Page 101 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing at my forehead, remembering our first session. Chasing shadow games. Coloring books. “Started off brutal. Embarrassed myself in front of Sadie and the kids.”

“Honest to God,” he mutters. Then louder, “I didn’t ask you how it started. I asked if it’s become successful—if the program you created, with no guidance and no help from Lennon, even though he offered it, has been enjoyed by the kids?”

I watch my preteen platoon comingling, Carter and Jun having joined the rest of them. All the kids hang out in a circle, mud already crusting their sneakers, hands and arms moving animatedly as they talk. Max is more subdued, glancing at me and nibbling his lip, no doubt wondering why I’m holed up in the car, but there’s no denying the group is tighter. There’s no phone surfing and yawning as they wait for me. We’ve had fun in the wilderness together. The kids have been engaged and enthusiastic.

“The hikes have been good,” I admit grudgingly.

“And you and Max—have you formed a bond with your son? Does he seem happier to you than when you first met him?”

I think back to how sullen Max was that first day, avoiding Carter and Jun, scratching his mosquito bites and hanging his head. I think about our book club talks and him pretending to wear earrings with Jasmine at the art walk, about baking with him in Delilah’s class, and how fiercely he hugged me when I told him I was moving in. The opposite of how he’ll be if he moves to Arizona.

I exhale roughly. “He’s been amazing lately.”

“Open your eyes, Des.” E’s voice is so full of sympathy my throat tightens. “WITSEC changed us all, and not just for the worse. You understand loss and pain now. You’re more compassionate than you were. I mean, you were secretly caring growing up, doing stuff like fixing my bike and letting me think Cal did it. And I know you had words with bullies who picked on me.”

More like uttered vicious threats. The only asshole allowed to rough up my brother was me. “I was no saint.”

“Far from it. But the untouchable golden boy who you thought could do no wrong before WITSEC wouldn’t have put Sadie first the way you’re trying to now.”

“I always put Sadie first. Then and now.”

“Remind me again why you didn’t propose to her?”

I startle, frowning at the implication, searching my memory for that life-altering night. The sex we had in Windfall’s town square under the cover of night, my debilitating nervousness—Male Moron Syndrome—as I procrastinated asking her for forever. The flood of what-ifs that plagued me: the possibility that she’d steal my concentration from school, or I’d get too focused on law as it got more in depth and hurt her, or she’d meet someone better down the line, or we’d get married and get tired of each other. I worried that proposing was rushing us, that I’d somehow derail my plans, slow my path to success.

Not our plans. Me and my plans.

“Des!” Sadie’s voice cuts through my rising discomfort. She points to her empty wrist, miming that it’s time to get my ass in gear.

“Gotta go,” I tell E.

Go lead this last hike.

Go untangle the swirl of thoughts making me queasy.

“Quit sabotaging yourself,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You deserve to be happy.”

He hangs up, and I give my head a swift shake. Hike. Kids. Get my shit together. These kids are under my care. My focus needs to be on them, not on my anxious energy as E’s words ricochet through my mind.

I unzip my backpack and shove in my end-of-hike bracelets. Hike. Kids. Get my shit together. I go to the trunk and grab my bag of equipment for today’s activity of trash collecting. And yeah. I know asking them to clean the trail is risky. These kids might take one look at this chore and groan their faces off. Except I have a pep talk planned and a killer prize up for grabs.

I turn, determined to slap on a grin and entertain my preteen platoon. But Olivia.

I’m not sure I can handle But Olivia today. Unfortunately, ditching her is like trying to shake off Krazy Glue. “Get it over with,” I say.

She does one of her unnerving staring numbers that has me considering getting back in the car and locking the doors. After a painful beat, she says, “Are you leading the fall hikes?”

“I . . .” Was not expecting that question. During recent hikes she nailed me with torpedoes like “Did you kill anyone during WITSEC?” and “Did the cartel just sell weed and cocaine, or did they push Dexies and molly and smack?” at which point I flat-out panicked and told her the only Molly I’d heard of was Molly Fingold, who ran my high school pep rally. Honestly. Someone needs to install child locks on this kid’s internet access.

So yeah. Her hiking question is jarring for a couple of reasons. I didn’t know Lennon planned to continue the program. He must be leaving Houston, moving his business here. Or he’s hiring someone new. A possibility that makes irrational jealousy flare behind my ribs. Like someone’s stealing my job from under me, which is ridiculous. This was only ever a temporary gig. A pitstop on my way to Responsible Dad. I also barely recognize this Olivia. She’s twisting her fingers and has diverted her attention to her hot-pink sneakers.

“I have law school starting,” I tell her. “Witness protection’s over. Finally time for me to be an adult and get my life together. School’s too far to do both.”

Too far for me to be with my family.

Her expression falls, and my stomach does a disconcerting dip. Olivia’s never looked so much her age. Young and worried, openly upset and vulnerable. Then the scary know-it-all who told me 67 percent of men are liars resurfaces. “Did you know you don’t need a valid driver’s license to compete in NASCAR?”

“Okay . . .” I lean away, waiting for her surprise strike.