2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
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Haustin parked in front of his old home in Astoria, about forty-five minutes outside the city. Frowning, he made a mental list of what needed to be done—the grass too long, paint peeling on the trim, and the gutter hanging off at an odd angle. He growled. If Lindsey would let him, he could fix the place up for her.
He rubbed his hands over his face, wondering why the hell he was here.
Being with Yael the other night stirred up a lot of dirty laundry. She had arrived on the other side of their shared nightmare, well on the road to healing, while he was still mucking through the middle. A blindfold he didn't realize he was wearing had been lifted, shining a spotlight on his hideous shortcomings.
The bottle of pills on the console, within arm's reach, called to him. It'd be easy to swallow three, maybe four, before stepping into the house, but Lindsey would know. Somehow she always did, and he refused to give her any more ammo to use against him.
"Shit," Haustin muttered as he got out of the truck and slammed the door. Clenching his fists, he ambled up the walkway to ring the doorbell.
Of his own goddamn house. Completely messed up.
His ten-year-old son, Miles, opened the door and the boy's expression turned wary. "Dad, what are you doing here?"
Miles snuck a glance over his shoulder, and Haustin buried his grumble, hating that he'd become the unwanted stranger. They were his kids. Why did he feel as if visiting them was the worst thing imaginable?
Because when it comes to you, it is, a voice told him.
Miles's dirty blond hair matched Haustin's, but he possessed his mom's cool gray eyes. Unfortunately, his hair and a tall, lanky frame were the only things the kid inherited from him. Or maybe it was fortunate. He sure as hell hoped neither of his children ended up like him.
"I came to see you and your sister." Haustin planted his hands on his hips, arming himself for the coming battle. "You gonna let me in?"
"Who is it, sweetie?"
Lindsey approached behind their son and fixed Haustin with a hard stare. In the space of two seconds, she made him feel inadequate, less than nothing. The joke was on her. He didn't need her icy assessment to make him feel that way. He should have taken the pills.
"Lindsey," he greeted. "I had the day off and wanted to see the kids."
"You can't come by unannounced, Haustin. That's not how it works."
He tried to answer, but she still took his breath away, and his mouth filled with cotton. Lindsey's hair was dark brown, almost black, and cut in a short, angled style, something new and flattering, the ends brushing her jaw. With a slight frame and freckles dusting the bridge of her nose, she looked the same as she did in high school, except for her eyes. They held the pain of someone who'd experienced untold misery.
