The song and dance in my father’s office is over and I’m left fuming at my desk. How can he sell? How can he betray my mother like this? How can he betray me? Our relationship is a rocky shoreline at best, but every once in a while it would be nice to have some smooth sailing.

Why does it always have to be about what’s best for him? I’m his only fucking son. What about the Kingwood legacy? What about my future? What about his? What does he have up his sleeve?

I watch those assholes leave his office, their conversation light as a feather in the breeze. It’s almost like they don’t realize how this changes my entire future, as if it doesn’t alter my life. I’m walking before they reach the elevators. My dad has shut his door, but I walk in anyway.

He looks up, his expression souring. “I’ll call you back, Reg.” He sets the phone down and I shut the door. “What do you want?”

“Restructuring?”

“Business is business. Go back to your desk and get to work.”

His gaze lowers, and he starts sifting through papers covering his desk. I stare. When he realizes I’m not leaving, he looks back up. “What, Alex? Say it so we can both get back to work.”

“Mom would not approve of what you’re doing?”

“Your mother isn’t here to have a say.”

That’s like a slap to the face, and I shudder. His blows have always been low, but this is even beneath him . . . or so I thought. He’s right. She’s not here. My grip is firm on the arm of the chair, but my legs are unsteady. My mother isn’t here to reason with him, to fight for me, or to discuss the future of the company. “She should be.” I turn my back to him and walk to the door.

“Alex?” When I don’t stop, he repeats, “Alex? Stop.”

With my hand on the knob, I reply, “What?”

“I miss her too.”

My glare moves from the wood grain of the door and settles on him. “Do you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I do.”

“And what about me?”

“What about you?”

“How do you feel about me?”

A pfft accompanies an eye-roll, and he returns to tending the papers in front of him. “I don’t have time for your childish games, Alex. You have work to do and courses to study for.”

“I used to love you. When Mom was alive.”

His busy hands stop, but he doesn’t look up. “Close the door behind you.”

I don’t. I leave it wide open and walk through the bullpen. I nod to Cruise to join me. He falls in line as we head for the elevators. When my eyes meet Kimberly’s, I say, “You were right.”

She replies, “I’m sorry.”

Cruise punches the button for the elevator ahead of me, but I stop at the front desk. “No need to be sorry. You warned me.”

I’ve seen that sympathetic smile too many times to count. “Take care of yourself, Alex.”

“I always do.”

Cruise and I ride down to the basement in silence. He knows the boiled tension that exists between my father and me. Sometimes I talk about it. Most times I don’t. I hate where my head goes when I let myself dwell on it too long. It wasn’t always like this though it’s all I remember now.

We get in the car and head out of the garage. “Hungry?” I ask.

“Starved. Pizza?”

“Yep.”

I turn on the music, and turn it up, hoping to wash away my anger so I can enjoy my pizza with a clear head. The asshole told me to get back to work. Fuck that. Cruise will cover his own ass later. A clear conscience isn’t possible, so I try to temper my thoughts instead.

Only one piece of pizza is left when Cruise slurps the last of his soda, then says, “You have class in fifteen.”

“Drop me off, okay?”

I push back from the table, stuffed, and drop some money to cover the tab and some extra for the service. Speaking of service, the waitress is cute. Cruise was all over her, though she seemed to want to be all over me. He gets plenty of pussy, so I never feel sorry for the dude. He also scored her number, not one bit upset to come in second best. Maybe he’s used to it with me. Not in looks. I’m not judging one way or the other on how the world sees him, but he’s my second-in-command, my right-hand man, and my best friend. I guess I’m his wingman in life too.

The door swings open and we step out onto the sidewalk. The sun is bright and I pull my shades from the front of my shirt and slip them over my eyes. The trunk of the car is popped at the curb and I grab my backpack and set it down. I pull the tie from my shirt and roll up my sleeves. I hate going to school in dress pants but my dad insists on a suit while at work. He also insists I stay and work, but fuck him and this whole mess. How can I be expected to treat today like it’s just another normal day when my inheritance is suddenly being broken into pieces.

Once I’m dropped off on campus, I’m tempted to sneak over to the psych building. If I could have gotten here earlier, I would have, just to steal a glance at Sara Jane. I like spying on her. There’s an innocence to her eyes when she’s in class staring off into space or taking notes. I can still see her in that Catholic school girl uniform—wet hair, bare legs, eyes that always saw the good in me. She pretends she still does, but I see the darkness clouding her eyes, the despair she’s better at hiding. It’s not all bad. I see the hope in the blue skies of her eyes as well. If I could spread it with a brush, I’d paint over the darker corners, and let the sunshine back in.

I drop into my seat, my backpack landing loudly on the desk. The professor always likes when I’m dressed up. He takes it as a sign of respect. Fuck him.

Resting my chin in the palm of my hand, I turn to look out the window. She’ll be leaving the building too far for me to see and heading to . . . Where does she go after her psychology class? I should ask her one day. Or meet up with her and walk her to her next class. It’s been a long time since I did that. It’s been a long time since we just existed. Our lives have been running full speed in two different directions, and I’m not sure how to slow it down. She has the whole world ahead of her—opportunity, job options, potential. I have Kingwood Enterprises and a heart that’s almost black. Correction, I may not have Kingwood Enterprises anymore. What will I do?

“Mr. Kingwood. You with us today or taking a mental leave by staring out the window?”

Among bored laughter, my gaze lands on the professor up front. “Carry on.”

“Thanks for the permission, Mr. Kingwood,” he replies sarcastically. “As I was saying . . .”

Fifty minutes later, I grab my backpack and get out the door before he can call on me. I’m long gone, cutting off other students, and down the hall before I hear the faint call of my name. I ignore it and push through the double doors that lead to the quad.

“Hey, Alex?”

I turn to the sound of a girl’s voice. Blonde. Big tits. California tan from her spring break to the Golden State that she bragged about last week, spoken loud enough for me to hear. Or she wanted me to hear. “Hey,” I reply because I can’t remember her name. I’m not sure I ever knew it. Or cared to.

“You done for the day?”

“No.”

“Oh, bummer. A few of us,” she says, then glances behind her to a group of girls all watching like this is their entertainment for the day, “are going to get margaritas and wanted to know if you’d join us.”

“I have class.” And a girlfriend.

“Skip it.”

“I don’t drink margaritas.”

“I’ll buy you a beer, or even better, your own pitcher.”

“Alexander.”

Shit.

The voice I love. The tone not so much. Turning, I see the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Hey, babe.”

“Really?”

“Don’t be jealous. It was nothing.”

“How would you feel if the roles were reversed?”

“I’d kick his ass without a second thought,” I reply, smiling and taking her by the waist. Pulling her close, I kiss her neck since she turns away from me. “Don’t be jealous over nothing.”

She sighs and the tension in her rigid body softens under my touch. When her arms wrap around my neck, she looks up at me, and I know I have my girl back. “Why do you have to be so damn handsome?”

“Just born this way.”

Sara Jane rolls her eyes and steps back. “I see you went to class. Your professor must have been thrilled by your presence.”

“I got my paper back. My A still stands so he doesn’t say shit to me about my lack of attendance.”

We start walking and like so often lately, silence intervenes. I try to muffle it with stupid conversation just to hear her talk, to bring the happiness back into her life. “You have more classes, right?”

“Yeah. And the group project.”

“I’ll still pick you up.”

“Thanks.”

Silence.

Fuck. I hate silence when it comes to her. Normally, I crave it. Not with her.

“I should get going,” she says, stopping and looking up at me.

Taking her hand in mine, I kiss it. “Everything okay?”

She looks away and then shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Hey, look at me.” When she does there’s a slump to her shoulders and not a smile in sight. I lift her chin and step closer, smothering the silence between us. “What’s going on?”

“I just have a lot to deal with. School stuff. This project and a paper.” She looks away again.

“Look at me, Sara Jane.” She does. Such a good girl. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“What do you see in me, Alexander?”

Whoa. I didn’t see that coming. It’s the easiest thing I’ve had to answer all day. “Everything. Anything good in my life is because you’re a part of it. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You know the truth deep down even if you don’t like to talk about it.”

Her patience is worn today and she looks across the aggregate quad toward the English building. “I need to go or I’ll be late.” Her hand, so small in mine, slips away.

I won’t lose her. She’s my sanity in the storm I’ve created. “I’ll pick you up, okay?”

“Outside the library.”

“I’ll remember.” I give a wave before feeling stupid and shoving my hands in my pockets.

I start walking in the other direction but look back. She never does. How can she ask me what I see in her? Surely she can’t look at girls like California spring break and think she is less? She’s less than no one. With all this shit at work happening, am I missing something? I refuse to lose my Firefly. I refuse to lose.