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Distracted by his mother. By thinking about what it would mean to pursue something real with her.

After I came to terms with the fact that the woman I loved was gone, I took jobs that promised more advancement than family time, I threw myself into raising Jen and making a namefor myself. The few relationships I attempted always fizzled out when women realized I couldn't give them the commitment and emotional presence they wanted.

“Work and Jen come first,” I told my last girlfriend when she pressed for more of my time, more of my heart. She left a week later.

It's better this way. Easier. Safer.

So why can't I stop thinking about Wren?

Nothing has ever made me consider giving up the quiet life I’ve carved out for myself.

Until now.

The ball rolls to where the women are seated. Wren smiles, kicking the ball to me. “You two are making me feel lazy.”

“We all deserve lazy days,” says Jen.

“Play with us, Mom and Aunt Jen!” Eric pleads.

Jen leans into the patio chair. “Goodness no. I’m soaking up the sun instead. I have an impossible day tomorrow. Wren should play though.”

“I'll embarrass myself,” she protests.

“I promise to go easy on you,” I tease.

She lifts her chin at the challenge. “Fine. But remember you asked for this.”

To my surprise, she's not half bad. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in enthusiasm, laughing every time she misses a shot. Jen makes fun of me and Wren every time we miss Eric’s ball.

I take this picture of us in mind. Jen on the patio chair, laughing. Wren holding her stomach as she laughs. Eric throwing a ball, his face red from excitement. Me with my hands behind, watching with a satisfied smile. It feels like the picture of a happy family.

My stomach clenches.

I can help Wren with her professional problems. That's what I'm good at. That's safe. Anything more risks everything.

Yet as Eric kicks the ball far past me and I turn to see Wren laughing in the sunlight, somehow, walking away feels like a bigger risk.

15

WREN

The sex was… everything. And now I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. His hands on my skin. His mouth. The way he whispered my name.

It replays in my head like a reel I can’t pause. The way his hand held the side of my face. His whisper of my name as he entered me. The way I didn’t want it to end.

Which is why I’ve been avoiding him now. It's childish and spineless, but I don't know how else to handle the hurricane of feelings threatening my walls.

I make sure to keep things brief and polite. Professional, like our initial goal when I employed him.

But goodness, it’s hard to do that. Hard to pretend not to melt under his blue gaze. Hard to pretend my body doesn't come alive whenever he's near. Heavens knows it’s hard not to fall back into his arms again. My body wants that more than anything, to relive some of that passion, to satisfy the ache in me.

Yet that small rational voice says to take a step back. Against my will, it reminds me of why I employed him. It reminds me of my situation. My lustful desires have clouded my vision and now we’ve crossed the threshold of pretend and real.

But knowing this and taking a step back hasn't been easy considering we’re living in the same house.

I almost packed up and left three times this week. I told myself I’d go back to my place with Eric but Talia said it’s too soon. That people are still watching. We need to ride this wave until launch.

“The press is still sniffing around your house,” she told me yesterday. “Better to lay low a while longer.”