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Stepping up to Tyson, I take a deep cleansing breath, which doesn't really help. "Max isn't my boyfriend." My voice is laced with venom when I go in for the kill, "He's my son."

Tyson's face pales. His chocolate eyes darken and nervously roam my face, looking for some sign that I'm lying. He's not going to find one. His body sags as the truth sinks in, and I can see tears glisten in his eyes under the dim lighting. He doesn't move. He doesn't respond or try to touch me. He just stands there—frozen.

Just before I push past him to walk out the door, I see a million emotions flash across his grief-stricken face: disbelief, pain, grief, regret, acceptance, hope, and then confusion. But I don't wait. Shameful tears prick my eyes as I push my way out of the bathroom and through the throngs

of bodies, trying to exit the bar.

I should have stayed. I should have let him come to grips with what I just threw at him. I'm sure he has a million and one questions and he's going to want answers. But I've had enough for tonight. I want to go home, curl up in bed, and go to sleep. I'm going to spend tomorrow wallowing in my pain, and then I'm going to pull myself together, pick myself up off the ground, and dust myself off. Because let's face it, this is my fault. I should have been up front with him from the beginning.

I unlock the car, drop into the front passenger seat, and lean my head against the window. So much for a fun night out. I know Quinn won't be long, and since we've been drinking, I'm certain Levi will be hot on her heels.

Just before Levi slides behind the wheel and Quinn gets in the back, I remind myself to never let Max leave for the weekend again. Leaning forward, Quinn gently strokes my hair. Levi reaches across the center console and squeezes my thigh reassuringly before he starts the car and pulls away. Neither one of them says a word— they don't have to. They've been down this road with me before, and they're prepared to go down it with me now. I just pray to God that I never have to go down it again.

IT’S BEEN TWO DAYS since Harley told me that Max is her son. She has a son. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that. I can’t believe I never found out about him. I mean, my parents are friends with her parents, for Christ’s sake. Granted, they moved out of town after Dallas’ death, but I’m sure they still keep in contact. And Levi—fucking Levi. I shouldn’t be surprised that he never told me. It’s obvious that his loyalty lies with Harley, and if I had to guess, she probably told him to keep his mouth shut.

I’ve spent the last eighteen hours thinking about him…thinking about Max. What does he look like? Does he have Harley’s green eyes? Does he look like his dad? Who is his dad? Is the guy still in the picture?

I want to meet him. I need to meet him. It’s the weirdest thing, but once she told me she has a son, I got this incredibly strong urge to spend time with him. It’s almost as though we have this strange connection and I’m being pulled to him. At first, I thought the urge was simply because Harley has always been a huge part of my life and it’s natural to want to know her children. But I…I just don’t know how to explain it. I just need to meet him. And I need to talk to her.

Christ, I was so wrong. I should have just asked. I should have put her on the spot and asked who the hell Max was. Instead, I pulled away. The look on her face when she said I rejected her is burned into my memory. I don’t ever want to see that look on her face again, and it kills me that I’m the one who put it there. She needs to know how I feel; she needs to know I would never reject her again. Ever.

I’ve called her at least a dozen times, left several voicemails, and I’ve even texted her. No response…nothing. Well, I’m done giving her the option to ignore me because it’s going to be kind of difficult when I show up at her door. Thank God I didn’t have to work today, because I’m not sure I could’ve waited much longer. I should have fucking showed up the next morning. But I’m an idiot—pretty sure we've already established that.

Putting the car in park, I take a deep breath and wipe my hands down the front of my pants. Why am I so nervous? This is Harley and her son. Nothing to be nervous about. I know I’m going to catch her completely off-guard and she probably isn’t prepared for me to meet Max, but I just hope she doesn’t slam the door in my face.

Walking up the sidewalk, I notice a kid’s bike propped against the side of the house and a ball in the middle of the yard. Were those here last time? I knock softly three times and steel myself for Harley’s wrath. Crap, this is going to piss her off. Who am I kidding? Right now, I don’t give a shit. This is going to happen sometime, so it might as well happen now.

“Welcome to my dungeon!" I hear a little voice roar. “You must answer three questions right or you must go!" I can’t help but smile…I already love this kid!

“What are the questions, good sir?" I ask, using the deepest voice I can muster. I can hear him giggle through the door and it’s such a great sound. I want to hear it again.

“What president is on the United States penny?” he asks with authority.

“That would be the sixteenth president of the United States. President Abraham Lincoln," I answer proudly. There’s that giggle again.

“What great Cardinals player wore the number six?" Yup, he’s definitely Mr. Thompson’s grandson. Thank God I spent enough time at Harley’s house growing up to acquire plenty of Cardinals baseball trivia.

“Stan Musial," I reply, adding a “DUH!” at the end, which elicits an even bigger laugh from the opposite side of the door.

“What is the name of a butterfly’s tongue?"

“It’s called a tongue?" I half-ask, half-state, hoping that I didn’t get outsmarted by a child.

“Ehhhh!” he yells, doing his best impression of a buzzer. Well shit. I’m not sure how old Max is, but he has to be younger than five, so how in the hell would a five-year-old know the name of a butterfly’s tongue?

“It’s called a proboscis,” he yells through the door. “Now, I unleash the dr—”

“Wait!" I holler. “You have to give me a bonus question, it’s part of the rules!”

“Hey!” he scoffs, flinging open the door. My whole body is frozen in place as I take in the little ball of fire in front of me. His eyes…his eyes are what completely catch me off-guard. I know it’s impossible, but his large, coffee-colored eyes and thick black lashes are exact replicas of my brother, Dallas. Holy shit. I rub my fists over my eyes quickly, thinking that maybe I’m just missing Dallas so much that now I’m seeing him everywhere I go.

“You can’t make up rules!” he says firmly, pointing his Styrofoam sword at my chest.

“Max!” My head snaps up when I hear Harley’s voice, and Max drops his chin in defeat. She’s coming around the corner while wiping her hands off on a towel, so she hasn’t seen me yet. “Max, what did I tell you about opening the do—" Her words cut off when she finds me standing in her doorway. She inhales sharply and her mouth forms the most perfect 'O.' Max uses the silence to his advantage.

“Hi!” he says cheerfully, sticking out his hand. “My name is Max, and don’t you dare call me Maximus." He’s attempting to give me the ‘stink eye,’ but it’s just so damn cute that I laugh.

"Hello, Max." I grip his hand firmly and pump it dramatically a few times, causing him to giggle. “My name is Tyson, but you can call me Ty." I quickly glance at Harley, who is watching Max and I with a look of horror, and for a moment I feel like maybe I’ve overstepped my boundaries.

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