Page 13 of Conrad

He took her hand, led her to the middle, where other guests were slow dancing, and pulled her into his arms.

Certainly she couldn’t feel his thundering heart?—

“You okay?” She’d circled her arms around his neck, searching his face.

“Me?” He cleared his throat.

“No. I’m talking to Justin Blake, the rookie—yes, you. You went pale down there, like you’d seen your life flash before your eyes.”

He swallowed. “Oh. Um. Just . . . you know. High-school memories—hey, is that Stein?” What was his older brother doing here? Stein wore a plain black suit, stood near the wall with his hands clasped, watching,wait—“He’s with Declan Stone.”

The billionaire had hosted Oaken Fox’s bachelor party at his lake estate near Duck Lake a month ago.

She glanced over. “Yeah. Declan and my dad are friends. He gives a lot to EmPowerPlay. I didn’t know your brother knew him.”

Or worked for him?Huh.But it suddenly made sense why, after their sister’s wedding, Conrad’s former-SEAL brother hadn’t returned to his life in the Caribbean teaching tourists how to scuba dive. And why he’d been a little tight-lipped about the deets.

He’d gotten a security gig.Interesting.

The song changed, again Ed Sheeran, and Penelope started to hum.

“I found a love . . .”

He stared down at her. She could take his breath away, really. Cause him to lose himself in the golden layers of her eyes, sink his gaze onto her full lips tinted with a hint of pink. Desire crested over him.

“I never knew you were the someone waitin’ for me . . .”

Maybe he would survive, because he’d stopped shaking.So see,he was fine. Just fine.

And just like that, the image of Jeremy—not fifteen, but one year old—toddling onto the ice with his dad at the arena flashed into his mind and—aw?—

The room started to turn fuzzy around the edges.

He stepped away from Penelope, the sweat rushing over him, and headed through the crowd for the hallway. Pushing through the doors, he leaned against the wall, then bent over and grabbed his knees.

Hot, the room spinning—he needed air.

Door, at the end of the hall. He practically sprinted for it, barreled through, down the back stairs to the second, then first floor, his gut still roiling?—

Then out into the brisk winter air with the stars sparkling overhead, watching as he paced the parking lot filled with limos and SUVs and even his Dodge Charger. He looked up, heavenward, not asking any questions, because frankly, well, maybe he had enough answers for tonight.

It didn’t matter how much Conrad lied to himself, clearly God hadn’t forgotten.

He finally braced himself against the back of his car, taking in cool breaths, his body still shaking.

Focus.

He closed his eyes, trying to conjure up the boat, the waves, the wind?—

“Bro?”

He stiffened, opened his eyes. Turned.

Steinbeck stood in the lot, pale blue eyes on him, worried.

“Hey,” Conrad managed, standing up. And right then, of course, his gut decided it had waited long enough. He pushed past Stein and beelined to a nearby dumpster.

Don’t lose it, don’t?—

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