Kat knocked on Gram’s door, holding a bag of donuts and hoping the older woman would be having a good day. They were becoming rare these days so Kat wasn’t holding her breath. She never knew which Gram to expect—the sweet grandmother or the irritated, cranky, and confused old woman.

“Come in,” came a soft voice.

Kat peeked around the door before entering the room. Gram was sitting in her chair by the window, looking out over the garden. Kat let out a sigh of relief. The cranky old woman was not in residence today.

Gram smiled when she saw Kat. “I didn’t realize you were coming by today.”

Kat said nothing, instead leaning down to kiss Gram’s wrinkled cheek. She’d been coming by every Saturday morning for the last six months. When she was still a bartender, that was about the only time she could ensure she’d have off every week. So even if she’d had to work until four in the morning the night before, she’d drag her tired ass out of bed to make the visit.

It was disappointing that Gram’s mind wasn’t sharp today, but she’d take a slightly forgetful Gram over the cranky Gram any day.

“How are you today?” Kat asked. “I see you got your hair done.”

Gram patted her white hair that was styled in a bouffant. “Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous.” Kat had made the appointment for the in-house salon just last week. She was glad to see Gram had been up to going. She laid out some napkins and pulled a jelly donut out of the bag. “Here you go.”

Gram looked at it suspiciously. “What kind is it?”

“Raspberry jelly. Your favorite.”

Gram shook her head emphatically. “I don’t like those.”

Kat sighed, trying not to show her frustration. Though Gram wasn’t agitated, she wasn’t having as good of a day as it had first appeared. It broke Kat’s heart to be losing the woman to Alzheimer’s when they’d only recently connected.

“You don’t have to eat it. Do you want a plain one?” Kat reached into the bag.

“No, I can’t eat that. I need to fit into my dress.”

“What dress?”

“The blue one.”

It was on the tip of Kat’s tongue to ask where she planned to wear the blue dress, but the dreamy expression on Gram’s face told her Gram was somewhere in the past. She likely didn’t even own a blue dress.

“Blue will look lovely with your eyes,” Kat said instead.

“Thank you, dear.” Gram reached across the table toward Kat’s face, so Kat leaned forward so the older woman could pat her on the cheek. “That’s so sweet of you to say. What did you say your name was again?”

Kat choked back a sob. “I’m Kat.”

“Are you a friend of my son’s?”

“No,” she said softly.

Kat was most definitely not. She hadn’t even met Gram’s son—her father—and she wanted to keep it that way. She worried in Gram’s troubled state she might slip and reveal Kat’s existence. Though, her father probably wouldn’t believe her, anyway, thinking she was just confused. Either way, it was a headache Kat didn’t need. She’d sworn off relationships with toxic men, and that included her father.

Though, from the best she could tell, X hadn’t come to visit his mother in six months, so it probably wasn’t a huge concern. Kat shook off her worries. No need to invite trouble.

“I wish he would find a nice girl like you. You must make your mother proud.”

Kat stood abruptly, walking over to the mini-fridge to give herself something to do so that Gram wouldn’t see her face. It did no good to upset her.

And Kat didn’t know why she was letting Gram’s confusion get to her this morning. Normally, she shook it off. For some reason she was having trouble doing that today.

She knelt in front of the small fridge. “Would you like some juice?”

“No, but some tea would be nice.”

Kat wiped the tears from her eyes and stood, flipping on the switch for the electric kettle. “Coming right up.”

* * *

Marco’s attempt to take his mother to brunch was a miserable failure. Ginny hadn’t been lying when she’d told him she refused to go anywhere. She’d dug her heels in and refused to listen to reason. It kind of reminded him of when she’d ruled over him and his brother with an iron fist—a loving one, but still, she had to be tough to keep him and Tony in line. He tried to find comfort in the fact that she still stood up for what she wanted, even if what she wanted wasn’t what was best for her.

But who the hell was he to know what was best? He hadn’t been back very long, so he’d assess the situation for a little while longer before taking action again.

So now, he was sitting at the kitchen counter while she cooked him breakfast, the total opposite of what he’d intended.

“Do you have any trips planned?” he asked. His mother had wanderlust and spent most of her time traveling, something she hadn’t been able to do when he and his brother were kids.

“No.” She cleared her throat. “The lawyers think it’s best if I stay here, at least until . . . until it’s over.”

She hadn’t mentioned either her husband or the impending trial since he’d been home, so he took advantage of the opening. “What do you think about all of this?”

She was silent for a few moments, long enough that he wondered if she’d heard him.

“I hope it’s over soon.” Her back was turned and he wished he could see her expression, to know if it was okay to keep talking about this.

But dammit, it wasn’t healthy for her to keep it all in or pretend nothing was happening. If she wouldn’t talk to him, he’d arrange for her to see a therapist, except he knew she’d reject that idea even more vehemently than brunch.

“Mom,” Marco said quietly and when he got no reaction, he spoke louder. “Mom.”

Finally she turned. Her eyes were clear, devoid of emotion. Marco stared at her for a moment. He hated seeing her like this. She’d always been so vibrant and full of life. He desperately wanted to bring that back, but he was at a loss.

“I think you should talk about it,” he said finally.

“There’s nothing to say.” She turned back to the stove.

Marco ran a hand over his head. “Are you sure about that? He’s your husband.”

She laughed bitterly. “Trust me, I’m aware of that fact.”

Finally. Some kind of emotion. He wasn’t going to presume to tell her how to feel. She could be pissed, upset, sad—hell, she could even be happy. But she should have some kind of reaction.

Nonna wandered in, still dressed in her pajamas. “Is that bacon I smell?”

His mother turned and smiled at her mother-in-law. “Yes, it certainly is. Pull up a seat.”

Marco watched the two women for a moment. The smile her mother showed Nonna was genuine and the affection between them heartfelt. Though he wished Nonna were in better health, he was glad she’d moved in here. It would do both of them good.

At some point, he should probably go to the facility where his father was being held to see him, but he had no desire to do so. Santi Adamo could rot in his jail cell for all Marco cared. He was nothing but an asshole who’d continually hurt two good women, the two women Marco cared about most.

The asshole deserved whatever was coming to him.

* * *

Marco sat in his truck outside the run-down apartment, getting his nerve up to go to the front door. He’d waited nearly four years—too long—and he used these last few moments to muster up his courage. His friend—if he even could be called that anymore—wasn’t expecting him. Perhaps he should have called first, but Ryan might have told him not to come. And he needed to do this. He’d put it off far too long already.

He got out of the truck and strode to the front door, knocking twice. Hearing movement inside, he took a step back.

The door flung open, and Marco’s gaze fell down to the man in the wheelchair—the man he’d put in that wheelchair.

“Holy shit.” Ryan gaped at him. “What the hell are you doing here, Adamo? Aren’t you supposed to be shooting up bad guys in the desert or something?”

“I’m on leave.”

Marco observed Ryan, trying to ascertain his reaction to Marco showing up on his doorstep unannounced. Other than the obvious surprise, Marco couldn’t tell. Was Ryan a split second from slamming the door in his face? He wouldn’t blame him.

“Well, come in.” Ryan wheeled backward to allow space. “Don’t just stand there.”

Marco entered the apartment, shutting the door behind him. It was sparsely furnished and somewhat messy, with papers strewn all over the coffee table and empty soda cans lined up on the end table beside the couch.

He stood in the center of the room and shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do or say. Perhaps he should have given more thought to what would happen beyond knocking on the door.

Damn. This was awkward. Marco hadn’t seen Ryan since that one time in the hospital, shortly after the accident. His friend’s face was unshaven and his hair wild. Before, Ryan had been somewhat of a prima donna when it came to his appearance, always styling his hair and wearing the latest trends. The most significant change, though, was his missing left leg from the knee down.

“How are you doing?” Marco asked, knowing his question was insufficient.

Ryan shrugged. “Not bad. I mean, I’ve been better.”

Shit. Marco didn’t know how to respond to that, either. He’d expected this visit to be difficult, but he hadn’t thought he’d be this tongue-tied.

“Why didn’t you cash any of my checks?” Marco asked. He hadn’t planned on asking about this so soon into his visit, but he wanted to know. He’d sent a sizable check to Ryan every month, even after he discovered his old friend wasn’t cashing them.

“I don’t need your charity,” Ryan said, not meeting his gaze.

They came from opposite ends of the city, but after backing each other up in a bar fight one night, they’d become fast friends. At the time, they’d had a lot in common—all they cared about was partying, women, and their next high. The economics of their lifestyles hadn’t come into play. It was actually a symbiotic relationship—Marco had had the money to pay for things while Ryan had the connections. In his stupid twentysomething mind, it had been a win-win.

Marco should have gone to jail after the accident, but charges were never filed. He’d never asked, but he suspected his father had something to do with that. He should probably be grateful, but he’d deserved to be punished. He’d wanted to be punished. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, he’d enlisted, deciding he’d shape his worthless ass into someone who would benefit society instead of being a scourge on it.

“It’s not charity,” Marco said.

“Bullshit. You’re giving me money I didn’t earn,” Ryan countered. “How is that not charity?”

“Dammit, Ryan, it’s my fault you’re in that chair.”

“Fuck, man.” Ryan shook his head. “Are you still blaming yourself? Come into the kitchen and have a beer with me.”

Marco followed Ryan into the other room and sat at the small table. Papers were spread out all over it and he couldn’t help but notice the header—Hillsong Telemarketing.

Ryan noticed him looking at the papers. “You can push that shit aside. It’s from my stupid job. But it suits me. I don’t have to have two legs and I can work from home.” He grinned and Marco cringed. Ryan passed him a beer. “Lighten up. Do you remember that night?”

Marco scrubbed a hand over his face. As if he could forget. “Yeah.”’

They’d been partying with a friend of Ryan’s. The booze had been flowing and joints were being passed around freely. The host of the party had gotten a new strain he was allowing everyone to sample. As all good things went, this one didn’t last and they decided to leave for another party.

Marco had replayed that night over and over in his mind, imagining how things could have gone differently. But then when would it end? Ryan and Marco weren’t planning to change their ways anytime soon. In retrospect, he realized it was only a matter of time before disaster struck.

Ryan laughed. “Then you weren’t nearly as fucked up as I was. But what I do remember is I just as easily could have been the one driving that night. In fact, if I recall, I was supposed to be the one driving, but my car had a flat. If we’d been in my car, I’d probably be dead instead of in this wheelchair.”

That night could have gone a million different ways. But the bottom line was it didn’t. And Marco wasn’t the one who’d paid the price for his own stupid decision. He’d walked away with almost no consequences.

“You don’t know that,” Marco said.

Ryan laughed again. “Do you remember that car? It had no airbags and the seat belts were held in place with bungee cords and duct tape.” Ryan took a swig from his bottle. “The docs told me the airbag in your fancy car saved my life.”

Marco hadn’t known that, but how would he? After the accident, he’d removed himself from Ryan’s life, thinking it was better that way. It didn’t take him long to realize he’d taken the coward’s way out. But by then he was already gone.

“I really wish you’d cash those checks,” Marco tried again. “It’s my salary from the army and I don’t need it.”

Ryan eyed him thoughtfully. “I hear your family is in a heap of shit these days.”

“That’s about accurate,” Marco said, not wanting to go into detail. “But either way, money is not an issue.”

“Man, you don’t owe—”

“Just think about it,” Marco interrupted. “Think about how it could improve your life. Hell, you could take it to Vegas and gamble it away for all I care. If that would make you happy, then I’m all for it.”

“You make an excellent point,” Ryan said, running his fingers along his chin. “I’ve never been to Vegas.”

“Say the word and I’ll book a trip.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Marco grinned, the first smile since he’d gotten there. He’d forgotten how well he and Ryan got along. A Vegas trip actually sounded like a good idea. If Ryan wouldn’t accept cash, maybe Marco could filter the money to him in other ways.

Marco noticed a textbook on the table that he hadn’t seen at first. English Composition Fundamentals. He nudged it. “What’s this?”

“Shit, I need to put that away before my sister sees it.” Marco shoved it under the stack of telemarketing papers. “She’s been on me to take classes at the community college and I finally enrolled this semester. I don’t want her to get her hopes up, though. I’m not sure if it’s going to work out.”

“That’s great, man. What are you majoring in?”

“I don’t know. I’m starting with the basic classes. Turns out if you have a disability, there’s lots of grants and stuff, so I’m going for free. But I don’t know. I never liked school and I was never good at it. I’m more of a hands-on type of guy.”

Marco remembered that about him. Ryan had been apprenticing with a local HVAC company. But he supposed that opportunity had dried up once Ryan became disabled. It’s not like he could crawl around in an attic space to work on air ducts.

“You’re smart enough,” Marco said. “You’ll figure it out.”

There was the sound of the front door opening and a female voice called, “Knock, knock!”

Marco’s eyebrows shot up in question.

“It’s just my sister,” Ryan said, then he called out, “In the kitchen.”

“Ryan, I think I might have left . . .” The voice silenced as it got closer. Something was familiar about it. Marco turned.

Kat stood in the doorway, the shock on her face slowly morphing into disbelief.

Marco’s first thought was Damn, she’s gorgeous, which was quickly followed by Shit, what the hell is she doing here?