“You’re one to talk, Lambert,” Trey added. “You’ve got the thirty-year-old baby face.”

Michael smoothed a hand over his chin, grinning. “It’s a winner, what can I say?”

“Back on topic,” Josiah said quietly. “So you’re sharing all this now, I assume, because you know we’re not going to be douchebags and spread this around.”

“Partly.” He nodded and tried to take another sip, then decided against it. “And partly because I’m just tired. This whole thing with Freckles . . . Aileen,” he clarified when they gave him odd looks. “Aileen Rogers.”

“Oh, Aileen. Right.” Michael nodded, smiling slowly. “She’s cute.”

Killian couldn’t hold back the growl, which only made Michael’s smile widen.

“Aileen’s not the type to want this kind of story.” Josiah shook his head in denial of something nobody had said out loud . . . but they’d all been thinking. “It’s not her style. She doesn’t take pleasure out of hurting people.”

“Look at how she handled Cassie,” Trey pointed out. “She was upfront about being a journalist instead of trying to trick her into getting little bits of privileged info. I think if you told her not to use it, she won’t. She’s honest like that. Cassie thought she was great, and trusts her. I would, too.”

“I didn’t tell her not to use it.” Killian shrugged when all three men stared at him. “It felt insulting to say it. Either she’s going to use it, or she isn’t. Me asking her not to wouldn’t stop her if she was the type of person to do that. If she wasn’t going to anyway—and I don’t think she was—asking her not to would have insulted her.” He trusted now she wouldn’t use the story. He just didn’t know if she would want anything more to do with him, now.

Michael blinked a few times, slowly. “The female thought process is some of the most fucked-up stuff I’ve ever heard of.”

“You really put yourself out there with this one.” Trey winced. “Laid your head on the chopping block and handed her the ax. That takes balls. She’ll respect that.”

He didn’t want her respect. Okay, yes, he did. But he wanted more than that. He wanted her love, too. He just had no clue how the hell he was going to show her that now.

“Since my neighbor goes to bed around six at night . . . who knows a good babysitter for game day?”

* * *

Balls rolled and thumped down alleys. Pins crashed together and clattered to the boards. People cheered and jeered, ate and drank, celebrated and mourned their successes and failures.

And none of it seemed to pull Aileen out of her funk.

“Ernie . . .” She sighed and rested her head on the older man’s shoulder. “What the hell am I gonna do?”

“You’re not going to do the story, that much I know.” He draped one slender arm around her shoulders and rubbed briskly at her arm. “You’ve got too much of your mother and father in you to go and do that.”

“Mom wouldn’t have, would she?” She sniffled a little, thinking of her mom. “She always did love big stories.”

“She never took pleasure in using her work to hurt people,” he reminded her gently. “A trait you share.”

“He’s so small.” She pictured Charlie, Killian’s son, peeking out around his mother’s legs. “So innocent. Killian is . . . less innocent. But it would hurt me more than him if I even considered it.”

“And that’s why you’re your mother’s daughter. She’d be proud of you.”

They’d given up bowling an hour ago, when Aileen had missed a simple spare and broke down in tears. Maybe bowling hadn’t been the answer after all, since she’d embarrassed herself in front of fellow bowlers and the alley employees. Now she and Ernie sat in a corner, ignored and alone, watching everyone else take their turns.

“Ernie, why did you ask me to be on your bowling team?” She sat up now, facing him.

“I promised your parents I’d look after you. At least, in my mind.” He smiled, his soft blue eyes a little watery. “Your parents and I bowled for years before you even came along, and many after. If they were in the country, they were at the alley. Your father was probably good enough to turn pro before he passed. More than once, I thought of them as my surrogate children, since mine are all grown and gone. And you, like a granddaughter.”

She sniffed again, her eyes stinging. “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh.” He waved that off, still watching the lane in front of them. She knew neither of them were actually seeing the game, though. “Just the ramblings of an old coot. I didn’t want to mention it, since you were grieving, then working your way out of it, then working your way into a career.”

“And right back out of that same career,” she added sarcastically. “How stupid can I be? No, never mind.” She held up a hand. “I can’t handle the answer right now.”

“I think you’re a beautiful, loving woman who gave her heart to a man who wasn’t sure how to take care of it.” He smoothed one hand over her hair, like a parent would a child. “I only met him a few times, but I always thought he was a good man. He kept secrets, that much is true. Even when you felt like you were past that stage. But men . . . I’ll tell you something. We tend to be a bit slower in most things.”

“No joke,” she muttered.

“He wasn’t ready to bare his heart when you were. That’s not wrong, that’s just timing. You can’t let timing ruin everything for you. That’s giving too much power to an unknown. You got ambushed with information he might have given you later, willingly.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe not,” he finished. “I don’t know the boy well enough to guess one way or the other. But he’s got balls, just like every other man, which means he’s gonna screw things up from time to time.”

“Ernie,” she said, trying to sound outraged and failing. The laughter bubbled out before she could stop it. She hadn’t been ready to laugh yet. Sighing, she rested against him again. His shoulder was boney, but still the most comforting thing she could imagine in that moment. “I really love you, even if you do have balls and screw up.”

“I love you too, kid. So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna . . .” She huffed out a laugh. “I’m gonna bowl. And I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

“That’ll work.”

* * *

Aileen wished and willed her car up the final turn of the parking garage, then gave a loud, “Woo-hoo!” when she managed to peak at the top of the structure without relying on her emergency brake. The car was a piece of crap, but it was a piece of crap she had to keep using until she was on more solid ground. Spotting the small SUV at the east corner of the lot—just like Cassie had said—she plugged on over and parked. Getting out, she walked up to the passenger-side door and knocked on the tinted window. When it rolled down, she was surprised to see a young girl’s face pop out.

“Hi!” She grinned. “I’m Mellie.”

“Uh, hi.” She blinked, then realized she was looking at one of Coach Jordan’s daughters, though she wasn’t sure which one. She carried more of her father’s darker features, and was cute as a button.

Cassie leaned forward from the driver seat. “Sorry, when I made plans with you I forgotten I’d already told them we’d hang out. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not if they don’t mind me bitching about men,” she grumbled, then her eyes widened. “Complain. Complain about men. Sorry.”

Another head leaned forward form the backseat. This one an icy-cool blonde with mature eyes. “We’re teenagers, not toddlers. We can say curse words, too.”

Cassie sighed. “Aileen, meet my other sister, Irene. She’s gifting us with her presence. Make sure you’re suitably grateful.”

Irene rolled her eyes and stepped out of the car. Aileen moved back to give Mellie room to exit, and then together they rounded the car. Cassie already had a blanket laid out on the concrete floor.

“We could have gone to the mall,” Irene said, her voice indicating she was very much put out by this outing, “but Cassie wanted privacy and a place to talk.” She glanced at Aileen’s outfit of worn jeans, hoodie, and Converse. “You could have come, too.”