“I didn’t really do anything except give you some advice.”

“You’ve done a lot more than that, Alex. Watching you and Vi grow together, being part of this family—” I motion to his backyard, full of the people Charlene and I both care about. “This is how I figured out how to love Charlene. So yeah, thanks.” Jesus. I sound like an asshole.

Alex frowns, brows pulling down, and he blinks repeatedly before he claps me on the shoulder. “I’m gonna hug you now, so don’t punch me.”

I laugh, but it gets caught in my throat with a whole bunch of other emotions when he really does pull me in for a hug. He slaps me on the back a few times, though, just to keep it manly.

Eventually I manage to get around to talking to Robbie about the weed candies. I want to make sure I’m right about the ones from The Ranch—or The Harvest Co-op as it says on the wrapper—before I go calling it in to the cops. I also want to verify that the candies Charlene’s mother makes are the same, and that we can keep her out of this.

Of course Robbie is only too happy to check out the stock. He opens the box of candies, almost giddily, and picks one up. His expression turns serious. “Where did you say you got these?”

“I’m guessing someone from the RV left them on Charlene’s doorstep the day of the party.”

“Would Charlene know where they got these from?”

“They’re the ones who produce it, according to Char.”

“Really?” Robbie’s eyes light up, and he calls Charlene over.

This prompts the entire group to congregate around the two of them while she explains what happened when she was growing up at THC—the acronym now making a lot more sense. Robbie listens raptly, as does everyone else.

“This is all very interesting,” he murmurs once she finishes explaining what used to go down at THC. “And how old were you when you and your mom left?”

“I was fourteen and a half.” Charlene chews on her bottom lip. “My mom took a couple of bags of candies with her. I think maybe she sold them, and I started eating them, but I’m not sure if these are like the ones my mom makes.”

Robbie perks up. “Makes? As in still?”

“Um, yeah. She sends them to me every month. I didn’t realize they were weed candies. She said they were herbal, and I thought it was more like a cough drop, but apparently I’m a pothead, so . . .” She stops rambling and looks around the group, her cheeks flushed.

“Nothing wrong with being a pothead.” Robbie smiles. “Unless you’re a professional hockey player. Then you have to wait until you’re retired to enjoy that kind of relaxation.” He taps on the arm of his chair. “You wouldn’t happen to have one of the candies your mom makes, would you?”

“Um, sure. I have some in my purse.” Charlene roots around in her bag and retrieves a handful of candies. “These are from the last batch, so they might be a bit stale.”

Robbie unwraps one made by Whensday and one from THC and sets them side by side on the table, inspecting them closely. “Very curious,” he murmurs.

“What’s curious?” Charlene leans in to get a closer look.

“See how the coloring is slightly different.”

“Mmm-hmm, the ones my mom makes are greener.”

“It could be a purity thing.” He pops the one made by Whensday in his mouth.

“Robbie! What’re you doing?” Daisy asks.

“Research, darling.” He grins. “I have a few theories about these candies, and I should know in about forty-five minutes if they’re correct or not.”

“What’s the theory?” Charlene asks.

“A little over twenty-five years ago, right when I took the position at MJ Labs, edibles were growing in popularity. There was a company we’d been struggling to locate that began producing candies much like the one I’m eating. They cornered the market, but we didn’t know where they came from and couldn’t track the supplier. The recipe was flawless—the perfect balance to induce relaxation but maintain productivity. No matter how much we studied them, we couldn’t replicate the recipe. Then a little more than ten years ago, the quality began to suffer. Something about the production had changed, and we couldn’t figure it out. I may have the answer now.”

“Which is what?” I ask.

“Charlene’s mother leaving is the reason the quality suffered. I think she may very well have been the pioneer of the ultimate in edible candies.”

Forty-five minutes later, Robbie is pretty much convinced this is the case. And based on his ridiculous smile, and the coveted bowl of chips he keeps stuffing in his face, I’m thinking Charlene has developed quite the tolerance for those.

He says he has to do a few more tests to make sure he’s correct, and he’d like to bring the candies back to the lab in Canada so he can compare them, but it appears as though Frank has been funding the co-op through illegal marijuana manufacturing.

DARREN

All it took was one anonymous tip—I placed the call because Charlene couldn’t bring herself to do it—and Frank’s entire operation fell apart. The media were all over THC like rabid dogs. Charlene couldn’t handle watching any of it. Part of it had to do with the memories, but she worried a lot about the girls she’d grown up with, and how they would handle suddenly being thrust into a world that had changed so radically while theirs had remained narrow and isolated.

I learned a lot about how Charlene dealt with their escape, and how the internet and her mom’s job formed the basis of her sex education, which explains pretty much everything about her bedroom antics.

I couldn’t stand to see Charlene upset, so I pulled some strings and set up an anonymous fund to help the khaki ladies reintegrate into society. We were able to secure housing where they could all remain together, if that was what they wanted. Unsurprisingly, most of them opted to work at a local greenhouse facility.

Charlene’s mom decided not to participate in the Momma Domme reality show, thank fuck, and instead she took an external consulting role with Robbie’s Lab, which pays well enough that she decided she would retire from being a career Dominatrix, except for a couple of her favorite clients, anyway.

But the best news came at the end of June—well, it was the best news for me, but not for King, our goalie, who ended up traded in the expansion draft. This means I have two years left with Chicago, and then we’ll see what happens after that. I won’t take Charlene away from Chicago or the people she loves, so if they don’t renew my contract, I’ll retire. Alex knows that, my agent knows that, and most importantly, Charlene knows that.

I climb the steps to my front door and key in the code, having just finished a morning workout with Alex. We’ll be getting together again later in the afternoon for a barbeque at his place.

“Charlene? I’m home!” I smile a little. The new-car smell hasn’t worn off on saying that in the month since she moved in.

I wait for her reply, but all I get is silence. Her car is in the garage—her new car, the one I bought for her as a move-in gift—so she has to be around here somewhere. Excessive? Maybe, but it’s a nice car, and she deserves nice things for putting up with my shit on a daily basis.

I drop my hockey bag by the laundry room door and head for the living room. Sometimes she listens to music while she reads or works in her chair, but she’s not there. I find her in the kitchen—she is wearing ear buds—concentrating on something.

I pull one of the buds free and she startles, nearly falling off her stool.

“You know we have a whole house sound system. You could save your hearing and some heart palpitations if you used that to rock out to…” I lift the bud to my ear to catch the tune. “Madonna?”

She snatches the ear bud from me. “It’s retro.”

I smile at her pink cheeks and survey the counter. “What’s all this?” The surface is covered in various candies and boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups. Maybe she’s been into her candy stash and has the munchies or something.

Charlene claps her hands together excitedly. “I thought we could try something new!”

I raise a brow. Since moving in, Charlene has started pulling out the I thought I might like it but I changed my mind toy box. Fifty percent of the time she decides she still hasn’t changed her mind, but the other half . . . well, let’s just say it’s been a stimulating transition.

I motion to the array of candies. “You want a sugar high before we have sex?”

She purses her lips, then licks them as her eyes dart around. She squares her shoulders, apparently finding her resolve. This should be interesting.

“No. I thought maybe we could play dress up.”

I look at her and then the counter, trying to figure out what the fuck she’s talking about. “I don’t get it. What are we dressing up?”

“Your cock.” Her tongue hits the roof of her mouth when she says cock, purposely making it sound liquid. So of course mine hardens, until her meaning finally registers.

“No.”

She pouts. “Come on, it could be fun!”