23 and You and Me

Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

“M eet the Forza family, take two.” Sunny turned off the Mercedes in front of a little stucco house in the near suburbs.

Gabe couldn’t keep the words inside. “I don’t know about this.” Sure, Mary had seemed nice when Sunny passed him the phone. She’d apologized for her brother Michael’s behavior at the shop and invited them to dinner.

Sunny turned to him, her eyes wide as if to keep from rolling them. “We drove two thousand miles to meet your family. They want to get to know you. And now we’re here. We’re going in.” She reached over the console and tucked her hand into his, the way she’d been doing since they’d walked up to Michael yesterday, the way that sent a jolt of courage through his veins. He could do it if she was with him.

“Okay.” Gabe reached between his knees for the bottle of cabernet and shoved open the door. The cool desert air hit his too-warm cheeks. He wiped his palms on his pants, then reached into the back seat for the bouquet of flowers Sunny had picked out. She met him at Cinderella’s hood, and together they walked up to the house.

They didn’t have to knock. Mary threw open the door like she’d been watching for them. She wore a white apron with the Italian flag on the top, and the scent of fresh basil wafted around her. “Gabriel!” she squealed, launching herself at him. She was tall for a woman, with a curvy build. Her thick, dark hair tickled his nose.

She stepped back and bent to hug Sunny. “I’m so glad you called. I can’t believe Michael didn’t even take Gabe’s phone number.” She scowled, but the expression cleared when she let go of Sunny. “But you’re here now. You look just like Rafe.” She hugged Gabe once more. “What are we doing standing out here on the porch? Come in, come in.”

His lips trembled so that he could only mumble, “For you.” He held out the wine and the flowers.

“Thanks,” Mary said. “But you’re family. You didn’t need to bring anything.” She took the gifts and led the way through an arched doorway into the bright kitchen.

Rafael—Rafe—stood in front of the stove. He’d been wiping his hands on his jeans, but he froze when he saw Gabe. If he’d thought looking at Michael was like looking into a mirror, looking at Rafe was even more so. They were almost the same height, and he had fewer lines around his mouth and eyes than Michael did. Like Michael’s, his skin was tanned like he spent time outdoors.

Mary said, “Rafe, it’s Gabriel. He’s come home.”

Tears welled up at that, and Gabe blinked hard. What would his brand-new family think of him if he cried?

Rafe strode over, paused for a second, then hugged Gabe. His hair held a spicy scent; that was what made a tear roll down Gabe’s cheek and soak into Rafe’s button-down shirt. Gabe squeezed back. Hugging Rafe was nothing like hugging his Ohio family; he’d always been afraid if he squeezed too hard, they’d break.

He shouldn’t have worried, though. Rafe sniffled as he thumped Gabe on the back before releasing him, and when they parted, Mary’s face was wet with tears.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” she said. “We’d given up hope you’d ever come back.”

He was glad now that Sunny had been so tenacious and made him meet Mary and Rafe. He glanced around for her and spotted her hanging back at the doorframe. He reached back and tugged her to him. “Rafe, this is my girlfriend, Sunny.” That was twice he’d called her his girlfriend. They hadn’t talked about it, but the word gave him the anchor he so desperately needed in the face of all this uncertainty.

Rafe shook her hand. “I hope you’re hungry. Mary doesn’t know how to cook for less than a dozen people.”

Gabe’s stomach contracted. Sunny answered for them both. “Starving,” she said. “It smells delicious.”

“I thought Gabe would enjoy our great-grandmother’s lasagna recipe,” Mary said.

“Oh, is she…still living?” Sunny asked, a hopeful tilt to her mouth.

“No,” Mary said and crossed herself. “We’ve got an aunt or two still with us, and cousins, but the rest of the older generations passed on. Dad died just last year. But we’ll talk about all that over dinner.” She pulled a platter of meats, cheeses, and olives out of the refrigerator. “Antipasti?”

The appetizers smelled delicious, but the weight in Gabe’s stomach kept him from eating. He’d missed meeting his father by only a year? And he couldn’t keep his gaze away from the front door, anticipating—dreading—the moment Michael would walk through, scowling, and make him feel like a stray dog. With mange. And fleas.

Gabe didn’t miss that Mary watched the door, too. But after half an hour of small talk, wine, and cheese, she tapped the counter. “Let’s eat. Rafe, help me get dinner on the table.”

Sunny and Gabe offered to help, and Mary kept them so busy Gabe almost didn’t notice when Rafe took the fifth place setting off the dining table. He poured everyone another glass of wine, and they sat down. The dishes and silverware looked modern. Apparently, the only heirlooms were the recipes themselves.

After Rafe mumbled a blessing, Gabe raised a forkful of meaty lasagna to his lips. The smell of tomato sauce, spices, and garlic almost made him forget the boulder in his stomach that stole his hunger. When he popped it in his mouth, the flavors burst on his tongue. Basil. Oregano. Salty cheese. Tangy tomatoes. It tasted like home, but not his home in Ohio.

“This is delicious. You said it’s a family recipe?” Sunny patted her lips with a napkin.

“Our family’s from Napoli originally. Naples. Our grandparents were born here, but their parents came from Italy. We’ve preserved their traditions. Gabe, did you grow up in an Italian family?”

“No.” The Armstrongs had lived in the U.S. for generations; any traditions they’d brought from northern Europe had long disappeared. But he wasn’t ready to talk about his Ohio family yet. His brain was still processing the certainty that this was his biological family. If there’d been any doubt about it after meeting Michael, it had disappeared when he’d met Rafe and Mary. Being with them was like seeing one of his old baby pictures. Familiar in a distant way, like the memory dangled just out of reach.

Mary’s forehead wrinkled at his terse response, but she picked up a thread of their pre-dinner conversation about Sunny’s acting work. She’d recognized Sunny from New York Bomb Squad.

“What’s your next project, Sunny?” Mary passed Sunny the basket of homemade rolls.

Sunny pulled a chunk off the roll and buttered it. “My mother lined up an audition for me.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “That’s right! Your mother is Gwen Lafortune. I loved her in Kiss Me Tomorrow. And you look just like her.”

“Thanks,” Sunny said. “But if that doesn’t work out, I’ll call my agent to ask him to line up some auditions. If he’s still speaking to me.” She said the last part under her breath.

Gabe shook himself out of his self-absorption at that. “Of course he’ll find you a role. You’re the most talented person I know. You should hear her sing,” he said to Mary.

Mary’s dark eyebrows arched. “I can imagine. Gwen had that hit song, ‘Fool, I’m a Queen,’ you know.”

“Oh.” Sunny’s cheeks went red. “I’m not at their level. I took some lessons, but I’m still working on my craft.”

“You’re amazing,” Gabe said. “Any production would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks.” When she smiled at him, all his discomfort melted away. It was like they were back at Four Corners, twirling in the sunset. She turned to Mary. “Gabe’s not so bad himself. We sang a duet at community singing night.”

“Community singing night?” Mary’s eyebrows disappeared into her curly bangs.

“Karaoke.”

“You sing?” Mary asked.

He snorted. “No, but Sunny encouraged me.” It was the best night of his life. He found her hand under the table and interlaced his fingers with hers.

“I can be very persuasive.” She winked at him.

She turned back to Mary, but the sparkle in her ocean-blue eyes, the soft smile that played on her lips, the pink in her cheeks that was just for him and the memories they’d made together on the trip were burned into his vision. In that moment, he knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do if she asked. He loved her.

Yet she was leaving. Soon. She had to be in LA in four days. Should he ask to go with her? Would she let him? Or would she insist on her end date? She’d already told him she wasn’t interested in forever. But four days wasn’t enough. Would she give him more if he asked?

“Gabe! Gabe, are you all right? Do you not like the lasagna?”

He blinked and found three sets of eyes on him. Picking up his fork, he cut a bite and shoved it into his mouth. Spicy sausage and sweet tomatoes burst over his tongue. He lifted the corners of his mouth and nodded his approval. Rafe’s big shoulders lowered an inch or two.

Mary laid down her fork and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. She speared him with a kind but no-nonsense stare. “We want to know all about you. About what brought you out here. I don’t even know where you live now.”

He swallowed with difficulty and sipped some water. In a few sentences, he summed up Sunny’s phone call from DN-YAY, her reckless visit to his house, and their cross-country drive. His siblings didn’t question any of it: not Sunny’s meddling, not the drive, not the lack of a phone call or email. He got the sense they’d have done the same thing.

Then, as economically as he could, he told her about the Armstrongs and Beach Island. She interrupted with questions about growing up, school, the family, and his life now. When he told her—as briefly as possible—about how his parents died, she burst out, “They never told you that you were adopted?”

“No, I—I don’t know why. Maybe they were waiting?” He’d thought a lot about it ever since Sunny told him. He supposed he’d never know why they’d kept it from him. From the entire family. They’d never been too focused on the past, not like Gabe had, anyway. Probably, they’d just thought they’d have more time. And they would have, if not for Gabe’s decision that day.

After that, Mary eased off with the questions. Rafe asked nothing at all, just kept his attention on his plate and looked up at Gabe occasionally, as if he was checking that his brother was still there.

When Mary brought in the dessert—Sfogliatelle, she called the shell-shaped pastries—she said, “You probably have a lot of questions.”

“I do.” Questions he didn’t know how to ask.

“Let me tell you what I know.” She split open the flaky pastry to expose the custardy filling but didn’t take a bite. “Mom and Dad never had a lot of money. Dad worked as a mechanic at a garage, and Mom waitressed nights at a bar. Apparently, Rafe here was a surprise, and he wasn’t six months old when Mom found out she was pregnant again with you. I was too little to understand, but I imagine growing the family so quickly and unexpectedly put a lot of strain on them.”

Gabe pictured what she hadn’t said. Parents who worked in shifts, tired all the time, maybe not quite enough food in anyone’s belly. The Armstrongs had worked hard, and their hours at the park had been irregular, but when he wasn’t in school, he’d accompanied them to work at Beach Island. He’d spent hours playing there, never far from their loving gazes. And there’d always been plenty of food, new clothes when he outgrew his, whatever he needed or wanted.

She looked over at Rafe, her brown eyes liquid. “Michael had just turned eight, and I was five. If we’d been a little older, maybe they wouldn’t have been so overwhelmed, but…anyway, they decided adoption was the right thing to do. We’re Catholic, you know. Mom had you baptized at the hospital, so I guess you are, too.”

Gabe’s chair was going to crack with the extra weight. All this history he’d never known, and now Mary had thrust a whole religion on him, too.

“Mom met your parents at the bar. They were staying in Vegas for a while, and all four of them got to be friendly. She was showing by then, and they came to an agreement. I don’t remember, but Michael says your parents hung around, bought us presents, made sure Mom went to her prenatal appointments. They were there the night you were born, you know. And when Mom was released from the hospital, they took you away.”

Rafe nudged her with his elbow. “Tell him.”

Mary’s lips tightened. “They gave our parents a lot of money. Enough for Dad to buy the garage where he worked, and his first limo. He drove it himself until Mom went back to work, and then he kept doing it on her nights off. He was determined to make a better life for us all.”

Gabe was frozen, unable to speak or move. His parents—the ones he knew, his adoptive ones—had bought him. And his other parents had sold him. Like a car.

“It looks like he did a great job,” Sunny said, filling the silence. “The business is impressive.”

“Dad started it, but Michael’s the one who really built it up,” Mary said.

“You said he died.” Gabe’s voice came out scratchy, like he hadn’t used it for hours. “What about…”

“Mom?” Mary’s smile was sad. “She died, too. A couple years after you were born. She never was healthy, and she just didn’t bounce back from those last two pregnancies. Rafe doesn’t even remember her.”

She’d died because of him. Because he’d been born. The pastry turned to dust, and he choked down what was in his mouth. He tensed, preparing to push back from the table and flee.

Sunny gripped his hand, and Mary reached across for his other hand, pinning him in place. “Dad and Michael took care of us until I was old enough to help. Then Michael started helping Dad at the shop. Michael was like a second dad, always taking care of us, making sure we ate right and did our homework. Rafe and I even went to college. So we all turned out fine.” She smiled at Rafe, then at Gabe. “Especially you.”

But he didn’t want Mary’s doe-eyes on him. He didn’t want anyone looking at him. If he hadn’t been born, they might still have their mother.

He tugged his hands away from Mary and Sunny and scraped back his chair. “I—I think we should go.”

Sunny’s eyes went wide, but she stood with him. “You’ve been so kind. Thank you for dinner,” she said. “It’s a lot to take in. I’m sure you understand.”

“Gabe, I…” Mary’s proud smile had faded, and a furrow divided her dark eyebrows.

“Thank you for telling me. I just need…” But he couldn’t finish. He didn’t know what he needed. He walked straight out the front door and stood on the front porch, gasping in the cool, dry air that didn’t smell like a great-grandmother’s recipe, like a heritage he didn’t know about, like guilt.

After a couple of minutes, Sunny stepped out onto the porch. She stood beside him for a minute, staring out into the suburban street. “Gabe, you?—”

“Don’t,” he said, harshly. Cruelly. “I need another minute, okay?”

Her eyes glinted in the porch light. “I’ll meet you in the car.” She walked away, leaving him alone on the porch.

The screen door slammed, and Rafe stood beside him. He didn’t look at Gabe, just stared down the street like Sunny had done. Finally, he spoke. “I felt guilty for a long time. Like it was my fault she…she died.” He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “But it’s not my fault, and it’s not yours, either. No matter what Michael thinks.”

That made Gabe’s stomach roil. He bit his tongue, trying to keep from losing Mary’s delicious dinner in her bushes. “He thinks it’s my fault?”

“It’s complicated. He has a lot of guilt himself. According to him, if he’d helped more, paid more attention, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten so sick. But you weren’t here, so you were an easy target for the part of the blame he didn’t take himself. I’ve tried to get him to go to therapy like I did, but…” Rafe rocked on his heels. “Without the money, we wouldn’t have the shop. And he loves the shop. That might be the hardest part of it all for him. You should talk to him.”

“It didn’t go so well last time.”

“Try again. Family’s worth it.” He clapped Gabe on the shoulder then disappeared into the house.

But was it? Was it worth the pain he’d already caused, already felt? Was it worth digging that knife even deeper into his gut?

At last, he forced his feet down the walk to Sunny’s car. Before he got in, he took a deep breath. He couldn’t blame her for any of this. She’d meant well. She hadn’t intended to ruin his peacefully ignorant, happy life. Just like he hadn’t meant to ruin the Forzas’ by being born.

Before he’d even closed the door, she turned to him, her eyes soft and pleading. “Are you okay?”

He grunted. He couldn’t lie and say yes. But she didn’t want to hear the no that was closer to the truth.

* * *

Gabe woke up to the sun streaming in through the curtains they’d forgotten to close and the buzz of a text message on his phone. Sunny’s small hand rested on his chest, pinning him against her, and soft puffs of her breath tickled the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, shutting out the sunlight.

The bed was warm, and Sunny was soft. How many more mornings did they have together? Not many. And the box of condoms that’d seemed laughably huge when Paul at the convenience store had handed them to him now seemed like a countdown clock, measuring their remaining time together in dwindling prophylactics. Only two remained. Somehow, it felt presumptuous to buy more.

His phone buzzed again, insistent, on the nightstand.

Carefully, he disentangled himself from Sunny’s embrace and scooted away to check the phone’s display. What could Darlene need so early on a Monday? His heart pounded. Was she okay?

He flicked open the message. How’d the meeting go?

How did Darlene know he’d met his family yesterday? He hadn’t told her, or anyone back home, about it. He hadn’t wanted to reveal his uncertainty, his vulnerability, until he’d seen proof. He needed answers to the questions they’d fire at him.

Wait. She was asking about the board meeting. The one Brandon had scheduled yesterday. The one he’d forgotten. How had he missed it? He’d have to call home and apologize.

He sat up and moved to the chair by the window. From this angle, Sunny was a tangle of white sheets, red-blond hair, and warm, pink skin. He flicked the curtain to block the sun from the bed.

He checked his email. Sure enough, Uncle Bobby, who served as the board secretary, had sent out the meeting minutes. He’d flagged them “sensitive,” so that explained why Darlene had asked Gabe about the meeting. She couldn’t open any sensitive emails.

He tapped to open it, and when he saw the heading, he shook his head. Brandon had received a buyout offer from one of the larger park chains.

Unlike eight years ago, it wasn’t only talk about selling. It was a real purchase offer. Gabe couldn’t simply explain to Brandon that it was a bad idea because it’d compromise the security of their employees and, potentially, the safety of the patrons. No, his cousin had done an end-run around Gabe by taking the offer to the board.

They wouldn’t agree, would they? He was almost positive they’d refuse the offer. While Grandpa, Uncle Bobby, and Aunt Pat hadn’t worked in the day-to-day operations for years, they’d rotated through the park like he had, and they had to remember their responsibility to the employees and the patrons. Didn’t they?

On their most recent tour through the park, no one had said anything about selling. Though Grandpa had complained about his knee. They were all getting older. Eventually, they’d have to pass their responsibilities to the next generation. Which included Brandon. How long could Gabe hold him off? How much longer could he protect Darlene and Ramirez and the hundreds of others who depended on Beach Island?

As quietly as he could, Gabe changed his pajama pants for jeans and a blue Beach Island T-shirt. He put on his sneakers in the hallway and went downstairs to compose a response to Brandon and the rest of the board.

An hour or two later, Gabe was finishing up a call with Darlene when he spotted Sunny standing at the door to the café. He couldn’t tell Darlene about the offer, but he assured her everything was fine. And it would be. Gabe would ensure it was. He told her some white lies about how much he was enjoying his vacation. Though, looking across the café at Sunny, it almost felt like the truth. But then he remembered that a third of the family he’d come out to meet hated his guts.

“Gotta go, Darlene,” he said. “The masseuse is here.” He smiled at Sunny as she approached him, her blue flowered sundress making her eyes glow.

“Masseuse?” Darlene’s voice dripped with doubt.

“Bye, Darlene.” He stood and pulled out the chair for Sunny. “Morning.”

She reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “G’morning. How long have you been up?”

“A couple hours, maybe. I had some work to do.”

She yawned and flipped over her coffee cup. “This early on a Monday? When you’re supposed to be on vacation?”

“When you’re in charge, sometimes you work on vacation.”

The waitress came to pour Sunny’s coffee. Sunny dribbled in French vanilla creamer and sighed after she took the first sip. Her radiant smile made his heart twist in his chest. Another morning with Sunny ticked away.

“What was your urgent Monday-morning business?” she asked.

Since the offering organization was publicly traded, he couldn’t give her specifics. He hadn’t signed a nondisclosure, but he couldn’t afford to have their corporate lawyers fight him. “I—I missed a meeting yesterday, and I had to deal with that.”

“You. Mr. Worked-All-the-Way-Here, Mr. Works-on-Vacation, Mr. Responsible-for-Everything-and-Everyone. You missed a meeting.”

“I was distracted.” He shrugged.

Her lips pinched. “Maybe it’s a sign. Have you ever thought—really thought—about what it is you want?”

I want you. But he couldn’t say that. And it wasn’t what she was asking. “I guess not. People had expectations, and I did what they expected.”

“But this could be an opportunity for you.”

“This?”

“Finding out who you really are. Not that you’re any less an Armstrong than you were before.” She held out her palms to him in a whoa gesture. “It’s a good time to think about whether or not you want what the Armstrongs forced on you.”

“They didn’t force?—”

“Sure, they did. And maybe that’s okay. Or maybe it’s not. Regardless, you should think about what you want to do with the rest of your life.” She stared into her coffee.

What would his life look like without Beach Island? Without Uncle Bobby, Aunt Pat, and Grandpa? Without Darlene and Ramirez? He’d have only himself to worry about. If they sold the park, he could stay on this break from reality forever. He could stay with Sunny as long as she’d let him.

No. He’d spent his whole life at Beach Island. He’d poured everything into it for the past nine years. He knew the park and the community that surrounded it better than anyone else. Selling wasn’t right. And he had to tell the rest of the board. Maybe they’d vote him down. Maybe they wouldn’t listen once he told them he’d been adopted. Still, he had to try.

“The board has a vote scheduled next Saturday. I need to be back in Ohio for it.”

Her smile dissolved. “Oh. I have to be in LA for the show on Thursday. I can’t drive you back.”

“I know.” Gabe sorted the sugar packets in the dispenser by color. “I’ll fly back.”

“You think you can? Have you flown since the—the accident?”

“No, but”—he smirked to hide his doubts— “it can’t be any worse than your driving, can it?”

“Ha, ha. I happen to be an excellent driver. Just not in the snow.”

“You won’t have to worry about that in LA.” And just like that, he’d popped the delicate bubble of his own happiness.

She traced the rim of her cup with her finger. “No, I suppose not.”

“So, when are you—” He cleared his throat to get the waver out of it. “When are you planning to head west?”

She gripped his hand. “Not until you’ve worked out your shit with Michael.”

“We both might miss our deadlines if we wait for that.”

She narrowed her eyes and then trailed her gaze from his T-shirt down to his sneakers. “Let’s take our coffee to go. I have an idea.”

Since that first day, Sunny hadn’t driven him past the roller coaster at the New York New York. Today’s route, though, gave them a side-on view of the Ferris wheel. In the daylight, it seemed smaller.

“Maybe we can ride the Ferris wheel together before you leave.” Stopped at a traffic light, he tilted his chin at it, through her side window. “Now it seems a lot less terrifying than the Forzas.”

She grimaced at his weak joke. “You’re pretty intimidating yourself, you know.” Her gaze trailed over him. “With your sharp pleats and that cashmere coat you wear. That chiseled jaw. Those”—she gulped—“steely eyes. The first time I met you, I almost ran the other direction.”

Standing on his porch that day, her delicate jaw had been set, and her Cinderella-blue eyes had flashed. “You did not. You stood right up to me. Even though I wasn’t so nice to you.”

“No, you weren’t.” The light turned green, and Sunny eased the car forward.

“What about now?”

She glanced at him, a smile curling her lips. “I think you’re pretty nice now. Especially when you do that thing with your fingers.”

His fingers itched to touch her now. All he had to do was ruck up the short skirt of her dress. It was already at the middle of her thigh. He fisted his hands in his lap. Not while she was driving. It wouldn’t be safe. “I hope your idea involves going somewhere private where I can do it to you again.”

She chuckled. “Tempting, but my idea’s better.”

Her idea culminated in barely slowing down to boot him out of her car in front of Forza Elite Motors. “I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours,” she called just before she drove off.

Gabe stood alone in the parking lot. Monday morning at a limo rental shop. Sure enough, the Open sign in the window was unlit. He’d be sitting here by himself until Sunny came back to pick him up.

But after Cinderella roared away, the guitar riff of “When Doves Cry” leaked out of the open garage bay. Gabe followed the synthesizer run through the entrance and leaned against the wall. His brother Michael squatted in front of the open driver’s side door of a midnight blue ’66 Mustang.

A bolt plinked onto the concrete floor, and Michael bent at the waist to lift the door from its hinge.

“Whoa, whoa!” Gabe peeled himself off the wall and jogged over to help. He gripped the outside of the door and supported as much of the weight as he could. “This is a two-person job. Why would you do it alone?”

Michael only grunted and tipped his chin toward a drop cloth on the floor where the other door already lay. Together, they carried it over and laid it gently on the cloth. Michael propped his hands on his hips and scowled at the pair of doors. Gabe picked up a rag from the workbench to wipe his hands. He’d gotten grease on the hem of his Beach Island T-shirt, and he rubbed half-heartedly at it. It’d never come out.

“If you’re going to stay, put on some coveralls,” Michael growled.

“Yeah?” He wasn’t kicking Gabe out?

He nodded at a rack in the corner. Gabe crossed to it, found the biggest one, and stepped into it.

“These, too.” Michael held out a pair of safety glasses.

Gabe zipped up the coveralls and held out his hand for the glasses. “What are you doing here on a Monday, anyway?”

“I had some cars to turn,” his brother said. “When you’re in charge, sometimes you work on your day off.”

“Someone’s taking this one out today?” Gabe asked, raising his eyebrows doubtfully. The Mustang didn’t look like she’d be ready for customers anytime soon. Not with the doors off and the paint peeling at the bottom.

“Nah, she’s a pet project. Clears my mind.” He stared at the engine compartment.

“Need help?” Gabe asked.

“Not afraid of spoiling your manicure?”

“Screw you.” He kept his voice cool and held his brother’s stare. “I just saved your back by helping you with that door.”

“Fine. Help me take off the dash.”

The men worked together in near-silence, communicating mostly in grunts and one-word instructions to replace the corroded instrument bezel and install a reproduction lens over it.

Finally, when they had the Mustang put back together, Michael captured Gabe in a sideways stare. “Not bad for someone who works at a desk all day.”

Gabe shrugged. It wasn’t the time to argue with his big brother. Not while he craved Michael’s approval. As kind as Mary and Rafe had been last night, he knew he needed it to be fully accepted into the Forza family.

“Let’s go for a ride.” Michael plucked a set of keys off the wall and nodded at the passenger seat. As little as he wanted to get into the car, Gabe obeyed his eldest brother. He breathed a little easier when he found the car had seat belts. He buckled his.

Michael started her up, and she idled at a low rumble. As he rolled her slowly out of the garage, he said, “Mary called me last night. Said you were upset about Mom.” He exited the parking lot onto the street.

“I just—it was a lot to take in. You know?”

He snorted. “It was a lot to live through.”

Gabe turned to him, but his brother kept his eyes on the road. “I—I wish…” He didn’t know what he wished. That he hadn’t been born? No, not that. Riding through Vegas in a vintage Mustang, still bearing its grease on his hands, made him happy to be alive. That he hadn’t been adopted? That he’d been around to grow up with the Forzas, putting more financial strain on the family? That he’d found out sooner and gone back to help? That he’d never come to Vegas at all?

Michael shook his head. “You came back, stirred up all those feelings. I thought I’d dealt with them but…I guess not.”

“I had a good therapist back in Ohio. I could ask her to recommend someone out here.”

Michael’s lip curled. “Therapy’s for—” He glanced at Gabe. “Never mind. What would you need a shrink for?”

Now it was Gabe’s turn to stare through the windshield. “I lost my parents, too. My adoptive ones.”

“Car accident?” Michael nodded at the way Gabe gripped the dash.

“Something like that.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

His brother guided the Mustang around a corner, and they were back at the garage. He parked her in a covered spot and, together, they tucked a tarp over the car.

“You’re not bad with a torque wrench,” Michael said. “I don’t know what your plans are, but I could find a spot for you here. God knows I’ve found jobs for more useless people.”

If that was Michael’s way of welcoming him into the family, Gabe hoped Michael left the public relations to Mary.

“I’ve got some stuff to sort out back in Ohio. But I’d like to come back and visit again.”

Michael grunted. “Sunny going back with you?” Her powder-blue Mercedes had just made the turn into the lot.

“Nah.” Saying it felt like an ice pick in his heart. “She’s an actress. She belongs in California.”

And now that he’d sorted his relationship with his family, she could go on her way.