Chapter 4
Daniel
Trevor’s family reunion is the last place I want to be on a Saturday afternoon.
I pull into the Rodgers’ driveway at two fifteen, exactly fifteen minutes late. I'm not late enough to be rude, but to make a point. I have three investor calls waiting, a crisis brewing with the Larsson deal, and I'm yet to handle Cassidy’s latest media stunt.
But Trevor called in a favor, and I owe him more than I can ever repay.
The house is a modest two-story colonial in the suburbs.
Even without Trevor going on about the countless times he had broken his teeth on the swing set in the backyard and the basketball hoop over the garage, you'd feel the pieces of his happy childhood all around the place.
Unfortunately, it's not my world. Not even close.
I straighten my tie, already regretting the decision to wear a suit. Everyone else will wear jeans and polo shirts, and I’ll look like I’m attending a board meeting. But the armor always helps.
The front door opens before I can knock.
“Danny boy!” Trevor grins, pulling me into one of those back-slapping hugs that straight men do when they’re too emotionally repressed to hug properly. “Thought you’d bail.”
“Considered it.”
“Liar. Get in here.”
He drags me inside, past family photos cluttering every wall. Pictures of graduations, weddings, and Christmas cards spanning decades fly past me before I can make anything out of them.
The backyard is full of kids chasing each other and adults clustered around picnic tables with the thick smell of burgers on the grill in the humid air. Pop music drifts from a speaker.
“Beer?” Trevor offers.
“Please.”
He hands me a bottle from the cooler, condensation already beading on the glass. I take a long drink, scanning the crowd out of habit.
“Mom has been asking about you,” Trevor says, nodding toward a woman with graying hair and Trevor’s smile. “Just a warning, she’ll ask when you’re getting married.”
“I’ll tell her the same thing I tell the press. No comment.”
“Coward.”
“Realist.”
Trevor laughs, clapping my shoulder. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the family.”
We make the rounds between aunts, uncles, and cousins whose names I’ll forget in ten minutes. Everyone is friendly and curious about Trevor’s mysterious college friend who “made it big.” I smile, shake hands, and deflect personal questions.
Someone calls Trevor's name from across the yard.
He excuses himself, leaving me with my beer and some lousy cousins.
Making up some silly excuse, I drift toward the edge of the lawn, away from the conversation clusters.
From here, I can see the whole gathering, the beautiful chaos of a real family enjoying each other.
Then a bright and overly familiar female laughter cuts through the noise and pulls my attention like a magnet.
I turn.
She’s standing near the food table, talking to an older woman. Her dark hair catches the sunlight, and my eyes automatically find the curve of her hip I’ve memorized. She's gesturing with her hands as she talks, animated and alive.
Bailey.
My chest constricts.
No. It can’t be. I must be thinking about her too much. My mind is conjuring her face in crowds, seeing her where she isn’t.
I blink. She’s still there.
She's now laughing at something the older woman said, then reaching for a chip and turning slightly—
Our eyes meet across thirty feet of lawn.
The recognition is instantaneous.
Her smile freezes, and the color drains from her face.
Adrenaline floods my system. Bailey turns away quickly, cheeks flushing pink, her hand coming up to tuck her hair behind her ear. I realize I'm not breathing.
Bailey is here. At Trevor’s family reunion.
Which means—
No.
“Daniel!” Trevor appears at my elbow, grinning. “Come on, I want you to meet someone.”
He starts walking toward the food table. Toward her.
Every muscle in my body locks down.
“Actually, I should probably—”
“It’ll just take a second. Come on.”
He doesn’t wait for agreement; he just strides across the lawn.
Bailey sees us coming, and her eyes go wide with panic.
She shakes her head slightly, a tiny movement meant only for me.
But before I can fake a work emergency, a sudden illness, anything, Trevor reaches her and slings an arm around her shoulders.
“Daniel, this is my sister, Bailey. Bay, this is Daniel Williams, the guy I’ve been telling you about.”
Sister.
Trevor’s sister. The one he has mentioned a hundred times over the years. The one he’s fiercely protective of and threatened to kill me over if I ever looked at her wrong.
The one I fucked a week ago.
Bailey extends her hand with remarkable composure, considering the circumstances. “Nice to meet you, Daniel.”
Daniel. God, the way she says it.
I force myself to take her hand. Her skin is warm, soft.
“Bailey.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Trevor has told me a lot about you.”
“Has he?” She extracts her hand quickly, tucking it behind her back. “He has mentioned you, too. The brilliant businessman who saved his life in college.”
“I wouldn’t say saved—”
“He would,” Trevor interjects, blissfully oblivious to our tension. “This guy talked me off a ledge when I failed organic chemistry. Literally saved my premed dreams.”
Bailey’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “How noble.”
“How’s the new job?” Trevor asks her. “You started this week, right?”
Her gaze flickers to me, then away. “It’s… interesting.”
“She’s too modest,” I hear myself say. “Her work is impressive.”
Trevor’s head whips toward me. “Wait. You know about her job?”
Bailey’s eyes go wide.
“I mean—” I scramble for cover, “—Trevor mentioned you were in graphic design. I’m familiar with the industry.”
“Right.” She nods too quickly. “Common field.”
Trevor looks between us, his expression shifting. “Huh.”
An aunt descends on us before the silence can stretch too long, pulling Trevor away to settle some debate about whose potato salad is better. He goes reluctantly, mouthing ‘Help’ as he gets dragged away.
Bailey and I stand frozen, a careful three feet between us. It's close enough for us to talk, yet far enough to maintain plausible deniability.
“So,” she croaks. “This is awkward.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“How long have you—” She stops, starts again. “Trevor is your best friend.”
“Apparently, you’re his sister.”
“I’ve been his sister longer than you’ve been his friend.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitches. “Valid point.”
She crosses her arms.
“We can’t tell him.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m serious, Daniel. He’ll kill you. Maybe me too, but definitely you.”
“I’m aware.”
“He has this whole thing about—”
“About not touching his sister. I know. He’s been clear on that point for the last fifteen years.”
Her eyes narrow. “Fifteen years?”
“We met freshman year.”
“Jesus.” She runs a hand through her hair, the gesture pulling her shirt tighter. I look away, jaw clenched. “This is a disaster.”
“Agreed.”
Based on the resemblance, an older woman, probably one of Trevor’s aunts, shuffles over, smiling warmly with curious eyes.
“And who’s this handsome young man?”
“Auntie Greta, this is Daniel. Trevor’s friend from college.” Bailey’s voice is strained but polite.
“Daniel Williams.” I extend my hand.
Aunt Greta takes it, patting it with both of hers. “My goodness. Trevor said you were successful, but he didn’t mention you were so handsome. Do you have a wife?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Auntie,” Bailey warns.
“I’m just asking! He’s too handsome to be single. What’s wrong with you, young man? Married to your work?”
“Something like that.”
“Shame.” She pats my hand again. “You two would make beautiful babies.”
Bailey chokes on nothing.
“Auntie, I think Uncle Joe needs help with the grill—”
“Oh!” Another aunt materializes, phone in hand. “You’re that Daniel Williams. I saw you on the news. Something about your ex-girlfriend?”
My spine goes rigid.
“I don’t comment on personal matters.”
“She said you were cold. You sure don't look cold to me. I bet you'd melt the buttons right off my shirt.”
“Aunt Linda,” Bailey cuts in. “That’s inappropriate.”
“I’m just saying—”
“And I’m saying you can’t say that.” Bailey steps slightly closer to me. It’s adorable how she’s trying to protect me even though I can see the top of her head. “Daniel is here as Trevor’s guest, not as entertainment.”
Aunt Linda huffs but backs off, muttering about “young people these days.”
Aunt Greta pats my arm. “Don’t mind, Linda. She’s nosy. Always has been.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, anyone who makes it into the news that much must be doing something right.”
“Or something wrong,” I mutter.
She laughs, delighted. “I like him, Bailey. Much better than that Derek boy.”
Bailey’s face flames. “Okay, let’s get you some punch—”
“Derek was a cheater,” Aunt Greta continues, apparently unconcerned with discretion. “Bailey caught him with the neighbor. Did she tell you?”
“Auntie!”
I glance at Bailey. She’s mortified, color high in her cheeks, eyes darting anywhere but at me. How much more adorable can she get?
“I didn’t tell you the best part,” Aunt Greta continues. “She threatened to cut off his—”
“Okay!” Bailey grabs Greta's arm and steers her away. “We’re going to go… anywhere else.”
She shoots me an apologetic and embarrassed look over her shoulder, but I just shrug. I’m left standing alone, fighting the urge to smile.
Trevor soon materializes again with fresh beers. “Sorry about the family. They have no filter.”
“I noticed.”
“They mean well. They really do. They’re just…” He trails off, searching for the word.
“Fun?”
“That’s diplomatic.” He takes a long drink. “So what do you think of Bailey?”
The question is casual. Too casual.
I keep my expression neutral. “She seems nice.”
“Nice.” Trevor’s mouth quirks. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“We spoke for thirty seconds.”
“Still, first impressions.”
I choose my words carefully. “She’s clearly intelligent. Your aunties love her.”
“Everyone loves her. She’s—” He stops, something shifting in his expression. “She’s had a rough time lately with the Derek situation. She’s hiding behind her new job, pretending she’s fine, but I can tell.”
Guilt twists in my gut. I know exactly how bad the Derek situation is. I was there that night.
“She’ll be fine though,” Trevor continues. “She is tougher than she looks. Starting that new job, finally leaving that dead-end firm behind. I just hope they treat her right this time. She deserves a real fresh start.”
“Yeah.” My voice sounds hollow. “Fresh start.”
Across the yard, Bailey is talking to a cousin, laughing at something they said. But her shoulders are tight and her smile is slightly forced. She glances up, catches me watching, and looks away quickly.
Trevor follows my gaze. “You know, you two would actually get along. She’s creative, you’re analytical. Fire and ice.”
The words hit close. I take a long drink of beer to avoid responding.
“I should introduce you properly,” Trevor muses. “After the meal, maybe. Consider yourself warned, though, she’s off-limits.”
My hand tightens on the bottle. “You’ve mentioned that.”
“I know. I’m protective. It’s a flaw.” He grins, but there is steel underneath.
“Of course.”
“I mean it, though. Bailey is special. She’s been through a lot. From now on, anyone who hurts her answers to me.”
“Understood,” I manage.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, grateful for the distraction.
Lottie: Press issue with the Larsson deal. Need you to call ASAP.
“Work?” Trevor asks.
“Emergency.”
“On Saturday?”
“You know how it is.”
He sighs, but nods. “Yeah. Go. Thanks for coming, man. It means a lot.”
“Sorry I can’t stay longer.”
“You came. That’s what matters.” He pulls me into another hug, thumping my back. “Drive safe. And Daniel?”
“Yeah?”
“Think about taking a vacation. It’d do you good.”
I force a smile. “I’ll consider it.”
I make my excuses to his parents, shake hands, and accept a plate of food wrapped in foil because Mrs. Rodgers insists. I’m hyperaware of Bailey across the yard the whole time, pretending not to watch me leave.
Our eyes meet one more time as I reach my car.
She looks as shaken as I feel.
I slide behind the wheel, the door closing with a solid thunk. My hands grip the steering wheel. The leather is cool, but somehow it feels hot against my skin.
Bailey Rodgers is now completely, catastrophically off-limits.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel, exhaling hard.
“Fuck,” I mutter to the empty car. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Trevor’s warning echoes in my head.
I’ve already hurt her. I'd foolishly called her work adequate out of spite and talked down on her passion.
And despite all that, despite knowing exactly how terrible this situation is, I can still feel her touch.
I start the car before my thoughts spiral further, pulling out of the driveway without looking back.
But the image of Bailey standing in her brother’s backyard, looking lost, furious, and beautiful, follows me.
I’m in trouble.
And there’s no exit strategy for this.