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“He’s gone?” I choke out, my own heart breaking. “Like, he…” I can’t say it, praying I’m wrong. That word is so final. “Did he have a heart attack?” I can barely push the question out.

“The doctors called it Takotsubo, or something,” his voice cracks. “Broken heart syndrome. The stress of raising us alone, plus the police department years, now this… it was all too much.”

I shudder, the memory receding as I find myself back in the gym. I’d researched Takotsubo cardiomyopathy later, shocked that the physical pain of grief could actually kill a person. From what I’d learned, most people make a full recovery from it. He was already on disability from the police department due to his heart and high blood pressure. Dad was one of the rare cases that couldn’t bounce back. I was surprised I hadn’t died from the very same thing once Holt shared the news.

“Okay,” I whisper, looking at my brother. He’s never pushed me to do anything. So there’s no way I’m telling him no. “I’ll go.”

“I’m proud of you, Cass.”

We head upstairs to the club in order to grab some lunch. My mood is still weighed down by my earlier memories, until we bump into the girls near the bar. Candice spots Holt immediately and practically skips over to us, vibrating with delight at finding her newest victim. She’s handsy and flirtatious, leaning into his space with a wide, predatory grin.

“Cassidy,” Candice coos, her hand lingering on Holt’s biceps. “Where have you been hiding this hot brother of yours?”

The corner of Holt’s mouth lifts in a smirk before his eyes hold mine, giving me a wink.

I look at Lala behind the bar, feeling a wave of nausea. “Lala, can I get a glass of water? I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.” I turn back to the group, pointing a finger at Candice. “Can we make it a rule that no one sleeps with the relatives of the staff?”

Lala grins, sliding a glass toward me. “Well, he’s a member here, Cass. Technically, he’s already off-limits.”

Fern pulls me aside, her expression anxious as she bites her lip. “Hey, do you still mean it? About watching my little brother? I got asked out on a date. And it’s not a club guy. He’s the one from the coffee shop.” She almost swoons as she shares her news.

“Wow. This sounds like it could be getting serious. That’s great, Fern.” I have to push down the wave of envy washing over me.

“But I can’t find a sitter. I could meet you somewhere. Then you could take Caleb back to my place for the night.” She looks so hopeful, I can’t possibly say no.

I glance over at Holt. He’s watching me, a warm, proud smile spreading across his face. He knows what this costs me, stepping outside of my comfort zone.

“Yes,” I respond, nodding firmly. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re sure?” Fern beams.

“Yes,” I reassure her with more exuberance than I feel. I’ve got this, I tell myself. Baby steps.

I smooth my pink hair in the reflection of the corner café’s window. I’ve come up with a plan to keep the anxiety at bay: Sugar. Fern met me here to hand over Caleb. I figured hot chocolate and cake pops were the universal language of eight-year-olds.

Caleb is currently mid-bite, a smear of pink frosting on his upper lip that matches my hair. He’s been staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes for ten minutes. “You know,” he says, lowering his cake pop. “You look like a Marvel hero. Like, maybe the one who rescues the people the Avengers forgot about.”

I laugh, feeling a genuine spark of warmth. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Does that mean you like Marvel movies?”

“Like? Obsessed is more like it.” He takes another bite before puffing out his chest. Caleb leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “We need to talk about my sister’s date. This guy? He’s already lost points. Major points.”

Taking a careful sip of my hot chocolate, I giggle. “Why’s that?”

“First, he didn’t come to the house. That’s Rule Number One. If you want to date a girl, you show up at the door and meet the man of the house.” He thumbs his chest. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “I hope he at least brought her flowers. Or the good kind of candy. Not the stuff from the gas station.”

“Caleb, he probably had to meet her somewhere because Fern had to drop you off here with me,” I remind him.

He waves a hand dismissively, brushing off the logic like it’s a minor technicality. “Nope. He should’ve picked us both up and driven me here. He’s on thin ice right now.”

I’m about to reply to this eight-year-old, who is too insightful for his own good when the bell over the door chimes and Max strolls in, looking sharp and entirely out of place in a room that looks like an IKEA catalog. He stops in his tracks when he sees us. His eyes hold mine, but the heat from the office is gone. His walls are back up.

“Cassidy,” he greets. He seems surprised to see me here, but not pleasantly so. His voice flat.

Caleb’s entire demeanor shifts. He stands up from his chair, comes over to my side of the table, his little hand reaching out to grab mine with a territorial squeeze. He glares at Max, his eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

Max looks down at the boy, then back at me. There’s no flirtatious smirk, no trace of the man who laid one on me in Gianni’s office. He’s built the force field so high, I can’t even see the top of it. “A friend,” Max answers. But it feels like a lie.

There’s not one moment I ever felt this man was a friend. Off-duty colleague, perhaps. Off-limits, panty-melting fantasy is more like it. And something tells me that if you aren’t wearing a three-piece suit and have at least a seven-figure net worth, you aren’t part of his inner circle. Well, unless you’re Frank.