I glance around my costume closet. Black clouds of smoke billow along the ceiling and push through the bottom of the single closed door. The room is in the basement level of the San Francisco Theatre and is closed off from the rest of the production team. The show transformed the area because of the exorbitant number of necessary costumes, and it’s definitely not the safest place to work.

Getting up fast, I head for the window and stand on a chair to reach it. For some reason, it’s blocked with what looks like wooden boards that weren’t there yesterday. I pound on the window, trying to open it. No dice. The smoke around me gets thicker.

Grabbing a scarf, I place it over my mouth and nose and breathe through it. I don’t know much about smoke, but I do know fire sucks all the oxygen out of the air and that smoke is harmful to breathe. Going over to the only door, I grab the handle and scream as the heat from the metal knob sears the center of my palm. I back up and get my bearings, ignoring the throbbing pain in my hand.

I’m starting to feel light-headed. A tightening around my chest adds pressure to my upper body as though someone is stepping on me one foot at a time. I wrap a scarf around my blistered hand, wincing and blinking away the pain. Then I grab another piece of clothing near the door and use it to turn the handle. I have to get out of here!

Right before I grab it, the smoke alarms sound. I clench my teeth and hold my breath, trying not to suck in the fumes coming up from under the door. Finally, I yank the door open with my right arm, and I’m blasted by a wall of fire. Pain rips up my right arm and over my side as I use another piece of clothing to smother the fire licking against my skin. The scent of charred flesh pierces my nostrils. My mouth waters.

“Help me! Please help me!” I scream before I kick the door shut.

Tears fall down my cheeks, wetting my face. My eyes burn from the smoke, and I can barely breathe. The air in the room is as thick as a Bay Area foggy day, only hot as hell.

“Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs, but no one hears me over the alarms.

A pounding sound comes from the window as I fall to my knees, the lack of air suffocating me. I gasp like a fish out of water, looking up toward the window. A speck of black night comes into view. Fingers yanking and then bare feet smashing against the window. My eyes roll back in my head.

“Help…” I whisper as I fall face first to the floor. “Help me.”

---

“Wake up! My God, Kat, please wake up.” Gigi’s voice breaks through the fog and haze of my nightmare.

I jump back, my arm throbbing and aching. I groan and cradle it protectively.

“Kat, Jesus! You scared the hell out of me!” Gigi cries, petting my arm and head.

“Us. She scared the hell out of us,” Chase clarifies from his perch against the wall. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of silk pajama bottoms and a frown, his arms crossed over his chest.

Shit. The nightmares.

I blink away the fear still clawing at my psyche and press my fists against my eyes. “I’m sorry, guys. Uh, just a dream.”

“Honey, you were screaming for help. Over and over.” Gigi places her hand at her throat, a worried gesture if ever I’ve seen one.

Taking a deep breath, I shake my head. “Again, I’m sorry.” I start to shift my feet and push the covers back. “I can go home. Really.”

“No, no, no! Chase!” Gigi’s voice is pleading.

“Absolutely not. You’ll stay here with your family. But I am upset you didn’t mention you were still having the nightmares.”

Like a balloon deflating, all the strength I’d built up about this secret seeps out of me. “I have them every once and a while.” Lie. “Seriously, they are not a big deal.” Lie. “I’ve already forgotten what I was dreaming about.” Triple lie. I’ll never forget that night. It plagues me daily.

What if they hadn’t broken through the window?

What if Maria had come alone and passed out too?

What if the bodyguard hadn’t been able to pull us both out?

Chase scowls. “Kathleen, you can lie to us all you want, but it never works.”

Totally not true. That shit works on the girls all the time. Just not on Chase. He’s always been able to see through people.

I ruffle my hair out of my eyes and pat Gillian’s hands. “Honey, I’m fine. Really. I’m sorry I woke you guys up. It was just a nightmare. I’m fine.”

Gillian stands up, placing a hand over her small bump. She’s only four months, but she’s already showing.

Chase moves over to his wife and places a hand over hers. “Baby, you both okay?”

She nods silently.

“Go on to bed. I’ll make sure Kathleen is comfortable and meet you in five, okay?”

“’K,” she says sleepily. “Love you, Kat. Good night.”

“Me too. Good night,” I say, watching her leave, her long silk robe trailing behind her. The woman looks like a nineteen fifties Hollywood film star in her lush off-white dressing gown.

“You’ve got one classy broad there. She always sleep wearing satin and silk?”

Chase grins. “Unless she’s naked and under me, yes.”

I crinkle my nose and make a gag sound. “Dude, she’s my best friend.”

“And I’m certain you know far more about our sex life than you should. She is not shy. Now, back to the nightmares. When did they come back? And don’t bullshit me.” His tone is hard and biting.

“Come back?” I huff with a laugh. “Chase, they never left. Some nights are worse than others. Tonight, I relived the fire in its entirety.” I ran my hand down the knotted, bumpy tissue of my right arm. “Can still vaguely feel the burn of the flame.”

He sucks in a harsh breath. “Dr. Madison tomorrow?”

“Fine. Yeah. Whatever.”

Chase comes over to me and rests his hand on top of my head. He messes up my hair like a big brother would. “We’ll get through this.”

I want to laugh at the absurdity of his optimism, but I don’t have the energy. Lethargy is setting in, and I need to sleep. Even with the nightmare, I sleep better here than I do at my place alone. Something about being in a home where I’m loved makes it easier to slumber peacefully. Well, except for the pesky recurring dreams.

“Thanks, Chase.”

“Anytime, Kathleen. Anytime. You are always welcome here.” He turns to walk back out of the room.

“I know,” I whisper.

He stops and leans against the doorjamb. His golden bare chest is on display, looking mighty fine. Reminds me of Carson. If I squint a little, I can almost imagine Carson’s wheat-colored layers and the enticing patch of blond curls, which trail down his stomach to one of my favorite parts of him.

“Do you?” Chase asks softly. “Do you know how much we welcome you in our home, our lives, our hearts?”

I grin. “You getting all mushy on me, Davis?” I use his last name whenever I want to make light of something.

“Guess so. Just want you to realize how much you matter to this family. And that is what you are. Family.”

“Believe me, I know.” If I didn’t love them and the rest of the girls so much, I’d have left a long time ago.

“Good. I’ll have Bentley make your favorite tomorrow. Crepes.”

“And cookies?” I joke.

“Of course.” He grins wickedly.

“That’s your favorite, Chase. But I love a good crepe.”

“Huh.” He blinks a few times and rubs at his chin. “You know, you’re right. It is.” He winks and then taps the door before closing it.

I shake my head. That damn man. Always poking his nose in my business.

You love it, Kat. At least you know he cares. And having him as close as you do is the closest you’re ever going to get to having Carson again.

I roll over, tuck the extra pillow against my chest, and think of the man I lost. The raw emotions the dream brought back and the sweet and gentle nature of Gillian and Chase bring on tears. They slide down my face and wet the pillow below.

When am I ever going to find myself again?

“Good night, Sweetcheeks.” I hear whispers through my psyche. His whispers, the only voice I long to hear.

---

I open my eyes to red curls and blue eyes. Claire is lying right next to me, her head on the pillow level with mine. Her nose is only a few inches from mine.

“Auntie Kitty, you need to take a boy out of my mommy’s belly and hide it.” Her eyes get big as she whispers conspiratorially in her three-year-old voice.

I chuckle and kiss her nose. “Honey, I can’t do that.”

She scrunches up her entire face, looking distraught. “But you wike boys. You wike my bruh-ver, Car Car.”

If my arm worked better, I’d grip her around the waist and tug her close so I could snuggle her. Man, I wish I could do that. I choke down the sorrow the thought brings and focus on the very serious-looking Claire.

“What’s so bad about boys? You and Carter have a great time playing together.”

She pouts. “Yeah, but he won’t pway dolls and Barbies and doesn’t wike to cohwor wif me. A sister would.”

I tap my chin. “This is true. But it just means you get all the dolls and all the Barbies to yourself. You get to keep the best color crayons and markers. You know how your brother presses too hard and messes them up?”

Her expression turns thoughtful. “Yeah. He does that!” she says loudly, as if it’s just dawned on her.

“If you have another sister, she’ll want to touch all your stuff, play with all your toys, wear all those pretty dresses I made you…”

Claire gasps. “But those are fer me!” Her eyebrows draw together.

“Very true. And you know how cousin Anabelle and Dannica fight about their stuff?”

Her little mouth opens in a tiny O.

I can already see the wheels spinning in her mind.

“If you have a brother, he’ll want all of Carter’s stuff. Not yours.”

“You fink?” She squints at me, disbelief rife in her gaze.

“I know.”

“Auntie Kitty?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Don’t take my new bruh-ver. I decided I want him.”

I lean over and kiss her face and blow raspberries against her neck, making her giggle like mad. Man, I adore the sound of a child’s laughter. If someone could bottle it up, it would cure the entire world’s ailments. Definitely mine…for today.

“You gonna get up now?”

“Yeah, honey.” I sit up without thinking about the fact I’m only wearing my camisole and a pair of undies. The sheet falls, and my entire arm is out in the open, visible to very impressionable eyes.

Claire sits up and points at my arm. “Ouchy boo! Auntie. You hurt!” She leans closer, slanting her head to the side.

My heart is about ready to pound out of my chest, and sweat prickles against my hairline.

No. Please God, no.

I try to pull the sheet back up and over it.

Claire grabs it, pulling it away. “Wemme see!” She moves closer.

Tears sting the back of my eyes, and I wait for the disgust and fear to show on her beautiful face. My niece is going to hate looking at me, or worse—be afraid of me. Bile rises up my throat as I wait to hear how she’ll reply.

In true Claire fashion, she reaches out her hand, and her little fingers caress the gnarled skin from shoulder to wrist. “Hurt?” She’s gazing up at me. There’s not even a hint of discomfort on her face.

I shake my head and swallow through the cotton coating my throat.

“Wooks wike it hurts.” She is matter-of-fact.

“It doesn’t, honey.”

She nods and caresses it one more time, running over the bumps and valleys with a featherlight touch. It’s the most I’ve ever let anyone other than a doctor or one of my best friends touch the scarred skin.

Claire inspects it for a few more seconds, dipping her tiny fingers into the puckered holes and back out. Then she completely and utterly blows me away with her grace, love, and compassion.

She looks at me with her crystal-blue eyes, the same as her dad’s, leans toward my arm, and kisses my biceps right over a nasty patch of scars.

I close my eyes as the tears slip down my face.

“I kissed it better.” She smiles, proud of herself.

“It worked, honey. It’s all better.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat so she can hear me.

She smiles wide. “Mommy magic.” She is referring to something I’ve heard Gigi say to her countless times when the children hurt themselves. She’d kiss their boo-boos and hurts and say those two words too.

“Yes, your mommy is magic, because she gave us you. I love you, honey.”

“I wuv you too, Auntie Kitty. Now I need cookies and a new bruh-ver.” Claire scrambles to stand and bounces on the bed until she flops to her bottom and slips off with the exuberance only a child can muster.

The laugher bubbles out of me, free and weightless. The first time I’ve felt lighter in months.

---

The second I enter the kitchen, Gigi rushes to me, her arm around my waist, pulling me out into the hallway.

“I did not invite him here. Apparently, they already had plans to discuss some business venture over breakfast, but I swear to God on my children’s lives, I didn’t know he’d be here.” Gigi’s speaking so fast she has to lean over and catch her breath when she’s done.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s not my fault.” She wraps a hand around her belly.

“What’s not your fault?” I’m confused.

“There you two are. Come on, breakfast is already set,” Chase says while putting an arm over his wife’s shoulders and kissing her temple.

I walk around them to the kitchen. “Gigi was just apologizing to me for something—” And the words fall right out of my mouth when I see who’s sitting at the kitchen table eating a cherry-filled crepe.

He stands, looking like a tall drink of water. His blond hair falls across his forehead in sexy layers that say, I don’t give a fuck what my hair looks like, but it always looks amazing.

His scent wafts across the room. I’m surprised I didn’t smell it when I entered the hallway. Only one man I know smells of hay and the sea. A man who surfs as often as he rides his horses. Living directly on a swath of farmland bordered by the Pacific Ocean will give a person that unique scent. I must say, even now, it hits every single last one of my nerve endings from the roots of my hair down to my toes. Pleasant tingles of awareness and desire sprinkle out each pore, putting a static energy in the room anyone within a ten-foot radius could feel.

Carson’s eyes are crinkled around the edges. More lines haloing those baby blues than I like to see. He’s tired, worn out…but why?

“Hey, Sweetcheeks, didn’t expect to see you here, but always a pleasure.” His low, rumbling tone zips through me, calling back memories of making love, laughing until the wee hours of the morning, and whispered vows we’ve since broken.

Sweetcheeks. His nickname for me. Silly name from a silly man, but he loved my ass and told me as often as he groped it. I just loved him. Still do.

“Carson, it’s been a while.” I clench my teeth and batten down my emotions.

He nods, comes around the table, and stands before me. The entire room ceases to exist when he’s in it. As if everything around me has gotten smaller, farther away, and all I’m capable of seeing is him. The man I love. The man I’ll always love but can no longer have.

Carson lifts a hand to my face. With his thumb, he traces a path from my temple down to my chin and lifts it up. He leans forward and places a soft kiss to my lips. I gasp. He hasn’t made that gesture in two solid years. I’m so shocked by his nearness and the sheer connection pumping between us, I don’t move a single muscle. He brushes his lips along mine again. I lick my lips and just the hint of our tongues touch. He groans, and I pop back at the sound.

I lift my hand to my mouth and then shuffle around him. “Um, yes. So, uh, what are you doing here?” Sizzles of recognition and excitement whip along the surface of my skin.

Neither Chase nor Gillian have said a word. Both are standing quietly across the kitchen, leaning against the cabinets. Gigi looks like she’s been stunned stupid, whereas Chase has the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

Jesus. Now he’s never going to stop hounding me about his cousin.

“Business concept we’ve been volleying back and forth.”

I nod and make myself busy by getting a cup of coffee. Without thinking, I go to grab the carafe with my right hand. I barely get the pot out when it starts to drop. Carson’s fast, though. He wraps a hand around mine holding the handle. Shoot. I haven’t tried to use that hand for something that heavy in a long time. His presence has knocked me off-kilter.

“Let me get that,” he says, plastering himself against my back. Carson never did have space issues, especially when it came to me. The closer the better, he always told me.

Together we pour the liquid into two cups I imagine were left out for us. He leans firmly against my behind. I can feel the outline of his pelvis and package against my ass and the warm strength of his chest against my back. God, I’ve missed this. Being close to him. To a living, breathing person. I close my eyes, soaking in every ounce of his presence and committing the sensations to my memory. I’ll need it later.

Once he puts the carafe back in the coffeemaker, he inhales deeply against my neck. Shivers ripple along my spine, and a long-forgotten fire smolders between my thighs.

“Christ, Sweetcheeks. I’ve missed your scent. Only it’s different…sunshine and…” He shifts my hair over to the side and rubs his nose along my neck.

The hairs on my nape stand at attention and my knees weaken. I brace myself up against the counter, fingers clenching the granite. He wraps both his hands over mine. The second he touches my scarred flesh, I stiffen.

He breathes against me, as if touching my scars doesn’t faze him. Stunned, I stand unmoving.

“Coconuts. You smell of coconuts.”

I bite into my lip and pray he steps back before I internally combust, or alternatively, burst into a puddle of tears. “Coconut oil. It’s good for the scars.”

“Mmm, I like it. Suits you.” He trails his nose up my neck once again and kisses my temple. Then he grabs his cup of coffee and backs away. I can hear his footsteps getting father away until the sound of chair legs skidding across the floor registers. He may be ten feet away now, but the impression of his warm body still resonates against my backside.

I close my eyes and calm my raging heart, allowing my brain to come back online.

Gillian comes over to me, plops a teaspoon of sugar into my coffee, and pours some of the homemade vanilla creamer Bentley makes especially for her into my cup. The spoon tinkling against the sides of the glass brings me back to reality.

“Over him, are you?” Gigi accuses.

“Yes,” I hiss and sip my coffee. The soothing vanilla and hot coffee ease the lusty beast inside me as I stare at Carson and Chase laughing it up while digging into their breakfast.

“What are you going to do?”

I jerk my head back. “Nothing. It’s over. We’re over.” I remind her as much as myself.

Gigi’s eyebrows rise up into her hairline. “You could have fooled me with the way he was pressed up against you, sniffing you. My God, that was so hot! Scenting you like that.” She fans her face dramatically.

I shake my head and hide behind my cup. She leans her shoulder against mine. “He’s yours for the taking, you know.”

If only that were true.

“It’s not meant to be,” I say with finality.

“Only because you won’t let it.”