“HE WAS JUST SO... him.” Victoria fiddled with the edge of the throw pillow she held in her lap.

Her therapist, Dr. Beck Green, watched her, sympathy in his gaze. “How do you mean?”

“I guess it could have gone worse. He didn’t ask me if I was sure I wanted to keep it or anything like that.” She still looked back in horror on that almost-made mistake. It might be right for some people, but she was grateful for where she ended up.

Thank God for shrink appointments. Victoria had been playing last night’s dinner in her head over and over until she was ready to scream. The verbal outlet helped her slide back toward sane.

“But he kept pushing his involvement,” Beck said.

Twice wasn’t really kept, but at the time it felt like it to her. “It’s not like I want him to pull some sort where do I send the check, and then walk away. But the alpha dog power play of inserting himself into my life, out of some sense of obligation. It just rubbed me wrong.”

The conversation with Tristan wasn’t over. He wouldn’t want to leave things unresolved any more than she did.

“You said that’s not what you want. What do you want?” Beck’s questions were always soft and non-judgmental. They tended to keep the conversation on track, without planting answers in Victoria’s head.

Most of the time she appreciated that. Today, she wanted someone else to do the thinking for her. “I don’t know. I’ve been so busy thinking about how to handle everything else, and just how to tell him, I never got to the what next part of him. What if he tries to hold this over my head?”

“Would he do that?”

He still hadn’t completely dropped the Mischa thing. The reminders she was responsible for that shitty relationship. Could she handle eighteen years of Tristan reminding her he didn’t like this? Then again, what happened with Mischa was her fault. “I don’t know. It’s not as though I did this on purpose, and he’s as responsible for it as I am.”

“It did take both of you.” Beck offered a rare opinion. Enough to bolster Victoria and remind her she was on the right track. “Do you think Tristan would be a good influence in a child’s life?”

She didn’t know that either. There were so many things she couldn’t begin to guess when it came to him. “He has a sister my age, so he was older when she was growing up. He’s as protective as shit about her, but I don’t think he’s got the same knack in general for kids that Mischa does...” She frowned as the words left her mouth. “Not that I’m comparing another man to Mischa.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

He didn’t have to. Victoria knew that was a big flaw. It wasn’t just about the good, either. Every guy who came along, she was terrified she’d fall into the same pit as before. Trip over the same habits. It didn’t matter if she’d recovered. That pit of doubt never vanished.

“But he’s not another man.” Beck nudged. “He’s the other man.”

It was true. This was the one place she couldn’t deny that. Tristan was attractive. Fun when things weren’t bad. The one man she’d always wondered what if about... “But what if I don’t want him to be a part of this? If he wants in... he has money and influence.”

“Would he do that? Force his way into your lives if you told him to stay away?”

“I don’t know.” So many things she didn’t have answers for.

Beck leaned forward in his seat, forearms on his knees. The signal he was about to wrap the session up. “Are you sure you don’t?”

She hadn’t expected that. He didn’t question her responses. Not in that way. “What am I supposed to say to that? Of course I’m sure.”

“Our time is up, but rare homework for next week. You have a list of the questions. Think about them some more, and bring them back again next week.”

“Because I haven’t already been doing that?”

Beck gave her a kind smile. “I promise, if you don’t want Tristan in your lives, he won’t be. See you next week?”

“All right.” Victoria wasn’t reassured. She said her goodbyes. Her lunch break was up so she returned to the office.

Back at her desk, she’d only been seated for a few minutes when her messenger chimed with a note from Malory.

Do you have some time? I need to talk to you.

On my way, Victoria typed, and made her way across the room.

“Close the door,” Malory said when she arrived.

Great. Another one of these. Victoria did, then took a seat. “What’s up?”

“I have more information from Legal about our subpoena’d records. I need you to assure me right now that the entire donation was on the up-and-up as far as you know.”

“It was.” Victoria didn’t hesitate. A gnawing in her gut didn’t like the direction of the conversation, though.

“Are you willing to sign an affidavit to that effect?”

She definitely didn’t care for this. “Absolutely. I’ll do it right now if you want to bring the notary in.”

“Not yet, but there’s a chance it will come to that.” Malory twirled a tiny strand of hair around her finger, then tugged. “We’re all aware of the unusual circumstances, and since we can’t find anything out of place on paper, we’re being cautious.”

“Are you putting Mischa through this?”

“Yes. Given your very public history, we’re covering our bases.”

“So, we dated once, and it was in the tabloids, and that makes his gesture somehow less genuine?” Victoria let annoyance leak into her words. “Is his job in danger? Is mine?”

Malory tugged the poor strand harder, pulling out the few hairs. She shook her hand over the trash. “I stand by you if this goes south. You’ve done too much for us to ignore, and you’re sincere about it.”

“But Mischa?”

“He’s a good guy. He’ll be good with the kids when the center opens. You didn’t hire him and he doesn’t report to you, so I don’t think what he does for us matters. But it depends on what comes out.”

“Where did any of this come from?” Victoria wanted someone to answer that question. “I guarantee, as anal as Tristan Hough is with details, everything on that side is as clean as it is on ours.”

“We deal with things like this all the time. Someone gets pissed off about our cause, and finds a new route to try and get to us. This instance is getting special attention because of the size of the donation, and the unusual circumstances around it.”

It always came back to that. It wasn’t the first time she wished she had a magic eraser for her past with Mischa, but the impulse was stronger than it had been in a while. No regrets. Right. The past made her who she was. Fucking past. “I get it. Let me know what I can do. Again. Still. I’m happy to sign anything. Have it notarized. Swear on the bible to God and heaven and the all-mighty dollar that this was all business.”

“I figured you would. Thank you.” Stress still lined Malory’s face.

Victoria knew the feeling.

The end of Friday bled into Saturday, and a deluge of new year, new me sentiment.

She was happy with the her she had. She just wanted some answers.

Marathoning Awkward and switching between eating pretzels and ice cream, sounded like a great way to spend the couple days of the year.

Besides, it was an excuse to let her emotions run the gamut, vicariously. Three episodes in, she’d lived someone else’s humiliation, heartbreak, happiness, and grief, and she was fully prepared to keep going.

Her phone rang, and she glanced at it, ready to swipe decline.

Ash’s name and picture were on screen. Odd.

Victoria answered. “Hey.”

“Hello.” Ash was chipper. “Is now a good time?”

“Depends on what you’re looking for. I’m not busy, but I’m not up for moving couches or anything.”

Ash laughed. “It’s nothing like that. We were talking, wondering if we should make plans for tomorrow, that kind of thing.”

Mischa and Ash making plans? That was far harder to swallow than the fact that they didn’t already have any place to be for New Year’s Eve. “Okay?” Victoria said.

“We’re going to have a bunch of people over. You should come.”

Victoria’s brain stalled on a response. The sure that she wanted to spit out refused to be heard.

“Inviting you was my idea, but Mischa’s okay with it,” Ash assured her.

Someone was holding her back, Victoria realized. But it wasn’t him. “That’s not it.”

“Tristan is out of town, so if things are weird between you...”

There it was. The information she needed, but not the answer she wanted to hear. Or maybe it didn’t have anything to do with Tristan, and she just wasn’t in the mood to put on a mask for a bunch of strangers. “You’re sweet to offer, but I’m good.”

“All right.” A hint of disappointment was in Ash’s reply. “It’s an open offer, though, if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” Victoria disconnected and tossed her phone onto the coffee table.

An unexpected wave swept through her, knocking her breath away and lingering with loneliness in her head. Her shrink was the one person she could talk to. She’d cut a lot of people out of her life during recovery, and didn’t miss any of them.

But it did leave a hole she hadn’t filled yet. She could finesse the pants off any donor—literally, she suspected—but she didn’t have any friends she could be herself around. Ash was sincere, but that was awkward, and she didn’t know if Ash would care for the real her.

Victoria sank back onto the couch, muddled in a loneliness she couldn’t shake. What had happened to her?

*

TRISTAN DIDN’T have to be in L.A. until Tuesday, but he needed to get out of town for a little while. Putting himself in a new place might help him adjust his thinking too. Show him an approach to one or more of his issues, that he hadn’t uncovered yet.

He took the elevator up to the floor his sister’s apartment was on. A week ago had been her first Christmas away from home, because she had to work, and she was feeling homesick. He figured if he was here anyway, he’d drop in and visit.

A quick text conversation with her yesterday confirmed she didn’t have plans for New Year’s. He’d show her around the city, or get her to do that. They’d get drunk, take a cab home, and he could pass out in her guest bedroom.

Or he could try and pretend for one night that he wasn’t overprotective, and go back to his own hotel after, in case she wanted to meet someone. Meeting someone, that sounded like a good idea. A fling was the perfect way to take his mind off things, as long as he didn’t turn it into the same situation as the last fling.

He knocked on Trina’s door, and it swung open just a second later.

Trina stared at him, eyes wide, before her shock mutated into a smile. “Hey. I didn’t expect you.” She was wearing a blue dress that matched her eyes, hugged her body, and ended much closer to her ass than her knees. Mom would be scandalized.

“I asked if you were free,” Tristan said.

“I thought you were being concerned. You should have followed it up with because I’ll be in town.” She opened the door wider.

Any response he had died in his throat, when he saw Spencer sitting on her couch.

Tristan tried to put the pieces together, and failed. He’d known Spencer longer than Mischa. They went to the same schools growing up. They didn’t spend as much time together in high school and beyond, mostly because of Tristan’s Olympic training schedule, but he still considered Spencer his oldest, and a best friend.

“You’re two days early.” Spencer stood and crossed the room to shake his hand and clap him on the shoulder.

A portion of Tristan’s mind whirred, trying to piece the situation together. There was a huge block in his head keeping him from making sense of it. “And you’re not.”

Spencer shrugged. “Trina’s part of the crew doing the wiring in the new building. She mentioned she didn’t have plans tonight, I knew you wouldn’t want her going out alone, so I volunteered as chaperon.”

Made sense. “You have room for one more?”

“Always, for you.” Trina grabbed her purse. “We’re leaving, unless you want to hang around a little longer.”

“Nope. Out is good.” He needed to get somewhere that he wouldn’t have to think.

“What did you have in mind?” Spencer asked.

“Any place that lets me forget I’m almost forty.”

Spencer laughed. “Dude, you’ve been going on forty for a couple of decades.”

“Fuck you too.” Tristan didn’t mind the jab though. At least here there wasn’t any expectation. “I was thinking loud music and dancing.”

“You were.” Trina stared at him, mouth twisted in disbelief.

Tristan raised his brows, and she stared back with a matching expression.

“There’s a club a few blocks from here.” Spencer broke the glaring match. “Exactly what you’re looking for.”

“I’m in.”

They were halfway out the door, when Trina’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and scowled. “It’s work.”

“Tell them to fuck off. You’re not on call,” Spencer said.

Tristan shook his head. “Take it. We’ll wait.”

She wandered away as she answered, snippets of her conversation filtered back, but not enough to make out details.

Tristan turned to Spencer. “You and she aren’t... dating?” The moment he said it, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. This thing with Victoria was getting under his skin more than he realized.

“Dude, seriously? I remember when she was born.”

He thought it was funny Spencer played the part of blond, tanned California surfer, when he’d grown up in the same ocean-less, snow-covered mountains as Tristan. It worked for the guy, though. “You’re right.” Tristan chuckled. “My head’s not on straight.”

They talked a little more about work and the building Spencer was closing on Tuesday, before Trina returned.

“All settled. We can go.” She lingered a few feet back.

Tristan resisted the urge to ask her to at least wear a shrug with the off-the-shoulder dress. Poor girl was already about to have her evening hampered with two chaperons.

Tristan drove his rental, Trina riding with him, as they followed Spencer to the club. The closest parking spots were two blocks away. Tristan wasn’t surprised, given the night.

There was a cafe next to the bar, and they decided to stop for dinner first. They sat next to a wall shared with the other building, and the thrum of music made conversation stilted. Tristan didn’t have the focus for it that he wanted anyway. His thoughts bounced to the beat, fluctuating between Victoria, their baby, and the subpoena’d paperwork. The problem was, he couldn’t grasp anything long enough to follow the thread to a conclusion.

He felt bad about imposing himself on the evening, and then not being great company, but Spencer and Trina seemed to hold things up without much input from him.

They finished eating and headed to the club. The music was loud enough to rattle his teeth, and the strobe of the neon against the dark room hurt his eyes. He couldn’t think.

It was perfect.

Trina grabbed his arm and tugged. “Come dance with us.” Even with her shouting, he only heard half her words.

He shook his head and nodded toward the bar, to indicate that was where he’d be. His joining her would put a cramp in both their evenings. Besides, Spencer would keep an eye on her.

Why was Tristan here again? He was being a shitty visitor. Dropping in unannounced then shrugging off the company. Fortunately, the grin on Trina’s face and the way she melted into the crowd said it didn’t bother her too much.

He headed in the other direction, ordered a shot of tequila, and turned to scope the dancers. Bodies writhed against each other, and the potent aroma of perfume, liquor, and body odor seeped into his sinuses.

Before Ash, he and Mischa spent plenty of nights at local places, but that was a lower-key environment. This was the kind of place he could lose himself for the night. Hook up. Get laid. Not worry about babies or IRS investigations in the morning.

He nursed his drink, and scanned the faces in the crowd. The thought was there. Hook up. The desire wasn’t. An empty pit gnawed at his chest at the idea of not making a connection.

Trina dropped onto the stool next to him, cheeks flushed and grin on her face. “Have you moved?”

“Eh.”

“You’ve been sitting here for more than an hour. Are you all right?” She had to lean her head next to his to be heard.

Had he? This sucked. “Just not feeling it, I guess.”

“Go back to your hotel. You’ll be happier there.”

“What about you?”

She nodded at Spencer, who stood a few feet away watching. “I’ve got a bodyguard. He’ll make sure I behave.”

“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He headed back to his car. Even when he was trying to unwind he couldn’t relax. What the fuck was wrong with him?