Snow was beginning to fall as they drove along a twisting, narrow road that led into the mountains surrounding Crystal Lake. In the distance, Honey spied water through the tops of the trees, and beyond that, twinkling lights from the expensive properties that bordered the lake. Among them was the Blackwell estate. Or at least that was what she’d been told.

Was she really going to do this? She tugged at the scarf around her throat and looked out the window, thoughts dark.

“I didn’t realize Hudson Blackwell lived so far out of town,” she murmured.

“He bought and refurbished a resort.” Nash pointed in the general direction they were headed—which was up. “We’re about ten minutes away.”

She hid a snort.

“What kind of resort?” She’d been in Crystal Lake for several months now, and this was the first she’d heard of this. Like all good bartenders, she listened to the folks who sat at her bar, and picked up a few tidbits. She knew Hudson ran the family businesses, that he was active in the community, and before he returned to Crystal Lake after a long absence, he’d been an FBI agent. His past was almost as colorful as Honey’s.

Though a hell of a lot more privileged.

“Remember that movie Dirty Dancing?”

She looked at Nash as if he were crazy. “I don’t know a female who doesn’t.” Honey knew most of the dialogue by heart. And Patrick Swayze? The guy had all the moves. He’d been one of her first crushes.

“Well, picture the resort from the movie but on a smaller scale. It’s not open yet, not until the summer.”

Must be why she hadn’t heard anything about it. Honey let that image settle in her mind. Sounded expensive. She glanced out the window again as they climbed the mountain, and felt her chest tighten. There was so much space up here. So much quiet and beauty. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. Figured a Blackwell owned a good chunk of it.

“Hudson and Becca officially moved in a few weeks ago. Their house is a sweet spot that overlooks the lake.”

“Crystal Lake?” She was confused and peered ahead.

“No. They’re on the other side. The resort is located on a smaller lake. It’s more suitable for fishing, kayaking, and relaxing than motorboats and waterskiing. We used to go there as kids. I was surprised as hell when he bought it.”

“Guess when you’re as rich as a Blackwell, you can buy whatever the heck you want.” She tried to keep her voice light, but obviously failed.

Nash gave her a strange look. “You got something against them?”

“No,” she answered quickly and felt her cheeks burn. When would her mouth learn to ignore the words in her head? The ones that should be kept there? The ones not meant for public consumption? “I just meant, you know, they have a lot of money and…” Her voice trailed away, and she decided to shut up, because she’d just dig a bigger hole.

“Money isn’t everything.”

She jerked her head back. “The only people who say money isn’t everything are people with money. Have you ever thought about that?” Nash Booker might not belong in the same money club as the Blackwells, but she’d seen enough to know he’d never gone to bed hungry and woken up with a bellyache that didn’t go away. He’d never had to make it through a school day with a juice box, a fruit roll up, and, if she was real lucky, two slices of stale bread with some peanut butter slapped on. Her lips formed a bitter line. Bet he’d never had the joy of wearing jeans three sizes too big, or underwear riddled with holes.

He looked her way. “Look, I don’t want to get into a big debate or anything. All I meant is that life is more complicated than the bottom line of someone’s bank account. Being rich doesn’t give you a free pass. The Blackwells have had their share of pain.”

Honey needed to cool her engines because she didn’t want to get into a discussion about the Blackwells. She’d held her cards close to her chest this long. No sense in screwing things up now. She exhaled and counted to five. “You’re right.” She tugged at the edge of her jacket cuff. “So, not to change the subject or anything, but what was everyone trying so hard not to talk about at your parents?”

The dark didn’t hide Nash’s scowl. “You mean what the hell did Cam do?”

She watched him closely. “Unless you want to chat about your sister.”

He swung her a look. “You don’t miss anything.”

“I pay attention to people. Part of my job description.” She was going for light, but the scowl never left Nash’s face. The Booker household was weathering their own kind of storm. A person would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to pick up on that.

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard, considering this town lives on gossip.” He settled back in the seat but kept his eyes on the road. “Cam crossed a line. An irresponsible, unforgivable, not to mention one hundred percent illegal line. I hope they throw his ass in jail. Hell, if my mother hadn’t stepped in, he’d be locked up right now.”

“Jail?” Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s pretty harsh.”

“When you get caught with drugs and charged with intent to sell, jail is pretty much the only thing in your future. That’s not the worst of it. They’re looking at more charges. A kid ended up in the hospital because of him.”

Honey was more than surprised. She’d lived most of her life smack dab in the middle of a community of addicts. Drugs. Alcohol. Gambling. All of it. She’d gotten really good at reading the signs, and Cam didn’t fit.

“He uses?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Nash’s nostrils flared, and he shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Liar.

Nash cared. It was obvious he cared a lot. Honey looked out her window. The reflection that stared back at her made her heart twist. It was like looking at a ghost. The ghost of a mother before time, disappointment, a broken heart, and drugs took her life. She squeezed her eyes shut and rested her forehead against the cool glass. It was better not to care. You couldn’t feel pain that way.

What am I doing? Why am I here?

The overwhelming urge to disappear into that darkness—to retreat and hide—slammed her so hard, she felt dizzy. Her breaths fell rapidly, and she had to work to push away the nausea that suddenly rumbled in her stomach. This was a bad idea. She had no business going to Hudson Blackwell’s. At least not when she was feeling so damn fragile.

Honey turned to Nash, her every intention to ask him to turn around, when he signaled left.

“Here we are.”

She followed his gaze and spied a large sign hanging from a post set among a stand of evergreens. Lit from above, it glowed eerily in the dark and snow. Lake of the Woods Resort and Northern Spa.

The entrance was plowed, and they had no trouble navigating their way through the forest on either side. This too was lit with small lanterns hung on iron hooks stuck into the ground. It was beautiful, everything you’d want a place up here to be, and eventually, the road gave way to a clearing and a large house that sat upon a crest.

It looked like… “Is it a log cabin?” she asked, peering through the windshield as Nash parked his truck beside a black SUV.

“It’s the original lodge, but Hudson and Bec did extensive renovations. I guess you could call it a log cabin on steroids.”

Nash was sure right about that. Honey slowly got out of his truck and cranked her neck for a better look. Light spilled from the windows, casting a swath of warmth in the snow. An extra-large covered porch, complete with a set of rocking chairs, ran the entire length of the home, while the upper level featured dormers that brought to mind a Cape Cod style. The house was rustic and contemporary, and she was pretty sure no expense had been spared.

Honey was pensive as they made their way up the path that led to the deep porch. This house was everything she’d ever fantasized about as a child. And it was as far away from Sunset Park as she was from the moon.

Nash didn’t bother to knock, and she hesitated as he stepped into the house. Warmth hit her face, and she shivered in the cold, eyes on the scene before her. A massive stone fireplace took up a good portion of the wall across from where she stood, and flames licked logs that smelled like hickory and brought family to mind. Thanksgiving. The space looked open from what she could tell, and she closed the door behind her, eyes wide as she took in the true extent of this fabulous cabin on steroids.

It was an architectural triumph of woodsy Americana and sharp, modern edges tempered by color—deep burgundy, cream, and crisp navy. The main living area was open and inviting. To her left, a gleaming kitchen featured slick stainless-steel appliances and dark granite. The massive dining table sat at least twelve and looked as if it were made from restored barn planks. The leather furniture grouped around the stone fireplace looked comfortable, the grain and texture distressed.

And gathered around a large coffee table were the Blackwells. A man glanced up, a wide smile on his handsome face when he spied Nash. His dark gaze swung to Honey, and her heart literally stopped. She saw the question in his eyes as he got up and headed their way, a small baby in the crook of his arm.

“Hudson, this is Honey.” Nash glanced at her, a puzzled look on his face. “I don’t think you guys have met.”

Hudson’s eyes settled on her, and it took everything in Honey not to bolt like a jackrabbit and run for the hills.

“We haven’t.” A smile touched his face. “But I’ve heard of you. I seem to remember one of Travis’s buddies going a little gonzo over you last summer.”

Nash scowled. “Zach is a jackass.”

Honey ignored Nash, her focus on the man in front of her. He was handsome. All the Blackwell men were. But this one’s eyes, they freaked her out. They were way too familiar. Her heart sped up, and she licked her lips

Hudson nodded toward Nash. “You couldn’t pay me to work for this guy.”

“Your wife had no complaints,” Nash retorted.

“My wife is too polite,” Hudson said with a chuckle, his eyes back on Honey. “Nice to see you’ve finally landed a lady friend.”

“Oh, we’re not…” Honey cleared her throat and tried to make her mouth work. “Nash is just my boss.”

Hudson’s eyebrows rose.

“It’s true.” Nash doffed his coat and tossed it on a hook along with Honey’s jacket. “This was just a goodwill gesture on my part. Honey and I aren’t even friends. Isn’t that what you said earlier?”

Honey didn’t hear Nash or see the way Hudson watched her. She didn’t notice the baby reaching for her, or Hudson’s wife getting to her feet. Her gaze was drawn across the room, to the old man she’d not noticed before. He’d been sitting on an overstuffed navy chair and slowly stood up. Beside him was a woman, older, attractive, with silvery hair and a smart burgundy dress. They were chatting to each other, the woman’s hand on his arm in an intimate fashion. The old man spoke to Rebecca, and all three headed toward Honey.

Her heart sped up, and adrenaline pumped through her veins. Her ears were full of white noise, and her vison blurred. She gave her head a little shake to make it stop, but it was no use. This train was real, and there was no way to stop it.

She watched as Rebecca, Hudson’s wife, grabbed up the old man’s jacket. He used a cane, but his expression as he rested it against a chair was filled with disgust. The older woman helped him into his jacket and pulled a wool poncho across her shoulders. They continued forward, a smile on the woman’s face as she gazed up at Nash. The man? He was busy kissing his grandson goodbye.

“Nash, so nice to see you. How are your parents?” the woman asked, her voice genuine and warm.

“They’re good.” Nash paused. “This is Honey.” A pause. “Honey, this is Darlene.”

Honey forced herself to look at the woman and pasted a smile to her face. “Nice to meet you,” she murmured, the hairs at the back of her neck on edge as the Blackwell patriarch turned her way.

All the white noise in her head died as she gazed at him. Her heart rate slowed, her breathing stalled until there was nothing but John Blackwell and Honey.

His skin had a sallow tinge to it, his full head of hair gray and white. He was slightly stooped but still of considerable height. She saw the man he was, saw it in his son Hudson. And those eyes. They were faded, their blue not quite as crystal clear or startling in their clarity. But they were as familiar as the back of her hand.

They locked on to her for all of three seconds before Nash introduced her.

He gave a small nod, the lines around his mouth and eyes filled with fatigue, before moving to Nash. The shock of those three seconds left Honey breathless. Disoriented. She heard the people around her making pleasantries. Saying their goodbyes. And then she moved aside as he and his lady friend headed for the door.

The entire exchanged lasted less than a minute or so, but the rest of the evening was nothing but a blur for Honey. She was good at presenting a façade. It seemed she’d been acting her entire life. Always being the person her mother needed her to be. Always hiding her emotions, her very self, it seemed, because it was what she had to do to survive.

Honey got through the football game and managed the ride back to the bar without breaking into a million pieces. She said goodbye to Nash, aware that his gaze lingered a little too long and that maybe there were some questions there. Maybe she’d not been as good at hiding as she’d thought.

She left him in the dark and hurried up the stairs to her apartment, her cell phone in hand before she closed the door behind her. Leaning against the door, she pushed aside a tendril of hair that stuck to her sweaty neck, and in the soft glow from her device, she made the call.

After two rings, a sleepy voice answered.

“It’s me,” Honey whispered. A long pause, and she heard rustling. “I met him.”

The sound of a door closed, and the husky voice filled her ear once more. “What was it like?” The whisper slid into the silence, and Honey slowly exhaled. She felt the sting of tears and clenched her free hand so tightly, she knew she drew blood. Her best friend, Simone, waited patiently as the long seconds ticked into at least a minute. She turned around and rested her forehead on the door. It was cool against her hot skin. When Honey felt she could speak, she cleared her voice and slammed her eyes shut.

“Honey Bee?”

“He looked right through me,” she said.

“He doesn’t know you. Not yet.”

But she didn’t hear her friend’s words, and she continued softly. “It’s always been like this. Like I don’t exist. Like I don’t matter. I just thought…” She swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered, “I thought he would know me.”

Another silence. “Oh, Hon, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she managed. “I’m being stupid. It shouldn’t matter.”

Liar.

Somewhere buried deep inside her was a soft part that still existed. It hadn’t been crushed by the poverty and drugs and the general discontent she’d inhaled every day of her life. It allowed her to admit the one thing she’d sworn she’d never say out loud. John Blackwell mattered. His acknowledgment mattered.

Her breath caught at the thought. The man who’d denied her existence. The man who’d broken her mother. The man responsible for the shitty life she’d pulled herself out of. He mattered, but more importantly, she wanted to matter to him. How fucked up was that?

She bit her lip, angry and pissed off. She was in new territory now. No longer was she just angry. There was more there. A hell of a lot more. She needed to get her shit together. She needed to be strong.

More importantly, she needed to see this through.