” she screamed. “I wasted my life with that—that—” She dropped a string of curse words London only heard in the locker room or on the field. With her energy spent, she sagged against him, crying softly. “What a mess.”

“We’ll clean it up,” he assured her.

“No, me. I’m a mess.”

“Join the club.” He patted her back.

She laughed derisively. “The funny thing is, I expected this when we opened the place.”

“You did?”

She nodded and went back to straightening what she could. “It’s your dad’s typical pattern: If I can’t hurt you, I’ll hurt something you love. He couldn’t get to me or you, so he went after this place.” She sighed. “I hope he doesn’t cause problems with the Titans.”

“I’ve given his photo to the head of security, and the owner is aware of the situation.” That hadn’t been a fun conversation. Yes, sir, I’d love to play for your team, but there’s something you should know …

Thank goodness James Knight was the type of man who took something like this as a challenge. He’d handed London the card for the company that handled all his personal security. When London called, they had everything in place within eighteen hours. Talking with them was like calling General Patton—they didn’t beat around the bush and they took care of the situation with force if necessary. It was that force that finally convinced Dad to abide by the restraining order. London didn’t have a security guard, but he and his mom lived in a secure neighborhood with guards from Knight Security patrolling at all hours. And Mom could request a guard to accompany her at any time. She put that perk to frequent use, and they both slept easier.

“Mrs. Wilder, if you could come with me, I’d like you to take a look at the film and see if you can identify the perpetrator.”

Mom, with her back hunched, made her way inside. She’d identify him and she’d swim in embarrassment as she explained that at one point in her life she thought marrying him was a good idea.

London bit back the new curse words his mom taught him and went in search of a broom and one of the large plastic garbage cans they kept around.

He swept away the evidence of his father’s sins, hating that he was once again in this position. How many times had he kept his shirt on during a practice to cover the bruises? If Coach had seen the damage, he’d have pulled London. That was unthinkable. Football was London’s ticket out from under his dad’s rule. It was also the one part of London Reed liked. He’d brag up London’s accomplishments to his coworkers, the guy at the gas station, and anyone else who would listen—always looking like the world’s proudest papa. And London and his mom were expected to play right along with the act or face the consequences.

He couldn’t believe that it was just hours ago that he’d sat with Maia in that grandiose theater with the gold accents and diamond chandeliers and held her hand while his heart ran sprints.

The pot shards clinked together as he swept. That was a whole other world. A world he couldn’t expect to be a part of on a daily basis. But Maia? Maia shone like the sun.

And it wasn’t like he could bring her into his world. Her dainty shoes and gargantuan dress would be forever sullied if she so much as set a toe in all this. He grinned as he remembered holding the gown in place so she could sit down. He’d been so happy to find that she could still laugh at herself—that she hadn’t fallen into the trappings of fame and become too big for her britches. Under all the silk and pearls, she was still Maia.

His Maia.

And he had the same problem he had in high school—a monster always lurking. With a heavy heart, he hauled the can out to the dumpster. Last night was the most perfect night. He had to hold on to that hope; he needed the light. Maybe he and Maia couldn’t be together right now, but someday … someday.