Page 66 of Sterling Heat

Shifting again, I lean into the cushions. “Sing something for me.”

“No.” She laughs harder and Adara jerks on her chest. Her little arm jolts upward. Her fingers splay outward. Enya softens her voice. “No.”

“If you wanted to be on stage, you’d have to sing before an audience.”

“That’s different. I could sing in a room full of people but one on one . . . it’s just different.”

“Please.” I clasp my hands together and do my best imitation of my nephew when he wants something from Vale.

Enya chews her lip while she shakes her head.

A failure at begging, I acquiesce. “Okay.” I drop my hands and return my arm to the back of the couch, and pick up a strand of her hair, wrapping it around my finger. “Why did you give up your dream?”

“I was the peacemaker in our family. Between my brother and his drug issues, and my younger sister, who was a bit of a wild child, I felt like I had to make up for each of their shortcomings. And I wanted to please my parents.” Enya takes a deep breath. “So, when I went to college, I went into accounting instead of majoring in music like I wanted.”

Looking at me, she adds. “It’s kind of silly because most famous musicians don’t even go to college. They go from choir risers to dingy bars to discovery. And I was just simply someone who liked to sing.”

“I don’t think you’re simply anything, sugar.” I playfully tug at the hairs wrapped around my finger. She’s more complex and beautiful than anyone I’ve ever known. Her sister might be famous, but Enya is so much more.

“I’m not jealous of Cadence. I’m really not,” she continues. “As her big sister, I’m super proud of her. She went on to find fame, using her passion to get there. It’s just that she’s so busy, I hardly see her. And sometimes, I think she wants to run away from me when I’ve been her biggest cheerleader.”

“Why would she run away from you?” The idea shocks me. Enya is perfect.

“I’m a reminder of how messed up our family is. My parents’ lack of support. My brother’s death.”

I nod with compassion. “I get that. Ford is the baseball star in our family. He’s the brother above me in birth order and it sucked to be in his shadow. He’s uber talented, don’t get me wrong, but it’s difficult to be the next in line when he is so successful. My failures seem even greater in comparison. And Ford couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Our family was too fucked up for him.”

Our entire family was too fucked up at one point.

“Families are so messy, sometimes.” Enya gives me an understanding smile, and I cup the back of her warm neck.

“It’s why I don’t think I’ll ever have one.”

Enya’s eyes lose their spark. Her smile melts away.

While I have my beliefs, my timing in making such a statement feels off. Maybe unwarranted even. Sometimes, I’m not certain I even feel the same way I once did about families and fatherhood. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. You’re pretty clear on how you feel about families, and I respect that. Fatherhood isn’t for everyone. At least you can admit it.”

Yeah, but admitting it feels like I’ve put my foot in my mouth. Or worse, I’m telling a lie. For all my denial, I can admit I love my family. Vale is still my best friend. And I’ve grown to appreciate Stone despite his continued disapproval. Fatherhood wasn’t something he wanted either, or at least, didn’t deserve to have thrust upon him at such a young age.

“Is that what happened with Adara’s father? He hadn’t admitted he wanted to be a dad until it was too late.” Was Enya already pregnant before he told her he didn’t want children?

Enya shakes her head and adjusts Adara in her arms. “No father. Just wanted to be a mother.” She presses a kiss to Adara’s head. “I wanted my own family. Maybe that’s how I’ve run away from mine.”

I stare at her, absentmindedly stroking my thumb along her neck. My gaze drops to Adara whose eyes are opened and looking up at her mother. I’m reminded of the hospital pictures on Adara’s discharge day. The love between them is so pure, so unconditional. It’s the rawest of emotions. So visible, so present, in every glance between them. Every touch.

Enya softly hums and I vaguely recognize the tune. Then she sings and I realize the song is “Thank God” by Kane Brown and his wife, Katelyn. The duet is about forgiveness and gratitude.

Enya’s voice is fucking beautiful.

As she sings, I slide my hand over hers, until our fingers intwine. Like the song, her hand fits perfectly in mine. We seamlessly blend like cookies and cream.

I’m not what I would consider a tactile man, other than formerly using my fists as a resolution. After being in jail, I’m even less of a touchy guy. But with Enya, there’s a physical need to be close to her. A pull I can no longer deny. I don’t want to send out mixed messages, confuse our friendship, give her hope where there is none, but when she’s near . . . I can’t seem to keep my hands away. The draw to her flame is too strong. She gives warmth to my bones and heat to my heart.

Maybe I’m the one confused. I’m the one afraid to hope.

What would it be like to come home to her every night? To share moments on the couch like this, talking, holding hands, watching our baby? I mean, Adara. Enya’s baby.