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told himself that not so long ago, Hank’s assessment would have been right.
    Up until a month or so ago, Nick had been trying to drink his way through every bottle of liquor in Northern California. He’d had more hangovers than a frat house in Homecoming Week and had even had the dubious honor of being arrested by his own brother for drunk driving.
    Just remembering that little incident made him cringe. Hell, he was lucky he hadn’t killed somebody. As it was, the only damage had been to the reverend’s lawn goose. Which the reverend’s wife had no intention of letting Nick forget, anytime soon.
    A man could really screw up his life without hardly trying, he thought. All it took was a little depression and a lot of booze. But things were different now, he reminded himself. He’d turned over a new leaf. Started fresh.
    Just like with this house. Not too long ago, he’d been living in a cold, lifeless condo in San Jose. Far from the town where he’d grown up, from the family he loved despite their combined craziness. He’d lived alone and insulated from everything save his own popularity. And what had it gotten him?
    Truckloads of trouble.
    So he’d moved back to Chandler. Back to his past, in the hopes that it would jump-start his future. And since he was making a fresh start, he’d decided to go all the way. Why buy some new, characterless place that would end up being nothing more than a carbon copy of that god-awful condo? Nope. Not Nick. He’d bought a run-down place at the opposite end of town from his mother’s house.
    Hey, he wanted to come back home, but he wasn’t completely nuts.
    The house sat at the edge of the woods, not far fromthe small lake that ran along the border of Chandler. Back here, among the trees, the nearby ocean sounded like nothing more than a hushed heartbeat, drifting through the forest and sighing on the wind. Here he was close enough to his roots to get support—and far enough away to retain his sanity.
    At least, whatever sanity was left him after the remodel was finished.
    He’d hired the Marconi family to make the renovations, and they’d assured him that in no time at all he’d have the house of his dreams.
    They just hadn’t specified that those dreams would be nightmares.
    Shaking his head, Nick stepped into the shower, flipped on the water, and sucked in a gulp of air as the frigid water drilled a gaping hole through his chest.
    â€œJesus!”
    His shout drew a peal of laughter that drifted in through the tiny window above the tub.
    â€œSorry, Nick!” one of Hank’s daughters shouted. “Had to turn off the water heater this morning. Working on the gas line.”
    â€œGreat,” he said, through clenched teeth. If this house remodel didn’t kill him, Nick thought, nothing would.
    After the world’s fastest shower, Nick got dressed and jammed his feet into a pair of sneakers. Heading downstairs, he stepped over cables and wires and tried to ignore the tarpaulin-covered area that used to be a semihabitable living room.
    Muttering under his breath, he turned toward the kitchen, hoping the Marconis had left the electricity on. He needed coffee. Gallons of it.
    â€œNick …
hi
.”
    â€œHi, Mike,” he said, nodding to Hank’s third daughter as she pulled her blond head out from under the sink and stood up. She gave him a soft smile and a pout she’d perfected years ago in high school. He ignored it. Safer that way. “You guys leave me any coffee this time?”
    Josefina, “Jo,” Marconi, the oldest daughter, walked into the kitchen just in time to answer that. She flipped a dark brown ponytail over one shoulder and cocked a hip. “You said you wouldn’t be here today. We shut everything off to get at the wiring. And the gas.” She shot a look at her younger sister and smirked. “Cool your jets, Mikey.”
    Mike, Michaela, huffed out