“Oh yeah? I’ll tell her. Thanks for the tip.” He probably accepted it as medical advice and not something she had experience with.

“Have you told anyone yet?”

“No. She wants to wait.” There was a lot of that going around. “You haven’t said anything to Mom, have you?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to ya.”

“Thanks.”

She’d taken some time to assess his mood and determined that he was more than tired; he seemed rather down. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m worried about her.”

“Is she still not taking it well?”

“It’s not that. She seems happier about it. I’m the one freaking out now, you know? Just…a lot to take on.”

“You’ll be a really cool dad, Brian.”

“I keep thinking I’ll be a total f**k-up.”

“Nope. Your f**k-up days are behind you. You might not want to say ‘fuck’ in front of the kid so much, though.”

He laughed at that. “I’ll keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want it to be his first word.”

“His?” she teased.

“Well, yeah. I can’t have a girl.”

“I think that’s just what you need, a sweet little girl to put you through the same hell you put Candace’s parents through one day. The only thing I think would be better for you than a girl is twin girls.”

“Shut your mouth! Fuck!”

Oh yeah, she’d pay for that one, but she hadn’t been able to resist. Once she had him thoroughly panicked, she let him go, glad that she wasn’t the only one in turmoil. Hearing about his had made her feel more in control of her own, which had sort of been the goal. Poor Brian.

Like he’d said, though, everything was going to be okay.

Wasn’t it?

Ian was going to end up losing his beloved new job if he kept blowing it off. He’d promised everything but his firstborn to Ghost to get him to cover for him, and now he was heading toward Dallas with nothing but his motorcycle and the clothes on his back. He didn’t plan on staying long.

The wind in his face and the roar of the motor didn’t cleanse his thoughts as they normally did. No, Gabriella Ross had taken up permanent residence there, and she was a stubborn tenant. He’d wanted to call her and ask her to come with him but hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. She probably would’ve said no.

The ride was a long and lonely one. But no lonelier than the little brick house waiting at the end of his journey. Lonely not because it sat by itself—it was surrounded on both sides by identical little brick houses—but because the worst and loneliest years of his life had been spent within its walls.

He hadn’t told his mom he was coming. Whether she’d be surprised, delighted, disgusted…he honestly had no f**king clue. It felt a little strange to knock on the door of the house he’d grown up in, but it wasn’t home anymore. So he did. And waited.

The door opened. Whether it was surprise, delight or disgust he saw on his mother’s lined face, he couldn’t say, because her expression didn’t change at all.

She looked old. She looked bad. He forced a smile for her regardless of his less than warm reception. “Hi, Mom.”

“It’s a mess around here,” she said by way of greeting, backing away from the door so he could enter. She shuffled along slowly, as if she were in pain. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have picked up a bit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, stepping inside and getting swamped with a thousand memories from the smell alone. Not an unpleasant smell to the senses, just one he equated with misery. The house wasn’t a mess at all, actually—it was as tidy as that old bastard had always insisted it must be. But since Earl had never been pleased with it, and she’d listened to him bitch about it for years, of course she would think it was too messy. Nothing was ever good enough.

“Coffee?” she asked, ambling toward the kitchen.

He followed, his boots clomping against the linoleum. “Sure.”

She put on a pot, and he struggled for something to say as he watched her birdlike hands work. A lot of people told him he was a quiet guy. Well, she was the genetic culprit. Her voice was soft and slow, and he didn’t think he’d ever heard it raised in his life. Yeah, that had been a major source of contention for them. There had been times as a kid he’d needed it raised in his defense. He’d had to learn to raise his own.

“What brings you out?” she asked, and when he saw she was having trouble reaching up to the cabinet, he went to her side and helped her.

“I had some news I wanted to tell you,” he said, pulling down a couple of chipped mugs. One of them he actually remembered from his childhood. Yeah. Its mate had shattered against the wall by the refrigerator. At least it hadn’t been over his head.

“Oh? Good news, I hope.” For the first time, a ghost of a smile flitted across her face. A gray tendril escaped from behind her ear, and she tucked it back.

“I suppose it is. I think so, anyway. It seems I’m gonna be a dad.”

The cup she’d been holding clattered to the counter, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to his words or her clumsy, arthritic fingers. He reached for it, but she quickly righted it. “Well, imagine that,” she said, and again he couldn’t get a clear read on her feelings.

“Unexpected, I know. I sure didn’t plan on it, anyway.”

She took the carafe from the coffeemaker and began to pour.

He’d thought he might get more of a reaction. She was all alone. He was her only child; her husband was dead. Wouldn’t a grandchild make her happy? Frustration burned in his chest, and when he took the steaming cup from her, he couldn’t drink the contents for the tightness in his jaw. “Anyway. Thought you’d like to know,” he said at last, hearing that same tightness in his voice. “Thought at least a congratulations might be in order.”

“Congratulations,” she said, and that only pissed him off more.

“Mom, are you gonna blame me forever?”

“For what?”

“You know damn well what.” He tried to block out the images, but they rushed in anyway. He and Earl yelling at each other, as usual. “You lay one hand on my mother, you sonofabitch, and I’ll put you through the goddamned wall.” Nothing he hadn’t said a dozen times before, once he’d gotten big enough to actually back up his words with actions if he wanted. But that time had been different. In the middle of Earl’s screamed reply, he’d gurgled, clutched his chest and keeled over.

Dead almost instantly, right at Ian’s feet. His mother even then had been terrifyingly quiet as she’d looked at Ian with huge eyes…and accused him of killing him before bolting for the phone.

“What do you want me to say, Ian?”

He took a huge breath to try to clear the ugliness from his mind. But there was no getting it out. That ugliness oozed from the shadows in this house. It was in the smell—even the scent of the brewing coffee. Earl had drunk it constantly when he wasn’t hitting something harder. Ian couldn’t grab hold of one pleasant memory from all the days he’d lived here. Surely there had been a few, but they were so far outweighed by the bad as to be inconsequential. “I thought you’d be happy.”