“Enough of dwelling on the past,” she said to herself as she went into the bathroom and got out her makeup to repair the damage to her face. “This is my summer, and it’s time to start having some fun. Damn it.” Smiling at her reflection, she whispered, “Fuckin’ A,” and dissolved into giggles at the sound of a word she’d rarely used before today.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it was going to take a while before words like that rolled off her tongue naturally. But she’d get there. Starting tonight, everything was going to be different.

Dinner was the usual McCarthy family fiasco, and Adam loved every minute of the noise, the kids, the food, the love. Being surrounded by those who loved him best brought home once again how completely taken in he’d been by someone who hadn’t deserved his love.

He volunteered for grill duty so he could have a minute to get himself ready for some lighthearted family fun. After the trauma of the accident, his parents and siblings had enough on their minds without taking on his crap, too. Adam was determined to keep his problems to himself for as long as he could. He was, however, glad he’d told his dad. It was nice to have one person firmly in his corner. Well, Abby, too. She’d been very supportive, which he appreciated.

If only he could stop thinking about Sasha and trying to figure out when things had gone so wrong between them that she could sell him out for money without blinking an eye. Whatever had happened, he’d been completely oblivious.

He’d pictured her here, planned to bring her home sometime this summer. Up until now, he’d kept her a secret from his family because he knew how his mother got her hopes up at the first sign of a girlfriend. His siblings falling in love one after the other had bought him some time to keep his relationship private for that much longer.

Sasha… Adam hated himself for missing her, for wondering if she missed him or had regrets about what she’d done. He hated himself for thinking about the apartment they’d shared or what would become of all the things they’d bought together, back when they still planned a life together. Three whole days ago.

Who cared about wineglasses or sofas? He’d cared about her and had thought she felt the same. That was the part that truly galled him—how he could’ve lived with, slept with, made love with and worked with a woman who cared so little in the end that she could slide a knife in his back without a thought about all they’d shared.

“You cooking that steak or killing the cow all over again?”