He crossed his arms over his chest. “No, but I suppose you’re going to remind me again.”

Emma sighed. “I just want you to be happy, and I know that deep down you aren’t.”

“Please, just let it go for now, okay?”

Although she nodded, Pesh could tell she was far from agreeing. Somewhere within that pretty head of hers the wheels of matchmaking were turning hard and fast. “See you soon,” she said, before starting down the hall.

As he watched Emma and Noah walk through the mechanized double doors into the waiting room, a pang of sadness reverberated through him as he wondered what his child might have been like. In the months before her death, his late wife, Jade, had been on fertility medication. She’d miscarried once, but she had great hopes that their latest baby making attempts would be successful. She died never knowing if she was pregnant or not. When the autopsy had come back, Pesh refused to read whether she had been. It would have been too difficult to bear.

Shaking off his morbid thoughts once again, he went into the room where a patient needed him.

Chapter Two

“Where the hell is my dress?” Megan McKenzie demanded, as she rifled through her closet. The one formal and demure dress she owned had been dropped off at the cleaners earlier in the week to prepare for her godson, Noah’s, baptism. As the godmother, she wanted to look mature and responsible. Most of the dresses in her closet were from her former life—in other words, her life before her son was born. That meant they were too short, too tight, and too revealing.

She cut her eyes over to the couch to check on Mason. Sitting stock still, he was enraptured by the cartoon on the TV. “Be right back, sweetie.”

“Awight, Mommy.”

She pounded up the basement stairs and into her parent’s kitchen. She hoped she would find the dress hanging in the hall closet. If not, she was totally screwed. As she started into the living room, the mere sound of a voice on the television caused her to freeze. Her stomach churned, and her heart raced. She knew that voice all too well. It belonged to the man who had shredded her heart, crushed her spirit, and left her broken almost beyond repair.

Her nineteen-year-old-brother, Sean, lounged on the couch, watching ESPN. On the screen, her ex-boyfriend, Davis Durello, gave an interview outfitted in his Falcons jersey and pads. Becoming enraged that he was invading her home, Megan stalked across the room and snatched the remote out of Sean’s hand. She flicked off the television and tossed the remote at him, smacking him in the chest. He glowered at her. “What the hell, Meg? I was watching that.”

“Are you that big of an insensitive ass**le that you even have to ask?”

“I’m an ass**le because you’re getting pissed I’m watching some old interview of Davis’?”

“Aren’t you perceptive?” Megan snapped sarcastically.

“I thought you were over him,” Sean countered.

Megan didn’t even bother trying to explain to Sean that even after two years, it was hard getting over the man who left you knocked up and refused to have anything to do with his son besides signing a check. As a teenage male, Sean just didn’t have that much emotional depth to understand that a wound like that may look like it has healed, but it was always festering just below the surface.

“I am,” she lied. “But that doesn’t mean I want to see him. Most people get to leave their ex-boyfriends behind, but I have to have mine thrust into my face during football season. But even when that’s over, he still seems to be creeping around.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she shot a death glare at Sean. “It would be nice if you cared enough about me not to want to watch him.”

“Can I help that your douchebag ex happens to play for the Falcons, and ESPN is doing an interview?”

“You don’t have to be watching it in my presence!”

At her outburst, Sean held up his hands in defeat. “Sorry. I didn’t know it got to you that bad. I’ll turn the channel next time, okay?”

“Fine,” she muttered. Feeling slightly psychotic after her outburst, she kept her head down as she headed for the hall closet. Thankfully, her navy blue dress hung on the rack still in the plastic from the dry cleaners. When she turned around, she found her mother outfitted in her finest pale pink suit. She eyed Megan’s robe-clad form disdainfully. “Megan, we leave in half an hour. Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

Closing her eyes, Megan counted to ten so she wouldn’t bite her mother’s head off. “I left my dress up here after I picked it up at the dry cleaners. I’ll be ready on time. I promise.”

“Would you like me to get Mason dressed?”

“I’ve already taken care of him. It’s just me that needs to get her act together.” Without another word, she brushed past her mother and went into the kitchen. Wearing his best suit and tie, her father stood at the bar, putting on his cufflinks.

At his expectant look, she held up her hand. “I know we leave in half an hour. I’ll be ready. I swear.” She then threw open the basement door. Pounding down the steps, she tried calming down. She didn’t know what it was about her parents’ seemingly good intentions that grated on her last nerve. Of course, they hadn’t bothered her as much when she had lived alone. Now that she was back under their roof, they seemed to forget she was twenty-five, a mother, and not their little girl to boss around anymore.

With clinicals looming to enable her to finish her nursing degree, she’d known she wouldn’t be able to work fulltime. Although she loved the freedom and independence of having her own apartment, there was no way she could afford it and daycare for Mason. So, she’d packed up, tucked her tail between her legs, and moved back home to her parents’ finished basement.

It wasn’t all bad. She had her own kitchen and bathroom, not to mention she and Mason still had their own rooms. With her father recently retired, she had a great male role model on site for Mason.

She found him exactly as she had left him, lounging on the couch watching his favorite movie, Despicable Me. She smiled at the sight of him in his khaki pants, black, button down dress shirt, and red clip-on tie. He looked just like a little man sitting there, even though he had just turned seventeen months the day before. Usually, he would be tearing around the living room, playing with his toys. But just one look at a minion sent him practically catatonic. That had been Megan’s plan when she got him dressed earlier. He’d seen the movie almost by mistake, considering he was a little young for the PG cartoon, but with older cousins, along with her brothers, Mason was often exposed to things that were older. She liked to think being surrounded by adults and older kids was one reason why he was a such a good talker for his age.