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Mom’s boyfriends. Which was saying something. Harry had a gut-busting paunch, fuzzy gray chest hair and a pinkie ring like some Mafia mobster. And he insisted on calling Andy “Sonny.” Like in “Hey, Sonny, how’s it goin’, big guy?”
    â€œAndy? You wanna play or not?” Brady held the ball in front of his chest, waiting to pass off.
    â€œNah, I’m going inside. Mom’s been on my case. I gotta start organizing my stuff.”
    â€œFor the move, you mean?”
    â€œYeah. So I’ll see you later.”
    â€œHere.” Brady tossed him the ball. “Call me if you wanna go with the guys to crash Liz’s slumber party.”
    â€œOkay.” Andy dribbled angrily along the sidewalk to the back door of the house—the third one he’d lived in in two years. What was the point of going with Brady tonight? He’d never see any of these kids again after next week. Oh, no. He had to go live with his dad, Coach Cheeseball of Keystone School. The father who’d walked out when he was three.
    What did Dad know about him, really? Maybe he’d squeezed in some visits between teaching, coaching and running basketball camps, but it wasn’t like they ever spent any length of time together. Dad had never once made it to one of his basketball games.
    His mom kept telling him just to forget about it. “He’s devoted to that school, Andy. You have to understand. Everything else comes second. Maybe it’s better this way. Just you and me, sweetie.” Yeah, you and me and whatever dickhead was after Mom. He didn’t want to go to the friggin’ United Arab Emirates and he sure as hell didn’t want to go to Fort Worth. But did he have a choice? No, he was just the kid. The victim.
    He slammed the back door on his way to his room. Divorce sucked.
    Â 
    G RANT USHERED the smilingly officious woman out the front door, closed it and sagged against it, the headache he’d had all day continuing to play racquetball against his temples. How many applicants was this? Seven? Two who spoke minimal English, one who smoked like a chimney and had insisted she be allowed to bring her bulldog with her, two who claimed they’d had no idea he actually expected them to stay over the weekends, and one—the only real possibility—who wouldn’t be available until at least November.
    He walked toward the kitchen, wiping his palms on his pants, aware of a buzzing in his ears and an uncomfortable shift in his stomach. He was running out of ideas, and he had to let Shelley know something by Friday. Before the upcoming Labor Day weekend. Because, if all went well, Andy would arrive Labor Day evening. And school started the day after.
    But all wasn’t going well. He’d interviewed everyone who’d applied through the agency or the newspaper ad. Texas Christian University and U.T. at Arlington had both been dry holes. So where did that leave him?
    Desperate.
    He reached in one of the cupboards and pulled out the aspirin bottle, shook out two tablets and chased them with a glass of water. He had so much riding on this year with Andy. Although he knew he couldn’t make up for all the time he’d missed, he hoped to God they could build their relationship. The boy needed a family. Stability.
    A family. It had all been so promising in the beginning. Sure, he and Shelley had been young and naive,but when Andy was born, he’d been certain they could raise a fine son, have more children. Live happily ever after.
    But that hadn’t happened. He could never please Shelley. And Andy, poor kid, had been the one who’d suffered most. Damn.
    Grant had to do something. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass him by.
    A family. More than anything, that’s what Andy needed.
    Prickles cascaded down Grant’s spine. A hammering sensation reverberated in his chest. No. It was a crazy idea.
    Lunacy.
    Grant raked both hands through his