He halted at the first doorway on his right and reached for the knob. It turned easily—soundlessly—to reveal a room even darker than the rest of the house. He could just make out the canopy of what appeared to be a massive four-poster bed, and that was all the information Cole’s brain required. A bed meant taking the weight off his leg, and he was blind to everything else as he crossed to the monstrosity.

Making an awkward turn, Cole parked his butt on the side of the mattress and propped his cane against the dark wood of what he assumed was a bedside table. Gently, he toed off his shoes and socks then pulled his shirt over his head. His hands trembled as they unzipped his fly, and he gritted his teeth as he lifted tenuously from side to side to ease his jeans down his hips, pushing them clear of his thighs and finally kicking them off his ankles.

Normally, Cole slept naked, but removing his underwear was a bridge too far, as was pulling down the covers. Instead, he eased himself back, slowly swinging his legs onto the bed and lowering his head to the pillow.

Finally, finally, fucking finally.

The pain turned off like a faucet, settling instantly to a very manageable ache, and Cole almost groaned out loud—it felt that good. But groaning required expending energy he did not possess, so he just shut his eyes and let endorphins and fatigue tug him into the deep, dark layers of sleep.

…

Jane Spencer was utterly exhausted. And not the good kind of exhausted that came from a really good hot yoga session or a vigorous round of lovemaking.

She’d gone into a sleep deficit when she’d given birth to her son four years ago, and she’d never made it up. Between the colic and the reflux that had lasted an entire year and her business taking off about the same time as her ex had decided being a rock star was far more exciting than being a father, she’d resigned herself to never making it up.

At the grand old age of twenty-six, she felt like she’d been on this treadmill for decades. This week more than ever. What with the most important job of her life about to be showcased in a national magazine—if it got finished in time!—and her ex bailing on his responsibilities with Finn, she was way behind the eight ball. Tad had turned up on Wade’s doorstep with Finn and a newly purchased chameleon—a freaking chameleon—on Sunday, just two days into what should’ve been his four-week summer break with his son.

The four weeks she’d scheduled to complete this job.