Haustin parked in front of his old home in Astoria, about forty-five minutes outside the city. Frowning, he made a mental list of what needed to be done—the grass too long, paint peeling on the trim, and the gutter hanging off at an odd angle. He growled. If Lindsey would let him, he could fix the place up for her.

He rubbed his hands over his face, wondering why the hell he was here.

Being with Yael the other night stirred up a lot of dirty laundry. She had arrived on the other side of their shared nightmare, well on the road to healing, while he was still mucking through the middle. A blindfold he didn't realize he was wearing had been lifted, shining a spotlight on his hideous shortcomings.

The bottle of pills on the console, within arm's reach, called to him. It'd be easy to swallow three, maybe four, before stepping into the house, but Lindsey would know. Somehow she always did, and he refused to give her any more ammo to use against him.

"Shit," Haustin muttered as he got out of the truck and slammed the door. Clenching his fists, he ambled up the walkway to ring the doorbell.

Of his own goddamn house. Completely messed up.

His ten-year-old son, Miles, opened the door and the boy's expression turned wary. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

Miles snuck a glance over his shoulder, and Haustin buried his grumble, hating that he'd become the unwanted stranger. They were his kids. Why did he feel as if visiting them was the worst thing imaginable?

Because when it comes to you, it is, a voice told him.

Miles's dirty blond hair matched Haustin's, but he possessed his mom's cool gray eyes. Unfortunately, his hair and a tall, lanky frame were the only things the kid inherited from him. Or maybe it was fortunate. He sure as hell hoped neither of his children ended up like him.

"I came to see you and your sister." Haustin planted his hands on his hips, arming himself for the coming battle. "You gonna let me in?"

"Who is it, sweetie?"

Lindsey approached behind their son and fixed Haustin with a hard stare. In the space of two seconds, she made him feel inadequate, less than nothing. The joke was on her. He didn't need her icy assessment to make him feel that way. He should have taken the pills.

"Lindsey," he greeted. "I had the day off and wanted to see the kids."

"You can't come by unannounced, Haustin. That's not how it works."

He tried to answer, but she still took his breath away, and his mouth filled with cotton. Lindsey's hair was dark brown, almost black, and cut in a short, angled style, something new and flattering, the ends brushing her jaw. With a slight frame and freckles dusting the bridge of her nose, she looked the same as she did in high school, except for her eyes. They held the pain of someone who'd experienced untold misery.

"Yeah, I forgot," he finally blurted.

She sighed heavily and studied him, undoubtedly looking for any sign he might be high or drunk. Satisfied, she opened the screen door to let him in, and Miles retreated into the living room.

The house was so familiar and yet entirely different. Only now, his FDNY plaques were at his crappy apartment, along with his crappy recliner. One of the happiest days of his adult life had been signing the deed to this, his first house, the home he and Lindsey started their life in. Ironically, it also became the place he destroyed a life in. Four lives, to be precise.

Miles sat on the couch playing a video game, something set in a zombie-infested apocalyptic world, and ignored Haustin. Lindsey hovered nearby, refusing to take her eyes off him.

When had things gotten this awkward with his family? Was he too stoned to notice?

Finally, Lindsey said, "Miles, why don't you turn the game off while your dad's here."

Giving a deep sigh, his son switched off the TV and watched Haustin with a timid expression. Haustin perched on the adjacent couch and tried to remember when he last talked to either of his children. His memories were hazy.

Jesus, Lindsey was right. He'd become a horrible father.

"How's school?"

Dumb question number one from good old Dad, Haustin thought.

Miles shrugged his bony shoulders. "It's summer break. School ended last week. I got A-B Honor Roll and perfect attendance. There was a ceremony," he answered in a small voice.

Haustin's stomach clenched. Oh God, it was June, wasn't it? He shot a stormy glare at Lindsey. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I left you three messages." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared down her nose at him.

He missed his son's yearly awards ceremony. Covering his face with both hands, Haustin tried to smother the self-loathing. A cold ball of shame curled in his gut, eating at him from the inside. Nausea threatened to bring the ball up his throat. Whenever he thought his actions couldn't get any worse, he pushed it a step further. To avoid more guilt and the pain hearing her voice caused, he screened all calls from Lindsey, ignoring her until it was too late or simply deleting them.

Glancing at Miles, he noticed the boy trying hard to be indifferent, but his emotions showed in the way he chewed his lip, a habit he inherited from his mother.

"I'm sorry, buddy. Must have been busy at work. How about we go pick out a present?" Because buying forgiveness was the only idea he had left.

Miles shrugged his shoulder again, but Haustin saw the curiosity and pounced on it.

"Come on, I'm sure there's something you can't live without."

"There's this new video game?" The request was timid. It was an opening, and he'd take it. Haustin turned his gaze to Lindsey. "Is it okay?"

Her eyes narrowed as she searched for any reason to say no. "If you're not gone too long. Miles, put your shoes on."

Miles trudged into the hall, and Haustin stood, choosing to ignore his son's lack of enthusiasm over hanging out with him. "Where's Luna? Please tell me I didn't miss anything else important."

"Luna's with friends." Lindsey advanced on him and lowered her voice. "How could you forget something so important? We don't matter to you at all anymore, do we?"

"That's not true. I'm here now, dammit."

"And why is that, Haustin? Because you're sober enough today to remember your kids? Because you feel a tiny inkling of obligation?"

"I tried to call and talk to you last Wednesday night, but you didn't give me a chance." He grunted. "Maybe I needed to be with them."

"Let me guess." Her sad laugh pounded into him, quick, painful jabs. "A tough fire, people died, you felt bad, blah, blah, blah. We're not here to be a salve to your wounds. You have to want to see your kids on the good and bad days."

Out of the blue, Yael's face popped into his mind. "I saw someone I wasn't expecting. It's made me think a lot about the past, about the things I've screwed up, and how I can fix it."

Lindsey blinked a couple of times, indicating he'd thrown her off balance. It was the most honest thing he'd said to her in quite a while. After a few seconds, her eyes glazed over again.

"Did it have to do with 9/11?"

"So?" He hated how well she read him.

"Why does it always circle around to that day?"

"You know goddamn well why." Her complete lack of understanding fueled the rage inside him. This was what it boiled down to, her blindness. He loved her, God help him, he always would, but she could not comprehend why he continued to suffer. Between that and his pitiful habits, things were too far gone to fix—a truth he both loathed and accepted.

Lindsey stood toe to toe with him. "All I know is you blame it for every single one of your problems. It's not fair to me and it's not fair to your children. We can't live up to it."

"Mom?" Miles's nervous voice interrupted them, and Haustin fought hard to reel in his anger.

He watched Lindsey wrap an arm around their son. "Everything's okay. I'm giving your dad a hard time for missing a very important day in your life. And convincing him he needs to buy you a couple games instead of one."

She silenced him with a hard glare. "Miles, I'll buy you as many games as you want, even a cheeseburger after."

Hope leapt into Miles's eyes, and a huge crack formed in the walls around Haustin's heart.

He grinned at his son and added, "Maybe a strawberry milkshake, too."

A happy smile was his reward, and he realized how much the kid had grown. There was at least another inch on him, and his hair was marginally longer. Haustin had to do better by his kids. God knew he didn't deserve it, but he wouldn't stop trying to win their love. Not this time.

He opened the front door and ushered his son out, feeling lighter than he had in months. As he got in the truck, his eyes didn't stray to the pill bottle once.

It was going to be a good evening.