Prologue

Acacia Falls, MD

August 2007

She was about to shit on her own parade.

Adrianna Hayes forced her arms through the sleeve of her shirt and shook her wet hair. Her body still tingled from Cam’s kisses and bites. She wanted nothing more than to cling to this moment. She stole another glance at the big rock and her face heated with memories of his fingers trailing her skin, the rough texture digging at her back. His wet mouth explored every nook, every crevice, inciting successive moans.

“What did you want to tell me?”

His gaze settled on her face, sending more heat to ripple over her chest and into her cheeks. For so long she’d dismissed him and those eyes, green like grass after the rain. Now she lived for the moments when she could see her reflection in them.

“Huh?” It was all she could come up with.

 How did Cameron Blake, the constant rock in her shoe, make her lose her train of thought so easily these days? Easy. He did it in the same way he brought her frequent smiles, moments of sweetness and pure insanity. He made her forget what it was like being a Hayes in Acacia Falls.

He’d become her escape. The drug that transported her away from the small town without taking a step. He was her sanity, shutting the door on the monster’s shadow. He was hers and hers alone. She didn’t have to share him with half their high school.

His lips curved into a half smile as if he knew just what she was thinking about. “When I got here, you wanted to talk but…sorry about that.” The smile deepened just like it had before he pressed her against a tree and pulled her shirt over her head.

He wasn’t sorry.

Neither was she.

He shrugged his black Henley on and shot her a smile as bright as the sun. He was satisfied and happy, and she was about to ruin all that.

She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Tommy called. He’s coming back tomorrow.”

He paused long enough to drop the pressure in their atmosphere. The barely-there reaction roared louder than cracking thunder. “Did you tell him you moved on?”

She shook her head. He nodded and bent down. He didn’t look at her as he put his shoes on.

Her pulse hiked, at a different kind of speed this time. Unlike minutes before, her heart wasn’t racing toward the orgasm that rocked her body. This time it was a reverse spiral toward one of their ugly fights. Adrianna was desperate to steer away from any explosive argument.

“I’m going to tell him. I just didn’t want to do that over the phone,” she tried to reassure him. “I owe him at least a face to face. We were together since sophomore year.”

“You don’t owe him anything. Not when the guy was fucking all of Acacia High,” he shot at her, derision etched in the curl of his lip.

“I know that, but I’m not him!” she retorted. She’d played the fool for two years. She knew it, the whole school knew it, but never again.

“You know what? Maybe you don’t mind that. Maybe you still love him, and you think he won’t do it again.”

He, more than anyone else, knew how to make her madder than hell. Adrianna swallowed her anger to reassure him.

“I don’t love Tommy anymore. I am with you, Cam. I love you. I just want to tell him face to face.”

He looked at her hand on his shoulder and then back at her face, “You’ve been with him for three years. He’s been cheating on you, even with some of your friends. And you want me to believe you need to be face to face to tell him the truth?” he scoffed. “Everyone knows you and Tommy break up three times and make up four. I’m not going to be your in-between guy.”

She didn’t say anything. Because, you know, fuck him. How could he even say that to her? She turned away from him as the last three months flashed in her head like someone’s life in their last moments.

“Wait. You think I broke up with Tommy to get with you, to then go right back to him again? You pursued me all summer. You told me you always had feelings for me. You made me fall for you and now you’re throwing it in my face? You are basically calling me a cheating whore.”

“I never said that, Adrianna. I would never think that. And don’t turn this on me.” He gave her a half smile. “You’re the one that had a chance to tell Tommy to go to hell but didn’t. Because you never intended to. I’m just your summer fun and summer’s over, so it’s back to the real world.”

What a dick.

“Oh, that’s the way you feel? Then maybe it’s for the best this is over now. I don’t fit in with the sophisticated Blakes anyway. So, do me a favor and stay away from me. You and your freaking necklace . . .” She pulled the necklace he’d given her over her head and threw it at him. “…can go straight to hell. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

She turned on her heel and walked away.

“You got yourself a deal, Babe. Better yet, a promise.” He called after her.

With bitterness exploding all over her tongue, she turned around and looked at him one last time. “That’s a promise I intend for you to keep.”

CHAPTER ONE

New York City

Present Day

“Your father and I would like you to come to dinner.”

Fuck.

A kink broke out in the back of Cameron’s neck. He didn’t attempt to stifle the curling of his lip. Instead he colored it with every single ounce of disgust the invitation evoked. He would rather spend a week being serenaded by the Fenway Park fanatics than two minutes at his parents’ table.

“I’m a little busy right now, Mother. We can talk after my trip.”

The humph from the other end came soft but loaded. Marilyn Blake never had to raise her voice to show her displeasure with her children. She always saved the screaming, yelling, and outward nastiness for her rounds with her husband Walter.

With her kids, she could convey her disapproval in small, covert-to-anyone-else noises that could still make them cringe but wouldn’t qualify as abuse to anyone watching. Sometimes it was her loud charged silences that could make a priest squirm.

Cameron was almost thirty, freed from her clutches, and almost immune to her. Almost. Marilyn could still get under his skin in ways only her husband came close to.

“I have a lot on my plate with the show and I’m getting on a plane in a couple of hours. This can wait till I get back.”

“There are art galleries all over New York City, Cameron. You are beloved here, the ace in the New York Emperors rotation, for God’s sake. All the fine art galleries would have given you weeks just dedicated to your pieces. Your name would bring them a lot of customers. I don’t know why you had to choose some unknown hole in the wall in D.C. for half a day.”

He chuckled. “Goupil is one of the most prestigious galleries in North America. It’s small but exclusive. They don’t choose just anyone for a show. So, even though it’s only a day exhibit, I’m going with prestige.”

“I’ve never heard of it, but you should know what is good for you. You don’t even bother to ask for my opinion or listen to reason. Like I’ve ever steered you wrong. You left a successful career to pursue a hobby full-time. I guess your parents don’t deserve a heads up on their son’s plans.”

Heat stoked up on his lower spine, but Cam stomped on it. He was too old to let his mother drag him into an argument. No, he wasn’t going to feed her need for drama.

“I left the game because I am done with it. I gave you ten years. I think that’s enough. Anyway, I really have to go—”

“Cameron. We want to see you when you get back. It’s not so hard. We live in the same city and we don’t ask you for much.”

The fuck you don’t. You ask for everything and always give nothing but grief.

The beep of an incoming call opened the escape door. He’d be a fool not to go through it. “My agent’s calling. We’ll talk about dinner when I get back.” No, we won’t. I’ll book a trip to Siberia to avoid you.

“Fine.” She cut off the phone call without a goodbye.

Cam placed his phone in his back pocket, grabbed his iPad, and headed out the door. He’d call his agent from the car.

Any other time, his mother would have put a damper on his day, but you can’t dampen what’s already soaked in shit.

The prospect of traveling to Washington, D.C. had already done that.

He never set foot anywhere near Maryland unless the Emperors were playing the Orioles. And even then, he stayed in his room most of the time and hightailed it out of there like the Inner Harbor was on fire.

He couldn’t pass up the offer from Goupil. Not if he wanted to continue with his life’s passion.

His mouth grew sour. Acacia Falls was seventy-fucking-six miles away from D.C. Still too close. Maryland reeked of anger, sadness, and heartbreak. His ears still echoed with his parents shouting at each other. They had been more focused on their own vices, and hurting one another, than on their children. Marilyn and Walter Blake are the kind of people who should never procreate but did. Three fucking times.

Cam swore to himself years ago that he wouldn’t make that mistake. He was going to keep his misery to himself and never pass the fucked-up Blake genes to anyone. That’s why he already scheduled the vasectomy for the day after his return. The only children he would ever have were the ones he forged on canvas

•••

Washington, D.C.

The next day

It’s almost over.

Cameron strained his face muscles to stay pleasant. Since he’d left Major League Baseball to follow his passion for painting, he’d encountered two types of people: those who were shocked that he could do something else than put up strikes on a scoreboard, and the sycophants waiting for the right moment to convince him to return to baseball. The general managers of the two local teams had come today, and something told him neither was interested in his brush stroke technique.

Cam wasn’t interested in them.

He sipped the glass of wine and plotted a disappearing act. His publicist could take care of everything else. He would catch the next flight back to New York. Screw marketing and publicity. You’re not doing this shit for the money.

The excitement of his artwork being on the walls at Goupil extinguished after the first hour. He couldn’t even enjoy his dream of an exposition. He needed the distance, the skyscrapers, not the pleasant smiles or the ‘welcome back, hon’ he got from everyone. He was on the front page of the Baltimore paper. The article dripped with sentimentality and purple prose describing how good it was to have the prodigal son back. And, of course, speculation that maybe he could paint and play another ten years while bleeding Orioles’ orange and not the odious white and blue.

It was like his parents commissioned the hack-job article. He needed the fuck out so fast he was even willing to drive.

“Well, it’s not very good if you ask me. He’s done better.”

The gasp bounced against the walls, dragging him away from the clutches of boredom. Cam, and everyone else, turned to follow the small feminine voice. His interest piqued for the first time since he walked in the room. No one had criticized his vision so harshly until now. The Arts Time editorial section had once tried. That article ended up making a name for him instead of breaking his art career. Goupil had called the morning after.

Well, this should be interesting.

Cam searched the faces around him. Then he looked down and there she was. Four-and-a-half feet of girl crowned by a mane of loose honey brown curls.

With sharp green eyes, her face was angelic, like one of Raphael’s own cherubs. She wore glasses and an air of ten, going on twenty-five, years old. A whiplash contrast with her skinny jeans and blue Converse sneakers. Her long sleeve t-shirt had an image of Frida Kahlo’s painting, ‘The Two Fridas.’ It wasn’t exactly what you would see a child wear, and yet it was as natural on her as the golden raw sienna tinge of her skin.

Cam was a good reader of people, and he’d bet his last MVP bonus that the kid asked for the design on the shirt. He also knew he would put her face on canvas. He was already memorizing the diamond angle, her deep-set eyes, and heart-shaped mouth.

“And you are?” he asked.

“Bronwyn Alyxandra,” the child said with so much pride he couldn’t help but smile. “Mama was in her Jude Deveraux reading phase when she was pregnant with me. Don’t ask.” She finished with a wave of her hand.

Cam’s mouth opened, but he found himself at a loss for words. Who was Jude Deveraux? Maybe a relative of hers? “Nice to meet you, Bronwyn Alyxandra. I’m…”

“Call me Bron. I know who you are. Artistic genius, nasty curve thrower, moody after every game, womanizing jock.” She continued, “I read all about you on Daily Mail. Mama says I can’t believe everything the gossip blogs say, but Uncle Nathan says it’s all true.”

Cam blinked. How old was this kid? “What do you say we get something to drink and continue chatting? You can tell me why you think my painting is not good.”

Bronwyn’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. “You’re famous and all but you’re still a stranger. I can’t go places with you.”

She was smart. Cam smiled. “I didn’t mean out. I meant get something from the refreshment table over there.” He tilted his head toward the hors d’oeuvres.

She peeked at the table and then looked back at him. A smiled flowered on her lips and the air stuck in Cam’s throat. He knew those eyes, that face, and mostly, her attitude. She also mentioned an Uncle Nathan, who’d talked about Cam. He didn’t believe in coincidences. It wasn’t hard to deduce who her mother was.

“Bronwyn, what’s your last name?”

He didn’t need her to say it. It was written all over her, in her every move.

“Arenas. Come on.” She took his hand and began to pull him towards the table of goodies.

His heart slammed against his ribcage, his feet rooted to the ground. Arenas was Adrianna Hayes’ mother’s last name.

“What’s your mom’s name?”

The little girl’s shoulders drooped. She looked away and mumbled softly, “Adrianna.”

He almost staggered back. Adrianna must have taken her mother’s name. Bron was her daughter. He tugged at her arm until she turned around.

“Who are you here with?”

“Um…” Bronwyn stared at her feet. He knelt on the floor before her and tilted her chin up with his index finger.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

Worry clouded over her eyes and his cold, unfeeling heart bent a little. She had her mother’s expressive, haunting eyes. He needed to get away from her. The last thing he needed was to see Adri again. Fuck, this is exactly what he had wanted to avoid.

She grabbed his hand tight into her smaller ones.

“They wouldn’t bring me if I told them I wanted to meet you. Not Mama or Aunt Lauren. You were my favorite player and I just love your paintings so much, even if Mama says you’re not even trying. Is it true? She said you’re probably not even showing your best stuff.” She paused briefly as if to give him a chance to answer but continued talking. “Anyway, I snuck out of school and took the train here. I only told my best friend Ayla because I planned to be back after recess.”

It was amazing. In less than twenty minutes, this kid had rendered him speechless countless times. “Your mother must be worried sick.” If she were the Adrianna he remembered, she was on the phone with the local police, the FBI, and the National Guard by now. “Do you know where you live?”

Her eyebrows snapped together. “I’m not a baby.”

Her voice was so indignant, Cam mustered all the strength in the world not to smile.

“No, you are not. I can see that.” Amazed he could keep a straight face at all, he cleared his throat. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

He took her hand and started walking, but she stayed rooted.

“Mama’s going to be mad. Nuclear. She’s going to ground me forever. She’ll take away everything, like my salsa lessons and school dances. I love to dance. But, I’m okay with that because I would have to dance with boys. Boys are gross anyway. But I dance with Ayla and all my other friends. What if she takes away my pretty dresses or my painting supplies? What if she forbids me from painting again?”

He tugged at her hand to get her to stop babbling, “I don’t think your mom would take away your art supplies, Bron. Even if she is um…nuclear, she wouldn’t do that.”

She nodded but didn’t seem convinced.

He needed to give Adrianna her child back. The kid was making Cam’s heart ache in the worst of ways. And he planned to do just that. Then he would get on the next flight the fuck out of the area and never come back. He would also get a lobotomy or hypnosis or Voodoo if necessary to forget this little episode. He would banish Adrianna to oblivion again.

Now, all he needed to do was face the past he’d put in the rearview mirror so many years ago.

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