Chapter 1

Sasha looked at Lisette in horror and ran. Literally. By the time he hit the landing at the top of the stairs, he was a mysterious blur. Skidding to a stop in front of his room, he shouted, “Out! Out! Everyone out! Now! I mean it!” as he rattled the doorknob.

Faith brushed past him with an enigmatic look and an interested murmur, while Connor grinned from ear-to-ear, swiping at his face to remove non-existent lipstick. Sasha’s nostrils flared as he waited impatiently for them to leave. Their natural curiosity would have gotten the best of them, but one look at Sasha’s thunderstruck face silenced them.

After they were gone, Sasha leaned heavily on the door, his chest heaving. “Shitshitshitshit…” he chanted. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him. Not to *Sasha*, all-around good kid and Declan’s favorite son.

He glanced surreptitiously behind him, seeing absolutely nothing, and locked the door. Stripping his clothes off like someone who was on fire, Sasha began to whimper, his lower lip trembling with the effort of holding all of those strange new feelings at bay.

He kicked his jeans into a corner of the room. Padding naked into the bathroom, he turned on the shower full-blast. When the water was as hot as he could make it, he stepped inside the stall, the force of the spray taking him by surprise. Water streamed down his face in wanton rivulets, plastering his long hair to his head. He wrapped his arms around himself and began to shake.

Before he could get the shampoo out of the bottle, he started to cry. As he slid to the floor of the shower stall, he buried his face in his hands. His knees drawn up to his chest, he stayed there, the water pounding down upon him, until the temperature grew quite cold. Shivering in reaction, he gasped, reluctantly standing again to step out.

He felt as if he would never be clean again. “I betrayed Skye,” he whispered out loud. Somehow that made it worse. It made it frighteningly real. This was not some self-indulgent fantasy. It happened. And he felt the gravity of what he did hit him full-force.

“I’ll never touch her again. I swear. Oh, God, how am I going to face Skye? She wouldn’t understand. *I* don’t even understand.” He kept up a running commentary as he struggled to dry himself with the nubby white towel. The towel felt rough against his chilled skin, and he couldn’t prevent himself from extracting some kind of retribution from his own body. He rubbed and rubbed until his skin turned bright red, stopping only when his nerveless fingers dropped the towel.

Quietly sobbing, he tore through his dresser searching for clean clothes. He didn’t care if anything matched. He pulled a blue T-shirt over his head, belatedly realizing that he never attempted to dry his hair. Falling onto the bed with a cry, he worked fresh underwear over his slim hips, his fingers reluctant to touch his bare skin. Clean jeans and socks followed in rapid succession.

Ruthlessly plunging a comb through his tangled wet hair, he sniffled as his tears finally dried. When he was done, he picked up the clothes he had been wearing and bundled them together. Sasha swallowed. Now came the hard part. He had to sneak down to the laundry room without anyone seeing him.

As if. Sasha trembled inside. He knew he would never wear those clothes again. What was the point of washing them? Better to throw them away. No, they were damning proof of what he’d done. Sasha was so overwrought, it never occurred to him that Lisette, being older, bore considerable responsibility for what happened. He blamed himself. No one else.

“I’ll stay in my room. I’ll say I’m sick,” he said out loud, feeling the truth of that last statement resonate inside him. “Oh, God, how did everything get so fucked up?”

*****

Lisette frowned, an expression that did nothing to detract from her natural beauty. She wasn’t used to men running away from her. Well, okay, not men, boys. But despite her age, Lisette did not consider herself a schoolgirl any longer. She had a way with the opposite sex. It was something she felt comfortable exploiting. Every chance she got.

Sasha’s flight might necessitate a change in her plans. Unless…she didn’t need to persuade him to take what she so willingly offered. There might be another way to get what she wanted. He was younger than she would have chosen, but then again, his youth was a factor in her favor. He was vulnerable, a plum ripe for the picking.

She wouldn’t give up on him yet.

*****

A knock sounded on Sasha’s door, startling the fourteen-year old out of a light doze. It was late afternoon, close to dinnertime. His stomach growled, letting him know that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Um…who is it?”

The man on the other side of the door laughed. “It’s your bloody father, kiddo. Would you like to open the door?”

No, not really, Sasha thought. Declan couldn’t find out about this. He would be so disappointed in him. He might even…even…oh, shit, Sasha told himself to calm down. He wouldn’t send him away. He would never do that.

He bit his lower lip until it bled. But he might not *love* you anymore, Sasha’s overwhelming guilt told him, and that was worse than being sent away. It would kill him.

“Sasha?” The uncharacteristic hesitation and the unusual silence pricked at Declan’s senses. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He closed his eyes and prayed it was something he could fix.

“Da?” Sasha meant to sound confident, but instead his voice quavered tellingly, a dead giveaway to someone of Declan’s perception.

“Open this door now,” Declan commanded without raising his voice.

“I can’t,” Sasha whispered.

“Can’t or won’t? Don’t make me open this door by force, boyo. I want to help. Let me in.”

“You can’t. No one can,” Sasha said softly, clutching the bundle of soiled clothing to his chest.

“Sasha,” Declan pleaded. “I love you. There’s nothing you can’t tell me, kiddo. You know that.”

“Not this.” Sasha dropped the clothing on the floor and leaned against the door, taking what comfort he could from the sound of Declan’s voice. He reached out and placed his palm on the door, as if he could touch his father that way.

“I’m sorry, Da.”

“Don’t be sorry, Sasha. Just open the door, okay?” You’re scaring me, Christ, you’ve got me so worried, I can hardly think straight.

He heard Sasha start to cry and he thought, that’s it, I’m going to break down this bloody door right now. But a moment later, there was a polite snick as the lock was disengaged.

Declan pushed the door open, feeling the weight of Sasha’s body against it. Once he was actually inside the room, he found Sasha slumped on the floor, his long hair hiding his face. “Are you all right?”

When Sasha didn’t immediately respond, Declan slammed the door behind him, giving them both more space. He knelt down and pulled Sasha’s hair back from his face. “Are you hurt, Sasha?” His voice was kindness itself, and that, more than anything, was Sasha’s undoing.

He began to cry in earnest. Without hesitation, Declan sat down on the floor beside him and wrapped his arms around his son. “Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll make it okay,” Declan murmured against his hair.

“Oh, Da,” Sasha wept. “I did s-something.”

Declan choked back his own reaction to Sasha’s tears and whispered, “What, kiddo? What did you do that’s so bad?”

*****

Lisette made a couple of significant tears in her uniform. When she was done, she deliberately mussed her hair and smeared her lipstick. Standing unsteadily, she managed to look decidedly disheveled by the time the family began arriving for dinner.

Nikita was the first to arrive, Michael close behind her. Her mouth opened in a gasp as she felt Michael’s arm drop from around her waist. “What happened to you?”

“It was him. That boy. He had his way with me,” Lisette said tearfully.

“What boy?” Michael demanded tersely.

“The one with the long hair.”

“Adam?” Michael went pale.

Lisette shook her head vehemently. “The younger one.”

Nikita stared incredulously at the eighteen-year old girl. “Not Jazz,” she cried in disbelief.

“No, no. Him.” With that, she pointed to a spot directly behind Michael and Nikita. Where a red-eyed Sasha stood with his father.

“She means *me*,” Sasha confirmed in a low, husky voice that betrayed little of what he was really feeling.

Declan’s hand tightened on his son’s shoulder, lending him strength as well as compassion.

Lisette smiled triumphantly. “And it wasn’t the first time either.” She clasped her hands around her flat abdomen, a gesture that was not lost on anyone present.

“I’m pregnant.”

Declan regarded the young woman with cool eyes the color of polished silver. “Really?”

Sure of herself to the point of arrogance, Lisette nodded. “Really,” she echoed.

“That’s damn interesting.” If she but knew it, she was literally at the mercy of the master. Declan in the throes of working through a particularly knotty mystery was truly something to behold.

Lisette flushed. Just as he’d predicted.

“You must be deeply religious,” he mused out loud.

“Excusez-moi?”

“I’m referring, of course, to your attempt to repeat the Immaculate Conception.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you mean.”

Declan approached her slowly, a predator seeking fresh prey. “Pretty hard to get pregnant when there’s been no…contact.” He emphasized the last word and was rewarded by seeing her blanche.

But she was nothing if not quick thinking. “What about the tears on my blouse and skirt?”

“Self-inflicted.”

“Did *he* tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to. He couldn’t. He didn’t know anything about it.”

“How do you know that?” she asked snidely.

“I know my son,” Declan stated with such clarity that it brought tears to Sasha’s eyes. “The only thing he’s guilty of is inexperience. But I imagine you knew that,” he added, narrowing his silvery eyes to mere slits.

“He touched me—“

“And that’s all he did. He told me.”

“Because he’s a little wimp—“

“Because that’s the kind of relationship we have,” Declan corrected.

Lisette thought about trying to force the issue, but it was obvious that things had shifted in Declan’s favor. Nikita crossed her arms in front of her and stared at the girl. “I don’t like people who come into my home and threaten my family,” she said in a distinctly menacing tone.

Michael placed a hand on Nikita’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of this, Kita.”

Nikita glanced at her husband, deferring to him only because she could tell he was far angrier than she was. “You don’t work here anymore. Get your things packed up and get out.”

“How long do I—“

“”Five minutes from when I stop speaking.” With that, Michael looked pointedly at his watch, then at Lisette.

An ugly look transformed the young woman’s face. “You’ll all be sorry.”

Michael tilted his head slightly, as if he were listening for something in particular. “Was that a threat? It sounded like one. Didn’t it, Declan?”

Declan nodded, moving closer to Michael. “Aye, it did. Not too swift on the uptake, is she?”

Lisette’s dark eyes flickered from one man to the other and back again. “I’ll go. But you owe me money.”

Nikita took a step forward, restrained only by Michael’s hand. “We don’t owe you anything.”

As if sensing that the female members of the family might be even more formidable than the male, Lisette backed up, her hands crushing the material of her skirt. “Okay.”

Once the girl was packed, Declan carefully escorted Lisette to the gates of the chateau, unwilling to trust her to leave on her own. He watched for several minutes as she walked down the road in the direction of town. Declan smiled. It seemed only fitting that town was several miles away.

*****

When Declan returned, Nikita punched him in the arm. “Don’t tell me you made that poor girl walk in this summer heat.”

“I think she’s lucky she had legs to stand on, Nikita,” Declan said without a trace of humor.

That was when Nikita realized just how close Declan had come to a total meltdown. His loyalty was first and foremost to his family. Lisette never had a chance.

“Da?”

Declan reached out and stroked Sasha’s hair, a gesture that was as reassuring as it was loving. “Aye, kiddo?”

Giving Michael and Nikita a sidelong glance, Sasha whispered to Declan, “I’m glad I told you the truth.”

Declan leaned over and kissed the top of Sasha’s head. “Bless you, kiddo.”

Sasha moved away from the others, crooking his finger to indicate that Declan should follow. When Declan faced Sasha, the teenager smiled cautiously. “Um…Da? About what I said?”

Declan nodded silently.

“Are we okay?”

“If you mean, do I want my fourteen-year old son to start having sex, no.”

Sasha restlessly threaded his fingers through his hair, suddenly looking all too much like Sey for Declan’s comfort.

“But if you mean, do I still love my son just as much as I ever did, the answer is…hell, yes.”

This time Sasha’s smile was full-blown. “There’s nobody else like you, Da.”

“Thank God,” Declan chuckled.

And suddenly he had his arms full of grateful Sasha. Burying his face against Declan’s neck, Sasha whispered, “I love you, Da.”

Declan smiled and lay his chin on top of his son’s head. “I know, kiddo.”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

Sey lay on his back, looking up at the sky. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen. With the grass a verdant cushion beneath him, he folded his hands under his neck and relaxed.

Declan smiled sleepily at his lover and rolled towards him, twirling a piece of clover between his fingers. “You have that much confidence in me scaring her away, eh?”

“Damn straight.” At Declan’s surprised huff of breath, Sey raised an eyebrow. “You do that every time I mention the word ‘straight’. There *are* other uses for the word, y’know.”

Declan bent his head and kissed the tip of Sey’s nose affectionately. “Aye, I’m sure.”

“And don’t go getting all Irish on me either. You’re trying to distract me.”

“Distract you from what, acushla?” The look on Declan’s face was pure innocence, but Sey didn’t believe it for a second.

“You don’t want me to worry about Sasha.”

Declan considered that and reluctantly nodded. “Aye, that’s true.”

“So you’re trying to seduce me,” Sey said archly.

“Mmm…maybe. Must not be working too well if you’re not certain.”

Sey fell back with a burst of laughter. “If it was up to you, we’d just lie here and make love all day and all night, I suppose.”

Declan gazed at him innocuously. “And your point?”

Sey turned his head a half-turn, intending to say something, only to have Declan’s mouth brush his teasingly. “Kissing you for the first time is definitely the best thing I ever did, Dec.”

Declan kissed him again, his lips moist and pliant, despite the heat of the early summer afternoon. Tenderness shining in his silver-grey eyes, he whispered, “You’d marry me all over again, then?”

A beatific smile made its way across Sey’s face, making him look every bit as young as he did when they first met. “Oh, yeah.”

“Did you stop worrying yet?” Declan said directly into his ear, his teeth gently nipping at Sey’s earlobe.

“Umm…I’m still working on it.”

Declan pressed a kiss to Sey’s hair and murmured, “I love you, baby.”

Sey closed his dark brown eyes and sighed happily. “Mmm…I love you, too.”

*****

James walked to the windows overlooking the stables and threw them open. “God, that air smells so—“

“Like ‘orses?” Smoke piped up mischievously. He was still not dressed. He and James were enjoying their stay at the chateau. Perhaps too much so. Smoke found it harder and harder to keep his mind on what he was supposed to be studying, and James acted curiously carefree now that he was away from home.

James turned and made a face at his lover. “I was going to say ‘fresh’. Why? You think it smells?”

“The country always smells different from the city, Jamie.”

“You know what I mean, Pete.”

“I’m beginning to think you have a thing for the stables,” Smoke said.

"Maybe. Did I ever tell you that one of my fantasies involves you and a whole lot of hay?”

Smoke pulled back the covers to reveal his still-naked body. “Come back to bed and show me.”

James shook his head. “It’s not the same without the hay, Pete.”

“Pretend, dammit.”

“I don’t know if my imagination’s that good.”

With a flounce, Smoke bundled himself back up in the covers. “Fine.”

“Pete, you never did tell me why you have to sleep with so many blankets. It’s summertime, for God’s sake.”

“You never complained before.”

“That’s because I was under them with you.”

“Then get your ass over ‘ere before I’m forced to do something silly.”

“Like what?”

Smoke sinuously unwrapped himself before licking his index finger. The sight of his lover’s bright pink tongue sweeping the length of his digit made James instantly hard.

“That’s not silly,” he said hoarsely. “It’s criminal.”

“Live dangerously.”

“Why are you back so soon? Did you do it?”

That harsh voice rasped across her senses like sandpaper. She had failed. There would be punishment. Anxiety made her mouth grow dry. “I-I—“

“Spit it out, girl! What happened? Did you see *him*?”

*Him* referred to Michael Samuelle. The girl’s head came up sharply. “Of course, Mama. He was my boss.”

“Was? Was? Did you lose your job there, stupid girl?”

“Yes,” she whispered, bowing her head before the expected blow came. It wasn’t as bad as it might have been. Her mother still had plans for her and she needed her face to remain unmarked.

“Tell me what you did,” the older woman commanded coldly.

Her mother listened in silence, tension growing with every word her daughter uttered, until she could contain her rage no more. “I can’t believe this! All our plans come to naught because you chose the wrong boy!”

“But he was weak, Mama, like you said he would be.”

“Not so weak, after all, from the sound of it. But that’s beside the point. He wasn’t Michael’s son, was he? It has to be one of *his*. It has to be.”

“Mama, why do you hate that man so? He seems like a good man to me—“

“Shut up! You don’t know anything about him!” The woman shouted as she landed another light blow on her daughter’s head. “He destroyed my life.”

And now you’re destroying mine, the girl thought. “You hurt me,” she whimpered.

“You don’t matter. You are but an instrument for revenge.”

When her mother left the room, the girl slumped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. Not for the first time, she wondered if her mother were still completely sane. She didn’t think so. But what could she do?

“Lisette!”

She raised her tear-stained face to the light. She was starting to hate the sound of her name. So like hers. Her mother’s.

Lisa Fanning.

*****

Adam took off his socks and shoes and lay them at the water’s edge. “This is the brook that runs down to the Wishing Bridge. I’ve heard about it. Man, any place that both Dad *and* Declan have a history with, I’ve got to see.”

Jazz dipped a naked toe into the warm water. The sun had been out all day, taking the chill off the usually cool stream. “How did you hear about it? Not from them, I bet.”

“Of course not.” Adam grinned. “But you can’t keep secrets around here. Even if you *think* you can.”

Jazz made a tiny moue of discontent. “You’re not keeping anything from me, are you?”

Adam’s dark eyes flashed with uncommon heat as he stroked Jazz’ cheek with his fingertips. “You know me better than I know myself,” he said almost solemnly.

Jazz felt breathless. “I guess we should have brought some of the others out here with us, huh?”

“Why?” Adam asked quietly.

“Cause I’m real tempted to kiss you right now, man.”

Adam’s entire face softened as he gazed at his young lover. “Go ahead.”

“That m-might not be s-such a good idea,” Jazz stammered out.

“What? I’m that irresistible?” Adam chuckled.

“Oh, yeah,” Jazz sighed. “Don’t you know that yet?”

“So you’re afraid you won’t want to stop?”

“I know I won’t want to stop, Adam. I’m afraid we *can’t*.”

Sensory awareness raced through Adam’s body like uncontrolled electricity. Jazz was aroused. So was he. They were alone. No one would know. No one. But them. They would know. And that same awareness would spill into their eyes, their touch, their very being.

With a heavy sigh for the responsibility he bore, Adam wrapped his arms around Jazz’ neck. Leaning his forehead against his lover’s, he whispered, “I love you, Nicky.”

Jazz’ breath fanned Adam’s lips. With an ache that was physically painful, Adam resisted the overwhelming urge to take what was rightfully his. “It’ll be okay, baby. It’ll pass.” Eventually. If it doesn’t kill us both first.

“Let’s take a walk,” he added, pulling the younger teenager along with him. Their bare feet splashed through the shallow water, the pebbles on the bottom a much-needed distraction from their mutual arousal.

Jazz wound an arm around Adam’s waist and nearly lost his balance when he stepped on a particularly sharp stone. “Ow!”

Adam laughed softly and kissed Jazz chastely on the temple. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jazz agreed reluctantly. Then he brightened. “Hey, I just thought. My birthday is in a couple of weeks.”

“And what would you like for your birthday, Nicky?”

“You,” Jazz whispered, an almost palpable need in his voice.

Adam shook his head. “You’ll be 15, Nicky. You’ve still got three years to go before we c---“

Jazz abruptly put his hand over Adam’s mouth. “Don’t say that. It sounds like forever.”

“Hey,” Adam struggled to change the sad expression on Jazz’ face. “I’ll be 17 the week after.”

To his utter astonishment, Jazz looked even more sorrowful. “What? What is it?”

“You’ll be graduating next year,” Jazz said in a voice that was so low, it was almost inaudible.

“So?”

“You’ll be going away to college.” Jazz reached out and caught a tendril of Adam’s dark hair, massaging the silken strand between his fingers. “Without…me.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t that Adam hadn’t thought about it once or twice, but he suddenly realized that it would be infinitely more traumatic to be the one left behind.

“You can come up and visit—“

Jazz shook his head, his long golden brown hair flying wildly. “No, no, no, it won’t be the same. I’m going to miss you so much and you won’t even know I’m not there and then you’ll find somebody else and—“ The only thing that stopped Jazz’ litany of pain was running out of breath.

Adam felt tears choke his throat, making it temporarily impossible to speak. When he regained a semblance of control, he whispered, “I won’t forget you, Nicky. I love you. More than anything.”

“But you’re going to leave me behind.”

“Not cause I want to.”

“And I won’t even have the memories of belonging to you.” Jazz’s bright green gaze misted over with unshed tears, and Adam felt his incredible will slipping away from him.

“You know what you’re saying?”

“Yes. Before you go…please promise me that you’ll make love to me. Please, Adam.”

“We’d be defying Dad and James….” Jazz could hear the indecisive note in Adam’s voice and took full advantage.

“Promise me, Adam. *That’s* what I want for my birthday. Your promise that we’ll be together before you go away.”

“You’ll only be 16.”

“Old enough to know what I want. Old enough to know who I love.” Jazz framed Adam’s face with his hands and kissed him. It was a tender kiss, not a passionate one, but it rocked both of them to the soles of their feet.

“I c-can’t,” Adam whispered.

Jazz buried his face in Adam’s chest. Adam closed his eyes on tears he didn’t dare shed and raked a hand through Jazz’ hair almost angrily.

“Don’t do this to me, Nicky.”

His only answer was a muffled sob.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us, Jazz?” Emmy asked, a solicitous look on her face.

Jazz barely glanced at her, all his attention supposedly focused on the book he was reading. But the truth was, he couldn’t have named the title of the book if his life depended on it. He had already read the same paragraph so many times, he could have recited it by heart. “No, thanks,” he answered politely.

Emmy frowned. It wasn’t like Jazz to pass up a chance to go into town. Since the nearest village was several miles away, all of the children, even the youngest, relished the trip. Once a week, usually on Saturday, the older kids went to a matinee at the local cinema. After the movie, if there was still enough daylight to walk home safely, they would stop for ice cream. Perhaps because it didn’t happen all that often, they considered these outings a rare treat.

“Are you…um…okay?” Emmy couldn’t help being sensitive to people’s moods. Maybe it was genetic, maybe it was the caring environment she was raised in, but she could no more ignore Jazz than fly. She cared about him, and she was perceptive enough to realize that he was hiding something, a deep hurt that he couldn’t share with anyone but the person who caused it.

Jazz shut the book firmly and looked up at her, his green eyes curiously bleak. “What’s with the questions, Em? Just because I don’t want to go to the movies, suddenly I must have a problem?”

Emmy shifted from foot to foot restlessly. This was tricky. She liked Jazz. His closeness to her brother Sasha would have guaranteed that, even if she didn’t know him as well as she did. But ever since Adam came, Jazz had become labile and unpredictable. It wasn’t that his moods were all that difficult to read, but that his black ones erupted without telegraphing they were coming. At all.

She twined a strand of her long red hair between nervous fingers. “Just thought you might like to talk. That’s all.”

Jazz shrugged his shoulders. “Not really. Hey, you’d better go. It’s a long walk.”

“If Adam were coming, would you go?” she blurted out with uncharacteristic bluntness.

“Why would that make a difference?”

“Cause you’re in love with him.”

Jazz’ eyes seemed to grow darker as she watched. “Yeah, so?”

“Well, it’s just—you two don’t get to spend that much time together. Alone, I mean.”

“If we went with you, we’d hardly be alone, would we?”

“But you could be with him. You know, make out in the back row. We wouldn’t tell.”

Jazz laughed, but it wasn’t a happy noise. More like a bitter sound that conjured up images that could only end in tragedy. “We’re not allowed.”

“But we wouldn’t tell on you—“

“You don’t understand. Adam won’t—“ Jazz sighed and raked a hand through his hair. It seemed strangely heavy on the back of his neck right now. “We can’t.”

Emmy looked both directions, as if trying to ascertain whether or not anyone was coming, and knelt down beside Jazz on the floor of the family room. “I know how you feel,” she whispered.

There was such utter pain in Jazz’ eyes that it nearly shattered Emmy’s resolve to help him. Her natural empathy could be both a blessing and a curse.

“No, you don’t. You don’t have the slightest idea how I feel,” Jazz whispered back.

“Maybe you’d feel better if you talked about it—“

“To you? You’re a little girl, Em.”

“I am not. That’s not fair. I listen to you. You don’t have different problems just cause you’re gay.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jazz retorted.

“But that’s not what this is about, is it? It has nothing to do with being gay…and it has everything to do with being in love. Doesn’t it?”

Jazz stared at her, willing himself not to respond. But the words burst free of his throat just the same. “How could you know that? How could you fucking know that, Em?”

“I dunno. But I’m right, aren’t I?”

Jazz nodded without speaking. Sometimes Emmy’s ability to read people scared him.

“Come with us, Jazz. You’ll feel better if you’re around other people.”

He shook his head sadly. “It’s like I’m never going to feel better again, Em.”

“Maybe Adam will change his mind.”

“He won’t. He’s like his Dad. He gave his word…and now he can never go back on it.”

“Well, that’s just plain stupid. It-it…sounds just like Chris,” she said with a sinking heart.

She rested her chin on her hand. “Jeesh, I never thought of it that way. Now *I* feel depressed.”

Jazz regarded the young girl with genuine compassion. She really was where he was, even if she hadn’t realized it till now.

“Welcome to the club.”