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“Is it because of my potential illness?” He looked so sincere that her heart cracked open all the same. Even if he had Huntington’s, she wouldn’t leave his side. “You’re right. I’ve decided I’ll get tested, so, Nico…”

“No.” Her hand shook. She was breaking the rules of improv and breaking their agreement for the game, but she couldn’t break his heart when he discovered who she really was. “I love you, but no.”

She freed her hand with a tug that nearly sent her falling on her ass and without looking at anyone, she fled—blinded by the hot tears that burned her eyes—the Ballantyne family circle, the party, the lights, the band that had drifted into playing love ballads, and ran straight into the darkness.

*

Bodhi stayed onhis knees, his hands empty but still feeling Nico’s warm, delicate fingers.

“Bodhi, what illness?” His mother was right in front of him on her knees in the dirt as well. He’d never seen his mom kneel ever. And get dirty? No. That was for other people—usually him or contracted employees or ranch hands.

He stared at his mom, not able to process that he’d lost Nico. Except she’d said she loved him. He hadn’t been wrong about the week. He hadn’t. Was it his career? He was on the cusp of change. Did she not see herself in a small town? He could adjust—visit instead of live here. Was it the uncertainty of the disease? He’d get tested.

His cousins had their happy ever afters. Their granddad had a chance now at a future with his family around him and to see the Ballantyne legacy not only continue but to thrive, if Ashni’s telling gesture was what he thought it was, which totally explained her unusually volatile emotional swings and wan demeanor over the past couple of months. Not that he’d mention that.

But he no longer wanted to throw himself down on a sword like a sacrifice. He wanted his happy ever after too—with Nico. And it was within his grasp. He knew it was. He just had to get on his feet and go after her. He knew she couldn’t go far. He’d seen to that.

“Bodhi, answer me right now. What do you mean you’re sick?”

“What? Oh.” He realized his cousins were staring, and pretty much everyone he knew in town was as well. Grand confessions were not exactly his style and definitely not on his knees like some supplicant.

Bodhi popped to his feet and pulled up his mom. There was no way to sugarcoat it, and he’d been running from reality all year.

“Dad had a genetic disorder. Huntington’s,” he said to his mom gently.

“What?”

“That’s why he killed himself. He didn’t want to suffer or to have us suffer watching him decline. He’d seen several members of his family get it. He left a letter with his attorney to be sent to when I turned thirty.”

Bowen and Beck took a step toward him.

“That’s what set you off this year,” Bowen breathed.

“You should have told us,” Beck said. “We would have been there for you.”

“I know,” Bodhi said. “I was processing it in my own way. Badly. Avoiding. But being with Nico has made me realize I have to step up. Get tested and deal with the results however they turn out.”

“We’ll go with you,” Beck and Bowen said along with Ashni and Lang. They’d even circled him in solidarity.

“That won’t be necessary,” his mother said stiffly, not looking at any of them.

“Why?”

“It just won’t.”

“That’s not good enough,” Bodhi pushed. “I spilled my guts. Time for you to hara-kiri it and splash out whatever bloodless entrails you have.”

“Bodhi Ballantyne, you are the—”

“Biggest mistake and disappointment of your life. I know. I know. You’ve made that endlessly clear.”

“That’s not true,” his mother breathed.

“Genevieve, put your son’s mind at rest,” Ben Ballantyne said. “Let him go after Nico if he wants, and then you need to let him go.”

Her fists clenched, and her aristocratic jaw jutted out. For a woman in her early fifties, she was remarkably beautiful and easily looked a decade younger.

She crossed her arms and looked at the fire. “Fine,” she said, sounding like a defiant teenager instead of an esteemed federal judge. “Your father was not your father,” she said in a low voice.