“Hey there, man,” he said as Clay grinned, displaying the two teeth he’d proudly lost within two weeks of each other.

“We went to Disney World!”

“Did you?” At the obvious happiness on his son’s face, tension drained away—for real this time—and he rolled over onto his stomach. With the phone on the bed in front of him, he focused on Clayton.

For the few minutes he was in here, talking to his son, he could pretend they were both back in Norfolk and Clayton was only a few miles away, instead of that gut-twisting one thousand.

“I saw Darth Vader.” Clayton’s big blue eyes focused on the monitor, wide and avid, as he waited for his father’s response.

“Did you kick his butt?”

Clay cackled and proceeded to tell Trey about his trip to Disney. In great detail. And Trey listened, hanging on to every word.

When the call ended, he flopped back onto his back.

Just a few more days and he’d be back in his house. Back with his son.

And he knew, down in some part of his soul that he was still hobbling along. Brooding, he thought about the notebook he carried with him, with the little list—and the item at the end. Start living . . .

A pair of wide, dark eyes swam through his memory and he blew out a breath.

Start living.

How the hell was he supposed to do that when the one woman he’d actually wanted to take a chance on was probably the woman he most needed to stay away from?

Ressa could maybe be good for him—she could definitely be good for Clayton. But on the flipside, all it would take is for things to not work out and Clay would be heartbroken.

You’re a fucking coward, Trey.

The problem was, the one time he’d wanted to really reach out and maybe try to live again . . . well, life had just gotten in the way.

Or maybe that was just an excuse.

*   *   *

“My registration confirmation is right here.”

Ressa Bliss put the hard copy down in front of the volunteer, tried to remind herself how many times she’d been the one sitting on the other side of the desk, and how unpleasant it was when people started snapping at her over issues that were out of her control.

Frankly, it sucked.

But this was ridiculous. She’d paid to attend this conference and she’d damn well attend.

“Ma’am. You’re not registered,” the volunteer said, not even pretending to be polite. “I’ve checked. You’re not in the system.”

“Then there is an error in the system, because I have my confirmation. I also have proof of payment.” She pulled up the receipt in her e-mail and showed it to the woman—her name tag read Beth.

Beth didn’t even give it a cursory glance. “I can only go by what the system says. Now, if you’ll step aside, I have other people to get checked in.”

“I’ll step aside when you find me somebody who can help straighten this out. I’m moderating several panels and helping with two booths. I’m registered. People are expecting me to be here and I’m going to be here.” She folded her arms across her chest and met Beth’s glare with one of her own.

She was so not in the mood to be dismissed.

“Look, sister—”

“Sister? Excuse me?” Ressa demanded.

“Hi.”

Before Ressa could explode, a new woman approached, a cool, but polite look on her face. She had a volunteer badge on—her name was Lynda and her plump face had that tired but friendly look to it—the kind that said she could do this all night if she had to.

As Lynda looked between them, Ressa sucked back her temper and forced herself to level out.

“Is there something I can help with, ma’am?” Lynda asked.

“Yes.” Her professional, polite smile firmly in place, Ressa handed over her registration confirmation. “I signed up not long after the event opened to registrations, but I’m not showing up as registered. Can you help me out? I’m moderating two panels, helping out with a couple and volunteering with several booths.”

“Well. That is a problem.” Lynda’s smile twisted into a grimace. “Give me a minute . . . I’ll get you sorted out and get you a name tag and everything.”

“Lynda, she’s not in the system—”

“I’ll handle it, Beth.” Lynda gave the other woman a polite smile, but it somehow managed to speak volumes. Then she looked over at Ressa. “I know your name. Actually, I was told to keep an eye out for you—we’re short two people on the lit track and we need a sub. You were suggested by one of the panelists . . . Max Hartfield?”

“Max?” She smiled, although inwardly, she wanted to curl up into a ball and beg for mercy. She was going to throttle him.

“Yes.” Lynda gave her a quick and ready grin. “He told me to tell you that he’d buy you a drink if you said yes and saved him.”

Ressa laughed. “Fine. Who do I need to talk to? I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do—if it doesn’t conflict with anything else.”

“Bobby Spears handles the lit track—trust me, he’ll make it all work out.” Lynda gave her another grin. “Bobby is new to the event this year, but so far, it looks like he can make just about anything happen.”

Well, so much for talking Max into wings and beer at some dive. She’d kind of been looking forward to something easy and fast.

“That sounds good.”

“Come on.” Lynda gestured to the side. “Let’s move down here and I’ll start getting this straightened out.”

Her phone started to ring as she worked her way in and out of the throngs of people, trying to get to the end of the table. Recognizing the ring tone, she answered, keeping her voice low, “What in the hell is the matter with some people?”

“Ah . . . something in the water? Rabies? Solar radiation?” Farrah sounded way too cheerful in Ressa’s opinion, but Ressa had been up since before four that morning. She was sleep deprived, caffeine deprived, and now, she was pissed off to boot, but if she really unloaded, she’d end up looking like an ass.

Farrah’s prompt response made her laugh, though, and that helped undo some of the knots in her neck.

“What’s wrong, sugar?” Farrah asked. “Was that drive that much of a pain in the ass?”

“Flying in would be just as awful.” Getting to Trenton from any of the airports that were remotely close was a nightmare. “But no, it wasn’t the drive. I’ll explain later. When I’m in my room, with a big ol’ glass of wine.”

“Please don’t tell me they lost your hotel reservation again.”

“No.” Ressa mentally said a prayer of thanks over that. “Not much better, though. There was a system glitch or something—my event registration disappeared. They’re working on it.”

“Well, that’s fixable . . . I was worried you’d already met him and that he was a total dick.”

“No.” Ressa laughed softly, not bothering to ask which him Farrah was asking about. There could be only one, after all.

The him was the same him they’d tried to get into the library a hundred times. He lived in Norfolk, he was local, he was a huge name and from everything they’d been able to tell online, he was personable. At least, when anybody could get him to talk. Over the past few years, he’d gone into a cave so deep, nobody seemed to be able to pull him out.

Farrah probably knew more about him—she stalked the man, and if life was fair, she would have been here at the writers’ conference, but it just went out six weeks ago that he was attending and Farrah needed her vacation time for her upcoming wedding.

So Ressa was here instead, and if she went by what Farrah said, she’d just look for the hawt-est guy around.

An image flashed through her mind. Overlong hair, falling into a lean, almost too lean, face. Blue green eyes. A mouth too perfect to be real.

The way he’d looked lingeringly at her that last time.

It had been two months since she’d seen him.