“I know you are. I’ve got two lines on him. I’m staking out one place—sitting in my car in front of it right now—and I’ve got Dean on the other. Twenty-four, forty-eight hours tops . . . But I’ve gotta tell you, Colton, if a man wants to get lost in a city, Los Angeles is a good place to do it.” He pauses, unspoken words clogging up the line. “Are you sure, though? I mean—”

“Don’t question me, Kelly. If you want out, walk now. I’ll get Sammy to do what I need if you can’t.” There is no mistaking the threat in my tone.

“Relax, Donavan.” Those words are like nails on a chalkboard to me. Piss me off. The irony since I think I said something similar to Ry to set her off. “I’ll set everything up. Get it all in place but I still think you need to let the police handle this.”

My laugh is low and rich. And lacking any amusement. “Eddie is a blip on their radar. Not mine. He’s done enough to my family. I’m done fucking around with this. Get. It. Done.”

“Understood. Just remember you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink.”

“This horse is thirsty for revenge. I’m sure he’ll drink.”

“I’ll call when I have him. Now go spend time with that hot wife and cute baby of yours.” I know he’s trying to cheer me up with the comment but it does anything but.

I murmur an incoherent goodbye because I’d love to do just that—spend time with my hot wife. But I can’t. She’s hidden beneath who knows what, and I can’t do a goddamn thing to help her.

Give her time, she said earlier. Time my ass. Each hour she slips farther away from me.

Even now as I walk into our bedroom and see her on the bed with Ace, I can see her struggling—eyes scrunched tight, crease in her forehead—as she tries to feel that connection with him while he’s nursing. She says it’s the only time she doesn’t feel completely numb. And thank fuck she’s keeping her head above water. Barely. But luckily it’s above the surface enough to nurse Ace because trying to get him to drink from a bottle has been a goddamn nightmare.

Useless seems to be my new middle name.

It’s just the baby blues. That’s it. About ten days to two weeks. That’s how long Google tells me it can last. A topic that’s a long fucking way from my typical search history of good porn sites, Indy Weekly Magazine, and surf reports.

We’re eight days in. Halfway through.

This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. We were supposed to have Ace—the baby we never thought we’d ever have—and be blissfully happy. Get the unexpected cherry on top of our happily-ever-after sundae.

Not this bullshit.

I thought the hard part would be coming face to face with my dad. That would be our biggest challenge. That I would be the one to fuck this all up. I had no clue that while I was closing the damn door on the skeletons in my closet, Ry would slowly come undone.

The other shoe most definitely has dropped.

Humpty fuckin’ dumpty. The thought’s there instantly of another time, another place when I felt this goddamn helpless. This time though . . . man, I’m not sure what it’s going to take to put things back together again.

I walk over to the bed, to my whole fucking world, and hate that it doesn’t feel so whole. I press a kiss to the side of her shoulder and just leave my lips pressed there for a second as I breathe her in. Fight, Ry. We need you. I need you. I’m not sure if she’s asleep or not because she doesn’t react, and man, how I want her to react. I know she’s doing everything she can to keep herself together right now—for all of us—when it seems all she wants to do is fade away.

My scrappy fighter, who is so goddamn beautiful even now with circles beneath her eyes, will find her way. I just can’t pressure her regardless of how much I want to.

Or at least that’s what Google says. Her mind is betraying her.

Reaching down, I scoop up Ace, who thank fuck is completely content with his full belly, and carry him out of the room.

What the hell do I do with him now?


My hands feel like clubs when I change diapers.

My lullaby game is non-existent.

The blanket thing? How in the hell do you get it to look like a burrito? It’s not that fucking easy. So what if I used a four-inch piece of duct tape to keep it closed? Call me resourceful.

Or an idiot.

It’s taking everything I have not to cry uncle and call in the cavalry: our moms, Quinlan, Haddie. But then that’s admitting defeat and fuck if I want to admit that. Plus I can’t do that to Ry. She’s already so fragile. Asking others for help without her consent would be a slap to her face. Push her farther under water when she’s already drowning. Prove to her that I don’t think she’s capable of handling this.

And that’s not what my intention would be. But with Ry right now? Shit, I know that’s just how she’d take it.

Yet my cell sits on the counter and looks so damn tempting.

I’m a fish out of water. It’s not pretty. I’ve paced, I’ve rocked, I’ve swayed, and no goddamn dice. Ace won’t have any of it.

Just go to sleep!

“Look, little man,” I say, holding him up so I can look in his eyes as he continues to fuss. “I’m new at this. Have no clue what the fu—er, heck I’m doing here. Can you give a guy a break and go easy on me? Please?”

I can’t believe I’m pleading with a newborn—that I’ve been reduced to this—but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“It’s just you and me, dude. Boys club. Your momma’s having a tough time so you’re stuck with me. I know I suck . . . don’t have boobs like she does. Believe me, I miss them too. One day you’ll understand. But for now . . . you have to man up. I’ll show you how. First step, go to sleep for me.”

Please. I close my eyes for a moment, unsure what to do now. My mom’s not too far away and could get here quickly at this ungodly hour of night. When I open them back up, his eyes are closed.

Thank fuck for that.


THE DARKNESS CALLS TO ME. Pulls me. Drowns me in its welcome warmth. It’s like a lover’s kiss, addictive, all-consuming, and irresistible.