I don't know what I was expecting. But this wasn't it.

Down a modest road jutting off the highway, down a winding dirt road marked by a mailbox, the trees canopying the path, caging each side of the car, abruptly clear. Like a breath of fresh air the sky breaks open, and a huge lawn—tinged with brown by winter frosts—leaps towards a white two-story house. Just one house, flanked by woods on both sides. A giant, bare poplar tree stands in the front yard, and the Bay, a twinkling blue-green, stretches across in the back.

I'm enraptured.

As the tires grind over rocks, I ease on the brake and steer the car around a gravel driveway circling the poplar tree. The grating slows as the tires slow. The house's reflection scrolls up the windshield. And I duck down, nose close to the steering wheel, gaping up at the curtained windows on the second floor.

"This is it?"

"Yep," Dax says beside me. "This is it."

I stare.

"It's nice, huh?"

Distracted, I pop the gearshift into park. My gaze trails the banisters of the wrap-around porch, touch on the red and yellow snapdragons pouring out of the planters on the front railings. "It's beautiful," I say.

A wink of light interrupts my musing, drawing my attention to the front door. The morning sun flashes over glass, and there, coming out onto the porch, is a middle-aged woman in a red robe. She's wiping her hands with a dish towel, craning her neck to look at the car.

"That's her?" I ask.

"That's her," Dax says, unfastening his seat belt with a click, "probably wondering who we are." He reaches for the door handle, but as an after thought, his fingers flit away. He snaps his neck around to look at Trip over his lenses instead. "Should, uh, I get out first?"

I roll my eyes.

"Go ahead," Trip says.

Dax grabs the door handle.

Up on tiptoes now, the woman watches the car door swing open. And the moment her gaze zeros in on Dax stepping out of the car, the moment she recognizes his timid wave, her hands and the dish towel go to her hips. Her mouth drops in a wide smile. "David... Xavier... Scott!? Is that you? My gosh! What in the world are—" The car door closes, and her next words are muffled.

Quiet.

A few seconds of awkward silence goes by—gnawing on my lip, tapping my fingernail on the gearshift—and I decide I'm not sitting in here alone with Trip. I sweep a glance over my shoulder. "Do I have your permission to get out too?"

At my biting tone, Trip only cocks his head.

I don't bother waiting for answer. Climbing out into the cold air, I cast my gaze over the roof of the car. Dax treks up the driveway. Aubrey's slippers pad down the steps leading off of the porch, her arms thrown wide to pull Dax into a hug. I watch their embrace, then reluctantly, pushing my door closed, I glance at Trip. He's getting out too now.

"Did you leave your gun in the car?"

Trip gives me a look. An obvious no.

Glaring back, I shift from one leg to the other. "Would you shoot a woman in a robe?"

"Don't start." Trip slams his door.

"I think it's a valid question."

"Ashford." His eyes fix on me with that unspoken warning I've come to know. "Don't start."

I shift again. A very stubborn part of me wishes to spit out another smartass remark, just to have the last word. But a more prudent part of me decides to clamp my tongue between my teeth. Definitely not the best time to test him.

Yielding my glare, I start around the car. And yielding his own, Trip follows beside me. Slowly, side by side, we draw closer to the house. I almost miss the faint, nervous twitch of Trip's injured shoulder. I sense it more than see it. A quick lift and a drop. I don't even think he notices it himself.

"... dishes from last night's ice cream binge, and I see a car pull up in my driveway. I can't even believe it," Aubrey is saying, holding Dax's face in one hand. Her long, bleached blonde hair ruffles in the light breeze. "It's been almost a year since the last time I saw you, and I haven't heard from you in months. No calls, no letters. My gosh, are you being worked to death?"

Looking both embarrassed and ecstatic, Dax glances our way then goes back to staring at the ground. He kicks a rock. "I guess I've been busy."

"You guess? Too busy to sleep too?" Her hands flutter over him, straightening his collar, smoothing out the shoulders of his shirt. Like a limp rag doll, Dax allows her. "Look at you. You look worn-out. You look like you haven't slept in ages."

"Well, we were driving all night..."

At the word "we", Aubrey turns her head to look at me and Trip—the two strangers hanging around awkwardly on the outskirts of their reunion. Pleasantly, she smiles. "And who are we?"

"My friends," Dax says. "These are my friends."

"Hi." I tug up the corners of my mouth and, deciding this is as good a cue as any, walk towards them. At arm's length I stick out my hand. "I'm Evette. Very nice to meet you."

"Evette..." An impressed glance at Dax. "That is a pretty name." She shakes my hand, smile cheery and radiant, the light crows feet at the corner of her eyes crinkling. If she sees my bruises or puffy eyes she doesn't show it. "I'm Aubrey, but I'm sure you already know that. It's very nice to meet you too, Evette."

"Thank you." My smile comes a little easier now. Withdrawing my hand, I gesture towards the house towering over us. "Your home is beautiful, by the way. It's perfect—breathtaking, really."

"Why, thank you." Another wide-eyed glance at Dax. "I like her, David. And she's gorgeous. Is she yours?"

In an instant, Dax's face turns red as a cherry. His hand moves so quick to adjust his glasses he almost knocks them off his face. "No, no, no, she's—she's just, uh, just a friend." Cringing, he shoots me an embarrassed look, slightly apologetic.

I just smile.

"Ah, well, then she must be his." Aubrey leans forward to peer around me.

The smile wipes off my face. "No."

Did I say that too fast? Too harsh?

Quickly, I force a laugh to take the edge off my voice. "Um, no. I'm... nobody's. That's Trip." Also known as Triple Threat. And I am absolutely not his.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I twist around to look at him.

Having only followed me so far, he stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets, giving the impression of composure. But he doesn't fool me. The tense set of his jaw tells me otherwise. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to move. Still, he forces himself to draw closer.

"My gosh!" Aubrey breaks into another wide smile. Her hands clap together, causing Trip to stop and stare at her in surprise. "Would you just look at those eyes. Wow, I've never seen anything quite like them. They look like, like..." Ice? "—like stars! They're so bright they almost look unreal!"

Stars. I have to bite back the smirk creeping up the corner of my mouth. Trip doesn't look so amused.

But it's not only the eyes Aubrey is fascinated with. Similar to admiring a wild animal from afar, that wide, open-mouthed smile starts to turn into jaw-dropped shock. Her gaze wavers over the bands of muscles stretching over his forearms. "Wow," Aubrey says again, a little quieter. "It's very nice to meet you, Trip."

"You too." There's that nice voice of his, nailing the perfect amount of charm like a pro. Smooth. Likable. But his hands stay in his pockets, giving no sign that he'll offer his hand. And those bright eyes swiftly flash over this woman—a once over, a quick scan, barely noticeable.

He's already looking straight through her.

Aubrey's smile, all sunshine and rainbows, widens again. Beaming from head to toe, she looks at each of us in turn. And for no apparent reason, she reaches out to quickly squeeze my hand—startling me. Then she turns to Dax. "Well, why don't you all come inside. You caught me at the perfect time, I was just about to start cooking up some breakfast. I've already got coffee brewing."

Dax's shoulders slump. "Coffee sounds really good right now."

"Then lets get some coffee in you." She pats Dax's cheek on her way to the porch stairs. "You've been driving all night, you say?"

"Well, all of us taking shifts, yeah."

Trailing behind, I glance aside at Trip. Now that Aubrey's back is turned, all feigned composure has slipped from his face. His eyes are grave, flashing over the house, up at the curtained windows. Lost in thought. Gears turning, turning.

When his gaze happens to fall on me, I raise my eyebrows. What's wrong?

He gives a quick shake of his head. Nothing.

"Coming from the City, I'm guessing?" Aubrey asks, on the porch now, passing red rocking chairs and empty, rod-iron plant holders. My hand skims over the railing as I climb the stairs.

Dax nods. "Yeah."

"Whose car is that?"

"It's, uh, a rental."

"Very, very nice. I like it."

"Me too."

Aubrey opens the front door and leads the way into a creamy-yellow hall. The door softly falls shut behind Trip, and the warmth inside makes my nose tingle and thaw. Barely noticing as my arm brushes against a few coats hanging on the wall, I scent the air. Lemons? Oranges? Something citrus, something fresh and clean—and coffee—floats through the house.

"Oh, hold on a second." Aubrey pauses by an archway to the left, leans into a living room, where a TV is playing a some sort of talk show. "Off." The screen goes black, and she veers to the right, through another archway. "Well, would you look at that. The coffee's already done."

The kitchen she sweeps into is bright and airy. Sunlight pours in from the windows, beams onto the counters, and twinkles over hanging pots and pans. As I walk in, my attention is almost immediately drawn to the connecting dining room on the other side of a bar. Huge windows and two glass doors allow a perfect view of the backyard and the Bay. I'm busy examining a dock cutting across the water when Aubrey says, "Have a seat at the bar if you'd like, make yourselves at home. You still take cream and sugar, right, David? How about you two?"

"I do," I say, following Dax over to the bar and taking a seat on a stool next to him. Chin propped in his hand, he gives me a small smile. And then our eyes flutter up at Trip who breezes past us into the dinning room. Towards a window. "Trip doesn't," I say. "He takes his coffee black."

The unwarranted glare Trip shoots over his shoulder—not at me, but at Dax—makes Dax's eyes dart away. Quickly, Dax dips his head, hand slipping from his chin to rub the nape of his neck, and I'm left wondering if I just missed something.

"How are your parents, David?" Aubrey asks, opening her refrigerator and grabbing a container of creamer.

"Huh?" Dax lifts his head. "Uh, alright—I mean, I guess. I'm not entirely sure."

"Have you heard from them lately?"

"Not really."

A rueful smile quirks Aubrey's lips. She walks over and sets the creamer on the bar in front of us. "I'm sorry, honey."

"Well, you know." Dax shrugs. Leg bouncing. "It's nothing new."

"I guess not. How's work, other than busy?"

"Boring—well, at least it was. Things have gotten... kinda kooky lately. But, I mean, yeah. Work is okay."

"Kooky?"

"It's a long story."

"Oh." Aubrey throws a glance over my shoulder at Trip. And my gut clenches at the guess in her eyes. Because she's guessing right; that long story is him. She goes for a cabinet. "So, are you just passing through, or can you stay for a nice visit?"

"Well, uh..." Dax hesitates. "If you wouldn't mind us staying..."

Aubrey stops. And turns. Coffee mugs hang on her fingers. She's not smiling anymore. "Are you in trouble? Is that what this is about?"

The kitchen falls silent—short of the sound of the coffee mugs clacking against each other in Aubrey's hands. For a moment, no one attempts to give her the obvious answer. I turn in my seat to see if Trip will say something. But he only stares at Aubrey, eyes intense, narrowed—he's moving slowly, lethally away from the window to stand beside me.

The air has shifted around him. Twisting to static. Making me tense up.

Dax can't take the silence or the tension for long. He finally blurts, "Yeah." A few octaves too high. "Yeah, we're in trouble."

"Something like last time?"

"Sort of." Dax shifts on his stool. "But, um, worse."

Aubrey's brow furrows in concern.

"We just..." I start, slowly. I'm not even sure what I'm about to say, but I know I should say something. "We really needed somewhere to go, and Dax said you would help us. We don't mean to intrude, honestly, but we didn't have any other options."

Aubrey looks doubly concerned. "Trouble isn't following you here, is it?"

"No." Dax shakes his head. "We wouldn't have come if it was. No one knows we're here. I'm sorry to put you through this, Aub. We just—"

"Okay." Aubrey holds up her palms and the coffee mugs. She stays like that for a while, looking at the floor. "Alright. No more about it. That's all I need to hear, that's all I need to know. Don't tell me anymore." Her gaze shifts and now she's speaking directly to Trip. "I don't need to know why or who. But if you need help, you're welcome here. Stay as long as you need, okay?"

Surprised, I turn to Trip again.

And I realize he's not staring at Aubrey like I thought he was. He doesn't even look like he's listening to any of us. His frosted eyes are locked on the coffee cups in Aubrey's hands.

I follow his gaze—

And that's when the wail bursts from somewhere upstairs. I jump. And Trip jolts so hard he almost knocks over the stool he's standing next to. Reflexively, quick as a rattlesnake, he catches it before it can clatter to the floor, and all of our eyes go to the ceiling.

For one disoriented moment, my ears have to register the sound, try to make sense of it. And it hits me.

It's a child crying.

With a couple of quick, bouncing steps, Aubrey comes forward and places the coffee mugs on the counter. Hastily, her forefinger taps the crease of her lips, a motion for us to quiet. "No more about it, okay? No more. You're just visiting." Then calling to the ceiling, "Leah! Leah, honey! Bring your brother down please!"

Stunned, confused, my gaze snaps first to Dax—who is shrinking on his stool, avoiding all eye contact, head sinking back down again. To Trip—who is gritting his teeth, whirling around, back to the window. And finally my gaze lands on the coffee mugs in front of me.

One of them reads: World's Greatest Mom.