The blindingly bright sunlight cuts through my curtains, waking me up from a restless night.

It’s my birthday.

Others might wake to a phone call from a parent, but not me. Not this year. And really, not ever.

Rafe has always been the best big brother he could manage to be, given his unconventional lifestyle, but even that can’t make up for having parents who don’t give a damn about you.

I push all that heartache-inducing crap out of my head and roll out of bed.

I only get one first day of my next trip around the sun, and I may as well begin it as I mean to go on—by kicking ass and taking names.

It’s Sunday, and barring any emergencies at the distillery, I’ve got the whole day to myself before I meet Rafe for dinner.

If he shows up for dinner. The possibility that he won’t show is twisting my guts into knots, which isn’t helping set the tone for an optimistic day.

He. Will. Be. There.

I repeat it like a mantra as I head for the bathroom to splash some water on my face and get ready.

Mission one for my birthday is to get a head start on creating another piece for Valentina. I have my marching orders and a little bit of free time, so I may as well get started on chasing this dream for real.

As soon as I’m dressed in old jeans and a faded Springsteen T-shirt, I grab my phone and my purse and shove my feet into a tattered pair of black Chucks by the front door.

Fifteen minutes later, I have a cup of coffee, a beignet, and some Springsteen on the radio as I head for the bayou. Does it seem a little strange that my path forward is taking me on a detour through my past? I lick powdered sugar off my fingertips as I consider it.

Maybe it’s cathartic. Or something. I don’t know.

When I pull up in front of the closed metal gate, I honk my horn and wait.

Elijah’s truck sits in front of the trailer he lives in, just behind the barbed wire. Another car sits out front too. I don’t recognize it, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Elijah isn’t pining for me all that hard. In some way, that assures me that I made the right decision.

I honk again, getting some kind of perverse satisfaction out of the fact I might be interrupting his sleep or his morning quickie. He pokes his head out the front door.

“The hell are you doing here so early?” he yells.

“Need to work. Dogs loose?”

“Yeah. Hold on.” He steps out, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and shoves two fingers in his mouth to produce a sharp whistle. The two Cane Corsos come running out from between the shells of cars.

They bound up the stairs to the trailer, and Elijah leads them to their kennel beside it before coming toward me.

I wait until he reaches the gate before I speak. “Sorry if I’m interrupting your morning.”

He gives me a pointed look. “You ain’t sorry.”

“And you weren’t really missing me that much.”

He hauls the metal gate open. “Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

I drive through the gate and he shuts it behind me. “Thanks, Eli. Appreciate it.”

“Happy birthday, Tempe. I’ll swing in and check on you . . . later.”

Before I can respond, a brassy blonde sticks her head out of the front door of the trailer.

“Eli, bed’s getting cold, and so is your chance at a second round this morning.”

I don’t recognize her, and that’s plenty fine with me.

“You better get back to it.”

He grins and salutes me.

For some dumb reason, I’m feeling more alone than ever when I drive up to the big metal building and park.

Best thing I can do? Channel that emotion into my art. A torch always has a way of making me feel better.

* * *

Six hours later, my body is sore from dismantling, hauling, hammering, and welding, but I have another piece halfway finished.

“What’s that one going to be?” Elijah asks from the door.

I turn and flip up my welding mask. “A skyline.”

“Damn, that’s gonna be sweet. Big too. You gonna sell it in that fancy gallery?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Guess that means you’re gonna need a steady supply of new and interesting metal to keep up with demand.”

“Probably.”

“If you want to put out some cash, I can throw up an ad for scrap metal by the pound. Hundred bucks max per person. Might get you some interesting stuff. People around here could really use the money.”

It’s a smart idea, I decide, as I consider it. “I can lay out a grand for it, but nothing more than that right now.”

“I’ll set it up.”

I lean against the workbench. “Why are you helping me? I thought you’d start off with charging me some crazy rent to keep using this space. Wasn’t that your plan?”

He shrugs. “Maybe I decided having you come back around is payment enough for now.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’re still gonna help me chop cars if I need it.”

I groan. “I knew there was a catch.”

“What? You’re quick with a grinder, and sometimes I gotta move fast. You happen to be here, you throw in an extra pair of hands so we can get through it.”

“And if you get raided? You think I’m going down for it?”

Another shrug. “I ain’t gettin’ caught.”

“So you say.”

“So I know. I got people who’ll tip me off if things get hot.”

“I sure hope so.” I tug my gloves off finger by finger and toss them on the workbench before raising the subject that’s been eating at me all day. “You heard from Rafe?”

Elijah shakes his head. “Nope. Not at all. Thought you and him had a date tonight like you always do on your birthday.”

It doesn’t surprise me that Elijah knows about our long-standing tradition. “He’s MIA still. If he doesn’t show tonight, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He grunts. “Seriously? You’re working for the man that everyone is terrified of, and you don’t know what to do if your brother doesn’t show?”

“I work for his wife.”

Elijah rolls his eyes. “Same difference. If I were you, if Rafe doesn’t show, I’d call in the cavalry, because you know that means shit is bad.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Anytime you want more than the tip . . .”

I flip my helmet down and turn my back on him. “Save it for someone who’ll give you a shot.”