“See?” Mack said. “Even the Russian gets it. He’s not afraid to express his emotions.”

The Russian held his arms wide. “I need hug.”

“I got it,” Mack said, walking over and squeezing the Russian’s massive girth.

“I kind of hate you right now,” Noah said.

“Because we’re right?” Del asked.

“Because I’m feeling really obligated to hug the Russian.”

“No, you hate us because this is hard work,” Mack said, sitting down again.

Noah ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Just tell me what to do.”

The group spoke in annoyed unison. “Read the book.”

“Okay, but how the hell is this book supposed to help me? It’s about a guy who abandoned his daughter, which is not someone I want to learn any fucking lessons from right now.”

Malcolm got that teacher about to drop some wisdom look about him. “How do you think this book ends, Noah?”

“It’s a romance. I would assume they end up together and live happily ever after.”

Malcolm nodded. “Exactly. All romances end that way. Even though readers know the minute they pick up romances how they’re going to end, they still read them loyally. Why do you suppose that is?”

“The sex?”

Colton slapped the table again. “No. Wrong answer.”

“It’s the journey,” Malcolm said. “It’s how they get to that happily ever after that matters and makes these books so special and instructive.”

“The journey,” Noah repeated.

“There is no more universal story than of two people working through their shit to overcome huge obstacles and find their way to happiness,” Malcolm said. “But every journey is different, every obstacle unique. And it’s in that unique journey that we find lessons for our own lives.”

“Can’t you just give me a cheat sheet?” He was only half joking.

“Not if you want this to really work,” Mack said somberly.

“Just keep reading,” Malcolm said. “Your journey starts now.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The drive from the hospital to the Vanderpool house took only twenty minutes, but Alexis felt every second of the drive like a nervous first-timer on a roller coaster. Every mile brought her closer and closer to the drop-off. And when she finally pulled into the driveway, her stomach plummeted in a free fall of fear, gravity, and the inevitable tug of what have I done?

Why hadn’t she brought Noah for this? The thought of meeting these people, her father, alone seemed wise before, but now she wished he was next to her. Telling her she could do this. That everything would be okay.

The two-story Federal-style house sat an acre back from the road on a manicured lawn of lush green grass under a canopy of soaring oak trees. Meticulously maintained window boxes of geraniums in vibrant shades of red, pink, and orange popped against white shutters, and an American flag lifted and waved in the soft breeze from its anchor on a porch column. The only thing missing was a white picket fence, and it could have been a spread in a magazine.

All of the other things she was feeling—fear, regret, longing—were replaced with something that was becoming as familiar as it was unwelcome. Resentment. This house was straight out of her mother’s dreams. Quiet. Statuesque. Safe. But she’d had to work two jobs just to save enough for the down payment on their tiny house in Nashville.

This was the kind of home that required money and job security and a support network. The things her mother never had.

This was a family home, the kind that boasted stability, prosperity, security. This was the kind of house where a mom never had to worry about how to feed her child, where you could get a puppy because you could afford it, where medications were never rationed, where birthday parties had clowns and big cakes and bouquets of balloons.

Alexis parked behind a shiny BMW sedan and a Range Rover SUV. A black Mercedes was parked in the garage alongside a bright red Lexus.

She quickly texted Candi that she was here. Candi responded to wait on the porch. Which was an odd request, but maybe because Elliott was sick they were trying to be quiet or something.

Didn’t matter. Alexis just wanted to get this over with and go home. It wasn’t until she climbed the porch steps that the sense of stomach-plummeting fear gripped her again. She was about to meet her father.

Her father.

The front door opened, and Candi stepped out, pulling the door behind her. She swallowed nervously. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Alexis looked beyond Candi’s shoulder to the door. “Is something wrong?”

Candi did the nervous swallow again. “No. I just, I wanted to greet you by myself before we go in.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone is here. Mom and Dad; my brother, Cayden; and his wife and their kids.” Candi bit her lip. “Our brother, I mean. I keep messing that up.”

“It’s okay.” She gestured toward the front door. “Should we . . . ?”

Candi opened the door and waited for Alexis to walk in. The sound of muted laughter from somewhere in the back of the house greeted them as Alexis did a slow turn in an entryway that was bigger than her kitchen. The foyer stretched at least fourteen feet to the ceiling and boasted a massive crystal chandelier.

Candi pointed down a long hallway that ended in a kitchen. “They’re in the sunroom.”

Alexis followed Candi down the wide hallway lined with built-in bookshelves and bracketed on each end with elaborately molded archways. It led into a chef’s kitchen with an eight-foot island down the middle and a view of a sloping backyard and in-ground pool.

Off to the side, partitioned from the kitchen by a wall of windows, was the sunroom.

Alexis stopped short, her hip colliding painfully with the edge of the island.

There were six of them. An elegantly dressed woman sat on one end of a couch gazing lovingly down at an infant and a toddler playing on the floor. A youngish man sat next to her. He had hair like Candi’s and a big smile. On the floor, a woman fussed with the baby’s clothes. And watching them all from a leather recliner, a proud glint in his eye, was Elliott.

His hair was grayer than not, and his skin had a dull, weathered look. Alexis would’ve thought it was from too much time in the sun, but she knew that particular look. It was the look of illness. But his smile was the same one from the wedding announcement—broad and full of life. He looked like a man who laughed a lot.

Alexis spun around, her chest tight. “I don’t think I can do this.”

But before she could escape, which was entirely her plan, the older woman called out from sunroom.

“Who was at the door, Candi?”

Alexis met Candi’s eyes. A guilty shadow in hers brought a red filter of anger to Alexis’s. “What is she talking about?”

Candi didn’t answer. Not directly anyway. She smiled at something or someone over Alexis’s shoulder. “I brought a friend to meet you, Mom.”

“A friend?” Alexis whispered.

“Well, bring her on in,” the woman said.

The snap of the recliner sent the air out of Alexis’s lungs in a single, panicked exhale. How the hell was she going to get out of this now? She squeezed her eyes shut against the next sound—footsteps.

“Welcome,” the man said in a gentle voice.

There was no way out of this. Alexis turned around—and found herself once again staring into eyes exactly like hers. He wore a gray sweater that was probably once a perfect fit, but illness had made the shoulders droop and the hem hang long. He extended his hand. “I’m Elliott.”

Alexis looked disbelievingly at Candi. “Are you kidding me?” she hissed. “You didn’t tell them I was coming?”

Elliott lowered his hand, confusion tugging his eyebrows together.

Candi finally found her voice. “Dad, this is . . . this is Alexis.”

Elliott offered his hand again. “Nice to meet you, Alexis. Candi so rarely brings anyone over anymore now that she has moved—”

Alexis cut him off. “Alexis Carlisle. That’s my name.”

Elliott blinked several times, staring at her with a sudden intensity that made her squirm and want to laugh at the same time. Then his Adam’s apple bobbed with a nervous swallow, and she decided to go all in.

“I believe you knew my mother, Sherry.”

Elliott pulled his hand away and turned a hard eye toward Candi. “What did you do?” he asked in a fierce whisper.

“I had to, Dad.” Candi’s voice cracked.

The tension from the kitchen must have drifted into the sunroom, because the older woman stood up. “Is everything okay?”

Elliott turned around. “Everything’s fine.”

No one bought his reassurance. One by one, Lauren, Cayden, and his wife—whatever her name was—all turned their attention to Alexis and stared.

Candi started to answer in shaky word fragments. “She could be a match, Dad. For a kidney.”

Lauren gasped and surged forward. “What? Oh my gosh. Candi, this is your friend? Why do you think she could be a match?” Her ballet flats made delicate tap-tap sounds on the hardwood floor as she walked into the kitchen.

Cayden and his wife picked up on the excitement. Each came rushing forward with a child on their arm and matching expressions of hope on their faces. Alexis groaned and looked at Candi, whose skin had gone unnaturally pale.

“I know you didn’t want me to contact her, Dad, but—”

“Why wouldn’t you want Candi to contact her?” Lauren asked, her joy from just moments ago now replaced with confusion. “What is going on?”

Tears formed in Candi’s eyes. Oh, brother. Alexis held up her hands. “Okay, listen. Maybe we should save this for another time.”

Elliott schooled his features into something reasonable, something deceptive, as he faced his wife. “Probably a good idea. We don’t want to get too excited. I doubt some random friend of Candi’s is a match.”