Coop, who’d used up his store of energy on Mick’s mom, didn’t get up to greet Boomer. He just thumped his tail on the dusty garage floor a few times.

“We going to fight again?” Mick asked curiously.

“We could.” Boomer came closer, revealing the faint markings of a black eye. “But I gotta warn you,” he said. “I just drank a protein shake so I’ve got an unfair advantage.”

Mick laughed.

Boomer smiled ruefully and bent to love up on Coop. “Don’t get too full of yourself. I bruise like a peach.”

Mick rubbed his still-aching jaw. “If it helps, your right hook’s stronger than it used to be.”

Boomer snorted and then sobered as he rose back to his feet. “Look, man, I’ve fucked some things up. Lots of things.”

Mick’s smile faded. The last time Boomer had started a conversation in this way, he’d just come off a three-day bender, during which time he’d trashed his car, his relationships, and his entire life. He’d ended up in rehab. “You’re not just talking about you and me,” Mick said.

“No.”

“Or Lena.”

“No.”

Mick met his gaze. “Tell me.”

Boomer turned to the garage wall with the white outlines. “I’m surprised after all this time you still haven’t painted over those.”

Mick took a good look at them, realizing that his original perspective was changing. His dad had done his best to be efficient. It hadn’t been a personal attack on Mick. Hell, in his job, Mick was all about efficiency and expediency, so he should get it. “I’d planned on painting over them.”

“But . . .?” Boomer asked.

But . . . he was experiencing some surprising revelations about his dad and everything he thought he knew about his childhood. His dad had been far from perfect, but the man had truly believed he’d been doing his job as a father.

Unlike Tom, who’d purposely, almost happily, screwed up his only son, leaving Boomer tumbling in the wind.

Boomer looked amused. “You want to leave the outlines?”

“I want to not resent them,” Mick corrected.

Boomer laughed ruefully. “We’re both fucked up in a big way. Good thing we don’t have kids. Neither of us knows shit about being a good dad.”

“Maybe we’ll do better,” Mick said.

“Are you seriously telling me you want kids after all we went through?”

Mick shrugged. The truth was, he’d never given it much serious thought until recently.

Very recently.

Such as last night while holding a sleepy, practically purring Quinn in his arms, thinking he’d be happy doing so every single night for the rest of his life.

“Look at you,” Boomer said. “Growing up.” His smile faded. “I guess it’s time for both of us to do so. I’m going to rehab, Mick.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to be gone for ninety days and I want to know if when I get back we could start over.”

“No,” Mick said.

Boomer’s smile dropped.

“There’s no need to start over,” Mick said. “Because we’re still friends.”

Chapter 31

Potato chips always remind me that there are good things in this world.

—from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”

Quinn was in the café kitchen, trying not to pay attention to how heavy her heart felt about Mick letting her walk away.

You’re either in or out with someone . . .

She had a pit in her gut. Because why couldn’t she just tell him? Why couldn’t she just say I’m in, like all the way in? Why did she have to push him away?

Feeling sick about her seeming inability to follow her heart, she looked out the window.

Lena pulled up and headed toward the chicken coop. Quinn called out, “Hey, grab us some too, would you?”

Lena shrugged like the motion required almost too much energy. Quinn watched her and told herself not to do it. Don’t interfere. Don’t ask her what’s wrong.

But she called Greta in to take over and went out back. “You okay?” Quinn asked.

“Sure,” Lena said.

Quinn had her hands on her hips. “Okay, now you’re scaring me. No sassy comebacks. No sarcasm. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out.”

“You know, your compassionate tone needs a little work.” But Lena must not have been too offended because she sighed. “Not that you care,” she said, “but it’s my birthday tomorrow. My thirtieth.” She said this like thirtieth was a bad word. “I’m single on my thirtieth birthday, which means my life is officially over.”

“I hit thirty this year and I’m single,” Quinn said, “and my life isn’t over.”

Lena gave her a sideways look. “You sure about that?”

Quinn had to bite her tongue. “Okay, listen. Come to the café tomorrow night. I’ll make you dinner.”

Lena shrugged.

“It’s better than being alone, right?”

“I guess.” Lena looked at her. “Why are you being so nice to me? Do I have something in my teeth and you feel sorry for me?”

“Why can’t I just be a nice person?” Quinn asked.

Lena looked at her.

Quinn laughed. “Fine. My parents taught me to be nice first because you can always be mean later, but once you’ve been mean to someone, they won’t believe the nice anymore. So be nice. Be nice until it’s time to stop being nice. Then destroy them.”

Lena stared at her and then grinned. “Damn. That’s good. I should try that sometime.”

“Maybe you can try it on me.”

Lena shrugged. “Will there be cake?”

“Do you want there to be?”

“It’s not a birthday without cake,” Lena said.

“Fine,” Quinn said, even though she was a crap baker. “There will be cake.”

“With chocolate?”

“Sure,” Quinn said. “With chocolate.”

“And male strippers?”

“Definitely not,” Quinn said.

“Well, I guess I can’t have everything . . .”

TILLY WATCHED OUT the window until she saw Dylan show up for work. She’d texted him to come a little early but he hadn’t. She had to be quick to catch him getting out of his car before he entered the café.

“Thought you’d come over and see me,” she said.

“Can’t. I’ve got work. And you have to study for finals this week.”

“I’m taking a day off from studying,” she said.

“No, you’re not.”

She stared at his back as he turned away, hurt to the core that he didn’t want to be with her. “What do you care?”

He turned to face her again, eyes dark, expression dark. Hell, his life was dark. “You think I don’t care?”

She swallowed as he strode back to her and glared down into her eyes. “I spend more time on your schoolwork than mine,” he said. “I check on you every single night that I can get away. I’m working more hours than I have in a day so that after I give most of my pay to my mom to cover her rent, I can put a little bit away for a future that I’m not even sure exists.”