Since the morning, Ava Grace had probably called Erik Daddy about a hundred times, even managing to insert it three times into a single sentence. The truth? He didn’t think he’d ever get weary of hearing her little voice say it.

Tucking her into bed that night, they rehashed the fun day they’d had together: running on the beach, eating hot dogs at a café in Hatteras, visiting Laire and Ava Grace’s new condo, checking out her new elementary school, and dining on grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner, courtesy of Kelsey.

With Laire on one side of her and Erik on the other, they read a bedtime story together, watching as their daughter drifted off to sleep. They kissed her good night, then tiptoed to Erik’s room, leaving the door to Ava Grace’s room cracked open just enough to hear her call out if she needed them.

Holding Laire’s hand, and with an alacrity that should have surprised him but didn’t, he switched gears entirely as he stepped into his dimly lit, quiet room.

As much as he’d loved every minute he’d spent with Laire and Ava Grace today as a family, his body now had a separate agenda altogether. He’d waited a long, long time to be alone with his woman again, and with no more lies and secrets between them, he was finished waiting.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

And he intended to have her in as many ways as she’d let him before morning.

He sat down on the bed, holding her hand, looking up at Laire, who stood before him. She wore a slight smile on her face as she raised her free hand. It was fisted, but as she opened her fingers one by one he recognized the necklace he’d bought her so long ago at the Elizabethan Gardens.

“You kept it,” he said, taking it from her hand and staring at the intricate design of overlapping hearts.

“I was tempted to throw it in the fireplace many times, but . . . I couldn’t.” Her eyes were dark and languid as she dropped his hand, lifted her hair off the back of her neck and turned around. “Put it on me?”

His heart sped up at the sight of her swanlike neck bared to him, at the quick mental image of making love to her while she wore nothing except this necklace. Standing up on suddenly shaky knees, he leaned his arms over her shoulders, each half of the clasp between his fingers, and fastened the necklace around her throat.

Before she could let her hair fall back, he bent his head quickly and pressed his lips to her soft, warm skin, closing his eyes as she gasped quietly. She leaned her head to the side, giving him better access, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest and inhaling the sweet womanly smell of her.

“I missed you,” he murmured, sliding his lips along her throat, behind her ear, stopping to kiss and nibble, and reveling in the feeling of Laire back in his arms.

“Me too,” she sighed, covering his hands with hers.

“Last night,” he started, pausing, not wanting to jeopardize the moment with indelicacy. “You said you hadn’t been with anyone . . . but me.”

“That’s right,” she whispered, her fingers tightening over his.

He kissed her shoulder, then leaned his head up, turning her around in his arms.

Her face tilted up, her clear green eyes searching his.

“Only you,” she said, licking her sweet lips nervously, then braving a little grin as she lifted her chin.

He nodded at her, the rush of love in his heart so pure and strong, it warmed his body like a blanket. “Only me.”

“I didn’t want to be with someone unless I loved them as much I loved you.” She looked down for a second, then raised her head and nailed him with her eyes. “So I waited.”

The truth bubbled up inside him like an unstoppable force. “Me too.”

At first she gasped, then she flinched, her brow knitting as she stared at him in disbelief. He could tell that she was holding her breath because her breasts pushed against his chest without drawing away.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

Huge tears welled in her eyes as she sucked in a ragged breath, still staring up at him in shock. “W-what?”

Suddenly his eyes burned and he blinked at her, every moment he’d tried to force himself to bed another woman rushing back to him. He’d failed. Every time. And part of him had wondered if he’d ever be capable of an intimate relationship again . . . or if Laire had ruined him for every other woman in creation.

He shrugged, still holding her tightly in his arms. “No one was you.”

“You haven’t been with . . . anyone?”

He gulped over the lump in his throat and shook his head. “Got close a few times but . . . couldn’t.”

Her face crumpled and she leaned forward, resting her forehead on his chest, under his chin. “Are y-you . . . l-lying?”

“No, baby,” he said gently, rubbing her back as she cried. “I didn’t just love you as a kid or as a summer fling or as anything that was temporary. Don’t you see? I loved you as a man, in every season, forever. And when I lost you, I lost . . . everythin’. There was a hole inside me the size of a crater. And . . .” He paused, flinching as he recalled the depths of his agony before reminding himself that now, here and now, the woman of his dreams was back in his arms. “. . . and nothin’, nothin’ on God’s earth, could have filled it but you.”

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry I hurt you like that, E-Erik.”

“Hey, hey,” he said, leaning away just enough to reach for her cheeks. He clutched them tenderly, turning her tear-streaked face to his. “We hurt each other. We didn’t love like kids, but we were kids. We made mistakes.”

She nodded, sniffling softly. “Big ones.”

“Bad ones.”

“Terrible ones.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head slowly. His voice was intense with need and awe when he told her, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she responded on a sigh, her lips tilting up into a brilliant, glorious smile. “I love you forever.”

Leaning his head down, he pressed his lips to hers, surprised—in the best possible way—to feel her fingers reach for the buttons on his shirt and start unfastening them. He followed her lead, slipping his hands under her sweater and pushing it over her belly, skimming his palms over her breasts, and leaning away from their kiss as he slipped it over her head. He shrugged out of his unbuttoned shirt and pulled his T-shirt over his head. Laire reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, then straightened her arms, letting it glide down to the floor in a whisper.

His eyes dropped to her perfect breasts, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Just as perfect as they were when she was his girlfriend, they were fuller now, no doubt from her pregnancy. Glancing up for permission, she nodded as he reached for them, cupping the soft mounds of warm flesh from the sides, plumping them together, and sighing from the sight.

“You’re . . . beautiful,” he murmured, looking up at her for a moment before sucking one pert nipple between his lips.

She whimpered, a low “unh” sound, as she plunged her hands into his hair, pulling him closer and arching her back as he skimmed his lips between the valley of her breasts to kiss the peak of the other.

“Erik,” she moaned, breathless with need.

He knew that if he slipped his fingers into her panties, they’d be damp, and his cock, already rock-hard, pulsed, swelling impossibly bigger.

It had been a long, long time since he’d had sex, and even then, he’d come on Laire’s stomach, not inside her. When he’d dreamed of tonight, he’d imagined going slow—treating her gently and with reverence, and drawing out every possible moment between them. But her response to him was just as hungry as his was to her—and suddenly he felt himself changing gears. Fuck slow. They could go slow later. What they needed—what they both really needed right now—was to be together in the most intimate way that a man and a woman could share themselves.

“I wanted to go slow,” muttered Erik, nuzzling her taut nipple before kissing it again.

“I don’t need slow,” said Laire, forcing him to look up at her. “I just need you.”

He nodded, reaching for her jeans, which he unbuttoned and unzipped. He slipped his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and yanked, pulling every shred of clothing over her hips and exposing her to him in the most vulnerable possible way.

In response, she smiled at him, her eyes dark as she leaned down and stepped out of her pants, walking around to the side of the bed, climbing on top of the comforter and kneeling in the middle.

His shaking fingers unbuckled his belt, and he shoved his pants over his hips without unbuttoning them, wincing at the burn of denim over skin, but hopping frantically to get his clothes the fuck off so he could be as naked as she was.

From the bed, she giggled softly, her small shoulders bunching as he cursed at his jeans, one side catching on his ankle. “Fuck!”

“That’s the idea,” she said. “You need help?”

Leaning down, he pulled the offending cotton from his body and chucked them across the room. “No, ma’am.”

When he looked up, her eyes were wide, focused, with a bit of trepidation, on his cock. It was veined and swollen, standing straight up, the cap purple and slick. Deprived of a woman for so many years, it was more than ready to make up for lost time.

Licking her lips, Laire raised her dark eyes to his as he stood beside the bed, his thighs pressed against the comforter.

“I’m . . .,” she started, dropping her eyes to his sex again and blinking.

Scared? Worried? Fuck. He should have made sure the lights were all out. Did she want to back out? Did she want more time? He couldn’t help the small groan of deep longing that released from his throat as he watched her eyes trail back up his body.

“. . . ready,” she whispered, locking her eyes with his.

Thank fuck. He let go of the breath he’d been holding.

Climbing on the bed and spreading his legs into a V, he opened his arms to her. “Come over here, darlin’.”

Still on her knees, she crawled forward until she was kneeling at the apex of his legs, his straining cock standing tall between them.

“Are you on birth control?”

She shook her head. He reached for the bedside table, reaching inside the drawer for the box of condoms he’d picked up earlier in the day. Grabbing one and ripping it open with his teeth, he pinched the end and rolled it over his throbbing sex before meeting her eyes.

“You sure you want this?”

“I want this,” she said, licking her lips, “but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

***

“I do,” he said, his face reverent and tender as he nodded. “Kneel on either side of my hips.”

She followed his directions, never looking away from his steadfast gaze, grateful for his patience and for the loving way he watched her. Kneeling over his erection, she could feel the tip brush against her as she positioned herself and it made her shiver with the enormity of what they were about to do. But no part of her, not one cell, questioned if this was the right decision for her and her life. She’d dreamed of this moment for six long years.

“When you’re ready,” he said, his voice pure gravel, “reach down and guide it inside.”

“Like . . . sit on it?” she asked.

He nodded, his jaw tight, like he was in a little bit of pain.

“Okay,” she said, her voice breathless in her ears.

She tilted her ass up which made her breasts rub against his chest, tightening her already rigid nipples. Biting on her lower lip, she reached between their bodies, her fingers wrapping around the velvet-covered steel of his erection. It pulsed in her palm, alive and eager, and made her mouth water with anticipation. Her body, deprived of his for so long, was slick and wet with want as she lined up the tip of his sex at the opening of hers.

Her breathing was shallow and ragged as she released him, holding his eyes with hers as she rested both hands on his shoulders and slowly—so slowly that she could feel the ridges of his cock massage every inch of her—she lowered herself onto him until her ass rested on his upper thighs, and he was embedded as deeply within her as possible.

“Ahhh!” he cried, the sound a mix of a growl and a groan as he reached for her hips, his hands landing on them gently but firmly as he thrust upward.

It was her turn to moan, her head falling back as her shoulders clenched and her eyes rolled back in her head. He was so big, so thick, filling her completely, stretching parts of her that hadn’t been touched since their daughter was born years before.

“Am I . . . oh, baby,” he asked, groaning as his hands guided the movements of their bodies, moving hers up and down on his. “Am I hurtin’ you?”

“Noooo,” she sighed, leaning her head up and opening her eyes. “It feels so . . . good.”

“It does,” he said, taking one hand from her hip to plump her breast and suck the nipple into his mouth. He laved it with his hot, wet tongue, making her whimper in pleasure-pain, his cock still driving up into her body with increased speed.

She reached for his jaw, lifting his head and kissing him, their tongues seeking each other with urgency as he continued sliding into her. A swirling had started in her belly when he’d first touched her tonight, and now it had color and sound. It was brighter and brighter whenever she closed her eyes, and her heartbeat was louder and louder in her ears as heat radiated out from the place where they were joined, inviting her entire body to experience the climax that was coming.

Her fingers curled into his cheeks as she kissed him, and he leaned back against the pillows, flat on his back. Laire tipped her body forward, still impaled on his thickness, her palms flattening over his erect nipples as she rode him, meeting each of his upward thrusts. His hands slid from her waist to the backs of her thighs, pushing her forward with faster, tighter movements inside her.

Her breathing was as ragged and shallow as his when she felt the contractions start deep within, changing quickly into lightning-fast muscle shudders, her body fisting around his cock as her head fell back and her body convulsed with a cry that came from the depth of her soul.

He jackknifed into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her.

“I love you. I love you. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou . . .,” she murmured blindly, looping her arms around his neck and letting her sweaty forehead fall to his shoulder as her body shattered and shook, coming apart and fitting back together in his arms.

He thrust upward with a guttural groan of pleasure.

“Laire!” he cried, his arms tightening as his cock strained, pulsing wildly within her. “Laire. Laire. Laire. My darlin’ . . . you’re mine . . .”

His forehead fell limply against her shoulder, and that’s how they remained. Entwined in each other’s arms, finally sated, finally whole, their hearts beating madly against each other, love found, love made, love requited.

***

It was torture to leave her.

Torture.

As he pulled out of the Pamlico House driveway at the crack of dawn, he looked up to see Laire, wrapped in a sheet, waving from the second-floor window. Her eyes were soft, and her lips tilted upward in a sad smile. She pressed her fingers to her lips then flattened her palm and blew. I love you.

I love you too, he mouthed, rolling down his window and blowing a kiss back before pulling away.

Turning onto Route 12, he sighed, letting himself relive a little of last night’s splendor. They’d made love four or five more times, reaching for each other ceaselessly, showering in the early hours of morning, only to crawl into bed and make love again. Finally giving up on sleep, they opted instead to cuddle together in Erik’s bed with Laire telling him stories about Ava Grace until the first strains of sunlight forced him from her arms.

He resented the sunlight. He hated it.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he muttered. “But I have to go now to come back for good.”

“What’s the plan?”

He shrugged. “Tie up loose ends.”

“Your parents?” she asked, her eyes conflicted.

He nodded. “Yes. I need to confront them. I need to make it clear that you and Ava Grace are off-limits. Forever.”

He was lying on his back, naked, with Laire’s head on his chest. Holding her close with one arm, he stroked her hair with his free hand.

“What about . . . the future?”

“You mean us?” he asked.

“Mm-hm.”

“Well, I want you and Ava Grace in my life, but I don’t like the idea of you havin’ to see my parents on a regular basis. I don’t trust them. So that makes Raleigh a bad idea for us. I think I’ll relocate here for now.”

“To the Banks?” she asked, propping herself up to look into his face. “Are you sure?”

He pressed a swift kiss to her lips. “We need to be together. You’re here. I don’t want you there. So . . . yeah. The Banks. For now.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Baby,” he said, “I’d do anything for you. Don’t you know that by now?”

She leaned up and kissed him passionately, though their lips were bruised and swollen from so much loving, and she’d winced as she pulled away.

“When will you be back?”

He sighed. He needed to speak to his parents, wrap things up at his job, figure out what to do with his apartment. But when he looked into her green eyes, he knew that more than three days away from her would be anguish. “Thursday.”

She nodded and smiled, lying back down on his chest. “Okay. Did I tell you my condo’s ready tomorrow? Mr. McGillicutty said the power would be back on by then.”

“Then that’s where I’ll go, darlin’. I’ll come straight home to you.”

Now, as he sped away from Laire and their daughter, it took all of his strength to stay the course and not turn the rental around. He didn’t want to leave them. Damn it, but he wished he could stay.

Seeking levelheaded counsel, he dialed Hillary’s number, letting it ring seven times before she picked up with a very groggy, “’lo?”

“Hills?”

“Erik?” She was instantly more alert. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Drivin’ back to the city now.”

She sighed, long and low. “Let me go to the other room. I don’t want to wake up Pete.” He heard some rustling and shuffling, and then Hillary’s voice again. “What happened? The last time I talked to you, you put that woman on the phone, and I didn’t—”

“I love her, Hills. I love her and she loves me too, and she’s goin’ to be in my life, so don’t call her ‘that woman’—call her Laire.”

“Well,” she said, sighing again. “I think you better tell me everythin’.”

An hour later, on Route 64 headed west, he wrapped up the story, pulling into the Speedway just west of Roper to gas up and grab a cup of coffee. Lots of sex and no sleep meant that his body was running on fumes.

“I can’t believe it,” Hillary was saying, as she’d probably said twenty-five times during his retelling of the past few days. “You have a daughter, Erik?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you sure you believe her?”

“A hundred percent positive. You’ll know when you see her. She’s my spitting image, Hills. Same eyes.”

“And Fancy . . . my God, I just . . . I can’t believe that she’d just—”

“Believe it. She did.”

His sister paused, and Erik stared out the windshield, wondering what she was gearing up to say.

“Will you hate me if I play devil’s advocate for a second?”

Erik unbuckled his seat belt. “The word devil is right enough.”

“You did lie to her. You let her believe that you and Van were an item that summer.”

“She still should have come and found me. She should have at least checked with me before throwin’ Laire out on her ass.”

He opened the car door, stepped over to the pump, and swiped his credit card.

“But, Erik, think about what you’re doin’–pickin’ a fight with them. I mean, Daddy’s awful powerful, and—”

He started the pump. “You’re on their side?!”

“No! No, of course not. I mean, I’m just worried about this. For you.”

“Well, don’t be,” he said. “I don’t intend to say much. Just to make it clear that they’re not welcome near me or my family.”

“Your . . . family?”

“Laire and Ava Grace.”

“Right, right. Oh, my God. I think it’s startin’ to sink in. You’re a daddy now.”

“And nothin’s goin’ to hurt my baby,” he said, opening the door to the convenience store and stepping inside. He beelined for the coffee counter and chose the largest cup.

Hillary was quiet for a long while before saying, “I wouldn’t trust her either. Fancy.”

“So you get it.”

“I do,” she said, though her voice was sad. “Call me? After it’s done?”

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

“And Erik!” she called, just as he was about to press End.

“Yeah?”

Her voice was excited. “I can’t wait to meet her. Ava Grace. I want to get some presents for you to take back to her from her Aunt Hillary, okay? I’m thinkin’ five-year-olds like stuffed animals, right? Any idea which would be her favorite?”

An image of Mr. Mopples appeared front and center in Erik’s head, and he chuckled softly. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

***

Ava Grace had a big smile on her face as Laire dropped her off at school for her first day, refusing to let her mother walk her to class, and opting to hold the principal’s hand instead.

She’s tough, thought Laire, feeling proud of her daughter as she drove back to the Pamlico House, where a boat rental was waiting for her.

Kindergarten was three and a half hours long, which meant that Laire had an hour to get to Corey, an hour to visit with her father and sisters, and an hour to get back. She parked her car in the space that Erik had vacated that morning, then walked inside the Pamlico House to grab the keys that Mr. Leatham promised to have waiting for her. After school, she and Ava Grace would pack their things and settle the bill before moving into their new home.

Twenty minutes later, with the cold wind biting her cheeks, she passed Utopia Manor on the portside, a chill running through her as she recalled the last time she’d walked up to the house, only to be called a liar and an opportunist and to be turned away.

She’d been so young, a child. A scared little girl with a baby on the way and no plan, no real means, no support. Looking away from the grand mansion, a vision of Judith’s kindly face entered her mind and soothed her heart. Thank God for you, Judith.

Laire had called Kyrstin this morning and asked if she could come and see her, Issy, and their father this morning. Kyrstin said that, since their father and Issy worked at King Triton on Tuesdays, it would be easy to catch them in one place, and Kyrstin promised to stop by the shop at ten o’clock, right around the time Laire would be docking.

“Goin’ t’be quite the reunion, li’l Laire.”

“Does he still hate me, Kyrs?” she’d asked.

Her sister had sighed into the phone. “I don’t know, Laire. We barely speak of you. I know you hurt him bad when you pulled that stunt with the governor’s son, stayin’ out all night. And he knows why you left. ’Cause of . . . the baby.” She sighed again. “I hope this isn’t a mistake, you comin’ here.”

“He’s still my father. And you’re still my sisters. I just want to see you. I want peace between us. Someday I’d like you to know my daughter.”

As she always did, Kyrstin ignored Laire’s reference to her illegitimate child. “You don’t even sound like an islander anymore, Laire.”

“See you at ten?” she asked.

“All right,” said Kyrstin. “At ten.”

Laire hung up quickly because she had to get Ava Grace ready for school, but also because she didn’t want Kyrstin to change her mind.

Now, as she neared the dock owned by King Triton Seafood, her heart clenched, and a mass of butterflies appeared in her stomach out of nowhere. Would her father reject her? Would Issy refuse to speak to her?

Laire had learned how to live away from Corey, and, as she’d always suspected, she preferred it. She had no interest in ever going back to island life, but still, this had been her home for eighteen years, and she desperately wanted peace with her family, no matter what hurts they’d heaped on one another once upon a time.

As she pulled up smoothly to the dock, she threw the two buoys over the side, cut the engine, and leaped from the boat with the stern line in hand, securing it to the waiting cleat with a practiced flick of her wrists. She grabbed the bow line and did the same, quietly marveling that, after six years, she still had the skills.

I’ll always have them, I guess. Corey will always be a part of me.

Taking a deep breath, she looked up the gangplank to the little blue, shack-style storefront that read “KING TRITON SEAFOOD,” her heart racing.

Breathe.

She heard Erik’s voice in her head, and reached inside her shirt for the necklace she’d worn last night. It was warm from her skin, and it comforted her as she walked slowly up the planking, closer and closer to where her father and sisters waited.

Each step was loud in her ears as her boots scraped over the metal walkway. When she got to the end, she stared down at the ground, afraid to move forward, frightened that she’d do more damage than good by coming here. She froze, rethinking her decision, wondering if she should leave things be and turn around.

Suddenly she heard the tinkling sound of a bell and raised her eyes to the source. And there, standing just outside the little shop, was her father. Hook Cornish. Not quite as big. Much more gray. One side of his face sagged, but otherwise, it was just as tan and craggy as ever.

She raised her eyes to his, staring at the father she hadn’t seen in six long years.

“Well, if it isn’t our li’l Laire, finally come home.”

Still uncertain, she stood stock-still, watching his face . . . and that’s when she noticed: his blue eyes sparkled as his uneven lips fought to smile. He nodded at her in welcome and opened up his arms.

With a sob of relief, Laire sprinted into them.

***

Erik considered going to his apartment and getting some sleep first. Truly he did. But as he grew closer and closer to the city of Raleigh, he found his temper flaring, his anger rising, and instead he turned off the highway and pointed his car toward the Governor’s Mansion.

Uncertain whether or not his parents would be in at ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning, he realized it didn’t really matter. He’d sit in the front parlor until they returned. Tomorrow and Thursday he’d deal with his job and apartment. Today, he needed to take care of the most pressing business at hand: confronting his parents—his mother—about what she’d done to Laire.

He pressed the code into the keypad to open the gates, but as he pulled into the circular driveway and cut the car engine, he realized he felt like a stranger at the house he’d called home for much of his teen years, and opted for ringing the doorbell instead of using his key on the front door.

“Why, Erik!” exclaimed Esme, the maid who’d been with his family for years. “You didn’t tell us you were comin’!”

“Mornin’, Esme,” he said, stepping into the front vestibule. “How are you?”

“Just fine! Your folks got in late last night from Vermont. Took breakfast in their room. You want coffee?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “You said they’re in their bedroom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll find them there,” he said, nodding at Esme as he crossed the huge hallway to the grand staircase. He took the marble steps two at a time, turning left at the landing and climbing another set of stairs to the second floor. At the balustrade, he turned right, walking down the carpeted hallway to his parents’ suite.

His heart pounded as he knocked on their door—not out of any misgivings or fear but because he was eager to confront them and get this over with so his life could finally start moving forward again.

“Come in,” called his mother’s voice.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him before turning to his parents, who sat at their breakfast table in front of a big-screen TV tuned to Fox News.

“Sweetheart!” cried his mother, placing her teacup back on its saucer and beaming at him. “Here to welcome us home? What a darlin’ son!”

“’lo, son,” said his father, glancing up from his newspaper. “Happy New Year.”

He stared at them, at the privileged domesticity of their midmorning breakfast, at the steam that rose from his father’s coffee mug, at the bright orange of the fresh-squeezed juice in their goblets. He had a fleeting thought that never again would he be welcomed so warmly, without suspicion or baggage, into his parents’ home. Everything was about to change.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“Oh?” asked his mother. She turned to the table, found the remote, and muted the TV before turning to her husband. “Put the paper down, Brady. This might be serious.”

His father grumbled, but complied, placing the newspaper by a budvase on the white tablecloth, and looking up at his son. “Well?”

Erik locked eyes with his mother. “About six years ago, while we were celebratin’ Thanksgivin’, a girl showed up who wanted to speak to me. Do you remember her?”

“What?” His mother laughed softly, shrugging her shoulders. “I have no—”

“Do. You. Remember. Her?” he growled, enunciating each word with a bite.

“Why, Erik . . . what are you talkin’ about?”

“A girl, mother. A girl showed up at Utopia Manor. Six years ago Thanksgivin’. She had red hair and green eyes. She was on her way to speak to me but ran into you by the pool. She spoke to you instead. Do you remember her?”

His mother’s smile slipped. “Well, now, I don’t know if—”

“Her name was Laire, and she was pregnant.” He stared at her, into her, willing her to give him a good excuse for what she did. “She was pregnant with my baby. Do you remember her?”

Her eyes flared with fury, and she flinched, turning away from her son. Picking up her teacup deliberately, she took a sip, then turned to him, her smile plastic but in place. “Yes. I believe I do remember some cheap piece of white trash comin’ to my house on a holiday and claimin’ that she was pregnant with my son’s bastard. Yes, indeed. I do remember her. I remember her hightailin’ it off my property when I threatened to call the police.”

“Fancy!” gasped the governor, and for the first time since Erik started speaking, his eyes darted to his father.

“Did you know?” he asked, searching his father’s deep blue eyes for answers.

His father shook his head slowly, as though in shock. “No, son. I did not.”

Finished with him, Erik slid his gaze back to Fancy, who didn’t look a bit sorry for what she’d done. She shrugged. “There was no way to know if she was tellin’ the truth! If she spread her legs for you, then surely she could have spread them for—”

“Shut up!” he yelled. “I loved her! I got her pregnant, and when she came to tell me, you called her a liar. You threatened her. You made her leave.”

“Yes, I did,” she said. “And I protected you from the scandal she would have caused!”

“Protected me?” he demanded, feeling sick.

Fancy’s lips were pursed as she stared back at Erik with his eyes. With Ava Grace’s eyes.

“You were out every night fuckin’ some little island tramp, and then you expected me to welcome her with open arms into our esteemed famil—”

“Wait!” he said, holding up his palm. A puzzle piece—a very important puzzle piece—wasn’t fitting together, and he scrambled to figure out what it was.

“She would have ruined your future! She was some little piece of ass that you—”

“Wait. Did . . . did you know she was tellin’ the truth?”

Fancy sniffed the air, then looked away, picking a nonexistent piece of lint off her satin robe.

“You called her a liar. You said that she made it all up. You told her that I was with Vanessa all summer and it was impossible that the child could be mine.”

His mother lifted her chin. “Whatever I did, it was for you.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t fuckin’ say that!” growled Erik, advancing on his mother. One step. Two. He halted, forcing himself to stop, fisting his hands at his sides, not trusting himself to get closer.

“Did you know I wasn’t with Van?”

“Of course I knew you weren’t with Van,” she said, her voice lethal, her eyes cold. “Vanessa went to England for a month that summer, but you were still out every night.”

“You used my own lie to chase her away,” he murmured, his voice breathless, his brain finally understanding the truth: his mother had known that he and Van weren’t together. She’d also known, staring into Laire’s helpless eyes that night, that she was probably telling the truth.

“It was convenient,” said Fancy, sipping her tea like they weren’t in the middle of a conversation that was destroying their relationship forever.

“You knew I wasn’t with Van. You knew Laire was tellin’ the truth,” he said, surprised by how much the words hurt, surprised that there was anything left of his heart for her to break.

He thought he’d hated her when he walked into her bedroom this morning, but part of him still felt guilty that he’d deceived her that summer, and he wondered about his share of blame for her sending Laire away. He’d let her believe that he and Van were together; he’d willfully misled her.

Except he hadn’t. She’d known all along that he and Van were a sham.

“How did you know that I was lyin’ about bein’ with Van?”

“I knew you were spendin’ a lot of time that summer with someone else. I’m not a moron, Erik. You were out every night. You raced back to the Banks when the house was empty. You had a spring in your step every Sunday, and you’d be gone for hours and hours on end. Yes, I knew you had a piece of ass on the side. Wouldn’t be the first Rexford to find someone else to fill your . . . needs.” She took a deep breath, placing her teacup back on her saucer and looking at her husband meaningfully before turning back to her son. “Boys will be boys, I suppose. Their peckers get a workout. But my boy wasn’t goin’ to be saddled for life with some little tramp.”

“All you cared about was your goddamned social status. About avoidin’ a scandal.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” she sniped, her eyes narrow and mean. “You’d have me welcome some fish-smellin’ piece of white trash into our family because you knocked her up?” She hooted. “Think again! I didn’t raise us to this level only to have your wanderin’ cock destroy us!”

“Fancy!” cried Erik’s father.

Erik blinked at her, shock and fury mixing inside until he felt his stomach roll over. “You’re a fuckin’ monster.”

“Here, now!” cried his father, slapping his palm on the table and making the china rattle. “You will not speak to your mother that way!”

He turned to his father, nailing him with a wild gaze. “My pregnant girlfriend showed up at Thanksgivin’ to tell me she was expectin’ our child, to ask for my help. And she—” Spittle flew from his mouth as he pointed at his mother. “—turned her away. Into the night. With nothin’!” His father stared back at him, expressionless. “Your grandchild, Father!”

His father took a deep breath, then dropped his eyes to the tablecloth, running his fingers along a crisp seam in the cloth.

“Well, it’s in the past now, isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically.

“No,” said Erik, picturing Laire and Ava Grace in his mind, feeling them in his heart, knowing the strength of his love for them and the certainty of what he wanted in his life. “It’s not in the past. I found them. I found her—Laire—and Ava Grace, my almost six-year-old daughter.”

Fancy gasped, her face furious. “Ha! I hope you have a good specialist on retainer to do the DNA test becau—”

“She has my eyes,” he snarled. “Your eyes, Mother.”

His mother blinked at him, swallowing before looking away.

“I’m about to leave this house, but before I go, I need to be very clear with you both, so listen carefully.

I will be resignin’ from my job at Rexford & Rexford today. I will be tyin’ up loose ends and packin’ up my desk tomorrow and Thursday. I will not be back to work. Ever.

I will be sellin’ or rentin’ my apartment. I will be leavin’ Raleigh to be with my daughter and her mother. I will not be back. I wouldn’t condemn them to the humiliation of livin’ in the same city as you.”

“Now, Erik—” started his father.

“Shut up,” he said, shifting his eyes to Fancy, holding her dark eyes in a cold, unwavering gaze. “You are not welcome, in any way, shape, or form, around my daughter or her mother. You are not to contact me. You are not to try to reach out to them or me. As long as you leave us alone, you can tell the press anythin’ you want to about my resignation and move, and I won’t say a peep. If, however, you decide to contact my daughter or her mother, I will publish a full and unabridged account of the way my daughter and her mother were treated by Fancy Rexford. I will tell the world about the time my daughter’s mother came to my mother for help, and how she was turned away, into the dark night, with nothin’. I will tell them that is the reason I was kicked off the Devils and almost became an alcoholic. I will tell them that’s why I have looked dead for the past six years. I will tell them everythin’ you did to me . . . and to them.”

“Erik,” said Fancy, her posture changing from angry to worried. “I think you need to—”

He ignored her, turning to his father. “Have I made myself clear, sir?”

His father’s face was filled with shock and regret, but he nodded before staring back down at the table.

“Ma’am?” he prompted. “Are we clear?”

His mother’s nostrils flared as she stood up, throwing her napkin on the table. “How dare you! All I ever wanted was to keep you safe, and this is how you—”

“ARE. WE. CLEAR?” he bellowed.

Ursula “Fancy” Rexford’s lip wobbled as she stared back at Erik. “Son, you can’t mean this. I was only tryin’ to protect you! We’re your—”

“No, ma’am,” he said softly, his voice biting, cutting like a whip. “You are not my parents anymore. You are not my family. I do not forgive you.” He paused, letting his words sink in, watching as his mother gasped, her eyes filling with tears. “Are we clear?”

Without answering, she burst into tears, screaming at her husband “to make Erik come back and listen to reason” as he turned on his heel, walked out of their room, and closed the door behind him.