Constantine reached for my arm as if worried I’d wind up in the middle of traffic again, and we quietly followed Colin over to a parked Maserati.

He rounded the car and went for the front passenger seat to open the door for me as Colin slipped into the back.

Before I could get in, he picked up a laptop and held it at his side, patiently waiting for me to get in.

I locked eyes with him, searching for an answer in his gaze he didn’t seem prepared to give me.

He swallowed, then lifted his chin as a directive I found myself following.

He closed the door, shaking his head while circling the front of the car to get to the driver’s side.

“What happened?” I asked Colin as Constantine got behind the wheel, but Colin ignored me. Typical. “We’re not going anywhere until someone tells me what’s going on.”

Constantine slid behind the wheel and tossed his laptop in the back beside Colin. He stretched out his arm, resting his wrist on the steering wheel. “I happened to be at the rave as well. Your son got into a fight. Pissed off the wrong people. I intervened and forced him to leave the rave and have been keeping an eye on him ever since.”

“What?” That wasn’t nearly a big enough word to encompass my feelings. I twisted around to check on Colin, my anger shelved in favor of my concerns about him. “Are you okay? Hurt?”

Colin refused to grant me his eyes, offering a quiet, “I’m fine,” instead.

I turned my attention back on the man I’d been obsessively thinking about all night. At no point did I ever picture our day would start like this.

“Thank you?” I hadn’t meant that to sound like a question, but I was far too confused to think or act properly. “But, um, why were you at a rave?”

I didn’t know much about him, but I had the distinct feeling Constantine wasn’t a raver.

“Yeah, what were you doing at a rave?” Colin and his love for pushing buttons spoke a hell of a lot louder that time.

“Working,” Constantine said gruffly, sounding annoyed, but not with me, with our son in the backseat.

Our son. Ours. There it was again. And I was shocked at how easily the word “our” naturally invaded my mind, replacing all that time he’d only ever been “mine.”

“No, I don’t go to raves normally,” Constantine followed up when I remained silent, locked on to the reality of Colin’s dad being in the car with us and the fact my son was in a fight at a rave. “Not ever. That was my first and last time going to one.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Your last time, too.”

“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?” Colin leaned forward.