The next morning I awoke to the sound of voices. Actually, just one voice.

It was Drew’s.

This was surprising because we had not parted on friendly terms when he’d dropped me off the night before.

The drive home was silent. I jumped out of his truck as soon as he slowed enough for it to be safe. I heard him curse just before I shut the passenger door. He had walked me to the porch despite my chilly disregard of him, and I’d slammed the front door in his face.

Presently it sounded like he was reading aloud. His voice was low, even, soft, and very, very near. I opened my eyes and glanced around the den from beneath my half-closed lids. He was sitting with his back to me in a wooden chair, and my mother was turned slightly toward him.

The first thing I noticed was that he was wearing his exercise clothes. His back was damp with sweat. The second thing I noticed was the passage he was reading. It was one of my favorites from Elizabeth Gaskell’s very romantic novel North and South in which Mr. Thornton—dashing and desirable, yet scorned by the uppity Ms. Hale—makes his proposal. Miss Hale believes, quite pridefully and wrongly, that he makes the offer of marriage only because he is honor bound to do so. Therefore, Miss Hale rejects the dreamy Mr. Thornton.

“‘I do not want to be relieved from any obligation,’ said he, goaded by her calm manner. ‘Fancied, or not fancied—I question not myself to know which—I choose to believe that I owe my very life to you—ay—smile, and think it an exaggeration if you will. I believe it, because it adds a value to that life to think—oh, Miss Hale!’ continued he, lowering his voice to such a tender intensity of passion that she shivered and trembled before him….”

Stupid Miss Hale.

Why are heroines in romantic novels—despite their cleanliness and enviable lifestyles—so unlikeable? It’s like they’ve been hit with a vanilla ninny stick, devoid of personality and blind to the gift before them. They’re doomed to wander in ignorance until the last thirty pages of the book. By then I’m usually actively rooting against a happy ending because the fantastical fictional men deserve better.

This is true for ninety-eight percent of romance novels, with notable exceptions being Jane Austen’s heroines Elizabeth Bennett and Anne Elliot.

In real life, it’s the other way around.

Men are so clueless, self-centered, and undeserving, each a bland replica of the other. They’re motivated by sex, sports, hunting, cars, and food. If they can’t screw it, cheer for it, shoot it, drive it, or consume it, then it might as well be a diva cup or a maxi pad.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sound of his voice because despite my mixed and uncategorized feelings about him, Drew was coming to the best part.

“She did not speak; she did not move. The tears of wounded pride fell hot and fast. He waited awhile, longing for her to say something, even a taunt, to which he might reply. But she was silent. He took up his hat. ‘One word more. You look as if you thought it tainted you to be…to be….’” Drew stumbled over the passage then paused.

I opened my eyes in time to see his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. When he continued, his voice was more subdued, almost sad. “‘You look as if you thought it tainted you to be loved by me. You cannot avoid it. Nay, I, if I would, cannot cleanse you from it. But I would not, if I could. I have never loved any woman before: my life has been too busy, my thoughts too much absorbed with other things. Now I love, and will love. But do not be afraid of too much expression on my part….’”

He stopped reading, and I got the impression in the stretching silence that he would not continue.

My eyes were drawn to movement on the bed where my mother lay. She lifted her hand and set it on his knee. I saw that her eyes were still closed as though she slept, and I strained to hear the words she spoke.

“You read very well, Andrew. Very nice.” Her words were slurred, and this made my eyes sting. Her words had been slurred and slow for the past few days, a byproduct of the morphine.

“Thank you, Bethany.” He covered her hand with his, and I frowned at the familiarity of the gesture.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

I could see his hesitation; it was a tangible thing, a struggle. At last, he said, “I know I haven’t been around much.” My heart twisted a little when I heard the compassion in his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, not so bad. How’re you?”

“I’m…well.”

“How long have you been here?”

“About a half-hour.”

I frowned at the entire exchange. My mother didn’t seem at all surprised that Drew—Andrew as she called him—had taken it upon himself to read her awake after entering the house and positioning himself in the room she shared with her daughter.

Something was amiss. Rather, I was missing something.

“Is Ashley awake?” Momma asked.

I quickly closed my eyes, endeavored for complete motionless, and heard his chair creak as he shifted his weight.

After a few beats he said, “I don’t think so. She hasn’t moved since I came in.”

The chair creaked again, presumably when he turned back to my mother.

There was a trace of amusement in her voice when she next spoke. “And what do you think of my Ashley?”

I stopped breathing, all my muscles tensed, and I became absorbed in my own stillness. He didn’t respond right away, but his chair creaked again.

I tried to imagine his expression. If our previous encounters were any indication, his face was likely screwed up in distaste.

“I’ve known you for three years. In all that time you failed to mention that Ash was short for Ashley.” His tone held a mild accusation.

“I didn’t, did I?” Momma sounded pleased with herself. “Does the fact that she’s my daughter and not my son make her any less remarkable? Is she less worthy of your friendship because she is a woman?”

“Hard to miss that’s she’s a woman, now that I’ve seen her.”

At this Momma barked a subdued laugh. “Yes…yes, she is a woman. I’m afraid she’s not much of a girl, though. She’s been a woman more than half her life. Like you, she grew up fast.”

Drew remained silent, and I heard my mom say, “Oh, you can speak freely. If she’s asleep, no amount of us talking is going to wake her up. She’s a solid sleeper, always has been.”

“Not that solid. The first time I had the pleasure of meeting her, I’d just unknowingly woken her up.”

“Ah, yes. Jethro told me about that. She gave you a nipple squeeze?”

Drew grumbled something and Momma laughed. “You’re not starting any engines now, so tell me—what do you think of Ash?”

I felt him falter, then he surprised the voodoo out of me by saying, “She is… remarkable…and beautiful.”

Pretty face, nice piece of ass.

I ground my teeth together.

“Yes. She is. She is tremendously beautiful, like her daddy is beautiful. Billy has it too, and Roscoe to an extent. I know you don’t like it when I talk about Darrell—Ashley hates him the same as you—but she’s got the look of him, whether she wants it or not.”

“If that’s the case, I think I understand a bit better now how Christine could fall for Darrell so hard after knowing him for such a short time.” He said this very softly like he was talking to himself.

What the what?

“Do you now?” Momma asked. I recognized the tone she used. She’d use it on me when she felt I’d discovered something obvious, or when she wanted to encourage me in a particular direction.

“Yes. I do,” Drew said. “And it’s not very convenient either.”

My mother snorted. “Lord, getting stupid for someone never is convenient. Your sister fell for Darrell, same as me, same as the others. You got stupid for that gold digger you told me about. She had the long game and played you for years before making her move. You must’ve been real stupid for her. Nothing makes smart people more stupid than beauty.”

I heard the smile in Drew’s voice when he responded. “Being stupid is not an experience I’d like to repeat.”

Momma was silent for a long moment. “Now, you know better than that. You know you’re not the only person to get burned in the history of humanity. If you don’t want to repeat that experience, then don’t repeat it. This time, get stupid for more than beauty. Get stupid for worth, with someone like my Ash.”

What the WHAT?

Is this how Drew knew my family? Because his sister Christine had been conned by my father? And when had Christine fallen for my father’s line? And where was Christine? And when did Drew meet my mother and my brothers? And who was this gold digger? And why was Momma talking to Drew like he was her most trusted friend?

I had mixed feelings about overhearing this conversation. The angel on my shoulder wanted to put an end to it; the devil on my other shoulder wanted to keep on listening. I knew so little about Drew. Asking my brothers about him was pointless unless I wanted to know how good of a shot he was or what kind of car he drove.

Despite my good intentions, the devil won.

Drew sighed. “Bethany….”

She cut him off. “No, you listen. I’m not proposing anything. I’m just using Ashley as an example. She’s got so much worth. She’s priceless, and she’s beautiful. You said it yourself. Though she does her best to hide it, I think. Some people reject their God-given gifts because society makes them feel ashamed when they shine.”

“Why did you lie to me?” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded curious. “Why pretend like Ash was a man?”

“I didn’t lie…not exactly. I just…didn’t correct your assumptions. I liked talking about her to someone who knew what her courage meant, what it meant for her to escape on her own, to want something better, to work for it and succeed. You admired her when I let you think she was a man; I don’t see why that should change now.”

“It hasn’t.” He said this begrudgingly. Even I could hear the resentment in his voice.

“How inconvenient for you.” She said this on a laugh. “Must be hard for a guy like you to admire a woman for her brains and goodness before you get a chance to disregard her because of her gender and beauty.”

“That’s not true.” His voice had a hard edge to it. “I admire plenty of women. I admire you.”

“And you think of me as a replacement for the mother you never had, and for the sister you lost.” I couldn’t believe how she was speaking to him. I couldn’t believe that he let her. “I know you, Andrew. I know your family treated you despicably. You don’t want to get hurt. I understand that—maybe I understand better than most people do. But not all good-looking women are gold-digging opportunists.”

“I know that.”

“You know what I think? I think you like her.”

Drew made a funny sound: not a rejection of her statement, but not a confirmation either.

She continued, “You do! You like her. You admit she’s lovely. You admit you admire her. Admit you like my Ash.”

“I’m not admitting anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re her mother, not my sister.”

“So?”

“So, other than her goodness, sweetness, gracefulness, and wit, what I like about Ashley Winston shouldn’t be discussed with Ashley Winston’s mother.”

If I hadn’t already been as still as I statue, his words, so earnestly spoken, would have stunned me. Did he really see these things in me? Or was he just being kind to my mother?

“Oh, this sounds good. Now I really want to know,” Momma said.

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“Are you falling for my Ashley?” Momma tsked. “What did she do, outsmart you?”

“Something like that.”

It took all my stillness superpowers not to sit up in the bed and yell, WHAT the WHAT? My brain was overflowing with new and confusing information.

“How’d we get on this subject?” He sounded truly mystified and a little annoyed.

“I’m trying to make you see reason before I depart this earth and leave you bereft of motherly wisdom. And I’m trying to do the same for all my chickens….”

“Speaking of which, I want to ask you a question.”

“Go for it.”

“Did you know, when you made me your power of attorney—and everything else—did you know that you were….” He paused, and I assumed it was because he had no intention of saying it out loud, but he surprised me when he asked, “Did you know that you were terminally ill?”

She didn’t hesitate in her response. “Yes. I knew.”

Drew release what sounded like a tortured sigh, and they both sat quiet for several minutes. I thought about stretching, waking up for show, but I didn’t. I had too many new pieces of information swimming around in my brain. I needed a second to catch up.

Momma then said out of nowhere, “She was in the Miss Tennessee competition, you know. She was only eighteen at the time, came in second.”

I hated this fact about myself, hated that I’d done it—not because I was patently opposed to beauty contests per se. I was just so shy and reserved at the time, but I was also desperate for a way out of Tennessee, out of this small town with its one sawmill, one library, one high school.

Momma had money, yes. But she also had seven kids. Her parents were wealthy, but supporting a family without knowing how to invest her savings had eaten away at her nest egg. I didn’t ask her, and she hadn’t offered.

Thinking back, it was the memory of desperation that I hated, not the contest.

“Really?” He drawled. “That explains a lot.”

My mother gave a small chuckle. “No. It really doesn’t. Not at all, really. Can you imagine what it was like for her in a houseful of boys? And not just any boys; Winston boys and their friends.”

“Brothers and sisters don’t always get along; nothing unusual about that.”

“True, but they were all just like their daddy growing up, wild with their own freedom, caring not two licks about anybody but their own selves. Yet Ash…as I’ve told you, she was quiet, curious, sensitive. Like you, she wrote poetry. Lord have mercy, the pranks they used to play on her—they never stopped. They never stopped tormenting, and pushing, and using, not until she left. Then they realized that some hurts can’t be undone, and selfishness drives people away. But it was too late.”

“You never told me what they did.”

“Oh… let’s see….”

I decided that my mother had said quite enough. I didn’t need Drew hearing about how my brother Jethro had frequently tried to use dates with me as a trade with his football buddies for whatever he wanted from them. Jethro always said I was doing him a favor, but it felt suspiciously like I was being pimped out, especially when one of his eighteen-year-old friends insisted that I—a mere fifteen-year-old—was expected to put out.

Of course, another great example was the twins’ preferred method of demonstrating their affection for me by rubbing their dirty underwear on my head—skid marks and all—or holding me down and spitting in my mouth.

But then, boys will be boys, as my daddy liked to say. I had to give my father credit because, in the end, he was right. Boys will be boys. And that’s why I knew better than to open my heart to one.

I shifted my limbs restlessly under the covers and stretched my arms over my head. As I’d hoped, their conversation came to a halt. Fluttering my eyelashes as if coming fully awake, I turned my neck and glanced blandly around the room. I let my eyes move to my mother first, then to where Drew sat twisted in the chair facing me.

“Oh,” I said when my gaze met his, my voice husky with sleep. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

His eyes ensnared mine, held me immobilized. Back was the weird intensity and heat, but now I saw it for what it was—reluctant desire.

What I’d suspected last night after he called me sexy was confirmed this morning while eavesdropping; Drew liked me—or, at least the way I looked—a whole heck of a lot. And that’s probably why he acted like Mr. Itchy Britches whenever I was around.

I knew exactly how he felt. Finding him handsome definitely gave me sand in my cracks. Everything about being attracted to him was inconvenient: wrong place, wrong time, wrong person.

But after sleeping on my hissy fit the night before, I decided what we needed to do was grow beyond this pattern we’d fallen into of snapping at each other, lapsing into a confusing and heated moment, then avoiding contact for days. We needed to move past the irritation of our mutual attraction and into a nice, safe, placid familial space.

The jury was still out on the rest of his intentions and life experience told me to be wary of handsome men wielding compliments. If we could reach a compromise where his intentions were made innocuous by defined roles, then maybe we could relax around each other.

Momma’s slow speech cut through the thick silence. “Everything is fine. Andrew and I were just talking about how beautiful you are.”

I smiled inwardly at my mother and her cheeky antics then let my eyes slide back to Drew. He also wore a smile; it was small and patient.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the cot and reaching for my bathrobe. “Please, continue speaking of my beauty.”

My mother laughed lightly then sighed. “When does Marissa get here? I promised her a recipe yesterday.”

“Which one?”

“Mother’s biscuits.”

I nodded, knowing the recipe. “If you want me to, I’ll transcribe it for you.”

“No. Just get me the card and I can do it. I’d like to use my hands for something useful.”

I caught Drew’s eye and indicated with my head that he should follow me. His eyebrows lifted in what I guessed was surprise. Nevertheless, he stood, left North and South on the wooden chair where he’d been sitting, and turned to my mother.

“I’ve got to get going. But I’ll be back tonight.”

“That’s fine, dear,” she slurred, giving him a hazy smile.

Drew exited the room first, giving me a quizzical look.

“I’ll be right back, Momma. I’m going to brush my teeth.”

“Please do. For heavens’ sake, I didn’t want to say anything, but you’ve been looking rough the last few weeks. Maybe go get a facial and a hairstyle. While you’re at it, get your nails done.” She laughed lightly and winked at me. “Take your time, dear. I’m fixin’ to take a little cat nap.”

I crossed to her bed and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Her eyes were already closed. When I left the room, I closed the door behind me.

Drew was waiting for me in the hall, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression both solemn and curious.

We both started speaking at the same time.

“Can we just….”

“I need to tell you….”

He sighed and closed his eyes. I glanced at the ceiling.

“Please, you go first,” I said, fiddling with the tie of my robe.

He gave me a measured look, but he relented. “I thought I saw an Indiana Bat in your backyard last week while I was here. It’s an endangered species in this part of the forest. Since your property backs up to the park, it’s not unheard of to have sightings from time to time.”

“Okay.” This news and conversation topic took me completely by surprise. I thought he was going to fuss at me for my poor behavior. Instead, he was discussing game warden business. “What does that mean?”

“It means the fiber-optic cable that’s buried in your front yard, which is being used by the county, has been hooked up to the house. We’re going to put cameras facing the park off the back porch, hoping to catch one of the Indiana Bats.”

I nodded and shrugged. “That’s fine.”

“It also means you’ll have free Internet access—really fast Internet access. I installed a router this morning.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Here’s the login and password for the wireless. You can choose your own, of course.”

I stared at him, my mouth falling open by inches. My mind might be moving like a river of molasses these days, but I caught his drift and then some. He’d had Internet connected to the house. I could now call my friends in Chicago. I could now Skype with them on Tuesdays.

My eyes stung, and a rush of gratefulness swelled in my chest. Drew held my gaze, his own cautious and watchful.

“Thank you,” I blurted. “Thank you so, so much.” Instinct told me to hug him, but something about his glare told me that hugging him would be a mistake.

In the end, I squeezed his bicep. “Thank you,” I repeated, my eyes going to where my hand rested on his bare arm. Four jagged white lines caught my attention and I frowned, speaking before I thought better of it.

“What on earth…? What happened to your arm?” I stepped closer, inspecting the scars.

“Ah, that was a bear.” He said this matter-of-factly, like everyone has a bear scar.

My eyes lifted to his, and I’m sure my face betrayed my incredulousness. “A bear? You got these from a bear?”

He nodded.

“What? When? How?” My attention went back to the scars. They were ugly, like the bear had tried to take his arm off.

“I go trail running in the morning. Sometimes one or more of your brothers come; sometimes I’m alone. Sometimes there are bears on the trails.” He shrugged like everyone goes on runs with bears. “Usually they leave me alone.”

“How long is the trail?”

“Anywhere from six to twelve miles.”

“And this time the bear…what—he wanted to take your arm and beat you with it?”

He grinned down at me. “No, Sugar, and it was a she bear. A momma bear can get testy if you come between her and her cubs.”

“How did you get away?”

“I carry a tranquilizer gun strapped to my back when I run. I shot it, but it took a swipe at me before it went down.”

“Oh, my God.” I shook my head. “You are a lunatic. If you had a Viking name it would be Drew the Thrill-Seeker or Drew Never-A-Dull-Moment.”

His grin dimmed to a small, perplexed smile like he didn’t know whether or not my poking fun was mean spirited.

I frowned at the confusion casting a shadow over his features. “What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

He shook his head, studying me as though trying to determine my intentions. “Nothing.”

But it was something. I’d inadvertently said something to diminish the brightness in his eyes. I decided to let it go for now and let my hand drop. “Anyway…again, thank you.”

“No need for thanks.” He cleared his throat. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Oh, yeah.” I’d almost forgotten. The gift of Internet connectivity and the bear attack story had driven all thoughts from my mind. I tucked the piece of paper that held the wireless password into the pocket of my robe.

Preparing myself for the conversation to come, I planted my feet and took a deep breath, determined to move us out of our perpetual loop of snarkiness. “Drew, I want to apologize for calling you an ass last night. That was very rude, especially after you fed me dinner and pie. I hope you will accept my apology.”

Drew’s jaw ticked, his mouth a flat straight line, but his eyes were vibrant and vivid quicksilver, traveling over my face. I had to wait several seconds before he gave me a stiff nod.

“Good.” I sighed my relief and eyeballed him. “Good….” I repeated, not knowing what else to say. I was trying to gauge his mood, and wondered if now would be a good time to broach the subject of a ceasefire. I’d known him three weeks, but after eavesdropping on that conversation between him and my mother, I realized I barely knew him at all.

Ultimately I decided sooner was better than later, and I plowed ahead without thinking too carefully about my words. I didn’t want them to seem rehearsed or forced.

“So, you appear to have a very positive relationship with my momma and my brothers, wouldn’t you agree?”

His gaze sharpened and he licked his lips before responding. “Yes. I’d like to think so.”

“Almost familial, it seems. Like, Roscoe told me about the road trip you two went on. That seems like something brothers might do together. And the way you helped out Jethro and the other boys with their auto shop, and how you seem to care a great deal for Momma, almost like she was your own.”

Drew held very still, watching me but saying nothing. Since he didn’t appear to be inclined to confirm nor deny my statements, I pressed forward.

“Do you have a sister?”

He flinched, blinking several times before releasing a slow breath. “I….” He swallowed and looked at the wall behind my head then back at me. “I had a sister.”

I frowned at this. “Had a sister?” The words slipped out of me and betrayed my surprise. I’d expected him to say, Yes, I have a sister. Her name is Christine.

“Yes. She died.” He added in a rush, “She committed suicide when I was ten.”

“Oh!” My hand lifted of its own accord and affixed itself to his arm again, squeezing him. I shifted a half step forward. “I’m so sorry. That must’ve been really terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“Why do you ask?” His voice was gravelly and tense, as if the memory was a fresh wound. Her death seemed to affect him with the same force twenty years later.

“Uh, I was going to suggest that, since you seem to think of my brothers as your brothers and you care a great deal for Momma, that maybe you and I could find some common ground too. Maybe you could think of me as a…as a sister.”

Drew stared at me, the sadness in his eyes morphing into incredulous confusion then finally settling on bewildered amusement.

“You want me to think of you like my sister?”

“Not like your sister. I’m not looking to replace anybody; rather, as another sister—a new sister.” I gave him a hopeful smile.

I was suddenly very aware of how small and intimate a space the hallway was as Drew’s eyes traveled down my body and back up again. His were smoldering.

He surprised me by taking two steps forward, which caused me to step back and bump into the wall. He was crowding my space, yet the only place we touched was where my hand still rested on his arm just above the elbow.

“Ashley….” he whispered.

“Yes?” I breathed, my heart in my throat, my body hot all over.

“You are very beautiful.”

“I…I am?”

“You know you are, because you’re also very smart, and you’re sweet, and you’re kind. And there’s not a man alive—that’s not married or related to you—that wishes he were your brother.”

Drew lifted his hands and I thought for a moment he was going to snatch them away, liked he’d done before. Instead he cupped my face, his thumbs caressing the line of my jaw. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words escaping on a slow rumbly sigh. He shook his head slowly. “But I’m never going to be able to think of you as a sister.”

My stomach flipped.

“How about a cousin?”

He shook his head again, his lips forming a hint of a smile.

“A niece?”

His smile stretched then flattened, and his head lowered a fraction toward mine, our mouths three inches apart. “None of my feelings for you are familial. I’m sorry if that upsets you, but I’m not good at playing make-believe, lying, or pretending—as you might have noticed.”

“Oh….” I breathed, my knees weak.

“Here’s the thing, Sugar,” Drew’s tucked a few strands of hair behind my ears, his fingertips brushing against the sensitive area of my neck. They lingered for several seconds causing a shiver to race down my spine. “You tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

His eyes were soft and searching, and he somehow managed to say this without making it sound lewd or suggestive. Rather, it sounded like a plea to let him help, like the thing he wanted most in the world was to see to my needs—whatever those needs might be.

“But what about you?” My voice was hushed. “What do you need?”

Drew’s mouth hooked to the side but his eyes held no smile. “I don’t need anything, not from you.”

I flinched, because—whether he meant to or not—his words felt like a slap. I let my hand drop from his arm and I glanced around the hallway.

“Oh, okay,” I said, nodding and feeling the hot confusion that accompanies rejection. At least he was honest.

He must’ve detected my desire to escape because he grabbed both of my hands and held them hostage between his. “Ashley, that’s not—what you’re thinking—that’s not what I meant. You have a lot on your mind; you’re barely taking care of yourself. You’re not eating.”

I nodded, still not looking at him, my throat working without swallowing. My mouth felt dry, and I needed water.

He pressed on. “I’m not asking anything of you other than to let me help. I have no expectations. I know your life isn’t…it isn’t here. You have a job and friends in Chicago. You need someone to help you get through this, through the next weeks, because things are going to get worse.”

I blinked away sudden moisture from my eyes and was finally able to manage a swallow before I said, “So, you won’t help by being a brother to me?”

“Hell, no.”

I allowed myself to glance at him and was nearly overcome by the passion and sincerity in his eyes. I had to look away to regain my composure. I nodded, accepting that he meant what he said, because he wasn’t good at playing make-believe.

I cleared my throat. “Then what about a friend? Could you be my friend?”

He didn’t answer for a long time, so long in fact that I thought I might have upset him. I lifted my eyes to his, hoping to gauge his reaction. He didn’t look angry or upset, but his eyes were sad. They were momentously sad. The melancholy hit me in my chest and made it difficult to draw a breath for three beats of my heart.

“Of course,” he said, nodding and taking a step back, dropping my hands gently, giving me space. “I would be honored to be your friend—if that’s what you need.”

“Thank you.” My chin wobbled, but I reined in the tears. “It’s what I need.”

Apparently, I was quite talented at playing pretend.