I can only offer, “I know.”

“She doesn’t care about your less than honorable discharge, Sebastian. All she cares about is that her son is happy and safe.”

“I send her birthday cards,” I mumble, earning her sharp glare.

“A card.” Her tone is flat but her glare is scathing. “That doesn’t even begin to count.”

I didn’t think Ivy of all people would get so fired up over this. “What? How often do you see your parents?”

She sputters for a moment.

“Thought so.”

“I call them once a month. I email regularly. We correspond. I get my regular parental dose of ‘you’re fucking your life up’ from them. And if I actually lived in the same city, I would visit. But I’ve never iced them out like you have. So what’s your excuse?”

I heave a sigh as I pull out. It’s time for some truth. “I haven’t been living in San Francisco for the past five years.” Truth in small doses is the best way with Ivy, I think.

She falters. “Where have you been?”

“Around.”

“For work?”

“Yeah.” That’s not a lie.

“When exactly did you move back?”

“I’m in the process of it right now.”

Her head falls back against the headrest. “So . . . there are no plumbing issues.”

“Depends on if you consider the cracked, leaking toilet in my shitty motel room a problem. I checked out of there a few days ago.”

She’s still trying to make sense of this; I can see it on her face. “Why’d you lie to me, then?”

“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t give me the time of day if you thought I was just passing through.”

“But you’re not. Passing through, I mean. Right?”

I reach over and weave my fingers through her hand. “No. I’m not. Definitely not, now.”

THIRTY-NINE

IVY

I watch Sebastian’s long lashes flicker as he sleeps.

He finally lay down about an hour ago, after I woke up to find him sitting by the window again. Who knows how long he was there tonight.

Is he like this all the time? Or just for now?

The more I get to know him, the less I know about him, I’m realizing. He’s complicated. I sensed that from the moment I first met him. Dakota sensed it. This supposed “darkness.” But it’s more than just his ghosts—the little girl, his friends, his time in the war.

There’s definitely more.

Is Bobby right?

This stranger shows up at the shop one day, apparently on vacation, willing to pay just about anything to get a tattoo from me. He keeps coming back until I finally agree. And, except for a few hours apart while he “runs errands,” he has basically refused to leave my side since. Not that I’m complaining. Not once have I felt overwhelmed, or suffocated. I love having him around.

But aside from meeting his parents and what happened during the war, I know nothing about him. I don’t know where he actually lives because he lied about that. He’s never mentioned any friends. The one work phone call he received was him refusing to actually go to work and talking about mercenaries.

Was that a joke?

Nothing about his tone of voice that day would suggest it.

Everything that he’s said suggests he’s a loner. He shut his own parents out for five years. He’s back in San Francisco now; why, I have no idea, but he came with one small duffel bag that holds five T-shirts and two pairs of jeans. He comes out of a Home Depot restroom with a split lip that was not caused by walking into a wall because an ex–Navy SEAL who can take down three grown men without breaking a sweat is incapable of walking into walls. He sits by my window at night with his gun ready, waiting for something to happen, and his late-night confessions included doing things that he’s afraid I might not approve of.

Who are you, really, Sebastian?

Besides the stranger who strolled in and seized my heart?

FORTY

SEBASTIAN

“She probably thinks she’s alone.”

Ivy lies on her back next to me, staring up at the bedroom ceiling. “Both of our cars are parked outside.”

“Well, then . . . maybe this is payback. We haven’t exactly been quiet either.” I woke up to the sound of the front door closing about twenty minutes ago. Two voices—one, Dakota’s, and one, a male voice—carried through the small house, on their way to her bedroom.

Ivy woke up when the moaning began and the headboard knocking started.

“That’s something I would do. Dakota isn’t spiteful enough.” She groans. “When are you finding a place?”

“Maybe we can look later today, after we get all the paint supplies. Carl should be done with the plastering soon.”

She smiles, pleased. “Okay.”

Dakota’s moans have reached their peak and, coupled with some deep grunts and groans, sound like the two have come to the end of the performance.

“I’m betting it’s the California Bum.” Ivy pulls herself out of bed. “We need to get out of here before they emerge. I’ll vomit if I witness that.”

“Ten minutes?”

Ivy turns to see my hard-on and scowls. “Not a chance.”

I shrug. It’s hard for any guy to listen to that and not be affected. I watch with an arm tucked under my head as she pulls on fresh clothes, covering up her body. “Hurry up and get dressed!” she hisses, tossing a T-shirt and briefs that land on my face. I pull them off with a grin to see her sliding the pocket door open.

At the same time that the pocket door from Dakota’s room slides open, and a very sweaty, very naked Bobby fills the doorway.

“You knew that was him all along, didn’t you!” she accuses.

I don’t say anything as I drive, because she’s right. I did recognize Bobby’s gruff voice. I just didn’t know how to bring it up without Ivy losing her mind, like she is right now.

“God, why him? She’s a beautiful woman who could have anyone she wants, and yet . . . him!”

“Why do you care? You know she has . . . eclectic tastes.”

She sinks into the car seat. And frowns. “I don’t know. I guess . . . I guess I still blame those guys for what happened to Ned. They shouldn’t have let him gamble.”

“Ned was a grown man who made his own decisions.” And they have nothing to do with what happened to him.

“I know. I just . . .” She shudders.

I can’t help it, I start to laugh.

“Oh, you think this is funny?”

I can’t stop laughing, even as I pull into the driveway behind Carl’s pickup truck. Carl is on the front porch, having a smoke, the phone pressed to his ear, a wide grin on his face. I’m guessing that’s Bobby on the other end, warning him to stay on Ivy’s good side because she’s already pissed off.

I climb the steps behind her.

“How’s it going in there?”

Carl has managed to wipe the smile off but there’s still amusement there. He’s a decent enough guy. Less rough looking than the others, with short, dark curly hair and a clean-shaven face. “Almost done. Another day to dry and sand again. Plastering is tricky.”