I think back to the half-empty bottle of pain pills. He must have been in one of his fogs that day.

"If we're going to do this, we'll have to meet them. I'm not sure how I feel about that. But it's a lot of money. It could really help Mom."

"If it can help her, then I say we do it. Plus, aren't you curious? We have brothers. I wonder what they're like."

I have to concentrate not to grind my teeth. "Probably just like him. I wonder if they're the reason he was never around. Too busy playing house with his new and improved family, I bet."

"Maybe." Finn shrugs and I can tell the pills are kicking in. His eyes glaze over and the strain on his face smoothes out until he looks blissful.

I get up and cover him with the blanket on the side of the couch. He sleeps out here most of the time. He says the nightmares don't happen as much when he's upright. I’ve never asked him what he saw overseas that haunts him so. A man’s demons should be his own.

"I'll check on you later, bro." He doesn't stir as I let myself out.

By the time I reach the parking deck, the cold has penetrated the outer layers of my leather jacket, icy teeth burrowing into my skin. I welcome the discomfort. It keeps me sharp. Normally I’d go visit my mom and make sure she has everything she needs but in light of recent events, I’m not sure what to do.

Does she know about my brothers? Should I tell her? Things were over between her and my dad ages ago. But that doesn't mean she'll want to hear about kids he had with some other woman. Or is it other women? Shit. I didn't even think to ask. Just how many families does the bastard have out there in the world?

The last thing I want is to dump these worries on my mom’s doorstep. She’s had more than her fair share of worry over the years between scraping to survive while we were growing up, to all the years I gave her hell as a teenager with my bad attitude and all the fighting. If she knew about the things I’ve been doing lately … I push the thought away. I deal with my anger in my own way. My mom has earned the right to a little peace, although fate doesn’t seem inclined to give it to her.

I bury the ugly thoughts as I climb on the back of my Ducati. The last thing I want is to crash my bike. I run my hands over the custom paint job, the black shining even in the darkness. There’s a cherry red stripe down the center that looks like a tongue. It's the only thing I've really spent any money on. I chuckle at the thought. Finn bought an investment property and I bought a bike.

Who's the responsible one, now?

CHAPTER THREE

EMMA

I step out of my car and hand the valet the keys. He’s looking at my car with barely veiled disgust. Even I have to admit my twelve-year-old economy car looks ridiculous in front of this fancy hotel. The valets here probably make more in tips each day than this car is worth.

The elevator bank is behind the reception desk so I skirt the people standing in line and step directly into an open car. I’ve delivered letters to Mr. Marshall a few times now so I know where to go. Patrick trusts me to deliver them and that feels good. He only gave me this job because he knew my dad and he feels sorry for me but I’m determined to prove to him that he made the right decision. That he can trust me.

The woman who answers the door of Mr. Marshall’s hotel suite perks up when she sees me. She’s usually here when I visit. “Miss Shaw. Hello, again. Mr. Marshall is expecting you.”

It was such a surprise the first time I came when Maxwell Marshall greeted me himself. Working for Patrick these past six months, I’ve learned a lot about the über rich. Very rarely do they sit and chat with the help.

But Mr. Marshall is different. He always seems genuinely pleased when I come by. He actually reminds me of some of the older people at the nursing home where my grandma spent her last days. They were so excited to talk to anyone who would listen. It always broke my heart to see them like that, starved for contact, so grateful for any companionship that they’d accept any they could get.

I’ve been visiting him each week now, even when I don’t have a delivery. I’ve seen the looks I get from his staff. No doubt they wonder what a grizzled old billionaire and a young college student could have in common. But surprisingly, there’s a lot.

For one thing, family.

My parents are gone and Mr. Marshall is trying to reconnect with his estranged relatives. I didn’t ask too many questions but I’m pretty sure Tank Marshall is the one giving him the most trouble. Each week that Tank comes in to the office, I bring Mr. Marshall a package that makes him look sadder and sadder. Tank seems like the arrogant type so I shouldn’t be surprised. But I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t at least give an elderly grandparent the benefit of the doubt. Mr. Marshall has mentioned several times that all he wants is to reconnect with his family.

He turns when I enter the room, wheeling himself over next to the couch. “Miss Shaw. It’s always a pleasure. I hope you have time for some tea. How are your college applications coming?”

He looks good today. The deep hollows in his cheeks have filled out some and the tufts of white hair on his head have all been brushed in the same direction.

I slip my coat off and sit on the edge of the couch. “I’m still considering my options. Everything is so expensive. I took your advice and applied for some grants. I got some but not enough. So, I’ll start searching for internships next. Maybe I can get one that pays something and offers college credit. Two birds, one stone.”