Kyle’s cell phone buzzed with a new message, and he checked to make sure it wasn’t Sean, the executive from Silicon Valley he’d hired to be his second in command at Rhodes Network Consulting. “Sorry. My business line has been flooded with calls ever since the Twitter announcement,” he said to Rylann. “Sean’s going through all the messages now. I told him to call me if there’s anything that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

She leaned in interestedly, reaching for her champagne glass. “So what’s the next step for you?”

“I set up meetings and begin pitching to potential clients. The two graduates I hired from U of I start work on Monday, and then we’ll be ready to rock and roll. After that, I cross my fingers and hope there are some people eager to get in bed with the Twitter Terrorist.” He flashed her a cheeky grin. “Metaphorically speaking.”

Rylann cocked her head inquisitively. “I’ve been curious about something. What was it that made you change your mind about the corporate world? Back when we first met, I remember you saying that you wanted to teach.”

It was a perfectly innocuous question. And Kyle knew he could answer it vaguely, the same way he’d answered that question many times before. But as he sat across from Rylann, one day away from the nine-year anniversary of his mother’s death, he thought maybe it was time to open up about that part of his life. He kept telling himself that he wanted all of Rylann—perhaps, then, he needed to let down a few of his own walls.

So he cleared his throat, trying to decide where to start. “My perspective on things changed after my mother died. It was a rough time for my family,” he began.

KYLE. THERE’S BEEN an accident.

For as long as he lived, he’d never forget those words.

He had known instantly from his father’s voice that it was serious. His grip had tightened around the phone. “What happened?”

“It’s your mother. A truck hit her car when she was coming home from a drama club rehearsal. They think the driver might have fallen asleep at the wheel—I don’t know, they haven’t told me much. They brought her into the emergency room thirty minutes ago, and she’s in surgery now.”

Kyle’s stomach dropped. Surgery. “But…Mom’s going to be okay, right?”

The silence that followed lasted an eternity.

“I’ve sent the jet to pick you up at Willard,” his father said, referring to the university’s airport. “A helicopter will meet you at O’Hare and take you directly to the hospital. They said we could use the heliport.”

Kyle’s voice was a whisper. “Dad.”

“It’s bad, son. I feel like I should be doing something, but they…they say there’s nothing…”

Shock began to set in at that very moment, when Kyle realized his father was crying.

The drive to the airport, the forty-minute flight to Chicago, and the helicopter ride to the hospital’s rooftop had all been a blur. Some hospital staff member—Kyle couldn’t have picked his face out of a lineup two minutes later—rushed him to a private waiting room in the trauma surgical unit. He’d burst through the door and found his father standing there with an ashen expression.

He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, son.”

Kyle took a step back. “No.”

A tiny, drained voice spoke out from behind the door. “I didn’t make it in time, either.”

Kyle turned and saw Jordan standing in the corner of the room. She had tears running down her cheeks.

“Jordo.” He grabbed her and pulled her into a tight embrace. “I just spoke to Mom yesterday,” he whispered against the top of his sister’s head. “I called her after my exam.” She’d been so damn proud of him.

His heart squeezed painfully tight as his eyes began to burn.

“Tell me this isn’t happening,” Jordan said against his chest.

There was a knock on the door, and a doctor dressed in blue surgical scrubs entered the room.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said in a somber tone. “I wanted to ask if you would like to see her.”

Jordan wiped her eyes, then turned around to face the doctor. Both she and Kyle looked expectantly at their father.

He said nothing.

“Some people find it comforting to say good-bye,” the doctor offered kindly.

Kyle watched as his father—a self-made mogul praised for his business acumen and decisiveness, whose face had been on the covers of Time and Newsweek and Forbes, a man whom Kyle had never once seen hesitate in any decision—faltered.

“I…don’t…” his father’s voice trailed off. He ran his hand over his face and took a deep breath.

Kyle put his hand on his father’s shoulder, then turned to the doctor with their answer.

“We’d like that. Thank you.”

Kyle quickly realized, right from those very first moments in the hospital, that his dad was having a hard time handling the many decisions that needed to be made with respect to his mother’s wake and funeral. To help alleviate that burden, he moved into his father’s house and took over most of the arrangements. It was a grim, emotionally draining time, and certainly not something he’d ever envisioned himself going through at the age of twenty-four—selecting readings and prayers for his mother’s funeral, and the outfit she would wear in the casket—but together, he and Jordan managed to do what needed to be done.