“You know that’s not true.”

“You’re right. You’re terrible. I’ve seen you play. You’re the living, breathing embodiment of the phrase ‘White men can’t jump.’” She forced a smile. “It’s all good, I guess. You and I can have a night together tomorrow.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

I released her from the hug but stood there, staring down at her. Her natural beauty. Her shining hair, her hazel eyes. The life we’d built together—home, careers, a baby. I felt a tearing in my chest, a wrenching ache. I wanted to stay home. I wanted to be there with her and Henry.

But if I stayed and everyone found out about my role in the accident, I could lose it all. I’d face legal jeopardy, civil jeopardy. I’d lose my job, my ability to provide for my new family.

“What is it?” she asked, her brow creasing with curiosity.

“Nothing.”

“Something’s on your mind, Ryan.”

“Anticipation,” I said. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow night more than tonight.”

She reached up and cupped her hand against my cheek. “Tomorrow night?”

“Absolutely.”

“But,” she said, stopping me in my tracks, “you need to tell me something.”

“Sure.”

She sounded serious. Did she know something? Had Blake come by the house?

“Am I turning into one of those boring mothers who only talks about her kid’s sleeping and teething? Is that what I’ve become? I used to have a career, before the little bundle of joy came along. I made almost as much as you do.”

“You’re not boring. I promise. Remember just this morning we had that talk about the election, and you gave me that long, complicated theory on why people vote against their own interests. That wasn’t boring. Not at all.”

“So you’re saying I still have some intellectual heft?”

“Absolutely. More than I do.” I kissed her again. Our lips lingered for a long, sweet moment. “And you can go back to work whenever you want. You actually made a little more money than I did a couple of years when you hit those bonuses. And you know they’d love to have you back, even as a consultant.”

“I know. I’m thinking about it. I see all my friends on social media, posting about their fabulous work trips and high-pressure meetings. I feel cut off.”

“You should do whatever you want, Amanda.”

I had started up the stairs to the bedroom to change when her voice stopped me.

“Hey,” she said, “do you know what I saw on Facebook today?”

I came back down. “I don’t know. What?”

“As you know, I don’t get on there every day anymore. It’s tough to keep up with all of it these days, and I’d rather be focused on the little guy.”

“Of course.”