My fingers curled around the edge of my seat, thumbs digging into the marred wood. Anxiety slithered beneath my skin as I stared at the lectern in the front of the old church. Shifting my gaze to the cross behind the altar, I inclined my head, hoping for once that I’d feel … something. Not that I didn’t believe in God. But I’d never subscribed to the theory of ceding control to a higher power. At least in terms of my disease.

Disease.

I suppose it was. Thousands of twelve steppers couldn’t be wrong, could they? But inside, I knew what I was. An addict. Recovering. Clean. A success by any stretch of the imagination. Still, I had a hard time believing that God, or whatever higher power existed, had a hand in my sobriety.

Eleven years ago, when I’d pulled myself from the pit of addiction, I did it on my own. Well, not completely. Vaughn had helped. Along with the counselors at the rehab.

I shifted my attention to the front row where all the newbies sat, looking around with wide, fearful eyes. I knew what they wanted. A cure. But there wasn’t one. They’d always feel it. The itch.

At least they had family here. Most of them anyway. In the six months I’d spent in rehab my old man never showed his face. Not until the day I was released.

“They get you fixed up, boy? I hope so, ’cause the labels got a gig lined up.”

And then Tyler Noble, standup father that he was, pressed a flask into my hand and told me to get over myself.

Jerking from my daydream when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder, I met Vaughn’s liquid brown eyes. He leaned a hip against the pew. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you here,” he said, surprise coloring his tone. “Glad you remembered the address.”

Vaughn was one of the few people who could make me feel like a disobedient child. He saw past what I was now—the most successful land developer in the state, owner of two music venues and a handful of buildings and restaurants—and straight to the kid he’d found shaking under the blankets my second day in rehab. That was my rock bottom. I’d done some fucked up shit when I was using, but truth be told, I didn’t care. After the age of twelve, I hadn’t been sober long enough to care. I cared that day though. The fog had lifted just enough to reveal one truth—selfish as it was—I didn’t want to die.

Adopting a relaxed posture, I slung my arm over the back of the pew. “Nice to see you too.” I tipped my chin to the window in the sanctuary where three faces peered out from behind the curtain. “How’s she doing?”

The she in question, Logan Cage’s sister Laurel, had just finished a thirty-day stint in rehab. Today, she’d graduate. Which meant nothing, really.

Vaughn stroked his graying beard, thoughtful. “As well as can be expected. She didn’t exactly come to the program of her own free will.”

I chuckled. It had taken both Logan and me to drag Laurel to the facility, kicking and screaming. The bite mark on my arm had faded, but since Laurel had broken the skin, I’d always have a little memento.

When Vaughn shifted his feet, my smile withered. “What is it?”

He sighed. “Logan.”

I’d known my brother’s bandmate since he was a kid. Back then, I’d been too wrapped up in my addiction to pay much attention. And as soon as I got clean, I took off to California for three years to attend school and free myself from my dad’s influence.

We were close now though.

Close enough that when Logan found Laurel in Nashville, strung out and swinging from a pole at a seedy strip club, he’d come to me for help. Begrudgingly.

“What about him?” I asked, studying Vaughn’s face.

The aging counselor liked to put a positive spin on everything. But if you peeled back the layers, the old man had a shit ton of tells.

“He nixed the idea of sober living.”

My brows shot to my hairline. “What?”

In the grand scheme of things, thirty days clean was nothing. It took months to get into the habit. To strengthen your mind enough to push aside the impulses.

“I’m not saying she can’t do it,” Vaughn was quick to interject. “Because she can.”

There it was, that undying optimism.

Glancing around at all the faces, I did a mental tally. Of the forty or so addicts in the room, all but eight would relapse. And soon.

“The odds are against her.”

Vaughn nodded, rubbing some imaginary crick out of his neck. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Is that loft in your building still empty?”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head. “You mean the one above mine?” A smile curved Vaughn’s lips, but I wasn’t amused. I lived above a bar, for fuck’s sake. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Honestly, no. But it beats the alternative.”

One look at Vaughn’s face and I knew the other option on the table was worse. “Logan, right?”

My stomach sank when Vaughn offered a weak nod.

Logan didn’t have any clue about the pitfalls facing his sister. He actually believed that rehab was the cure. But it was a first step, nothing more. A Band-Aid over a bullet wound.

“I’m not a babysitter.”

Vaughn held up his hands in surrender. “It was just an idea. Let me go talk to Logan.”

When Vaughn turned to leave, I pushed to my feet. “I’ll go.”

I checked my phone as I headed for the parking lot. We still had a half hour before Laurel would address the crowd. Plenty of time for me to convince Logan to get his head out of his ass. Sober living was the only thing that made sense.

Logan hopped to his feet when I entered the small courtyard. “Is it time?”

“Sit your ass down,” I growled, closing the gap between us.

Talking to Logan usually required finesse. The kid was batshit crazy. But I didn’t have the time or the patience. And something told me he knew that deep inside, I harbored a brand of insanity that matched his own.

Logan dropped onto the stone bench, a smile curving his lips. “What’s up your ass?”

Resting a hip on the table, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Are you trying to fuck up Laurel’s recovery?”

The smile faded, and hairline cracks formed in the frozen ponds of Logan’s pale blue eyes. “Why would you say that?”

My focus shifted to his hands, balled into fists at his sides. But it wasn’t rage I detected. It was fear. And as shitty as it was, I could work with that.

“What has Laurel told you about her addiction?”

Hoisting myself onto the table, I clasped my hands in front of me, and waited for Logan to reply.

He lifted his chin, trying and failing at indifference. “Doesn’t matter. I know it was awful.”

Tipping forward, I locked our gazes. “If it was so damn awful, baby sis wouldn’t have been doing lap dances at twenty bucks a pop to feed her habit. And she wouldn’t be thinking, right this very minute, that she’d rather be high.”

“You don’t know that,” Logan snarled through clenched teeth, his top lip trembling from the effort.

I blew out a breath. “I do know that, bro. Because when I got out, I spent about fifty-five minutes out of every hour thinking about using.”

Logan’s shoulders sagged and his eyes drifted to the church. To Laurel. “What stopped you?”

“Those five minutes of clarity. Eventually they turn into ten. And then an hour. Pretty soon, a day.”

“A day?” Defeat colored his tone, but I smiled at that.

Because it proved my point. Logan had no idea what the hell he was dealing with.

“You’re seeing it all wrong. We just got to get her to ten.”

Logan turned back to me, anguish coating his features. “How?”

“Well, Vaughn runs a really good sober living facility and—”

“No.” Logan bolted off the bench, shaking his head. “She’s my sister. I’ll take care of her. I’m not abandoning her again. Never again.”

Whatever guilt had taken residency in Logan’s head was not about to listen to reason. All he could see was the little girl who lived in his mind’s eye. The one who got swept away.

With a sigh, I eased off the table. “Okay. It was just a suggestion. There’s something else we can try.”

Laurel wandered around the Starbucks, her fingers skimming every item on the shelves. In her free hand, she clutched her thirty-day chip like the piece of plastic could ward off every evil in the world.

A headache brewed behind my eyes as I moved forward in the slow ass line. Every caffeine junkie, wanna-be poet, and out of work musician on Sixth Street was here.

Laurel sidled up while I was checking my phone, a bag of chocolate covered espresso beans pressed to her chest.

“Can I have these?” she asked in a breathy tone, peering up at me through her lashes.

Her smile wobbled when I pinned her with a blank stare. She knew what I was—an addict, just like her. Gaming me was out of the question. But I guess she wanted to test the boundaries.

I took the beans. “Anything else?”

“Can I have a caramel macchiato?”

I saw the faint hope in her eyes as she waited for me to reply, like maybe I wasn’t some douchebag who wanted a piece of her soul in exchange for a lousy cup of coffee.

“Sure.”

A flush rose on her pale skin as she pointed toward the patio. “Thanks … I’m going to go find Logan.”

Shaking my head, I stepped up to the register and came face to face with Shana.

Well, shit.

“Hey, Chase.”

Forcing my lips to bend, I set the beans on the counter. “Hey darlin’. Can I get two of the usuals and a caramel macchiato.”

Pulling three cups from the stack next to the register, she fluttered her eyelashes at me. “If you want the usual, you’re going to have to wait until my shift ends at three.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “And we can definitely do two.”

I handed over my Starbucks card. “I’m busy today. Just the coffee and the beans.”

Shana pouted as she rang me up. A month ago that pout was cute. She’d used it on me the night we’d hooked up at Nite Owl, the smaller of the two bars I owned on Sixth.

Scribbling my name across the waffled sleeves, she arched a brow. “I can always come by the bar tonight.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Sorry, I’ve got plans.”

I’d told Shana that I didn’t do the girlfriend thing before I bent her over the couch in my office. From the look on her face, that conversation had conveniently slipped her mind.

She didn’t even pretend to hide her contempt when she shoved the card into my hand.

I dropped a ten in her tip jar and then strolled to the end of the counter. As I waited for my order, I wondered why I continued to hook up with women I met at the bar. But I knew the answer. At Nite Owl I was anonymous. Just a bartender who occasionally performed a set on the weekends. Women didn’t expect much from that guy. On the other hand, if they knew I owned the Phoenix Group and was Cameron Knight’s brother, things would get more complicated.

Tipping my chin to the dude who dropped off the coffees, I grabbed the tray and then headed for the patio to deal with the real issues.

Logan met my gaze when I dropped into my chair, his blue eyes beseeching.

Passing him a cup of coffee, I said to Laurel, “I forgot the Danish. You mind grabbing me one?”

Rolling her eyes, she pushed away from the table. “Sure. What kind?”

Since I wasn’t going to eat it, I didn’t give a fuck. “Surprise me.”

Visibly relaxed, Logan reached into his pocket. “Hey, get me a pecan roll. Extra gooey.”

Brushing away his hand when he held out a one-hundred-dollar bill, I offered Laurel my Starbucks card instead. “Use this. They probably don’t have change.”

She stared at the piece of plastic for a long moment, then looked me dead in the eyes. When I didn’t waver, she chuffed out a breath and snatched the card from my hand. “Can I get one too, warden?”

Smiling, I eased back into my chair. “You can get anything you want. As long as you can buy it with that card.”

Logan’s lips parted, but I nudged his foot and he kept his mouth shut.

Once Laurel was out of earshot, he leaned forward and hissed, “What was that all about? You just made her feel like—”

“She’s two hours out of rehab. Did you forget that?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

That part of Logan that wanted so badly to believe that Laurel was cured was clearly in command, so I took the opportunity to bring him back to reality.

“One time,” I chuckled, shaking my head, “my mom gave me her last twenty bucks to go get something at the store. She didn’t see me again for two days.”

Logan sobered, shifting his focus to the plate glass window.

“It’s too much temptation,” I said quietly. “Trust me on that.”

The anguish was back, etched into the lines on Logan’s forehead. “I do trust you. It’s just … She thinks she’s coming home with me. Maybe I could bring her over to your place in a couple of days.”

Forty-eight hours at Logan’s, and we’d be back at square one. “You’ve always got some Betty hanging around your loft. And more than a few of those chicks share Laurel’s former vocation.”

Logan frowned. “I don’t date strippers anymore.” A group of girls walked by our table, and Logan’s attention drifted for a moment. “Unless they’re working their way through college. Then I’m just doing my part for higher education.”

He waggled his brows, and I snorted.

“You don’t date at all. That’s why it’s better if Laurel doesn’t see random chicks doing the walk of shame out of your bedroom.”

Logan assessed me over his cup as he took a drink. “What about you? Aren’t your little friends going to be put off having my sister one floor up.”

I shrugged. “I don’t invite women to my loft. So as long as Laurel stays out of my office, we don’t need to worry about her running into anybody.”

I’d tried the whole relationship thing a couple of years ago. One month into it and I was climbing the walls, but I gutted it out with Alyssa for another month to see if it would stick. The only thing that stuck was the impression I was being strangled with monotonous sex and endless chatter about our “future.”

I blew out a breath and went on, “Look, it’s not permanent. I’ve got plans for that space. It’s just until Laurel gets on her feet.”

Logan laughed. “So Cameron got to you, huh? Convinced you to spend a million bucks on a recording studio so he doesn’t have to leave Lily to jet off to LA to lay down tracks?”

“My brother has fuck all to do with it. It’s about Willow.”

Surprise lifted Logan’s brows, and I was a little shocked myself. When Sean, the band’s drummer, first brought his little girl around, I kept my distance. Kids weren’t my thing. But the little beauty stole my heart. And her daddy’s too. Sean made it clear that he wouldn’t do anything that kept him away from Willow and her mother for too long. And if spending a couple of bucks to build a studio helped ease everyone’s load, I’d do it. Music was a gift. And no one should have to choose.

Expecting Logan to scoff, I lifted my chin. Instead he smiled thoughtfully. “That’s cool. If anyone’s worth that kind of scratch, it’s Willow-baby.”

I chuckled into my next sip of coffee. “Let’s not get crazy. The studio’s a good investment.”

“What studio?” Laurel interjected as she reclaimed her seat.

Waving off the Starbucks card when she tried to return it, I replied. “The one I’m building above Nite Owl. But for the time being I’ve decided to clear out the space and let you stay up there.”

Laurel snapped her gaze to Logan’s. “I thought I was moving in with you?”

Sliding his chair next to his sister’s, Logan leaned in close enough for their heads to touch when he spoke. “Don’t be afraid. You’re not doing this alone. I’ll come over every day.”

“It’s not that.” Laurel twisted her hands in her lap. “It’s just … I don’t even have a TV. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor, but …”

Laurel’s subtle manipulation worked like a charm, and Logan jumped to his feet.

“Best Buy first or Ikea?” he said, offering Laurel his hand.

Bolting from her seat, she threw her arms around her brother’s neck. “Oh, Logan! Thank you!”

He hugged her tight as she peppered his cheeks with kisses, contentment supplanting the guilt for a moment. But Logan was sadly mistaken if he thought Laurel’s problems could be fixed with a little cash. He’d learn that lesson soon enough, but for now, I wouldn’t burst his bubble.

“You want to come with us?” Logan asked me as he fished his keys from his pocket.

“Nah.” I rose from the chair and stretched. “I’m going to get a refill and head to the office.”

Laurel glanced over her shoulder as Logan led her away, giving me a little wave.

What did you get yourself into?

Lost in thought, I wove through the maze of tables and past the knots of people standing around sipping their coffees. Thankfully, Shana was too busy chatting with a coworker to notice me placing my order.

At the pickup station, I slid a hip onto one of the stools and checked my email while I waited for my coffee. I smiled at the barista when she pushed the venti cup in front of me.

As I rose to my feet, warm fingers brushed my arm. “Excuse me, I think that’s mine.”

When I swung my distracted gaze to the voice, beautiful blue eyes the color of the hill country sky locked onto mine.

“The drink?” the girl said, tipping her chin to my coffee. “I think it’s mine.”

“Shit … sorry.” I tightened my grip reflexively when her fingers curled around the cup. “Have we met?”

Her smile evaporated. “I don’t think so.”

She was probably right. Because if we’d met, I’d remember.

Still holding firm to her cup, I brushed aside the déjà vu. “That’s a shame.”

An irritated sigh. “Can I have my drink please?”

The scowl was kind of adorable, though I don’t think cute was what she was going for. Still, I was up for the challenge, so I offered her my free hand and said, “I’m Chase.”

“Good for you.”

Astounded by her ability to remain straight faced, I let go of her cup. “You know … It’s always nice to meet someone from out of town. Around here when someone gives you their name, it’s customary to return the favor.”

I had no doubt the girl was pure Texas. The drawl was a dead giveaway, along with the crimson staining her cheeks when she realized she’d forgotten her manners.

Tucking a strand of rich, brown hair behind her ear, she tried for a smile, but only managed the faintest curve of her lips. “Sorry. I’m just really tired. Jet lag.”

Hoisting her backpack on her shoulder, she made to leave.

“You still didn’t tell me your name.” Holding up a hand when she narrowed her gaze, I pulled a card from my back pocket. “Okay, how about this … you can tell me tonight when we meet for drinks.”

Curiosity sparked in her eyes as she read the card. “Where’s Nite Owl?”

I leaned against the counter, smiling. “Just down the road a piece. Are you familiar with Sixth?”

She choked on her sip of coffee, but quickly recovered. “Yeah, I’m pretty familiar.”

She was familiar all right. Hauntingly. Maybe we could figure it out after the drinks. Naked.

I inched a little closer. “So, what time do you want to meet?”

As she pondered, I zeroed in on the name scrawled in black Sharpie on the waffled sleeve encasing her drink.

Taryn …

Blinking, I searched her face for a long moment. “You’re Taryn Ayers.”

When she flinched, I realized it sounded like an accusation. Still, I waited to see if she’d correct me. But all I got was a forced smile. It was the saddest thing, those beautiful lips bending against their will.

Before I could respond, Taryn turned on her heel and headed for the door.

It should’ve ended there. Because it wasn’t about me. It was about my brother. Cameron already had to overcome being Tyler Noble’s son. But even my father never burned the bridges that I did in the industry. There was no unfulfilled six-figure contract with Tyler’s name attached to it. And Tyler didn’t overdose backstage at a concert venue.

But I wasn’t thinking about Cameron when I followed Taryn out of the coffee shop. And my brother was the last thing on my mind when I caught up with her at the light on Congress.

“Taryn.”

I wasn’t aware that I’d said her name out loud until she swung her stormy blue eyes in my direction. And for a moment I thought fate would intervene and save me from myself. One word. That’s all it would take. And I’d go.

But then she smiled, and the clouds receded from her gaze. “Yes?”

That wasn’t the word I was looking for. “Yes” held all kinds of possibilities. None of them good.

Adrenaline coursed through me and I felt it. That rush I got when I crossed the line. Any line.

“So … are we on for drinks at seven?”