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I slap his chest and he grunts. “Ignore him, Wren, you look perfect.” Then for good measure: “I’d do ya.”

Ford grunts; Wren’s face twists. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a half hug. “You do look perfect.” He kisses her on the head. “But I still don’t like all those legs.”

She gives a token smiley eye roll.

A knock at the door pulls a nervous breath out of her. She looks at me, and I give her an excited smile. “Ford, answer the door for dramatic effect,” I instruct. “You know, scary cop dad threatening to clip his balls off.”

They both look at me.

“Do you not watch TV?” I huff. “I’ll do it.”

I open the door to find Luke standing on the porch, dressed up and nervous. His long hair is down, brushing the collar of his black shirt. He smiles, his mouth slightly too big for his still teenage-sized head.

“Hello, Luke,” I say with a grin and completely calm voice. “I’m Scotty and I burn dicks for a living. Hurt Wren and you’re toast.” The color drains from his face. When I look over my shoulder, Ford is biting back a smile while Wren looks mortified. I step aside, opening the door fully. “Please come in.”

“Uh.” He looks at Wren, who offers him a weak smile from inside. “Okay.”

Ford, the big wuss, steps in and saves him. “Luke. Ford. Wren’s dad.” He extends a hand that Luke takes and shakes. Luke’s introduction is a nervous squeak. His face is so pale I wonder if he might faint. Poor kid is terrified.

We stand, looking at each other in the middle of the living room, nobody saying anything. I do it to make things uncomfortable, Wren and Luke because they don’t know what to say, and Ford, I suspect, is mentally cursing this boy for ever being born.

“Well,” Wren finally says breaking the silence. “We should go, right, Luke?”

He nods, and Wren teeters toward the door in her heels, adorably awkward as they start to leave.

“Be home by eleven,” Ford calls from the doorway as I tuck myself into his side.

“And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I shout for good measure.

Wren lifts a hand in the air but doesn’t look back as Luke opens the passenger door for her. I don’t have to see her face to know she’s fighting a smile and rolling her eyes.

We watch them until the car pulls out of the driveway and the lights disappear down the road.

Ford blows out a heavy breath. “God, Scotty. It’s so much harder than you think,” he says, looking down at me and tightening his hold. “Watching a kid that’s yours go live a life without you . . .” He shakes his head. “That alone feels like punishment for all the shit we pulled as kids.” He chuckles softly. “Doesn’t even take into account whatever it is they go to do.”

His words aren’t made to hurt me, but unknowingly, they do. They send a million cuts lashing across my heart and into my soul. Because I do know what it’s like. More than he knows.

As I look up at him, June’s annoying voice blares in my ears,“You have to tell him.”

“Ford . . .” He looks at me, blue eyes familiar and bright.

The oven dings.

Ford pecks a kiss on my mouth.

I lose my nerve.

“Turkey time,” he says with an amused tone, taking my hand to pull me inside. “And then we have this house to ourselves.”

Say it. Say it. Say it.

Instead: “I’ve been meaning to see what else we can do with those cuffs of yours.”

The front door swings open an hour before curfew and Wren barrels in, makeup running down her face.

She’s disheveled and crying; Ford and I leap from the couch.

“What the hell happened?” Ford demands as I look her over for wounds. “Where’s Luke?”