Chapter Twenty-Three

SOMETIMES LIFE IS A SNOWBALL and you have no way to stop it.

Sometimes you don't even want to.

Everything moved fast. I had zero control over it. I wasn't kidding when I told Trent you couldn't prevent life from spiraling out of control. It just so happened that my chaos was drenched in mind-blowing sex.

Nina settled in New York. She called me every day. Every. Single. Goddamn. Day. I never answered.

It was ridiculous. It became even more ridiculous when one October day, right before I got out of the office to pick up Rosie so we could catch a Hugh Jackman movie (I still had my balls intact, thank you very much), I saw Nina waiting for me at the reception, clutching a damp, cheap coat to her chest. Her eyes were wide and, if I'm not mistaken, had huge-ass dollar signs in each pupil.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cole." Sue rushed over to me, clasping her iPad and looking genuinely flustered for the first time in years. Nina had been trying to sneak into the building frequently, from what I'd heard, but my staff knew asses would be fired and people would pay if she stepped foot inside my domain. "I don't know how she got past security downstairs. We're in-between receptionists as you're aware…"

Ignoring my PA, I walked to Nina. I was three inches away from her face, and my eyes burned their way into her soul when our bodies met. The kind of look that told her that next time she showed up at my office, she was getting out of it in the form of scattered body parts that would later be thrown into the Hudson.

"Get. The. Fuck. Out."

"He wants to see you." She thrust her body into mine. Pathetic. Her words caught me off guard, but I maintained my balance, not letting her manipulating games get to me. Now that I was looking—really paying attention—I noticed her clothes were tattered, and that bright pink lipstick she loved to wear so much was smeared all over her face. Such a fucking mess. She was using again.

"I mean it, Nina." My voice relaxed, but my posture didn't. "I don't care. Tell him I don't want to see him. Now get out. I'd hate to call security. We both know you can't afford another arrest with your criminal record."

That should have been the end of her, but it wasn't.

Nina didn't show up again in person—I think she knew I'd follow through with my threat—but started sending me things that belonged to him to gauge my reaction. To get me to cave in and answer her calls. A black Raiders cap, to show me that he, too, loved football. A plastic cup with Birmingham, Alabama plastered all over it. A pen. Whatever. Fuck. I didn't want these things to taunt me, but they did. They did and I needed to get away from it all. I was reaching the breaking point that made you crumble.

The decision to go to Todos Santos wasn't only about getting away from Nina. It was time everyone knew what my intentions were about Rosie. I was going to marry the fuck out of that chick, soon. By the end of that month, we were moving in together, officially.

I was diving headfirst into a messy reality, and I didn't give two shits. I chained myself to her destiny, knowing how it was going to end. Rosie started every morning with gulping down a ton of pills and wearing that vest twice a day. Every other afternoon, she would go to physiotherapy. When we took strolls, she would stop and lean against a tree, out of breath, smiling apologetically as she clutched onto her side. My girlfriend was not well. She was never going to be well.

And we were still going to make it work.

People had to know, accept, and move on with it.

The other reason I dragged her ass to Todos Santos was Trent. Jaime and I promised him we would get Vicious to agree to switch branches. The fucker was going to Chicago with Millie and the baby whether he liked it or not. I knew he wasn't going to go down without a fight—hell, fighting was one of our favorite pastimes—and I was ready for battle.

Rosie's meeting with my parents was supposed to be low-key and intimate, but when my mom realized I was bringing a girl home for the first time since…well, ever, she got a little too excited. And by "a little too excited," I mean goddamn crazy. She called my sisters, and what do you know? Keeley planned a visit from Maryland, anyway, and Payton was just around the corner in NorCal, and this was how a quiet brunch with my folks and girlfriend turned into the mother of all shit-shows, hosted by yours truly.

"I'm so nervous I'm about to puke all over my cleavage." Rosie clutched my hand when I parked one of Vicious's cars in front of their house. "The bright side is, at least it will cover my tits. Looking gross is better than looking like a floozy, right?"

"Did you just use the word floozy?" I chewed on my right cheek to contain my smile.

"Weird, huh? I think it's the nerves."

"Holy shit, Baby LeBlanc. I didn't know things were that bad."

She'd never met any of her past boyfriends' parents before. Never went this far with anyone else. It was almost like we waited for this moment so we could experience it together. We weren't kids. I was kissing thirty. She was twenty-eight. We were emotional virgins, and it was like she just handed me her V-card.

This time I asked for it.

This time I took it.

And I loved that we got to experience a few first-times together.

"Just be you. I'm sure it'd be good enough. And, if not," I shrugged, popping my minty gum, "I'll replace you. You have a hot cousin, right?"

I punched the doorbell as Rosie shot daggers at me with her lake blues. Any other time, I would breeze right in, but she needed those few seconds. Her palm was sweaty, and she had a coughing fit she tried to tame by gulping deep breaths. Rosie had no idea that she already impressed my parents simply by dealing with my crazy ass and accepting me for who I was. I wasn't going to reassure her of that just yet, though. I loved watching her make an effort. She wore a formal blue dress under her huge coat—and no, the cleavage wasn't half as generous as she thought it was—and had braided her hair. That whole good girl act was a complete fucking sham, and watching her lie for me in that goody-two-shoes dress was a turn-on.

My mother opened the door, wearing her signature lime-green pastel cardigan and syrupy smile. She threw herself at Rosie and hugged her like they'd known each other forever, and Rosie melted in her arms, her stiff body shielding its armor. My dad shook Rosie's hand and offered her a grin, the kind he saved only for his children. He then proceeded to pat my back and whispered something entirely inappropriate into my ear about my girlfriend. Payton and Keeley stood at the door like two stage-ten stalkers and complimented her dress. They then turned their attention to me.

"You're still working out." Keeley's tone was borderline accusing. She tossed her dirty blonde hair.

"What, no gyms in Maryland?" I brushed my shoulder past her and squeezed her biceps playfully. Keeley had no time to work out, and even though she was a little on the fuller side, it suited her just fine.

"Oh, look, our brother is still super funny." Payton elbowed her. I rolled my eyes, and my sister gasped. "What, no sense of humor in New York?"

Juvenile sparring aside, things started off on the right foot.

Rosie and I were led into the dining room, where White Trash Hash, cowboy breakfast bowls, bagels, and brownie cupcakes were waiting on the rustic modern table. Orange juice, coffee, and milk were sprawled, ready to be demolished. Rosie's mouth almost dropped to the floor, her tongue rolling like a red carpet, and I wasn't sure if it was because she was starving or because of what she was seeing. I suppressed a chuckle when I thought about how she'd probably imagined my family. A bunch of snotty assholes who only ate French-named dishes and lived in a mansion like Vicious's.

Truth was, my parents came from a town on the outskirts of Birmingham, Alabama. My dad was a senator's son, but my mom was the Rosie type. Her parents worked on a farm. They'd met when she cleaned his room to cover for her sick mama. His parents hated her, and she hated them, but neither of them gave a rat's ass.

My dad became one of the most powerful attorneys in California, making the rest of their past ancient history. But they were Southern people through and through, and I think the fat-laden food on our dining table was fucking proof of that.

"Park your ass, Baby LB." I pulled a chair, giving her my own version of being a gentleman. We sat next to each other. I poured her coffee. She liked it black. No sugar. No cream. No nothing. Actually, Rosie avoided dairy altogether, and I noticed those things because every little detail about her was observed, recorded, and filed in my brain. I kept my hands off of her, knowing full well that the minute my fingers found hers, they wouldn't stop until they dove down between her legs. My parents had no idea what a fucking horny bastard they had raised. I was trying to keep it that way.

"Rosie, I heard you volunteer at a children's hospital." Keeley grinned.

"At the Mott's Children Hospital in Manhattan," Rosie confirmed, taking a long sip of her coffee. "ICN unit."

"You must really love kids. Does Dean know he is going to father at least three or four of them?" my sister joked, taking a bite of her greasy bacon. Rosie blinked, her easy smile unfaltering. My gut turned into a knot of hard wires. Because while Rosie still hadn't told me about her situation—well, she did, but not consciously, and certainly not the details—it didn't make her reality any less real. I shouldn't be mad at Keeley. She was direct and playful. I shouldn't, but I fucking was.

"Thank you, Keeley, for freaking my girlfriend out five minutes into our brunch." I smirked, casually asking my mom to pass me a bowl of who-the-fuck-knows just to keep things moving. "Two can play this game. I'll be waiting for your future boyfriend with an arsenal of questions about his sperm quality and parenting methods when the time comes."

Rosie put a hand on my thigh.

"Dude, it's okay." She smiled with her whole face. "Yeah. I have a passion for children. I would love to be a mother one day," she added after a pause. "And I think your brother would make an amazing dad. There, baby. Just making sure the anxiety is distributed evenly between us." She patted my cheek and winked.

I laughed because she expected me to, but it never reached my eyes. Or any bone in my body, for that matter.

"I'm rolling with whatever you want." I clasped the back of her neck, planting a kiss on her temple. "Three kids. Ten kids. One. None. Don't give a damn as long as it's with you."

As I said it, I knew that my balls would never forgive me for the cheese I just poured all over my reputation, but my balls had no say in this. Besides, I didn't hear them complain when Rosie licked them last night in-between sucking my cock. My dignity was a price I was willing to pay for her happiness, and I was hoping she'd read between the lines and understand that her infertility issues weren't going to come between us.

Less children = More Rosie for me. No complaints there.

"Awww," Payton cooed. "Someone grew a heart."

"What did you put in his drink, Rosie?" Keeley snort-laughed, pretending to fan herself with her hand. "This is not something my brother would say unless he'd lost a bet."

My mom smiled so big I thought her face was going to collapse into the back of her neck. Dad looked a tad uncomfortable, but it couldn't have been the topic. He was the one drilling it into my head that I needed to settle down. Dad kept moving his gaze from his Bvlgari watch and back to me. Eli Cole wasn't a man who was easily irked.

"When are you guys leaving Todos Santos?" he asked.

"Tomorrow morning. We'll be spending Thanksgiving dinner at the Spencers." I threw a strawberry into my mouth and chewed. Maybe he was pissed that I was staying with Rosie's family, but he ought to know that winning her parents over was a priority this year. Rosie's parents didn't completely hate me—I helped them get their shit together back when they moved to L.A. and Vicious was in New York playing Romeo to Emilia—but I got where they came from. If I had two daughters and a bastard who boned both of them, I'd be suspicious of his intentions, too.

I needed to rehab my image, make sure they knew chasing a LeBlanc ass wasn't a hobby of mine.

"Would you be able to drop by afterwards?" Dad smoothed his Polo shirt. "There are a few matters we need to discuss."

Mom's face changed, her eyes were pleading with me now.

"Are you guys getting a divorce?" My voice was dry, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh, Lord!" My mom scoffed, clutching her pearls. "What are you talking about, Dean? Of course not."

"Someone dying?" I proceeded.

"No," Dad said.

"And none of these girls are preggo?" I threw a thumb in Keeley and Payton's direction. My bet was on Payton. Kid was trouble. But my parents shook their heads in unison, denying this, too.

"In that case, I'll take a rain check." I took a sip of my water, leaning back in my chair. "We have a board meeting in our L.A. office after dinner that will take some time."

"Everything all right?" Dad furrowed his brows. I shrugged.

"We're twisting Vicious's arm. He needs to switch branches with Trent. He wants to be close to his parents now that Val is gone."

As the words left my mouth, I'd realized that Rosie didn't know shit about it. I forgot to tell her. Didn't think she'd care. But, of course, she would. Her parents lived in Vicious's house, and her sister was having his fucking baby. Though I knew Vicious would never sell the mansion—he loved it too much—I still felt like a dick, throwing it in her face out of nowhere.

She leaned forward and my fingers were no longer touching her back, and her lips were no longer smiling, and fuck, I was an asshole. She had every right to give me grief about it.

"You can still make it, even if late," my dad insisted. Goddamn, what was with him today?

"No can do, Dad. Told you. This could take a while. If you have something to tell me, do."

"I'd rather not."

I put my silverware down—slowly—taking the time to scan every curious face at the table before I spoke again. "We're family. All of us." My hand found Rosie's neck, but she pulled away, gently yet firmly, making sure I knew I was in the doghouse.

"Dean, honey." Mom licked her lips, and Keeley and Payton offered each other puzzled looks from across the table. They didn't know what the hell was going on either. Thank fuck. The last thing I needed was an intervention or some shit.

Nothing about the situation made sense. Our family didn't have secrets. Well, there was one, and it was mine, but it was buried six feet under, covered by the dirt of everyday life and the dust of years of denial. The rule was that when we were together, we talked about it freely. Never held back.

Only it wasn't just us in the room now. Rosie was there, too. It tipped me off, and my jaw locked, my eyes narrowed.

What the fuck has Nina done now?

"That old thing. I still haven't told Rosie about it." I rubbed my face tiredly. "Yeah…fine. I'll throw her in the loop after we're done here. She's not gonna give a fuck. I promise you that," I said, watching as all eyebrows in the room—Rosie's included—rose in disbelief.

"Please, if you need to say something, do. Don't mind me. It'd make me feel right at home," my girlfriend joked. None of us found it funny. My teeth ground together.

"Any reason why you'd choose to bring it up now?" I played cool.

Brunch was turning into the kind of Jerry Springer crap you made fun of when you were doped, slung on your couch drinking ice-cold beer.

Say hi to your current life, asshole. It's not a TV show; it's your reality.

"We heard Nina was in New York." My dad jerked his chin up, and that was when I noticed he hadn't touched anything on his plate. Eli Cole didn't eat his fucking cowboy breakfast. That was weird. He would marry greasy food if it were legal. Mom only let him have it once a year.

"I see she gave you an update on her whereabouts." I reached for the orange juice, my hand a little shaky. "I'm taking care of it."

Sort of. Kind of. Okay, not really.

"We all know what she wants." Dad put his hand on mine and made the shaking stop. I raised my eyes to his. We both swallowed hard. "And I think it's time you face what she has to say, son."

"You do?" I leaned back, breaking the contact, one of my elbows propped on the table and my other arm snaking around Rosie's seat. "Who is going to pay for this little adventure? You or me?"

"Me, if that's what you care about. But it's not. Your mother and I want to discuss this with you. It's not a subject to be addressed on the phone."

Rosie's hand came down on my knee. Payton and Keeley looked confused, but she was downright frightened. I needed to make it stop. I postponed this conversation long enough. It was time to tell her and face the consequences.

My eyes were still locked in a battle with my dad. He was pissing me off. That almost never happened. I had a very good relationship with my father. We golfed together. Went to football games together. Talked until the very late hours of the night together every time I came home for a visit. Other than drinking together—I had a problem and didn't want him to witness my ugly side for himself—we pretty much did everything together. He was a source of pride for me. Even my friends dropped by to ask him for advice.

"Fine," I bit out. "I'll try to make it. Don't say I didn't warn you. It could be three or four in the morning. These meetings can drag." Boy, could they. We always took our sweet-ass time when we locked the door to the world outside. And convincing Vicious to do something he didn't want to do? Yeah, we'd be lucky to leave there before January.

"We'll stay up all night if need be." Dad took Mom's hand in his, his cheekbones flexing.

"Any way we can go back to eating and talking about Dean's future babies?" Keeley squirmed in her chair. "Rosie looks fifty shades of pale, and I'm kinda scared."

"Are you okay?" I twisted my head, checking my girlfriend out. She didn't look okay. She looked like she was going to faint. Rosie nodded, just barely. I took her hand in mine, and this time she let me, which wasn't a good sign if you knew Rosie.

She was supposed to be pissed off with me.

"Inhaler, please." Her voice was barely a hiss.

I rushed to her bag. I knew by then her inhalers were hooked into the front pockets and grabbed both of them before returning to the table.

Everyone's silence grated on my nerves as Rosie sipped water after she used her blue inhaler. I shook with rage. What the fuck did my parents think they were doing? They had all the time in the world to tackle the Nina subject, and they decided this brunch was the perfect opportunity?

Fuck them.

Fuck that.

And fuck me, for forgetting to give her a heads-up. I forgot to tell her about us cornering Vicious, but even if I hadn't, what good would it have done? Rosie was going to run to her sister and warn her off. It only would have made things messier.

"Well…this was fun," Rosie muttered, her smile weak when we stood by the door. I helped her into her coat, feeling like the biggest douchebag on planet Earth. Which was ironic, because that was what she called me. Earth. What she hadn't realized was that I really was our goddamn planet. Because when I was going to explode, a lot of fucking people were going to get hurt in the process.

My sisters and mom still waved at us when I opened the door and helped her into the Jeep. Her eyes were droopy, her body slack. I always brushed aside Rosie's illness, but it was there, looming in the shadows, waiting for the perfect chance to grab at her throat.

I needed to come to terms with that but couldn't. Every time I saw her using an inhaler—including today—I got so fucking mad, the need to punch a wall took over me. Nebulizers, pills, nasal sprays. My apartment was full of them now. I had Dr. Hasting on my speed dial, her physiotherapist's address, and knew the exact times and days she went for appointments and what to do when she started pounding her chest and hissing like a snake. I knew that the average lifespan of a cystic fibrosis sufferer was thirty-seven. I knew all of the male diagnoses with CF were infertile, and many of the women had difficulties having children.

And I didn't want to know any of these things.

Because she wasn't a fucking illness.

She was a person I made plans with. And those plans exceeded the ten years she statistically had left.

I started the car but didn't release the E-brake. Staring out to the neatest tree-lined street in the world, where my family resided, melancholy trickled into my heart.

What the fuck are you doing, asshole?

"You have a secret. Big one," Rosie whispered, looking out her window.

Rosie and I didn't get off on the best foot in our relationship. I wanted her to get used to us before she knew I was actually a we.

Her whole package may have been explosive, but mine was messy. Very.

"So do you," I said. She offered me a startled glance. No denial there.

"Yeah," she said. "We already suck at this relationship thingy."

"Are you kidding?" I chuckled. "We're fucking killing it. It's a bump. A little dog ear in our book of awesome."

"In my reality, every bump can have crucial consequences," Rosie reminded me.

"And in our reality," I countered, "I will always be here to make sure we smooth things over."

We drove in circles for a while, just like we did our first night together in Todos Santos. I took her to all the places we visited before we had sex for the first time. To our old school, the marina, Liberty Park, and then, finally—to that bench. People were calling us, our phones buzzing and vibrating in our pockets. My father, mother, Rosie's parents, Vicious and Millie. So when I parked on the hill overlooking the basketball court, I threw both phones into the glove compartment and shut it before we headed to our seat. Nervous didn't quite capture the chaos that brewed within me. I was going to place my secret in her hand. A secret no one was supposed to know but my immediate family. And I was going to bare my weaknesses before her.

All of them.

Layer by layer.

Naked and exposed.

And hear for the first time if the real me—all of me—was still worth loving.

It didn't feel right to sit. There was too much adrenaline in my bloodstream, too much sorrow in the air. The winter nipped at our skin, and Rosie was covered head-to-toe, as she should be.

"Let's take a walk," I said. She coughed a little.

"I'll only slow you down. I can't do long walks."

"You never slow me down. You give me time to appreciate my surroundings." My balls protested again. Stupid balls didn't understand that making her happy would benefit every part of my body. Them included.

We strolled downhill, past lush green knolls, dodging low hanging branches and untrimmed vines that had begun to invade the cleared path. Her hands were tucked inside her coat and mine were in my pockets.

There was never a good time to break the kind of shit I was going to tell her, so I did the Band-Aid thing and went straight to the point.

"My biological mother left me to die in a Walmart bathroom when I was three hours old." My tone was blasé. She continued slugging ahead, her muscles tensing at my confession. "She was a crackhead. The minute she found out she was knocked up, she took off, left her family in the countryside and disappeared somewhere in the gutters of Birmingham."

Rosie was a smart girl. I knew she was bound to suspect something was going down.

Maybe she thought I was a deadbeat dad who fucked off once things got too real. Yeah, that wasn't an option. I always wrapped up Dean Junior. I had personalized condoms, for fuck's sake. The only person I didn't use a condom with in my entire life was Rosie herself. I'd never felt another woman's pussy, flesh-to-flesh, before her.

"I didn't…" She tried to gulp all the oxygen she could get to stop herself from crying. "Please, continue."

"I was found by the janitor. My mother, Nina, was found a couple blocks down the road, buying cigarettes. Her dress was covered in blood. When they took her to the hospital, she called her sister to help her deal with the legal trouble she had gotten herself into. Nina's sister is my mom, Helen."

"Jesus." Rosie's lips trembled, and so did the fingers she covered them with. A part of me, the logical part, I guess, acknowledged that it was fucked up that none of my friends knew I was adopted. But this, right here, was exactly why I wanted to keep it that way.

I was powerful.

I was imposing.

I was a motherfucking god.

These looks of pity and hushed whispers of sweet words did nothing to soothe the gash Nina created when she dumped my ass. Only reason I was willing to tolerate them now was because it was Rosie who was giving them to me. I would take any emotion from her. Even pity. Even hate. Anything, as long as it's not indifference.

"My mom—my real mom, Helen, the one who raised me—decided to adopt me. I think Eli was game because…" I gave it some thought, a chuckle escaping my lips. "Well, because he is pussy-whipped, I suppose. He really loves my mom, you see. Nina didn't want me anyway. She had a lot of shit going on in her life. I don't even resent her for that. I mean, it's pretty screwed up to leave your newborn in a public restroom, yeah. But that's not why I hate her guts today. Not really. By the end of the first day of my life, we were all at the same Birmingham hospital. Nina signed my birth certificate and didn't include my father's name—she said she didn't know, and honestly, it wasn't that surprising to anyone in her inner circle—and my parents started filling out the paperwork for the adoption."

"Oh, Dean. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry," Rosie repeated herself. We were still walking, which was good. I didn't want to have this conversation with the unnecessary discomfort of eye contact. Already, it felt like the truth was being ripped from my mouth like teeth, one by one. She took my hand, squeezed it in hers, and I drew in a breath, feeling the pressure in my lungs as they filled.

"My dad accepted a job offer in California, and they moved. Mom got pregnant with my sisters. And I looked so much like my family that no one bothered to ask. People just assumed I was Helen and Eli Cole's son. We never bothered to correct them—because why the fuck, you know? It worked. We got away with it, and the lie became so big, so fucking huge, it was too late to backpedal and expose it to the world.

"It's not like my family ever made me feel different. My sisters know. My parents always treated me the same as them, so it's not like my adoption mattered to anyone." I paused, scowling. "Well, anyone but me. My mom was under the false illusion I could bond with Nina. My dad believes that everyone deserves a chance—well, he would. He's a lawyer. His job is to defend criminals. Either way, they always made me go and visit her in Alabama. Every summer until I was eighteen. That was the deal."

I thought back to my last summer with Nina when I turned eighteen, and a chill broke down my spine. The gold-digging bitch. The mere thought of what she did had my fists itching for a bloody fight.

"At some point in her train wreck life, Nina got married to a dude named Donald Whittaker. People called him Owl because he used to deal drugs from two a.m. to six a.m. on street corners. Real catch, as you can imagine. Whittaker got locked up, was released, and decided to move to the outskirts. Bought a piece of land—a farm—and lived the farmer's dream. Nina kicked her crack habit, so as far as my parents were concerned, she was clean. She looked clean, because she was no longer shoving needles with poison into her veins. She moved to more dignified mommy drugs. Adderall, Xanax, oxy. The fun stuff that makes your addiction fairly invisible. And I never bothered to correct them because I was a pathetic little bastard who hoped to shit that one day the woman who gave birth to him would realize that he is worthy and love him."

"Dean." she shook her head, her tears flying from her cheeks. "Oh, Dean."

"Every summer when I came to see them, she made me bike the twenty miles from the farm to the city to get her her housewife drugs."

"Why did you agree to do it?"

"Because I wanted to make her happy?" I laughed, a bitter lump twisting in the back of my throat. "Because I sought her acceptance? I mean, how fucking worthless can you be when your goddamn mom wants to flush you down a toilet before you even open your eyes. At seventeen, I finally opened my eyes and said no to spending the summer with them. Told my parents I was tired of doing labor work for two months. They agreed, but then I fucked it up at a party and they decided to send me anyway as punishment. It turned out to be the worst summer of my life, because it was then that I realized not only Nina didn't love me…she fucking hated me."

Rosie was crying. I didn't dare look at her, but I felt her shoulder vibrating against mine. And I hated myself for making her cry, and I hated Nina for making me have this conversation in the first place. "To make a long story short, Nina did some deplorable things to me when I was a kid. I was a pawn in a very fucked-up game. A means to an end. She used me as an errand boy and made me do some stupid, illegal shit, then bribed my ass with alcohol and weed to make sure I shut up and didn't rat her out to my parents. I was twelve when I had my first bottle of whiskey and hit from a blunt. I thought it was cool that Nina and Owl gave me stuff like that. That it meant that they saw me as a grown-up."

Rosie gulped and looked away. "That's why you do it," she said. "That's why you're an addict."

My nose twitched. "That's how it started. It made me feel good. Weed and alcohol made my summers move faster. They put a smokescreen on my reality—a thin shell that no one had managed to crack through. And so I carried the habit, even when I came back to a place I did love, back with my parents and sisters."

"Nina never told me who my dad was. That bothered me. I knew she was a fuck-up, but I always wanted to know if I was a full-blown fuck-up from both sides, or if maybe I had some redeeming genes in me. And after shit reached a boiling point eleven years ago during my last visit on the farm, I decided to drop the subject and walk away. Cut her out of my life. It worked through college, because I had nothing to my name but a trust fund and a dorm room. But when we founded Fiscal Heights Holdings and started rolling in the dough, she agreed to tell me who he was."

"And?" Rosie asked, a little breathlessly. I slowed down my steps.

"And she wants six hundred thousand dollars to give me his name."

"That's insane!" Rosie protested, stomping her leg on the ground. I halted and turned around to look at her. Her face was red, streaked with pain. My pain. I put it there. And even though it was never my goal to hurt her feelings, I enjoyed her warmth, because she burned for me.

"So? Did you ever pay her?" She kicked some mud around.

"Nope." I ran a hand over her braid, tugging at it. "But that's why she's acting like a deranged stalker and keeps calling me every half hour. Whittaker's farm is losing money, and she has an expensive coke habit to keep up. Prescription drugs just don't cut it anymore. She hates her husband. Wants out. And she wants me to help her. That's out of the fucking question."

"But you want to know who your father is, right?" Rosie blinked, confused.

I nodded. "Yeah, but the feeling is not mutual. If it was, he would have contacted me by now."

"Maybe he doesn't know of your existence," my girlfriend suggested. That was what I hoped. And prayed. And convinced myself every night.

"Or maybe he doesn't care." I resumed walking, and she fell in step with me.

"Or maybe he's scared of your reaction after all these years," she countered. "Maybe, Dean, you need to do what's right for you, even if it isn't what Nina wants."

"Or maybe." I was acting like a fucking four-year-old, I knew it, but couldn't stop. "He is competing with Val over the worst parent award—there's a lot of candidates for this title—and just like Luna is better off without her no-show mom, I'm better off without him."

We stopped in the middle of what looked like the woodlands but was less than a mile away from the car. Rosie was striding at a snail's pace. She turned to face me, and I don't think I'd ever seen so many tears on one face. Her cheeks and chin were wet, gray clouds of mascara fanning her lashes.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," she said, and she was. But I didn't want her pity. I wanted her to know that I was a beast of a man who'd carry us both through storms and hurricanes. Hell and back. Through life—and if necessary, then yes, even through death. "I can't believe you hid this from us all those years." Rosie wiped a tear with the sleeve of her black pea coat. "Your friends have the right to be there for you, Dean. You should tell them."

Yeah, not happening.

"Nah-ah, baby doll. It is what it is. We all have our secrets, trust me. That's what makes us who we are. It doesn't make our friendship any less strong." And it was the truth.

"You know what you need to do?" Rosie chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating. I stared at her. Even if she had told me to do naked burpees all the way down to Todos Santos and back, I would.

"What would that be?"

"You need to get to the belly of the beast and kill it." Her eyes zinged with determination. I smirked, tucking a loose lock that fell from her braid behind her ear.

"Killing Nina? Tempting, but I don't think she's worth the jail time."

She rolled her eyes. "I mean talk to her. Pay her the money. See him. Move on with your life, no matter what you find out. The truth of the matter is, you are never going to let go of your vices if you don't, and I think we both know that."

"She doesn't deserve the money," I murmured.

"After what she's done," she placed her palm on my neck, dragging it down to my torso, "nothing will ever make her happy. She's tainted. You don't come back from that. Making others feel bad is never gratifying, no matter how badly you're hurt. Compassion, however, is the most rewarding trait one could have. That's why all wars eventually end. That's why most people love their children, not abuse them. Promise me you'll answer her?"

I nodded, even though dealing with Nina's ass was the last thing on my to-do list. My life was complicated as it was. I was crazy about a girl who went to sleep every day not knowing if she was going to wake up the next. And I was fighting the alcohol demon, wrestling my way out of his claws. Every. Single. Day.

"I promise," I said. "I will do this for you."

"No," Rosie stressed, pulling at the collar of my Ted Baker floral sweat bomber. "For you," she corrected, the tears still running down her face. Then she took a step back, just when I was about to reach and hug her.

"My turn."

"I'm listening." My eyes clung to her face. Rain started sprinkling on our heads, and we both looked up, silently staring at the ashen sky. I took off my coat and bundled her with it, then reached across her back and behind her knees and lifted her into my arms, honeymoon-style, and began walking up the hill back to our car. It was just a sprinkle, not really all that cold, but I was still worried about her, even if I hid it every time we were together for her sake.

Her arms knotted around my neck. She looked down to her midsection and started talking.

"A year ago, when Vicious and Millie reconnected and he hooked us up with this crazy awesome health plan, I met Dr. Hasting for the first time. She wanted to run a bunch of tests on me to get a better feel of my overall condition, especially as I was just recovering from another lung infection I couldn't seem to shake off. I was about to get back to nursing school when she told me that…" Rosie stopped, swallowing hard and shaking her head. Her eyes were closed. I broke a thousand times inside, but on the outside, I stared at her blankly, waiting for more. She gulped air before she opened her mouth again. "She told me that I shouldn't bother going back to school, because I could never be a nurse. My immune system is so weak at this point, I have to get her okay before I even board a plane, which is why I was kind of shocked and worried when you picked me up to the airport for Thanksgiving. There was no way I could ever work around sick people, so she suggested I might as well look for something more practical to study. But I love helping people." She coughed out the last few words, and I picked up my pace a little, a dash of panic thrown into my gut along with the wrenching feeling of grief. "So I decided to volunteer instead. The only place that is absolutely sterile from diseases is, you guessed it…"

"The ICN." I finished for her. The place that served Rosie a constant reminder that she couldn't have kids. And she still did it. Fuck my life.

"Dr. Hasting didn't just come to me bearing bad news about nursing school, though. She also said that it looked like I am completely infertile. I can't have any kids. Ever. Too much mucus around my reproductive organs. She said it's like dropping a sponge into a pool full of sticky glue, hoping it'd make it to the bottom. Technically feasible, but extremely unlikely." She bit her lower lip, staring ahead at nothing.

"Rosie…" I inhaled, my nostrils flaring. "Baby, do you have any idea how many options are out there for you? For us?" And, yes, it was no longer about her. It was about us. We were in it for the long haul. We were in it for forever, however long forever may last. "So fucking many, not only medically, but also adoption. We're rich and young and have spotless criminal records." I was already bunching us together as a married couple and conveniently giving her access to every single dime of my multi-million-dollar empire. As I said, full-blown stalker mode with this girl. "We could adopt a kid tomorrow morning if we wanted to. We are the perfect candidates."

Jesus fucking Christ, if this chick had a bunny, I'd be boiling it by now, getting ready to serve it as a Lapin a La Cocotte.

"The thing is…" Her arms loosened around my neck, and my back stiffened. "This is why I broke up with Darren. I don't want to get married. And I don't want to adopt, either. I'm not sure how much longer I am going to be here. And I don't want to leave more than I already have behind. Having a kid is a terrible idea. Why would I? So they would be orphans in days or weeks or months or, best-case scenario, even years later? It's not fair for them."

I didn't fail to notice that Rosie was the exact opposite of Nina. Nina popped out a kid and said fuck the consequences. Rosie deprived herself from having one so they wouldn't suffer.

"Listen to me, Baby LeBlanc."

She squeezed my bicep. "Don't, Dean. Please. Let me down."

We were already in front of the car. I jogged the whole way back to make sure she was safe and warm. Carefully, I set her down. She stood before me. The rain grew heavier. I didn't want her to get too wet. Not like this, anyway.

"Listen, I'm not going to give this up. Us up," she clarified, pulling me to her, chest-to-chest. Our lips brushed, and our noses touched. Our foreheads stuck together, glued by wet strands of hair. We were a unit. We always were, even when we dated other people. "I'm too selfish to let you go, Dean Cole. Like I knew I would be. I'm yours as long as you'll have me. The only condition is—no baby talk and no marriage. I can't give it to you. Not because I don't want to. I can offer you all the love and devotion in the world, Dean. But just for a fraction of time."

"Rosie."

"Hey, listen. I know that you like me…"

"Like you?" My face twisted in abhorrence, spitting the words like they were revolting. Her eyes widened. I shook my head, a dark chuckle on my lips. "You think I fucking like you? Are you kidding me here? I don't like you. I love you. Even that's an under-fucking-statement. I live for you. I breathe for you. I will die for you. It. Has. Always. Been. You. Ever since I saw your sorry ass for the first time on that threshold and you fucking poked me in the chest like I was a toy. We've been apart for ten years, Rose LeBlanc, and not even one day has passed without me thinking of you. And not just in passing. You know, the occasional she-could-have-been-a-great-fuck. I mean really taking my time to think about you. Wondering what you looked like. Where you were. What you were doing. Who you were with. I stalked you on Facebook. And Twitter—which, by the way, you need to deactivate because you never once bothered to tweet—but you aren't exactly a social media animal. I asked about you. Every time I was in town. And once I realized you were in New York with Millie…" I took a deep breath, feeling how quickly I was losing my grip on reality and rolling down a very slippery path to irrationality in trying to explain that she couldn't give up on life just because it was going to end at some point. "Rosie, I bought a new penthouse in TriBeca a few months before you moved into our building."

"Why are you telling me this?" She blinked away her tears, but fresh ones rolled down to replace them in no time.

"Because I had to sell it and lost a shit-ton of money the moment I realized you were going to be my neighbor if I stayed in my current place. Real talk, Rosie, you are all I ever wanted. Even when you wanted me to be with your sister. She was a comforting candle. You were the dazzling sun. I'd lived in the dark—for your selfish ass. And if you think I'm going to settle for something, you're dead wrong. I am taking everything. We will have kids, Rose LeBlanc. We will have a wedding. And we will have joy and vacations and days where we just fuck and days where we just fight and days where we just live. Because this is life, Baby LeBlanc, and I love the fuck out of you, so I'm going to give you the best one there is. Got it?"

There was a moment of silence that I really hated, because after this kind of speech, the last thing you want to hear is a half-assed "okay." Rosie didn't "okay" me. She pressed her forehead to my chest and breathed me in.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much that I hated you for a while. And now that I know that you are damaged, I love you even more. Perfect things are not relatable. Unbreakable is fascinating, but not lovable. You're breakable, Dean Cole. I'm going to do my best to keep you whole."

I took her face in my hands and kissed her until she lost her balance. In the rain. In the reservoir. In the middle of fucking nowhere. This mess was our mess. This chaos was where we thrived.

When I pulled away, she growled.

"We're getting married," I stated, not asked. "Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but we are. And we're having kids. At least two. Maybe more. I haven't decided yet."

"You're crazy, Dean Cole."

"I am," I agreed. "And yet, this crazy train is in motion. You can't stop it."

"I love you."

"Forever starts now, Baby LeBlanc. With you."