Walker.

Caitlin stilled, watching as he approached Maze, who was still lying flat on her back, feet hanging over the edge of the dock, seemingly unaware of his approach. He said something and Maze jerked in surprise.

Caitlin leaned closer as if maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could hear them. And she wanted to. Desperately. Once upon a time, they’d all been so close, so important to each other. Actually, everything to each other.

But then they’d all had that fight three years ago at Michael’s graveside and had scattered far and wide. As far as she knew, Walker and Maze hadn’t had any interaction in those three years.

Interesting then that his body language seemed . . . determined. And . . . familiar? Something else too. Intimate. She pressed a hand to the glass as if she could call out to them and be a part of their conversation, but suddenly Dillon’s warm arm encircled her from behind, his mouth landing just beneath her ear.

“Come to bed,” he said again, and then took her there himself. But for the first time—at least in bed—he couldn’t get her where she wanted to go.

Chapter 7

Maze’s maid of honor to-do list:

—Pull off a reception rehearsal without a frosting fight.

You’re going to get bit up by mosquitos.”

Maze nearly jumped out of her skin and off the dock into the lake at the sound of Walker’s disembodied, sleep-husky voice in the dark night somewhere behind her. Lifting her head, she sent a glare in his direction, which was undoubtedly wasted on him because of the low visibility. “I came out here to be alone.”

He didn’t say anything to this, and she craned her neck to get a better look at him. He wore a pair of running sweats and nothing else. Gulp.

“And you’re gonna be the one to get bit up by mosquitos.”

“I never get bit.”

“Because you’re not sweet enough,” she said.

“No doubt.”

He crouched low at her side and looked her over. She did her best not to squirm in her pj’s: sweat bottoms, oversized T-shirt, and let’s not forget the fake UGGs. She used the cover of relative darkness to study him too. He’d always been fit, but there was a lean hardness to his body that felt new. An edge. Her eyes caught on the sizable scar above his left pec where the bullet had pierced his chest three years ago.

His chest.

“Turn around,” she whispered.

He paused for a full beat, then reluctantly turned. Yep, there they were, the burn scars across the broad expanse of his back, shoulder to shoulder, from running into the Walshes’ burning house to try to save Michael. They’d faded a lot, but they were still clear enough to have the fear and terror bubble up inside her again.

“Do they hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“And the bullet wound?”

“Sometimes, with the wrong pressure.”

She closed her eyes, feeling overwhelmingly grateful he was still alive. Even if she had mixed emotions about the man, and oh, she did, she couldn’t picture life without him on the planet somewhere.

Which meant he wasn’t the problem. She was. Walker emitted a sexual pull that was hard to resist. When he entered her field of vision, she got a rush, and up close? He was deadly. The second she caught a hint of his scent or felt his body heat, she was as good as gone.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked.

She shrugged and concentrated on the night around her. The moon was a little sliver in the sky; the water lapped gently against the rocky beach and dock pylons. She felt . . . overwhelmed, but it wasn’t from seeing Caitlin and Heather again. No matter how much time they went without seeing one another, they fell back into their same old rhythm, and even with all the things between them that hadn’t been said, it was an odd comfort.

She supposed that was the meaning of family.

But seeing Walker . . . that wasn’t comfortable at all. She’d told herself she wouldn’t react to seeing him again, that she wouldn’t let his presence get to her, that she could ignore him.

She’d failed on all counts.

He, of course, didn’t appear to be having any of these same issues. He’d remained cool, calm, stoic, even amused by the fact Caitlin had tricked them into spending all this time together. Amused and . . . sweet. At least to Caitlin and Heather and Sammie.

Maze could remember a time when he’d been sweet with her as well. How even drunk in Vegas that night, she’d felt cared for. She’d felt safe with him. Safe and protected, two things she’d rarely, if ever, felt in her life, because she more than anyone knew safe and protected were nothing but illusions. And yet Walker had a way of making the illusion seem real, more real than anything else in her life.

She needed to keep her guard up so she didn’t accidently fall again. Because this wasn’t about her and Walker. It was about Caitlin, whom Maze wanted to protect, the same way Caitlin had always protected her. It was Maze’s turn now, and she wanted to keep Caitlin from experiencing any heartbreak.

Because as far as she could tell, there was always heartbreak with love.

“Maze.”

“I’m sleeping fine.”

He nodded. “Okay, so if you don’t want to talk about that, then there’s something else.”

“What?”

He tossed a folder down at her side.

She stared at the file and then craned her neck to try to see his face more clearly. “What is this?”

“Our divorce papers,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Turns out drunk Elvis did file the papers, which sealed the deal.”

She blinked once, slow as an owl. “‘Sealed the deal,’” she echoed slowly.

“He made our wedding legit,” Walker said. “We’re married.”

She sat up so fast she got dizzy. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you think I’d joke about this?”

Mind racing, she stared at him. “Are you telling me that we’ve been married this whole time?”

“Yes.”

Having a hard time processing, she shook her head. “How long have you known?”

“Maze—”

“How long, Walker?”

“Six months.”

“Six months?” Here was the thing about having your stomach hit your toes: it made you feel like you were going to throw up. Or maybe that was just her life. “Six months?”

“I found out when I went to get a loan for a piece of property I was thinking of buying,” he said. “The lender needed my wife’s info so he could check her credit as well as mine.”

“Whoa.” She could only imagine the shock of that call. “That must have been a surprise.”

He let out a low laugh. “Yeah.”

“Six months . . .” she whispered again.

“Are you going to just keep repeating that?”

“I think I am, yeah.” She got to her feet too fast and wobbled. There was a clanging in her head and her vision went wonky. “Dammit.”

“Maze?”

“Hold on. There’s three of you, and while once upon a time I’d have loved to have three of you at once, right now I’m going to throw up.”