Honey had been in this situation before. Well, not this exact situation, but the gut feeling that went along with it was the same. She felt like she was on a locomotive riding too close to the edge—so close that it was about to go off the rails—and she had no idea how to jump off.

The problem was part of her didn’t want to jump off. Part of her wanted, no, needed to see this through. But things had gotten complicated, and that backbone that she’d counted on so many times in her young life was bending a little.

Maybe a little too much.

She stood in the kitchen of the Blackwell home and studied the scene in front of her. She’d been surprised when Nash brought her here—she’d assumed football and beer was something to be enjoyed at Hudson’s place. But they’d ended up at the family home on the lake, with all the Blackwell boys and their wives, and that was when locomotive took off.

Her heart was still hammering away inside her.

John Blackwell had greeted her and Nash at the door. His eyes were warm, and though his hands shook a little, she felt the imprint of him against her skin as if his fingers were still there. Nash introduced her, and John nodded. Of course, he remembered her. He’d met her in Hudson’s office several weeks before. He ushered them inside, and a vigorous conversation about football ensued. His companion, Darlene, offered Honey a drink, but she declined. She was out of sorts, and no way was she bringing booze into the mix.

The boys, Wyatt, Travis, and Hudson, were grouped together near the fireplace, eyes on the big screen as a game played out. Nash joined them, and the four men got down to the business of discussing the various pros and cons of each team playing. Hudson’s wife, Becca, and Travis’s better half, Ruby, were both football fans and right there with their men, while John Blackwell joined Darlene on the large leather sofa directly in front of the flat screen television, Hudson’s young child between them. There was no mistaking the joy on the older man’s face as he looked around the room and took in his children.

It was bittersweet, watching this picture of domestic bliss. The Blackwells weren’t anything like she’d expected. In her mind, they were alien folk, larger than life, with narrow minds, who held themselves above the normal people of the world. But that wasn’t the case. They were as imperfect and messy as anyone, but they loved and respected and had each other’s backs. They were a family, and it pained her to watch them.

It pained her to know she could have been a part of this, if only…

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Regan joined her in the kitchen, and Honey shook off the dark thoughts crowding her mind. Honey had taken an instant liking to Wyatt’s wife. The young doctor was open and friendly, and she had a wicked sense of humor. Actually, all the women in the Blackwell boys’ lives were likable. She supposed that said something about their men.

“What’s that?” Honey asked, reaching for a cracker even though she wasn’t hungry. The need to move and do something about the restless heart beating away inside was hard to ignore. How many times had she’d envisioned destroying the people ten feet from her?

“The genes in this family.”

Honey followed Regan’s gaze and settled on the men.

“They’re genetically blessed, that’s for sure. Do you know what we called them growing up?”

Honey shook her head.

“The Blackwell Babes. The Unholy Threesome. The Sexy-ass—”

“I get the picture,” Honey said.

Regan giggled. “It’s hard not to.” She leaned forward and grabbed some cheese. “I always thought Wyatt was hot, you know, even though he was so full of himself. Those boys broke a lot of hearts, that’s for sure. But Nash was king of the heartbreakers. God, I had a such crush on him. He’s got something extra…” The woman frowned. “I don’t know. Like a sharp edge that you’re afraid to cut yourself on, but then you want to get close to it.” The woman laughed. “God, that’s a bad analogy.”

“No,” Honey replied, her gaze now on Nash. “I know what you mean.”

Regan picked at the sharp cheddar on the plate. “He’s different with you.”

Honey looked at the woman, cracker held in midair. Did she want to know? She shrugged and tried to play it cool. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know exactly. He just seems different. Like he’s finally where he’s supposed to be. I think you have a lot to do with that.” At the look on Honey’s face, Regan laughed. “Jesus, sorry. I don’t want to scare you away or anything. Don’t listen to me.”

“No. It’s fine.” Honey smiled, but inside, that heart of hers beat faster and harder. This conversation was making her uncomfortable. But it was the reason behind it, that was the sucker she didn’t want to think about. Because if she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she was starting to feel the same way. As if she was where she was supposed to be.

And that could never work. After she did the thing she’d come here to do, she’d be leaving town, and not one person in this room would want to have anything to do with her. Not even Nash.

“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked, desperate for some quiet.

Regan pointed down a hallway on the other side of the room. “There’s a powder room on the right.”

Honey hurried toward the peace and quiet she craved and quickly found the bathroom. She closed the door and leaned against it, hand on her chest as she tried to calm down. Why was she so afraid? Where the hell had her backbone gone? Why was she playing this game? Why not get it the hell over and move on? Simone was waiting for her. Honey had plans. Plans that didn’t include winter in Michigan. Plans that didn’t include the Blackwells or Nash Booker.

Plans that didn’t include falling in love.

Wait. What? Her eyes flew open. She caught sight of herself in the mirror above the sink, and her heart sank. She was dangerously close to losing it. To losing herself. How in hell had she let that happen?

Honey ran to the sink and turned on the tap. She splashed ice-cold water on her face and worked hard to get her breathing back to normal. She remembered a time when she was four or five and their water had been turned off. She’d had to go to the neighbors to shower. To wash up or have a drink. Even as young as she was, the humiliation of her circumstance was a cross she’d had to bear. The looks from those in her community. The whispers behind her back.

Poor little girl. Her mother’s a junkie. A whore.

As Honey stared down at her hands, something bloomed in her chest. Something hot and fierce and angry. Calmly, she turned off the water and slipped out of the bathroom. She was about to join the others in the great room, but the door across from her was open, and a light illuminated what had to be John Blackwell’s office. She heard the game, the cheers and groans, and, with a furtive look over her shoulder, walked into the room.

Furnished in deep cherry, with hardwood, plush chairs, and a big window overlooking the yard, the space looked every bit an executive’s office. The huge desk was sparsely covered, save for a desktop monitor, an old-school Rolodex, and a phone. The wall to the left held many plaques and awards—some for John’s philanthropy, some for business—and there were several with the boys’ names etched onto them, mainly sports and academics, though there were a few that acknowledged volunteer work. The Blackwell brothers were definitely well rounded in all the ways that mattered.

Honey, on the other hand, had many talents. She could pick a pocket, cheat at cards, and hotwire a car like no one’s business. But they didn’t give out awards for those things, other than the back of a cop car and time in jail.

She moved on, her hand trailing across the large desk as she walked toward a plethora of family pictures. They took up the entirety of the wall behind the desk, and as she studied them, she realized that John Blackwell wasn’t at all the man she thought he was. This was no coldhearted son of a bitch, but a kind, generous man who gave to his community and obviously loved his wife and boys.

There were photos of a young John with a baby—Honey wasn’t sure which son—as well as many of him with the beautiful woman who was his wife. Angel Blackwell. He looked at the woman as if she were his reason for living, and it made Honey wonder how a man who looked at a woman like that could cheat on her. How could he break such a sacred vow and the trust that went along with it for a woman like her mother?

“She was beautiful, don’t you think?”

Startled, Honey turned and spied John standing a few feet from her. The old man winked. “But then you know that already, don’t you?”

“I do?” She found her voice, which was a miracle because it felt as if her vocal cords were frozen.

He frowned. “Yes. I showed you her picture in Hudson’s office.”

Right.

“I love all the pictures,” Honey replied, turning to gaze at them again. “It’s like a history of your family.”

“The thing about photos is that a person has the power to display the ones that reflect the memories that person wishes the world to see. So all of this”—he waved at the wall behind her—“is what I like to remember. In many ways, it’s an accurate portrayal of my life. But in others…well, there are dark moments a person would never want documented, and that’s a sad thing, really. This wall of memories isn’t complete. It’s like a book that’s only been half read, and you skip to the end without ingesting the meaty part. A lot of times, those are the parts that matter the most, because those are the parts that make a person look inside at the imperfections that make him human. Even if those imperfections hurt.”

John looked embarrassed. “Listen to me. An old fool boring a young woman he barely knows. I think it’s a by-product of getting to a point in your life where you only see the end. It gets harder to see the past. To remember the past when the one big event left in your existence is death.”

Honey stared at him, uncertain and more than a little overwhelmed by the heaviness of their conversation.

“Bah. Don’t mind me. I’ve been macabre of late. I don’t mean to traumatize a beautiful young girl like you.”

“Do you have regrets?” she asked, not realizing she’d vocalized the question until his eyebrow shot up and he leaned on one of the deep-brown leather chairs for support.

“There’s not a soul alive who doesn’t have regrets. Sadly, I have more than my fair share. More than most, if you want the truth. And some of them, well, it’s too late to make amends, and that is my cross to bear.”

“What’s your biggest regret?” she found herself asking.

John was silent for a time as if considering his words. “My biggest regret is a selfish one if you want to know the truth. I wish with all my heart I’d taken my Angel for lunch the day she died. We’d argued the night before, you see, and I was to take her lunch to make up for my boorish behavior.” He sighed, a great big down-from-his-toes kind of sigh. “I had a meeting that ran late, and my life was forever changed. The lives of my boys were changed because of me.”

Honey saw his pain, because the old man did nothing to hide it. In that moment, he looked old and tired and sad. In spite of herself, she wanted to comfort him. This man who’d changed more lives than he knew.

“Are you close with your family?” he asked, surprising her with his directness.

“Oh.” She stumbled over her words. “I don’t…”

Tell him! Do it now!

Her mind screamed, and she tried like hell to keep it together. “My mom passed away last year.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” John said, taking a step toward her. “Truly sorry. Do you have siblings?”

Yes.

“No. It’s just me.”

“What about your father?” John asked.

Honey stared at the man so long, her vision blurred. Eyes that looked so much like the man standing a few feet away. Couldn’t he see what was in front of him?

“I…never met him.”

John stared at her in silence, and she shuffled her feet, suddenly uncomfortable and afraid and confused as hell.

“I was wondering where you were.” Hudson walked into the room and turned to Honey. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. The man’s demeanor changed—and not for the better. “What are you doing in my father’s office?”

“I was just…” God, her tongue was like cotton, and she could barely catch her breath. “We, that is…”

John frowned and gave his son a look of reproach. “Honey and I were just about to leave. We were discussing the finer points of fly fishing.”

“Fly fishing.” Hudson looked at them both before settling his gaze on Honey. “That’s not a subject you hear every day. You ever been?” His tone was smooth, his eyes anything but.

“No. I…” She exhaled and attempted a smile. “I haven’t.”

“That’s what I thought.”

John interrupted the exchange and grabbed Honey’s arm. “Would you mind helping this old fart back to his chair?”

“Yes. Of course.”

Once in the great room, Nash slid up beside her. He kissed the side of her neck and pulled her down beside him. For one blissful moment, she felt warm and safe—like nothing bad could touch her ever again. But then Hudson walked into the room, his eyes dark and intense, his expression unreadable.

He was thinking things, and that made her nervous.

Honey couldn’t help but ask herself, what the hell had she gotten herself into? Maybe she should bail before things got too complicated. But then hadn’t they already? As Nash nuzzled the side of her neck…as she welcomed his touch and melted into his embrace, she asked herself one more question.

Was she going to survive this?