CHAPTER 2 - DONOVAN’S POV

I slid into my car and sat there for a minute, my adrenaline still pumping from that absolutely insane encounter. When my phone started ringing, I glanced at the screen and felt myself relax a little. The only human being on this planet who could actually calm me down.

Mom.

"Hey there, gorgeous," I answered.

Her laugh came through warm and bright. "My favorite son. Feel like stopping by tonight? It's been forever since I've seen your face."

"Already on my way," I said, pulling out of the parking spot. "No need to convince me."

There was something about the route to my childhood home that always made my shoulders drop and my breathing even out. When I hit twenty, my father had literally changed the locks and told me to find my own place, did the same thing to Marcus, my older brother. His logic? He wasn't about to compete with his adult sons for Mom's love and attention. Completely ridiculous, but that's just who he is. My sister got the boot even faster after one too many arguments, and now she basically needs a written invitation stamped in gold to visit. At least Marcus and I still have emergency keys hidden outside.

Tonight was one of those emergency key nights.

I walked through the front door to find Mom perched elegantly on the living room couch, looking like she belonged in a fashion editorial. Everything about her was perfect, the way the lamplight caught her features, that expensive cream-colored top, that knowing smile she always gave me. I immediately dropped down beside her and laid my head right in her lap, not even caring how childish it probably looked.

"Just so you know, I've been tracking the days," I mumbled. "Sixty-three days since you last saw me. That's over two months."

Her hand moved to my hair, fingers combing through it slowly. "I know, baby. Just relax." Her thumb brushed against my temple in small circles. "You look exhausted. Have you been eating?"

"I'm literally an adult man."

"And I'm literally the person who brought you into this world," she shot back, which meant I'd already lost the argument.

The sound of footsteps coming down the staircase made us both look up. Dad emerged, wearing that expression he always had when he caught me with Mom, somewhere between amused and genuinely annoyed.

"Really, son? You're sprawled across your mother like a lapdog?" He raised an eyebrow. "Her circulation is probably being cut off as we speak."

My smile disappeared instantly. "Hello, Dad. Lovely to see you too."

"Donovan," Mom warned quietly, shooting my father a look.

He walked over and positioned himself on Mom's other side, throwing his arm around her shoulders in this very deliberate, possessive way. Then he looked directly at me. "All I'm saying is, at your age, you should probably have your own woman's lap to rest your oversized head on. Just a thought."

"That's incredibly weird to say out loud," I muttered. "But thanks for the visual."

He completely ignored my discomfort. "Twenty-seven years old and still single. What's the plan here? Eternal bachelorhood?"

"Enough," Mom cut in. "Sweetheart, could you grab that bottle of wine from the kitchen? Oh, and I made that pasta dish you love."

I perked up immediately. "Say no more. I'm there."

Dad made this exaggerated sighing sound that he'd perfected over decades of marriage. He genuinely lived for these melodramatic moments.

Mom stood, planted a quick kiss on his cheek (which felt like a betrayal, honestly), and disappeared toward the kitchen. Dad watched her go with this intense stare, like he was calculating exactly how to eliminate me from the room without Mom noticing. Then his attention swung back to me.

"So," he said, his tone flat. "Business going well?"

"Couldn't be better," I replied, matching his energy. "Everything's running smoothly. Although I did nearly get taken out by some lunatic on a bike tonight."

"A bicycle," he repeated, deadpan. "That's what finally brings down the great Donovan. Not a business rival or bad investment. A bicycle.”

"She actually used her helmet as a weapon," I explained. "Completely premeditated attack."

Dad's eyebrow lifted slightly. "And how exactly did you handle that situation?"

"Like a perfect gentleman, obviously."

He just stared at me, waiting.

I let out a breath. "Fine. I might've told her she should've kept the helmet on because her face wasn't doing her any favors."

"She chucked her helmet at your head," Dad said slowly, "which suggests you two were getting along fantastically."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means your mother's about to feed you dinner, and I'm going to pretend you're not a walking disaster."

Right on cue, Mom came back carrying a tray that smelled absolutely incredible, that specific home-cooked aroma that I definitely hadn't experienced in way too long. My stomach basically stood up and applauded.

I attacked the food like I'd been stranded on a desert island for months. Mom watched with this satisfied expression, like she'd orchestrated this exact moment years ago.

Dad reached for one of the fried plantains. Mom smacked his hand away without even glancing in his direction. The man actually looked offended.

"Mom," I said through a massive bite of food, "you're genuinely the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Someone wasn't very nice to you earlier," she observed, her tone gentle but knowing. "I can tell."

I laughed. "Got run over by a crazy person on a bicycle."

"So someone wasn't nice to you today," she repeated carefully.

"Two completely different things."

She tilted her head. "Say you're sorry."

"For what? She's the one who threw a helmet at me."

"Apologize," she said again, but quieter this time, which somehow made it feel ten times more serious.

I speared another piece of food with my fork. "She literally crashed into me, brushed off my clothes like I was some kind of mannequin, called me full of myself, then told me I wasn't her type. Me. She said I wasn't her type."

Mom's eyebrows went up. Dad made a choking sound into his fist. "That's unfortunate."

"Right?" I said.

Mom suppressed a smile. "Not being someone's preference isn't the end of the world, sweetheart. Sometimes it's actually a good thing."

"This woman was blessed by chaos itself," I muttered. "Trust me."

Mom leaned over and ran her thumb gently across my cheek. "Just be kind, okay? You never know what battles people are fighting."

"Helmet," I said flatly.

"Heart," she countered.

I groaned dramatically. "Whatever."

We settled into dinner after that. The usual back-and-forth started up, Dad asking pointed questions about business contracts like he was testing me, Mom asking gentle questions about my personal life like she already knew I had nothing to report, and me giving vague answers to both because I wasn't about to admit I'd spent the evening trying to bribe a dancer into having dinner with me, only to get physically assaulted by a different woman whose name I didn't even know.

Once I finally stopped eating like I'd never seen food before, Mom refilled my glass and gave my hand a gentle pat. "You're welcome to crash here tonight if you want."

"Dad's going to steal my pillow the second I fall asleep."

Dad leaned back in his chair, looking at me like I was a contract he was considering. "You can stay. Just don't forget to actually leave in the morning."

"You're still holding onto that grudge from when I wrote you that love poem," I said. "That was years ago."

Mom squeezed my hand. "Don't listen to him."

I did. I always did.

We sat quietly for a bit, then Mom rested her chin on her hands and smiled at me. "Watching you demolish my cooking makes me wish I could do this every single day. If a certain someone wasn't so territorial, you'd be over here all the time."

Dad grumbled something under his breath about boundaries and personal space.

Both Mom and I burst out laughing.

She was about halfway through clearing my plate when she just casually dropped this absolute bomb. "So, sweetheart, I've been thinking, what's your opinion on marriage?"

I choked. The bite I'd just taken went down the wrong pipe and I started coughing so violently I thought I might pass out. Dad practically fell out of his chair laughing. I shot him a death glare, then turned back to Mom, my voice coming out all scratchy. "Excuse me, what?"

"I know someone who I think would be wonderful for you," she said, her voice so soft and sweet it was like she was offering me dessert.

Here's the thing about my mother, she was literally the only person alive who could tell me to do something and I'd actually consider it. Still, marrying some random woman who wasn't that mysterious dancer from the club? Hard pass.

But I smiled anyway. "Alright... I'm listening," I said cautiously.

"You remember my best friend Veronica, right? Her daughter used to visit when she was younger, but she's been living overseas for a while. She just moved back. Such a sweet person. Quiet, keeps to herself, very thoughtful. An introvert, really... I think she'd be perfect for you."

I shook my head immediately. "Mom, I don't even know who you're talking about."

"You will when you meet her," Mom said with complete confidence. "I've always wanted our families to be connected. Veronica's daughter is already taken by Marcus, but Veronica's other daughter is available. I was thinking... maybe it's finally time. I would've suggested Marcus, but you're aware he's way too wild. She needs someone who can actually be gentle."

Gentle? If Mom thought I was gentle, she clearly hadn't witnessed me tearing through that bicycle woman earlier tonight.

I put down my fork. "Mom... I really don't think I can..."

Her face shifted immediately into something sad, even before I finished my sentence. Seeing that look destroyed me. My dad glared at me from across the table, then stood up and walked off.

He was angry that I'd upset his wife. But I was hurting too. If I could make my mom happy forever, I absolutely would.

She sighed quietly. "It's fine. Since you're not interested, I'll just call Veronica and tell her it's off the table. I suppose my dream of being connected to one of my closest friends through marriage was never meant to happen. That's okay, sweetheart. I'll handle it."

Watching her stand up with so much disappointment written all over her face felt like getting punched in the chest. I wanted to say something, to stop her, but the words got stuck.

"Is that really what you want?" I finally asked.

She paused and looked back at me without any hesitation. "Yes."

I stared at her for a long moment, then gave in. "Okay. If that's what you want, then fine."

Her entire face transformed like I'd just told her she'd won a million dollars. "Oh my God, sweetheart, you've made me so happy! Wait, let me grab her picture..."

"No, don't," I cut her off quickly. "If you picked her, that's all I need to know."

Her smile got even bigger. "Oh my God, Danny, you've absolutely made my entire year! Let me show you what she looks like..."

"Mom, seriously, no need," I interrupted again. "If she's your choice, then she's good enough for me.”