Her eyes narrow, and she reaches into the fridge and pulls out a beer.

“Now that I will take,” I say with a laugh.

“Kendra must have liked beer,” she says. “That was in the fridge.” She holds up her glass. “Do moms drink wine?” she asks.

“Mine did,” I say. I follow her into the living room and sit down on one end of the couch. She sits on the other.

“Was your mom a good mom?” she asks.

“The best.”

“Lucky you,” she says with a noise from the back of her throat. “I was raised by nannies and cooks and housekeepers. A constant rotation of them.” She lays her head on the back of the couch and looks up at the ceiling for a moment. Then she drains the last of the wine in her glass and sets it on the side table. She yawns, covering her mouth delicately. “Sorry,” she says. “Long week.” She smiles, and my breath catches until I remember it’s supposed to go in and out.

“I should go,” I say.

“You don’t have to leave,” she says. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

I settle back again. I don’t want to leave. I like this quiet silence with her, and I don’t know why. “Do you want some unsolicited advice?” I ask.

She snorts. And it’s so damn cute that I can’t keep from grinning. “I’ll take all the advice I can get.”

“Tell Seth he should go out for wrestling.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Wrestling?” she asks.

I nod. “He loves the sport. He was a regional champ last year.”

She sits up a little. “When does it start?” she asks.

“Next week.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Umm…” I don’t know how much to tell her. “He’s afraid that if he gives you too much work to do, you’ll leave them, and then the state will put his sisters in foster care.”

She growls and sits forward. “And you got all that from him at dinner?”

I nod and raise my beer to my lips. “I’ve known them longer,” I say.

“How long did you and Kendra date?” she asks.

I choke on my beer. I cough into my closed fist for a minute. “What?”

“You and Kendra,” she says again. “How long had you been going out?”

“Oh, we weren’t like that,” I rush to say. “We were just friends.”

“Oh,” she says. Then silence settles over the room. Finally she says, “So, wrestling, huh? Isn’t that a little barbaric?”

I smile. “Nope. It’s all strategy and strength and conditioning. It’s good for him.”

“What if he gets hurt?”

“He’s a boy. He’s going to get hurt.”

“You have all the answers, don’t you?” she says.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any answers. About anything. “If he wrestles, he’d have to go straight there after school every day. That might give you some time to get to know Mellie and Joey when you pick them up.”

She nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Everyone needs a plan,” I say with a grin. She smiles, and I feel this little flutter in my heart.

I hear a door open behind us, and Seth comes out of his room. He looks over at us, his gaze shooting from Skylar to me and back. “Everything okay?” he asks.

Skylar sits up and rests her elbows on her knees. “Matt was just telling me about wrestling,” she says.

Seth groans and throws his head back, sending me a look like he wishes I had kept my mouth shut.

“I think you should sign up,” she says. Her voice quivers a little.

“What about the girls?” he asks.

“What about them?” she replies. “I’ll just start picking them up every day.”

Seth scratches his head. “You’re okay with that?”

She nods and smiles at him. “I’m fine with it.”

Seth smiles at her, too. “Okay,” he says.

“Will you let me know when your games are so I can come watch?” she asks.

“Matches,” Seth and I both say at the same time.

She laughs and holds up both hands in surrender. “Matches,” she repeats. “Sorry,” she says, but she’s laughing, too. “So, can I go to your matches?” she asks.

Seth nods. “Sure.” He looks toward the kitchen like he wants to get free. “I’m just going to get some water and go to bed,” he says.

“Good night,” Skylar calls.

He looks back over his shoulder and says quietly, “’Night, Aunt Sky.”

He walks away, and I look over at Skylar, only she looks a little shell-shocked. Like a stiff wind could blow her over. “You okay?” I ask.

She laughs and shakes her head. “Did you hear that?” she asks.

“He’s going to wrestle?” I’m slightly baffled.

“No,” she says quietly. “He called me Aunt Sky.” Her eyes are a little misty, I realize, so I squeeze her knee. She covers my hand with hers and looks up at me. Her gaze shoots straight to the center of me. “Thanks for your help.” Suddenly, her phone chirps from her pocket, and she lets my hand go to reach for it. “My boyfriend,” she says. She doesn’t look very happy to be hearing from him.

“I should go.” She has a f**king boyfriend, numbnuts, I remind myself. I get to my feet and throw my beer bottle in the recycling bin. She follows me to the door. “Call me if you need anything?” I suggest. Or if you don’t need anything, I want to add, but I don’t.

She leans heavily against the edge of the door. “I will,” she says. And I believe her. I just hope something goes dreadfully wrong so she’ll actually call me. No loss of life or limb or anything drastic. Maybe a leaky sink or a stopped-up toilet. “’Night,” she says.

“’Night,” I reply. She closes the door, and I stand there for a moment because I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.

The door suddenly opens, and Sky sticks her head out. She bumps into my chest, and I steady her by grabbing her elbows. I try to wipe the grin off my face, but it’s almost impossible. “Did you need something else?” I ask over a laugh.

“You’re still here,” she says against my chest. The heat of her breath does funny things to my insides. And the rest of me. “I wanted to ask you something,” she says, her voice all breathy.

She leans a shoulder in the doorway and looks up at me, her eyes so blue and clear that I could fall into them and stay there. She bites her lower lip between her teeth and then says in one big rush, “You mentioned when we were walking into the restaurant that you didn’t take my hand just because it was trembling. I was wondering…um…why else you might do that.”

I reach up and tug the length of leather that was holding my hair back and let it fall around my face. Then I make a big production of tying it back up, but I really just want to buy myself some time to figure out how to answer her. I grin. “I did mention that wasn’t the only reason, didn’t I?” I ask, still stalling.

She nods, still worrying that lower lip. Her cheeks are rosy, and her eyes are bright.

I don’t know the right way to respond, so instead I bend down and kiss her cheek. I linger, letting her breath blow across my shoulder as I take in the scent of her. It’s clean and girly with a hint of citrus and so damn breathtaking that I can barely stop sniffing her. I take one last inhale and whisper, “I did it because I like you.” She shivers lightly, and I see the hair on her arms stand up. I force myself to walk away. It takes everything I have in me not to turn around and look at her again. But I don’t. I keep walking.

###

I let myself into our apartment and stop short when I see someone sitting on the couch talking to Paul. My brother gets up, looking uncomfortable as hell. “Look who dropped by,” Paul says, pointing toward our guest. My euphoria ends immediately. All the good thoughts I had when I left Sky are suddenly dashed against the wall that is treachery and deceit.

His name is Kenneth, and he used to be my best friend. Right up until the moment that he f**ked my fiancée, April. “Ken,” I bite out. “What the f**k are you doing here?” I ask.

Paul gets between us, like he could keep me off him if I really wanted a piece of him. Not hardly.

“Well,” Ken says. “I…um…I was hoping we could talk.” He looks toward Paul like he doesn’t want to say anything in front of him.

Paul steps up beside me. “Do you want me to leave?”

I shrug. I can kick Ken’s ass just as well with him in the room as I can with him out of it. “Do whatever you want,” I say. I reach into the fridge and take out a beer, pop the top by resting it on the edge of the counter and slamming it. Then I flick the metal top toward the trash can. “Score,” I whisper to the room as it shoots inside.

I go over to the couch and plop down on it, resting my feet on the coffee table as I start to channel surf.

“Call me if you need me,” Paul says, and then he disappears into his room. Like I’d have to call him. He’s going to have his ear glued to the door until Ken leaves.

Ken sits down on the couch across the room, his ass perched on the edge. He rests his elbows on his knees and leans toward me.

“Why are you here, Ken?” I ask. He may as well tell me so we can get this uncomfortable meeting over and done with.

“Well,” he says. He stops and scratches the back of his head, running his hand up and down over and over. His discomfort makes me feel a little better about the whole situation, actually. I let him stew. “I wanted to tell you about the wedding,” he says slowly, enunciating carefully.

I pretend nonchalance, although I feel anything but. “Who’s getting married?” I ask.

He had better f**king not say him and April.

“Well, I asked April to marry me,” he blurts out, looking even worse than a moment ago. He winces like he’s afraid I’ll hit him. Hell, I still might.

“Congratulations,” I deadpan. I try not to put any feeling into my voice all because if I did, I would be yelling and screaming and crying out like a wounded bear because I feel like someone just shoved a red-hot poker in my gut.

“I wanted to be the first to tell you,” he says. “Considering the situation.” He wrings his hands together.

“Considering the fact that you f**ked my girlfriend,” I say then take the last swallow of my beer. That one might go to my head since I drank it so fast. But I really don’t care.

“S-she was h-hurting,” he stutters. “After your diagnosis and all, you know?” He looks at me like he’s waiting for confirmation. I’ll confirm that he’s an ass. A lying, cheating, no-good, lame-ass best friend. “We kind of just fell together.”

“You tripped and fell right in her pussy, did you?” He holds up a hand and starts to stutter, but I keep on talking, as though I don’t care. “I completely understand. Happened to me a time or two. Probably the same nights it happened to you.” I snort.

“Matt,” he says. “I know I’ve told you I’m sorry before, but please know that we didn’t intend for this to happen. We never wanted to hurt you.”

I was hurt for a while, but now I’m beyond that. Pissed is a much better color on me than hurt. “How many times do you want me to congratulate you?” I ask.

He sighs. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else,” he says. “I handled things poorly, but I still have the utmost respect for you as a friend.”

“Thanks,” I bite out.

“Hey, I hear that you’re in remission,” he says. He smiles as if he’s happy for me. “I’m so glad you’re doing well.”

“Thanks,” I grunt. Apparently, I have turned into a caveman. A caveman who doesn’t give a fuck.

He gets to his feet. “Well, I should probably go.” He reaches out a hand toward me. It hangs there in the air between us until he finally gets the hint that I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-fucking-foot pole.

“When’s the wedding?” I ask as I stand up, too. I’m a glutton for punishment, apparently.

“Next weekend,” he says.

I lift my brow and snort. “That soon, huh? You must have been planning for a while.”

He starts to scratch the back of his head again. “Um…not really. Well, we were planning it, but we decided to move the date up. Um…” He looks into my eyes like he’s hoping to soften the blow. “April’s pregnant.”

My breath stutters from me. I close my eyes and inhale through my nose because I feel like I’m going to throw up. I force my eyes open and walk to the door. It’s all I can do not to put my foot in his ass and kick him through it.

“Can…um… It’s really important to April that we have your blessing.”

“You didn’t need my blessing when you f**ked her,” I say. “Why do you need it now that you knocked her up?”

“She feels terrible about the way things happened,” he says.

“Good,” I bite out. “She should.” She should hate it. She should hate herself because she fell into someone’s arms while I was getting shot full of chemo and almost f**king died.

“She’s not a bad person,” he says. “She just made a mistake. We both did.”

“A mistake happens once,” I explain, holding up one finger. “Not dozens of times.” And those are only the ones I know about. “After the first time, it’s a choice, not a mistake.”