Contrary to what Honey told Nash, she didn’t sleep like a baby. In fact, she lay awake for hours, her mind racing, thinking of things that had nothing and everything to do with Nash Booker. Sex with him had shaken her. She’d felt things she had no business feeling. A connection that could only lead to trouble because Honey didn’t do connections for a lot reasons. And if she went down that rabbit hole, she might not find her way out.

She didn’t want to remember the things that had shaped her. The things responsible for the invisible scars beneath her skin and the ones hidden in plain sight. Things like a drug-addicted mother who’d brought a never-ending parade of men into their home. Men who used women for their own selfish needs and tossed them aside like garbage. Men with no moral compass. Men who didn’t care if you were thirty-five or fourteen.

She’d grown up surrounded by chaos and instability, with a mother who used drugs to ease the pain of heartache and her own foolishness. Somehow, Honey survived, and she’d clung to that knowledge and worn it like a badge of honor.

But had she survived? Wasn’t she living a lie? Acting like she had her shit together when she was so far from normal, it wasn’t funny? If she was normal, she’d have invited Nash up to her room for another round of sex. And they’d take it slow. Savor it. Enjoy it. Instead, she was alone in the dark, twisted up and pissed off because she didn’t want to think or remember any of these things.

With a groan, she rolled over and pulled her pillow over her head. She’d known better than to sleep with Nash, because she’d known it would be different. He was different from the men she’d known before. He was a man’s man, no doubt about that, with a touch of arrogance offset by an overabundance of confidence and more than his share of testosterone. He was a leader. A man who turned heads. But he was also loyal and fair. Quick to smile and offer encouragement. She’d seen how gentle he was with his nephew. How much he loved his family. Even Cam, though at the moment, he wouldn’t admit to it.

He was also her boss. That, coupled with the great sex and that connection she didn’t want to acknowledge, was asking for trouble.

“Fuck,” she whispered into her pillow.

She needed to be careful. Nash wasn’t part of her plan.

Honey’s alarm sounded again. She turned it off and headed for the shower. She would not spend one more minute dwelling on the night before. Or Nash Booker. Or her past. Or the fact that she had aches and pains in places that hadn’t ached or pained in a long time.

Nope. All that shit was in her rearview, at least for today. Tuesday was her day off, and she had somewhere important to be.

Forty-five minutes later, Honey pulled into the parking lot of Crystal Lake’s Community Support Centre, a large building on the north side of town, which housed local agencies and a youth drop-in. For the past few months, Honey had been volunteering at the drop-in center, working with local troubled teens. Brooke Atwell was one of them.

At sixteen, the girl had attitude that matched the massive chip on her shoulder. She was sullen and verbally abusive. She acted as if she didn’t give a crap about anything—not even herself—but Honey saw through it. She saw the quiet moments when Brooke thought no one was watching. The moments when her eyes misted and darkened with pain. When the sadness covered her in a shroud that kept her shoulders hunched forward and her eyes downcast.

Those were the moments the mask slipped and her soul shone through.

Watching Brooke was like looking in a mirror. Honey understood the anger and helplessness. She wanted to ease all of it. At the moment, volunteering at the drop-in was the one pure thing in her life, because it was honest. Here, Honey had no agenda. Here she could open up and be herself.

She locked her beat-up Malibu and headed inside. Molly, the receptionist, angled her head around the large potted plant on her desk and greeted her with a smile. Though it dropped a bit as she nodded to the office on her left.

“Hey, Andrea’s waiting for you.”

Surprised, Honey paused. “Everything okay?”

Molly sat back in her chair and sighed as she tugged a large gray woolen sweater tighter across her chest. She was in her late fifties and volunteered her time to the center. Her chocolate-brown hair was cut into a blunt style whose sharp edges curved along her jaw, and it was shot through with silver. Her pale blue eyes were kind as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’m not sure, but I know a board meeting has been called. Could be nothing.” She winked and reached for the phone as it rang. “Andrea asked that you pop by her office before going to the drop-in.”

Honey gave a quick knock on Andrea’s door and let herself in. Andrea Lee was a pretty woman, with long curly blonde hair, sunny blue eyes, and a quick smile that made a person feel good.

At the moment, it was nowhere to be seen, and unease shifted inside Honey. Andrea was on the phone and waved Honey in, forehead furrowed as she listened to whoever was on the other end. She slipped into one of the chairs in front of Andrea’s desk and waited for the conversation to end. She tried not to eavesdrop, but the words budget and shortfall and grants were repeated several times. When the woman was finally done, she set the phone back in the cradle and sank back into her seat. For a few seconds, there was silence, and then with a sigh, Andrea leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk.

“Bad news, Honey.”

Outside, Honey kept her composure. Inside, she was shaking. Had Andrea found out about her past? Was she going to be axed?

“Anything I can do?” Honey spoke carefully, watching the woman across from her.

Andrea shook her head. “Not unless you have an extra fifty thousand dollars kicking around.”

“Sorry.” Honey had some money saved, but it was more in the range of five thousand dollars, not fifty.

“There was an issue with the last grant we applied for. I thought…” Andrea grimaced. “We all thought it was a done deal, but things didn’t turn out the way we wanted them to. We’re not getting the money, and our fundraiser isn’t planned until the new year.”

“What does that mean?” Honey asked, sitting forward.

“It means we’re going to have to cut some programs, at least until the grant comes through or we get monies from the fundraiser.” She looked at Honey. “The youth drop-in will be first to go. We can’t pay the rent on the unit, and the landlord can’t afford to let us use it for free. He’s got a liquidator who wants to come in for a few months.”

Honey sat up in her chair. “But all those kids. Where will they go?” Alarmed, she cleared her throat. “Brooke needs this place, Andrea. You don’t know what her home life is like. She’s on the edge of something dark. I can feel it.”

Andrea gave a small, sad smile. “I know it’s hard to hear. And trust me, this isn’t the first time this has happened. We’ll get through it eventually. Unless we can come up with the funds, we’re going to have to close some programs including the drop-in.”

Honey clenched her jaw and looked away. Why did the ones in danger always have to be the ones to suffer? The ones on the fringe? Those with mental health issues, drug problems, or unstable homes. Why was everything about money? Anger rolled over her, and she clenched her hands, her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms.

She didn’t know anyone with that kind of money to burn.

Yes, you do.

Honey’s heart sped up as her mind raced ahead, considering the possibilities. She jerked out of her chair and jumped to her feet. “Don’t cancel anything yet.”

Andrea looked up at her in surprise. “We’re having a board meeting tomorrow night, Honey. It’s going to happen.”

“Just promise me you won’t do anything until you hear from me.” Honey didn’t wait to hear Andrea’s reply. She ran out of the office, past Molly and the big-ass plant, and headed for her Malibu. She hopped in, revved the motor, and gripped the steering wheel with cold, stiff fingers. Don’t think. Just go. She put the car in Drive and tore out of the parking lot.

Five minutes later, she parked in front of a red brick building that took up nearly an entire city block of downtown Crystal Lake. It was old, a heritage building for sure, but the brickwork and mortar had been recently sandblasted, and it looked pristine. There were large cedars planted on either side of the entrance, and Christmas lights were threaded throughout the branches. She switched off the engine and glanced up at the sign above the frosted glass double doors.

Blackwell Holdings.

Did she have enough balls to walk in there and ask them for money? Hadn’t that been the plan all along?

Honey blew out a long breath and looked in the mirror at the same eyes that had been staring back at her for the last twenty-five years. Large. Blue. Specks of green. She saw him, and anger sliced through her, fueling her actions. She got out of the car before she convinced herself not to, and strode up the front steps, her boots making impressions on the fresh-fallen snow—which she tracked across reception.

The foyer was a huge open space that made heavy use of the original woodwork and architecture from well over one hundred years ago. On either side of the room, large Greek revival columns spiraled to the ceiling, offsetting pale, eggshell-white wainscoting. Coupled with granite, light and dark gray, with splashes of crimson, the space was a beautiful blend of the old world and the new. An impressive Christmas tree was off to the right, and a young man dressed in black slacks and a purple dress shirt was busy decorating it.

“Excuse me,” Honey said, moving forward when she couldn’t find anyone else behind the front desk. “I need to see Mr. Blackwell.”

“Good morning,” the young man said with a smile, moving from behind the massive tree. It was real, and the fresh pine scent filled her nose. “Do you have an appointment?”

The kid looked barely eighteen. She eyed him closely.

“What’s your name?” she asked pleasantly, moving forward until she was so close, she could count the pimples on his chin. Maybe he was only sixteen.

“Kyle Robertson.”

“Kyle,” she replied with a lazy smile, falling back to old habits. “I don’t have an appointment, but it’s really important I see him.” She winked and tossed her hair. “I only need a few minutes. I promise.”

A blush stained his skin, and the poor kid nearly tripped over his shoes as he made his way back to the front desk. An elevator to the left opened, spilling out a few men deep in conversation. They wore suits and ties and didn’t glance her way as they exited the building, leaving just Kyle.

“Um, Mr. Blackwell isn’t here right now.”

Shit. Honey kept the disappointment off her face. “When will he be back?”

“Soon,” Kyle said, his composure somewhat regained with the reception desk between himself and Honey.

“I’ll wait in his office, then.” She moved toward the elevator. Four floors. Hudson would definitely be on the top floor.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. He already has a—”

But the elevator door slid shut, and Honey tapped her toe, nervous adrenaline making it hard for her to stay still. Her stomach turned over when the doors slid open, and before she lost her nerve, she stepped into a bright alcove. Soft greens and creams greeted her eyes, along with several paintings along the wall before her. They looked to be originals, mostly scenes from a Crystal Lake that existed many years before.

To her left, she spied large double oak doors and a brass plaque on the wall beside it. Boardroom. The only other door was to her right, and she headed for that, not bothering to knock. She stopped just inside the office, a large space with dark oak floors and a massive cherrywood desk. Behind it was a wall of windows that overlooked the river that ran through town. She could see the old mill in the distance. Snow had begun to fall, soft wisps of white fluff falling from the sky. Between two of the windows, a large portrait hung, and she found herself moving toward it, eyes glued to the family there. A handsome man, casually dressed, with his arms around a beautiful woman in a vibrant green dress. And three boys in white T-shirts and jeans and smiles that told the world everything was perfect.

“That was a few years before my Angel passed.”

Honey froze. Mouth dry, she turned and spied an older man sitting in a wingback chair tucked into a dark corner. She hadn’t seen him when she came in.

John Blackwell slowly got to his feet, wincing a bit as he took a few steps, but his color was good today—better than the week before. He came toward her and didn’t stop until he stood beside Honey. He was so close.

She swallowed and willed her fast-beating heart to slow the hell down.

“She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

The woman’s tragic end was a story Honey knew well. And it was tragic. A life cut short because a drunk driver crossed the road and hit her head-on. Even more tragic, her son, Wyatt, was in the car with her. The boy survived, but the heart of their family had been taken away. At least, that was the story Honey heard.

She cleared her throat and nodded. Angel Blackwell had been a beauty.

“I didn’t deserve her, of course.” John Blackwell spoke quietly. “I didn’t deserve any of them. I still don’t.” He turned to her then. “But I’m an old man, and I’d rather forget the dark things because I can. Age does allow for that. In spite of the past.”

Honey fought to keep her emotions at bay. But it was hard. She felt like she was standing on the other side of the room watching herself have a conversation with him. A man she’d felt nothing but ill will for since she’d first learned about him.

“I know who you are.”

His words jerked her head around so fast, it would be a miracle not to end up with whiplash. Her gaze collided with the old man’s as she blew out a long breath. “You do?” She felt faint and tugged at the edge of her coat. It was so damn hot.

He smiled, the transformation unnerving. “You’re Nash’s girlfriend. I met you at Hudson’s.”

Like a balloon that had been deflated, the heat left her, along with pretty much everything else. She hadn’t prepared for this. She needed to leave. Needed more time.

“No,” she replied. “We’re not…we’re just… He’s…” She made a gesture with her hands, and John laughed. The sound echoed in her head. Sawdust filled her throat.

“The more one protests, the more one should be aware of the fact they’re trying to convince themselves of the opposite.” John winked. “I’ve known Nash Booker my entire life, and he’s a fine man.” He leaned forward. “It’s about time he settled down.”

Everything about this was bizarre. Surreal.

“You’re waiting for Hudson, I presume?” He coughed and reached into his pocket for an inhaler.

“I am,” Honey managed to say, noticing the lines around his mouth.

“Seems I’m always waiting to see my children. I shouldn’t complain. I’m an old man with a lot of time.” John Blackwell got a faraway look in his eyes, and Honey took the opportunity to put some distance between them. A few moments of silence passed, and Honey couldn’t help herself. Her eyes were drawn to the portrait once more.

They all looked so damn happy. She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as an image of the one family portrait she’d ever sat through clouded her mind. She’d been four. Her mother had dragged her to Walmart for a sitting. Honey’s bright orange dress was two sizes too big, and her pigtails were lopsided. Her shoes were scuffed, her knee scabbed. But her mom had been happy. And so Honey had been happy.

“You from the South?” John asked, moving to the desk and leaning heavily against it. “I detect a slight roll in your words.”

She kept her eyes on the portrait and didn’t dare look at him. She was confused and off-balance and a bunch of things she couldn’t articulate. Didn’t he know?

Now. Do it now!

The words whispered through her brain, and she tore her gaze from the photo. Suddenly, her chest was tight, and her mouth filled with all the things she wanted to say to him. All that anger came bubbling to the surface, and she damn near choked on it.

Honey nodded slowly, trying to organize her thoughts. “Yes, I’m from Louisiana. Small town called Hillsville.” She offered a tight, fake smile. “Silly name, really, considering there are no hills or mountains to speak of. Nothing much but trailer parks, gators, bogs and—"

The door to the office flew open, and Hudson Blackwell walked in. He had his cell pressed to his ear and an iPad in his hand. He didn’t notice them until he tossed his jacket on the desk and paused. His eyes passed over his father to land on Honey. She saw the questions there. She also saw something else. It was the something else that made her uncomfortable.

Hudson Blackwell was a smart man and didn’t miss much. She’d need to be careful with him.

His gaze never left hers as he set his phone down and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his navy slacks. For a moment, he said nothing. He looked at his father again, and then back to Honey. His eyes narrowed, his thoughts shuttered. There was no welcome there. His radar was ramped to ten, and he was letting her know.

“You mind telling me why you’re here?”

Honey didn’t skip a beat. She kept that fake smile in place and told him exactly why she’d come.