67th Ave Apartments-5B
New York, New York

While in the kitchen area, Nona, Emily and Tristan heard the catastrophic thud, more specifically a person's body banging against the wooden floors. The startling sound prompted the women to place whatever was in their hands on the nearest tabletop, Emily grabbed Tristan, and they ran to the front. Just as they suspected, but uncertain as to why, Camille laid on the ground, passed out.

"MOMMY," Tristan screeched, his body erratically thrashing to get away from his Godmother. Emily complied. He made his way over. Tears rolled down his face, at the sight of his mom. "Mommy," he shook her, sobbing. "Mommy!"

Moose gasped the arrival of a boy, who didn't look no more than six, hovering sorrowfully. Though he wasn't sure if he caused this, he still felt like an asshole. "Oh God," he murmured beneath his barely existent breath. He looked at the other adults present, and their faces were full of shock just like his. He couldn't explain, as he couldn't grasp something of this magnitude or comprehend what could have occurred in the 30 seconds of them meeting. "Hey," he immediately bent down to the little boy's level.

Tristan's eyes darkened. He wiped his tears, toughening up in the next second. "What did you do to her," he accused.

"Tristan," Nona barked.

What happened next, no one could stop.

Tristan extended his arm back and rammed it forward, making contact with Moose's face.

The punch forced the attorney back a couple of feet. He landed on his back, the sting of the jab came to the forefront. "Ow," Moose's hands flew to cover his face.

"Good one," Emily praised, not even caring to know the whole story. It was funny, the entire spectacle was. Nona glared at her, and she shut up at once. "Oops, sorry... come on Tris, um, I have to explain to you why that was wrong," she acted like she was going to discipline him.

"But, my mom," he pointed out. Watching her like this, the tears began to stream again.

If his emotions became uncontrollable, then he needed a breathing treatment stat!

Camille's eyelids began to flutter, the following second. She thought she had been dreaming. There was no way Robert Alexander Collins, the first and only love of her life, Tristan's birth father, the dancing Moose was at the door. She was just imagining things. Under stress lately, between being a mom, teaching eight dance classes a day, taking over some of Nonno's duties, she spread herself thin. That had to be it. She rose, her brain muddled, her heart throbbing, coinciding with the residual pangs. She came to finally, and that was what mattered. Browsing around, she noticed her teary son, her best friend behind him displaying a similar feeling, Nona, and her worst nightmare, Moose, who appeared hurt.

"Oh God," she gasped. Reverting back to a time when she too care of him, she got on her feet and went to the kitchen to make an ice bag. She tossed several cubes in a gallon storage bag, forced the air to escape and twisted the bag to make it nice and tight. She returned to him, relieving a concerned Nona. She saw his under eye beginning to bruise, the discoloration flowing to the bone of his cheek. Deathly afraid to touch him, even be in his vicinity, she just placed the bag on the injured spot and added the necessary extra pressure.

She supposed old habits died hard.

"Ah," Moose hissed, the cooling sensation felt. He looked to the right of him, and he got a better look at his 'nurse'. He smiled at her. "You okay, you took quite a fall."

"It was nothing. Besides, I should be asking you the same thing." She moved the ice down a little more, and he covered his hand over hers to assist her. The intimacy of the move caused her breath to hitch. That was her cue; she needed to move, get as far away from him, as she could, end the hope they could go back to what they were before, but she was unable to—she missed him with every fiber of her being and remained by his side.

Her eyes stayed on him, and she examined how much he's changed over the years. His body filled out much more, his curls were cut shorter, even more maintained, but smelled just as nice. The slight stubble on his face aged him a bit, but it was more manly. Her eyes descended, and he was dressed more business than casual—the long sleeve shirt, pants and shoes were indications. He appeared more mature.

The last six years, she wondered and asked herself plenty of times what would she do, if they got the chance to cross paths again. Would she just stare at him and admire the man that's helped her and gifted her with the most precious gift humanly possible? Moreover, would she allow him to build a relationship with her, their, son? All of those went unanswered.

Now, she had the opportunity to get one or more.

That was, if she was willing to pounce on the chance.

Emily noticed they had a connection. Whether it began at that moment, or long ago, one prevailed. She also took into account Moose's curly hair. It was similar to Tristan's. She ushered Tris to his bedroom. One, he needed to be near his breathing machine, and, two, she needed a moment to soak this new information in. Quite possibly, she was jumping to conclusions.

Nona watched the two. Unaware of their extensive history, she noted their interaction was natural. That wasn't the only thing, her cara mia looked infatuated, enamored with the person she believed was her grandson. It was an odd sight to see, since she never, not once, thought about dating. It didn't matter though. She didn't want Camille to get the wrong idea; he was engaged after all. She interjected, disrupting them. "No fiancee tonight?"

Moose shook his head. "Her dad is ill... she went to be by his side."

Camille faltered over the word, fiancee, and became pale white. Her eyes landed on his left hand. An engagement band situated itself around his ring finger. How she missed it? Simple. The fact she wasn't searching for one. The makeshift ice bag slipped from her fingers. He had moved on, and it was more painful than she could have imagined.

Nona kept calling her name, "Camille, Camille," wondering about her sudden trance.

Moose intently watched her.

Tristan's wail rattled the apartment suddenly.

Brought out of her stupor, Camille watched the ice puddle into water nearby. It was reminiscent to the water brimming her eyes, at that moment.

"Cam," Emily called from Tristan's bedroom in need of her assistance.

"I'll... be back," Tris' mom notified, her voice husky. Separating herself, she directed her body to his bedroom. She would thank her son for extracting her out of a potentially dangerous situation. She wiped her eyes.

Moose watched her go, and he found himself drawn to her, and if he wasn't mistaken, she was too. "Who is she?"

"That's Camille," Nona replied, escorting him to the table. She returned the oven and explained the full extent of their relationship. She, then, wrung the water from the rag and discarded it in the kitchen sink. Once done with her story, she had to ask. "Do you know her?" She gave him a cup of her homemade liquor, believing this was the cure to any illness.

"I-I-I don't know," he stuttered, unsure. With the first 18 years of his life a complete blank, and the fact she lived in the same city as him, there was a slight possibility the two met. If his memories were restored, he could give an exact answer. "Maybe..." His neck craned towards, where the others disappeared off to, several times.

"Do you want to head back there," Nona questioned, as she finished plating and setting up the table.

He was itching to get back there. One, to check on the boy, hoping to smooth things over with him, and two, to have a discussion with Camille. However, he didn't want to see desperate, nor did he want to interrupt private time between the two. He fidgeted in his chair, unable to stay where he was. "Is it, is it okay," he wondered, a bit of awkwardness exuding.

"Go," she pointed towards the bedrooms with her tongs.

Moose exited his chair. On the way, he encountered Emily. "Good evening," he greeted. "You're not going to fall over, are you?"

"Hardly," Emily replied with the truth. She whispered, "You're not even my type." She resumed her walk to the kitchen.

A little offended by her response, he continued on his way. Outside of Tristan's door, he heard the mother reprimanding her child.

"What were you thinking," she inquired about what got into him, as she squirted the contents of a vial of steroids into the spout for his nebulizer. "No matter what, you never hit another person."

"But... I thought he did something to you," Tris plead his case. "I am your protector."

"It doesn't matter," Camille disregarded his response, instilling another lesson. "Never put your hands on another person, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," he mumbled in defeat. His mom slid his mask into place and started the machine.

Moose jumped at the loud whirs emanating, signaling air was escaping at the correct tempo. He showed himself and watched in interest. The adolescent with floppy curls was so calm. Like he was used to this. Speaking of the floppy curls, they were like his, and that made him think Tris was pretty cool regardless.

Camille's son rested in between her legs. She fingered his soft curls. They slid in and around like ice skates. Her child was in the wrong tonight, but she knew it was to come to her defense, so he couldn't get too big of a punishment.

She looked up to see Moose, an engaged Moose, soon to be married Moose, staring at them. She faintly smiled, hiding the pain she was experiencing.

The task was hard, since he was right in front of her.

Tristan minded his business, while receiving his medication. When this around was complete, he waited for his mom to take off the attachment, so he could apologize to the lawyer for his actions. He got on his two feet and approached him. He tugged at the man's pant leg.

"Mr. Lawyer." With an apologetic tone and puppy dog face, he ascended his head to make direct eye contact with him. "I'm sorry for hitting you in the face."

Moose squinted his good eye, crouched to his level and examined him in earnest. "You know, it really does hurt," he pointed out. Tris' face became even longer, and Camille was getting ready to step in. "But, you're apart of the cool hair club."

His mom retracted, while Tristan whipped his head up. "What?!"

"Yeah, see," Moose tilted his head.

Tris was able to see they had similar hair, and he was starting to like the guy. "Mommy, you hear that," he exclaimed. "We have cool hair, you don't!"

Moose chuckled and ruffled Tristan's hair with his right hand. He went back to standing. "You have a cute kid," he complimented.

"Thanks," she murmured her acknowledgment. "Tris, head to the kitchen, so we can eat dinner."

"K, mom!"

Camille stepped to follow, but Moose stood at the doorway, blocking her. Not in the mood to give a thorough explanation for her disappearance and very hungry because she hadn't eaten anything in several hours, she crossed her arms in aggravation. "Moose, move," she ordered in exasperation.

At his nickname unraveling from her mouth, he cocked his head. "How, how did you know that was my nickname?"

"Are you sure you didn't bump your head," she countered.

"I'm serious," he confronted her about knowing his nickname, since they weren't formally introduced. "Do you know me? Did we go the same school, attend functions or something?"

Camille's jaw dropped. It was one thing for him to have a fiancee, even though she knew there was a chance he could meet someone new in six years, but it was another to disregard what they shared previously. He treated her like she didn't even exist, until now. "Moose, what are you talking about?!"

He exhaled a deep breath. "I apologize," he said his sorry. "Six years ago, I underwent an operation..." He explained in great detail what occurred during and after.

As she listened, she remembered his battle with the deadly tumor. Initially, he pushed her away, citing he wanted her to move on from someone with a guaranteed death sentence. She left him alone, he found her, they spent a magical night together, and many more like that. She was with him every step of the way. When he cried, she was there, when he had nightmares, she was there, when he spoke of his fears, she was there, and when he said I love you, she repeated.

Her heart broke for multiple reasons, as he continued. Their strange, first encounter, their times in his mom's dance studio, the ice arena, the trial, his confession of love and cancer, their consummation, the way she abandoned him, all ups and downs, were wiped clean because of the surgery. Tears of joy, sadness, regret shed. She bobbed her head, dodging his direct eye contact.

Once ending his story, he asked again. "So, sorry if I don't remember you, it's still fuzzy for me... do we know each from somewhere?" He waited, expecting a reply—one filled with truth, honesty, even a little tidbit, anything to spark his memories in general, or one of her.

Do you know me...

That was a stark contrast from, I swore never to fall victim to it, but it was the best thing to ever happen to me. I don't regret falling in love with her. The words from their last night in the Vault. She wiped her tears discreetly, knives, sharp knives, punctured her heart.

Yet, she did this to them.

She wanted this, at one point.

And, she had to suffer the consequences of him being with someone else and not knowing who she was.

The next words to unwind from her mouth were all hers. Again, this was her doing. It was to benefit him, and the new life he's created, further cementing their one, time love in the past. She would self wallow and loathe, once they parted ways.

Again.

She was thankful for one thing-he was alive.

"No," she gave him her answer, though her chest tightened, her misery continued. "I need to go." She evaded any more questions from him. She came to the kitchen, saw her son, Nona and Emily already seated. The seating arrangement would put Moose opposite her.

"Ah, Camille," Nona saw her come back with joy. "Where is..."

Moose, confused by Camille's demeanor, returned to the kitchen and took one of the seats that was left. He sat in front of a smiling Tristan and was wowed by the food.

Tonight's spread consisted of three homemade pizzas—cheese, pepperoni, and deluxe, antipasti, pesto pasta, lasagna, caesar salad, and, for dessert, mini cannoli. It was a feast fit for a king, queen, and it's royal court.

Once everyone converged, the dug in.

Tristan's mother stayed off to the side. She couldn't bear to be in his presence any longer. Forget trying to eat with him, even though her stomach grumbled like it was trying to break free.

"Cam, you aren't eating," Emily asked, before she bit into her slice of pizza.

"Mommy," Tris chirped around his chunk.

"Um, I think I need some fresh air," she answered.

The others looked at one another, perplexed. For the woman and her son, she raved about how she was going to devour Nona's famous pizza not caring if a guest was to watch her.

Now, she wanted to leave.

"But, Camille..." Nona didn't like the idea. "You said you were hungry..."

"I think I lost my appetite," she fibbed, grabbing her jacket from one of the spokes. She turned. "Tris, I'll be back, Em watch him for me, Nona, don't worry about me, and it was nice meeting you," she addressed one by one before heading out the door. While galloping down the stairs, she felt like a horrible mother for not eating with her son. Second, she was unsure of where she was going. Third, she hoped to never see him again.

After Camille's sudden departure, there was a pregnant pause. A ravenous Tristan didn't seem to mind his mom leaving, since he was eating up a storm just like Moose.

The attorney grasped his cup, when they need for a drink became evident, and he started to drink the contents. He gulped roughly. "Wowza," he licked the remnants around his mouth and tasted it more. "What is this?" It was a mix of a sweet juice and liquor.

"It's homemade," Emily answered with a giggle, "Nona and Nonno make their own alcohol for us all the time."

"Not for me," Tristan piped.

"You want some more," Nona offered, as she scooped another square of lasagna on her plate. "I make you a bottle, and you take it home."

"No," he denied about the smile, "but I would like more now." He held his cup up.

"You gotta pace yourself. That drink can sneak up on ya," Emily cautioned. She served him, and while doing so, she took notice of his brown bracelet. "That's unique," she commented. It didn't seem to have a brand; it was plain, but it must have been significant to him. She returned to sitting, and asked the question that's been looming since his arrival. "So, will you help us?"

"Oh, right," Moose got sidetracked. After taking a larger gulp of his drink, obviously not listening to Emily's advice, he wiped around his mouth to discard any crumbs on him. "Ana, do you have the paperwork?"

Nona got out of her chair and shuffled towards the curio cabinet. She withdrew the 25 page contract and handed them to him.

Moose began to read over it, and the first thing that stuck out like a sore thumb was the company, Anderson Investments—his law firm partner's father's company. Not only that, but his fiancee's brother, otherwise known as Julien. He assumed Julien put together this contract, since he always represented his father in his business ventures. Usually, he stayed out of Julien's cases, and they never partnered for one either.

However, the terms compelled Moose to take on this particular case. The reasons: they were in a bind, one month was cutting it close, and if the hospitality of the other businesses was similar to Nona's, then he would hate to see them on the street. He was positive these people have worked all their lives to build their places of employment from the ground up.

Not to mention, Bill Anderson was like a shark—eat you up and spit you out kind of businessman, who was out to benefit himself and his employees. He was also to be feared. He bought, invested and sold properties within a week, not caring about how many lives he destroyed in the process. One month, he could so much in one month. It as quite suspicious; he wanted this whole block.

Now, Robert Collins was presented with conflicts of interest. To go against his business partner or not go against his business partner. To go against his soon to be brother in law or not go against his soon to be brother in law. He felt overwhelmed being in this kind of situation. He should have asked more questions pertaining to this case, before arriving here.

He wished his fiancee went. Consulting her, would help him a lot. If it wasn't her, then it was his dad. His dad wasn't here, and he couldn't ask Julien or Jacob without incriminating himself. This was a pickle indeed.

Nona, Emily and Tristan stared at him in anticipation. They hoped he would say yes, so they had the representation necessary to combat Bill Anderson. Furthermore, they could sleep with a peace of mind and not worry Boris, who was still very ill and was sequestered to a bed.

"Is it okay, if I take this home with me tonight," Moose queried earnestly. This was a decision not to be taken lightly.

"Is that a yes," Emily hoped.

"I, uh..." again, Moose tugged the collar of his shirt, as they expected his answer. "Can I have another cup of that special liquor again?" He stalled, since he didn't know what to do.

Xxxxx

John Hopkins Hospital
Baltimore, MD

Natalie looked outside the one of the large windows in the hospital waiting room. The same room she resided in, when Moose was here. It was eerie to be here for the same reason, cancer, but different person, her father.

The blasting cold air from the vents forced her to shiver. She clamped her cardigan tighter. In the distance, the white, moon illuminated. She admired the beauty. It was innocent, pure, something she wasn't.

She got the phone call earlier. Her dad collapsed, when he was trying to stand by himself. Her mom and one of the nurses found him, his eyes closed, barely breathing. He was rushed to the hospital. Though she had dinner plans with her future husband, she phoned him, as she was packing her suitcase. He wanted to go, and she knew that, but she needed the time away.

Alone.

The whole way to Baltimore, her parents' primary residence, she cried. The terminal cancer had spread in his system and reached other vital organs. His days were numbered, so any call could be the call. That's what she was most afraid of. He was her rock, her backbone, she was his little princess. The primary reason she went into the medial field was because of him. His chosen field, he excelled, and was well respected. If she contributed 1/5 of what she did in his lifetime, she would be satisfied.

Her mother exited to the waiting room. She wiped her puffy eyes with one of Henry's handkerchiefs she always carried around. She came behind her daughter, touching her shoulders.

Spooked, Natalie jumped. She turned around. "It's just you."

"What were you looking at," she peered outside.

"Nothing..." She shook her head. "Can I see him?"

"Yes, he really wants to see you," she informed. She watched her daughter leave, then resumed her daughter's place by the window. She took a deep and languid breath, one she seemed to be holding in for eternity. She stared at the night sky and talked to the heavenly father. "I know I don't talk to you much, and I know a wretch like me doesn't deserve for you to hear my plea... but please, I beg of you to keep my husband alive..." She cried, her mascara crawled in all directions, as did her eyeliner, and for a woman who kept appearances up all the time, for once, she did not care. She bared her usually frigid heart on her sleeve. "If he won't survive this, then please give him enough time to watch his daughter walk down the aisle. He deserves that much."

Meanwhile, Natalie sat at her dad's bedside. She held his hand against her forehead in respect and for strength. The sheets of his hospital bed swallowed her tears. He was so frail, already fallen back asleep in the matter of seconds.

Natalie didn't understand, nor did she get why cancer chose her father as it's next victim. He's helped others, the numbers were countless, yet he couldn't save himself from his own fate. It wasn't fair!

"Natty," Henry said his daughter's name with a voice so weak and hoarse like he hadn't a drink in days.

She picked her head up high. Her father hadn't called her that, since she was nine. "Oh daddy," she sobbed, as everything about this ordeal struck her all at once. His weight, she couldn't get over the amount of weight he lost, his vitality stripped, and he looked translucent. He longer played golf, his favorite pastime. Seeing her dad like this made it all too real.

"What's the with tears, huh," he still pretended he was his old self.

"Stop," she pleaded with him huskily. This was not the time to joke.

He coughed uncontrollably, while forcing the next words to come out of his mouth. It was dire, for her and his conscience.

"What's wrong," she freaked out.

He wheezed with his next few inhales and exhales. "I'm fine," he feigned strength for her sake. "I want you to listen to me." It hurt him, as father and a man to admit the truth about his health. "I'm dying," he stated. It was blunt, out there, she had to accept it. "I don't have much time left..."

She knew, but it still hurt.

"... I need you to promise me something."

"What, anything," she swore to make him crossing over the easiest for both of them.

"You will tell Robert the truth."

The admission caused her to choke on her own tears. She was thrown for a loop, it was a betrayal; it was like a knife to her heart. "Why..."

"It's not fair for him to live like this...," he sighed, another coughing fit following.

"Do you need something to drink," she offered, anything to make him feel better and to make him stop talking this nonsense.

"Natty, don't run away from this by changing the subject." He gripped her hand with what was left of his strength. The seriousness of his plea needed to be heard and left with her. "I've studied... interacted... met with... patients who have lost their memories. Do you know the inner turmoil they face? It's tormenting to not know the beginning of your life... how would you feel?"

"Dad, please," she begged for him to stop.

"... I can't." He reached out, his finger lifting her chin to make her look at him. "My wish for you, Natty, my princess, is for to do the right thing; set him free, even if it means losing him. You'll regret it later."

This was what her brother's been telling her. She brushed her sibling off, but to hear the same words from her dad, she knew he was right.

Natty bursted into tears.

Her father cried too.

He killed her dream of attaining her happily ever after; he knew, but he couldn't die with a monkey on his back, and she shouldn't live with one on hers.

Xxxxx

67th Ave Apartments-5B
New York, New York

Camille rose from an uneasy night of sleep. She went to her son's bedroom and checked on him. He was still sleeping. She closed the door without a peep.

Again, she felt awful for abandoning last night's dinner, but she didn't know what else to do. Seeing Moose, at her place of residence and within a few feet from her, was like a living nightmare. She thought they would never meet again, but she as wrong. He stayed, ate dinner her child, a child he doesn't know he's the father to. It was a big mess, and she needed personal time.

She hid in her classroom. While there, she danced, a plethora of genres—hip hop, contemporary, krump, exaggerated and highly energetic movement of her whole body, and ballet, until her limbs went rubbery. She tip-toed to the apartment, one, because her body was on fire and small steps were better than no steps, and two, to not disturb anyone, who was sleeping. Nona was robotic; she always slept at 9:00 PM sharp to wake up at 4:00 AM the next morning. Tris always crawled into bed at 10:00 PM.

By the time she returned, it was close to eleven.

She entered the shower, turned the dial for hot water all the way up and allowed the steaming water to knead her muscles back to normal. She sighed and thought of the ways to apologize to Nona, Emily and her own son. They would want explanations, but she could not give them any without giving away Moose was the father to Tristan, which she planned to take to her grave.

The only person who knew who Tristan's birth father was, was Sean.

She exited the shower and got ready for the day. By this time, it was only her and her son left in the apartment. She arrived at his bedroom to wake him. Her nose crinkled, since he still smelled like yesterday. She reentered the bathroom, a groggy him in tow, and she placed him in the tub, which woke him up.

"Mommy," Tristan chirped, while playing with the surrounding bubbles, "what happened last night?"

"Mommy needed fresh air," she responded, while wiping him down with a wash cloth. "I'm sorry for leaving you at dinner like that. It won't happen again." Since leaving her job as go-go dancer, she's always ate dinner and tucked Tristan, unless he didn't want her to, in bed. Last night was the first time she didn't do either, since relocating to New York.

"Pinky promise," he held up his. His mom wrapped her pinky around. He displayed a wide tooth grin, after letting go of her smallest finger. "You missed a great dinner. Nona made the awsomest pizza ever!"

"Awsomest," she repeated with a quirked eyebrow. "Is that even a word?!"

"I'm five, sue me," he teased with his tongue stuck out.

She started to lather his curls with watermelon shampoo. "Were you a good boy?"

"Yup, Nona even gave me dessert, and Auntie Emily gave me a kiss on the cheek for being so good and Mr. Lawyer taught me how to blow it up," he blabbed.

"What," Camille paused mid-wash at the last part. She hadn't seen that handshake in years. "Baby, can you show me how to blow it up?" She watched Tris ball his wet fist, pushed it forward, opened it, and, as he pulled it back he made a 'kaboom' noise like a bomb going off. "He remembers that, but doesn't remember me?" She was still baffled, but she alleged it was for the best.

"Mommy, what was that," Tristan barely heard her.

"Nothing... Okay, close eyes and ears." She bathed him with water.

Half an hour later, she headed for the kitchen and began to make her son's school lunch. She grabbed two slices of the leftover pizza from the fridge and heated those in the toaster oven. Then finished filling his lunchbox. She hummed, as she took out a juice box, a package of grapes, and placed two cannolis, one for him and one for Jayla, in a container.

Meanwhile, Moose, who was sleeping on the couch, smelled the aroma of the feast from the previous night. It tickled his nose wonderfully and caused him to wake up.

He didn't listen to Emily's warning. What he thought was a little bit of alcohol amounted to ten shots of vodka. He stumbled around like a fool, on the way to his car. Thankfully, Emily, who followed to give him the Anderson Investments contract he forgot, tailed and helped him back up to Nona's apartment, where he would be much safer.

Now, he was hungry, and he remembered Nona saying to make himself at home, which he would oblige gladly. She made fantastic and authentic Italian food, better than other upscale Italian restaurants.

"Tristan, start getting your nebulizer ready!"

"K, mom!"

He heard mother and son converse. He got off the couch and made his way to the kitchen. He saw her there, the person that went missing from last night's dinner. He watched, still confused by her reactions towards him. One minute, she was hot, then cold, and, now, he wasn't even sure how to approach her without provoking an unwanted reaction.

Camille hummed to herself, while finishing up. Tris' 'Cars' lunchbox was stuffed to the brim with great stuff. She turned to assist Tristan with his breathing medicine, but was met by an unexpected and unwanted surprise—Moose was there. On instincts, she backed away, as far as she could.

"Good morning," he chimed in the nicest way possible, "how are you?"

She continued back until she hit the counter. She felt closed in, suffocated by his presence. She might need her own breathing treatment to prevent herself from passing out from hyperventilation. She shook her head to rid herself of the nerves she faced. "Uh," she cleared her throat, "where did you come from? I thought you left." If he didn't, why didn't Tristan let her know, she wondered to herself.

"Been sleeping on the couch. Uh," he chuckled sheepishly, a bit embarrassed, "whatever drink Ana makes... it packs quite a punch. I was too drunk to drive home."

She was so occupied with not making a sound, she hadn't checked her surroundings fully. "Oh," she moved around the perimeter of the counter in a wary fashion, avoiding him like the plague.

He stalked her steps and movements. "Can I ask you something," he stayed, when she turned. They faced each other. "Why are you like this? If we don't know each other, then why do you act like I did something wrong to you?" It was bugging him, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

"No, reason, if you excuse me," she back walked, so she could maintain an eye on him, in case he followed her. Not looking where she was going, the table behind was creeping on her.

"Watch out," he lunged, grabbing her right elbow to steady her. Now, within an inch from each other, he studied her. He's seen her face before, but he wasn't sure where.

Camille froze. Mental pictures from the past flooded her brain, once again. They revolved around him, and in this one, she was on the Vault's rooftop. She escaped to there, when she thought she was a burden to him. He tailed. She walked near the edge, almost losing her footing, he stretched to get her back and wounded her body against his. She felt so safe, it was the safest she felt in awhile, and it was because of him.

The person right in front of her.

Water pricked behind her eyes.

"Mommy," Tristan came to the front, when she hadn't went back to administer his medicine. He looked between the two and deducted very quickly, who Moose was to him. "Racecar Daddy."

Moose loosened his grip at the title. Was he too kind to the kid last night or something?

Hoping he didn't take the story about the toy Ferrari too literally, she turned to her son.

They spoke at the same time.

"What did you say?"

Tris looked between the two adults. "You drive a racecar..." he pointed at Moose, then faced his mom, "... you said if I found a car like my toy one, then my dad would be inside." Based on the fancy Lexus he drove and his mom's tale, he believed Moose was his dad. "He's my daddy, isn't he?"

"No, no, no," she adamantly denied. "Tristan, don't get the wrong idea. He's an attorney, who is going to try and help us keep this place and the Cha-Cha Palace, right?" She realized she hadn't stayed for his answer. "Are you?" She stood up, shielding her curious son behind her.

He hadn't thoroughly thought it through, just yet. He was put on the spot, but the look on Tristan's face coupled with this mystery woman, he was so drawn to, he ended up agreeing. "Right..." He was unsure of when to contact Julien about this matter, but he would soon. "I'm going to help, and I'm sorry," he apologized to Tris. "I'm not your dad."

"See," Camille added. She twisted to fix her son's clothing, for the second time this morning. "Go on, I'll be there in a little bit." She watched him head to his room, then confronted Moose. "You weren't going to, were you?" She read it all over his face, and she couldn't believe him. The person she thought she knew, the person who helped her overcome a significant issue in her life, disappeared.

Offended by her comment, he questioned her. "What? What are you talking about?" She was spot on though. He didn't understand how she read him so well. It was startling. "You have to know something—"

"Never mind... I don't want to hear it," she stomped away and prepared Tris' morning medicine like usual.

Ten minutes later, they were finished. She gathered his school items.

"Mommy," Tristan wanted her attention. Something was on his mind, since they left Moose in the living room.

"What is it baby," she whispered, her emotions overflowing and getting the best of her.

"Why were you crying," he noted the cloudiness in her eyes, the tears beginning to rain. Before they could, he used his hands to wipe them away. "Did you get hurt again?" Last night and right now, she possessed the same mopey expression. His mom tolerated his, but the same couldn't be said for her.

Outside the door, Moose eavesdropped to try to gain a better understanding of Camille. Though Tristan and him got off on the wrong foot, he believed the child was as cute as button, very smart, and they were apart of the cool hair club. Of course, they would get along.

"Tristan, don't worry about me, but I want to talk to you about 'Racecar Daddy'. It's not the lawyer, okay," she had to get it through his head, so there's no further misunderstandings between the three of them.

"Why can't it be him," he inquired.

"One day, I'll explain to you why, but it has to be when you're older."

"If I don't ask anymore now, will it make you happier," he wondered.

"Regardless of what you do or say, you always make me happy," she reassured.

Tristan swung his arms around his mom's neck an hugged her deeply. "I won't bring it up anymore; a sad mommy is not a good mommy."

Moose listened. To him, the strong bond between the mother and son was evident, and that's also when Camille was the softest. As he heard them shuffling to get up, he returned to the front and pretended he didn't hear their little exchange. He waited by the couch.

Camille ignored him, leaving Tristan by the front door, as she rushed to the kitchen. She looked at the time, and they were bound to be 30 minutes late to school and work. "Shit," she cursed beneath her breath. Last night's selfishness screwed her over this morning doubly. "Tris, we really have to book it to the bus stop."

Moose overheard and stepped up to the plate. "Hey, Tris. Do you want a ride?"

"Do we get to go in your racecar," Tris asked with hopeful eyes and with his hands clasped together. "Pretty, pretty please."

"Why of course," Moose answered. "Tell your mom."

"Mommy, mommy, mommy," Tris exclaimed. He zoomed towards her. He grabbed her arm, pulling down on it. "Mr. Lawyer wants to take us in his car." He pointed to the front keenly. "Please, please, please!"

Camille's head ascended quickly and shook her head. "No, um, we'll take the cab," she said in instead. She went to Moose. "Thanks, but not thanks. We'll take a cab."

"Are you sure," he jangled his keys in front of her in an enticing way. "I'm already here, can drive way faster, and I'm the cheapest rate in town—free. Come on, Camille. Accept the offer."

She hated that he was right. Time was ticking away, and the cabs would probably take twenty minutes to get here. "Fine," she grumbled and beckoned for Tristan.

The trio descended to the street, where Moose's car was parked. Stars twinkled in Tristan's light brown eyes over the look and colors of the car. He was so stoked. Moose unlocked the doors and helped Tris into the back. When Camille was about to enter, he stopped her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting in the back with my son," she answered like he was crazy for even questioning her. His hands flew to her hips in annoyance. "Why is that wrong or something?"

"You can sit in the front," he offered, his finger towards the spot in question.

"I don't think so."

"Why are you so stubborn," he queried, a little annoyed with her. "I don't bite, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, but I believe you're engaged or married," she responded without fear. "It would be wrong; I'll take my seat in the back." She hopped in and buckled her seat.

Moose obliged her wish. He was beginning to think she was a kook. He entered the driver seat. "Where to?"

"Hudson Elementary."

Fifteen minutes later, they were at the front of the school.

Tristan hugged Moose goodbye for the ride, and Camille had to pry her son off of him.

"You can leave," she informed Moose, before walking off.

"I'd rather wait here for you," Moose countered with a cheeky smile. If she was going to play hardball, then he was going to play. "You know... to make sure you have a ride back.

"No," Camille shook her head adamantly. Instead of continuing, what was bound to be an argument, she ushered Tristan to his class.

"Why don't you ride from him, mommy," Tristan questioned her.

"Don't worry about it..." She double checked to make sure Tris had his inhaler. He did. She gave him the biggest hug and kiss a mother could give her son. She waved goodbye, at his classroom's door. Before leaving, she was stopped by Ms. Celestina, his teacher.

"Ms. Gage," the African American woman greeted her this morning. "I just wanted to remind you, on the 23th of this month," which was eight days away, "we're having a family showcase. It's where the children and their mother, father or both perform talent in front of everybody. I'm sure you will make it."

"Definitely," Camille nodded and smiled. She already knew what they were going to do.

Once more, she waved goodbye to Tris, who was already with Jayla. She exited afterwards.

As for Moose, his ass was his passenger's door, his legs crossed, one over the other, and he was wiping dust off the car and minding his own business.

Sean, Camille's best friend and who was in love with her, showed up. He was none too pleased with this development. This morning, Emily informed him that the attorney they wanted to hire was at Nona's passed out. He asked who it was, and she said the name that heightened his blood pressure and made him want to punch the wall.

Robert Collins, who sometimes went by Moose.

There was no mistaking who that was.

Camille's ex and Tristan's father.

Knowing that Camille's been a mother, all this time, while he's been some successful Lothario, he was pissed to know he had the audacity to even come back. He was going to set him straight.

"What the fuck are you doing here," Sean snapped, dashing towards the epitome of arrogance. Up to this time, he still loathed the rich playboy of MSA. When Moose had a deer caught in headlights expression, he became pissed off even more. "I asked, what the fuck are you doing here?!" He pulled Moose's arm to get his attention.

As a reflexive action, Moose shoved the stranger off of him and his arms molded into a defensive stance. Put off by the animosity of a person he didn't even know, he faced him. "What the fuck is your problem?" His anger matched Sean's.

The showdowns of all showdowns was about to ensue.