My head jerked back and mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“The demons in there?” she said after taking a ­couple steps away. “They’re ruining you. You’ve allowed them so much freedom that they now control your life. And you may not be able to see it, Coen, but I can. Because of them . . . you’re toxic. I can’t have someone like you in my son’s life.”

I stumbled back a step like she’d hit me, and watched her get in her car and drive away as my legs threatened to give out beneath me.

My entire world was being ripped away from me, and once again, I was the only one to blame.

Chapter Thirteen

Coen—­December 5, 2010

A PAINED GROWL left me as I flew into a sitting position and gripped the sheets below me. Looking around me, I bent forward and dropped my head into my hands as I tried to push the memories from my mind.

“God damn it!” I roared, and launched a pillow across the room.

Jerkily untangling myself from the sheets, I pulled my clothes off and turned the water on as hot as it could go. Waiting until steam billowed out, I stepped into the shower and fisted my hands against the burning sting. I needed it. I needed it to make the smell, pain, noise, and clear-­as-­day memories go away.

Stepping out, I didn’t even bother grabbing a towel to dry myself as I searched for clothes and my running shoes. By the time I had everything on, was out my door, and already running on the path, I still had water dripping down my body. I didn’t care that I was only in shorts and a short-­sleeved shirt, and that it was snowing, I just needed to run. I needed to forget.

That was almost laughable.

I would never forget.

A deep, searing pain pierced my chest as I came closer to the playground in the park, and my footsteps automatically slowed down. Even in the dark gray of the early day, I could see the times Reagan and I had brought Parker here. See the first time I’d accidentally run into her here. And each one made the ache in my body grow as it had every time I made it out this far.

Three and a half weeks since I’d seen Reagan. Almost five since I’d seen Parker, and I hadn’t even told him I loved him that day. I’d been an ass**le, and left. That was it, the last memory he had of me.

Lying down on my back in the snow, I stared up at the lightening sky and tried to remember every moment with them.

I hadn’t stopped calling Reagan, and she hadn’t started answering. But I hadn’t shown up at her work or apartment anymore—­to be honest, I was afraid of what I would find out if I did.

That she had moved on. That she had hardened herself to men again. That she had meant her words about me being toxic, about not wanting someone like me in her son’s life. That she still believed I only wanted her so I wouldn’t have to deal with my demons . . . I would wake up the same way I had this morning every day for the rest of my life if it meant getting Reagan and Parker back.

I wish I could say that because of Reagan shutting me out, I’d gone to get help—­well, tried to get help. But I hadn’t. I still believed talking to some random psychiatrist wouldn’t do shit, but every day I wished I would have opened up to Reagan when I’d had the chance. She understood me. She knew just by looking at pictures I’d taken of myself what I was doing, when I hadn’t even realized that I’d been doing it. She didn’t judge me. Hadn’t . . . hadn’t judged me. She would have listened; and my peace—­in the form of the most amazing girl I’d ever met—­would have helped me somehow.

I lay there thinking about words that should have been said long ago . . . back when she’d first looked through all my pictures. But it was too late; I couldn’t turn back time to change what I had kept from her.

Pictures. I sat up from the cold, wet ground and stared blankly in front of me. Not seeing the playground in front of me. Scrambling to my feet, I took off in a dead sprint for my condo, never once slowing down until I was back inside.

Grabbing my laptop, I quickly found the folder with the pictures of me and scrolled through them before opening up another folder, and then another.

I sat there staring at the pictures in front of me for long moments before running around my condo to find my phone, and calling Hudson.

There was a grumbling noise, and it was only then that I realized I didn’t even know what time it was. But I didn’t f**king care.

“Hudson, I need your help,” I said breathlessly.

There was a rustling noise for a few seconds before: “Steele? What happened?”

“I gotta get my family back, and I need your help.”

Reagan—­December 16, 2010

“KEEGAN,” I WHINED, and fumbled with the blindfold. “This is so dumb, why can’t you just tell me where we’re going?”

Someone smacked my arm. “Stop trying to take it off, can’t you try to have fun just once?” Erica asked.

Crossing my arms, I huffed as I sat back against the seat. “I have fun . . . I would just rather not be kidnapped by my brother and his girlfriend.”

“But it’s for your birthday, so it’s allowed, and a surprise, and fun,” she argued. “So get over it.”

“Seriously, Ray, just a few more minutes until we’re there.”

I made a face at the direction of my brother’s voice. “I would have tried to guess where we were going if you hadn’t confused me by going up and down the f**king freeway.”

“Are you really being a bitch on your birthday?” Keegan asked. “Because this is not a party and you cannot cry.”