Page 168 of Never In My Wildest Dreams

“If I were going to, I wouldn’t honor it. They can’t inhibit my ability to earn a living?—”

“Yeah, yeah.” George laughed. “I’m a lawyer, too. I get it. But really, what’re you going to do?”

What I was meant to do all along.“Work with my friends.”

“You’re going to take over ownership of the Renegades?” She sounded surprised.

“Yeah, I am.” A sense of rightness took over him.

All around him, passengers gathered, waiting to board. A man wolfed down a sandwich. A mom nursed her baby while she read something on her phone.

No one could see the monumental shift inside him.

“What’re you going to do about the Marchauds?” George asked.

“You know something? They can screw themselves. I gave them more time and commitment than any other athlete in my career. And then some dude comes along they don’t even know, and they buy into his crap when he bad-mouths me? They can go fuck themselves.”

For the first time, it became clear. As a kid, he’d suffered a trauma, and he didn’t have the maturity to call his friends out. Had he done that, he would’ve found out they’d tried to see him. That they still cared.

It had never been a mirage.

He’d iced out his mom over an omission. His parents made a choice. And whether he agreed with it or not, it didn’t affect the truth: his dad had loved him, and he’d had a pretty damn idyllic childhood.

No mirages there.

And yeah, maybe Marcus had preyed on his vulnerability after the loss of his dad, but that wasn’t a mirage. That was bad judgment during a rough time in his life.

“I’m done investing time in them.” He got up and headed to the desk to change his return flight.

Like Declan said, if he didn’t want a mirage, he had to give everything he had to the relationships that mattered.

“So, where are you going right now?” she asked.

“Home.” An electric warmth spread through him. “I’m going home.”

* * *

When she’d gotten the call from Slater Vaughn, the lead singer of Blue Fire, asking if she wanted to open for them at the Owl Hoot Summer Music Festival, Lorelei had answered with a resounding no.

She was exhausted from the wedding, devastated over losing Booker, and terrified she was irrevocably broken.

But then, as she’d headed into the conservatory to work on a song, the lights had gone off in her head.

For most of her life, she’d been driven to succeed in the music industry. Then, she had a baby and devoted herself to being a stay-at-home mom. She’d gone from one singular obsession to another.

Wasn’t it time to find a middle ground? Lyrics and melodies bubbled out of the eternal spring in her soul. They couldn’t be denied. And it was time to do something about it.

She could be a mom and fulfill her creative spirit.

So, she’d called him right back. She wouldn’t be the opening act—she didn’t have a band or a set—but she’d love to sing a few of her new songs. She’d finally reinvented herself, and she was ready to own it.

Now, she stood backstage at the amphitheater as the band finished its set.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Blue Fire!” the announcer shouted.

The audience went wild.

“Encore,” several people shouted.

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