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  “It’s … complicated.”

  “The sex?”

  “It’s complicated because of the feelings. Do you really want to discuss feelings? I think that’s your least favorite thing to talk about.”

  “But we’re not moving? I don’t want to move. My plants would die and so would yours.”

  “Ellen is moving. We are not moving.”

  Whisky neat. It was my go-to. But I never had an issue with beer if that’s all that was available. I could drink a lot of beer. All the beer—I’d stop drinking when there was no more beer to drink. But I always had a stash of whisky at home to get me to where I needed to be to get to sleep.

  “Hey, Ellen’s here!” Harrison jumps out of the car before I get it completely stopped.

  Why is she sitting on our porch steps, bundled up in a coat, hat, and gloves—with her guitar case?

  Harrison runs around to the back door and opens it with his key. She waits on the front porch steps.

  “Hey.” She stands as I approach.

  “Hi.” Something is off. I can see it on her face. I can see it in the reddened rims of her eyes.

  “You came to play?” Harrison opens the front door, grinning. I love that look that only Ellen Rodgers puts on his face.

  “I did.” She carries her case inside. “My guitar is cold. Will you take it upstairs and let it warm up a bit before we play?”

  “Sure.” Harrison takes her guitar.

  “You’re leaving early.” I know it. I can feel it. It’s a cloud of gloom over her.

  “Tomorrow.” Ellen draws in a shaky breath. “My dad fell this afternoon. He’s fine, but Lori is pretty shook up because it was on her watch. So…” she takes in another slow breath, like it’s all she can do to hold it together “…the moving truck is coming in the morning.”

  It’s like I didn’t go to that meeting. I want a drink so bad I can taste it in my veins.

  “I wanted to play guitar with Harry one more time.”

  I nod, jaw clenched.

  “I wanted to see you.” She bites her quivering lower lip.

  If I hug her, it changes nothing. If I tell her it’s all going to be okay, it’s a lie. If I beg her to stay, she’ll leave. But if I take a drink … the pain will go away.

  “I’ll make dinner. Go play.”

  Her brow wrinkles in pain as she nods slowly before climbing the stairs to Harrison’s room. I busy myself with dinner, waiting for the pain to become self-numbing the way I’ve had to rely on it to do for over a decade. This is my penance. This is my sentence. This is the life I chose.

  A life for a life.

  Harrison dominates the dinner conversation with a summary of his latest podcast on futuristic airplanes. I nod on instinct to acknowledge him, but I don’t really register a word he’s said. Making the occasional glance at Ellen, I’m certain she’s not focusing on him either.

  “Bed,” I say after he’s done with his story and his meal.

  “It’s only eight.”

  “Harrison …”

  He sighs.

  Ellen stands. “Give me a hug. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  She smiles as I watch her eyes fill with tears. “Cape Cod.”

  “Oh, duh.” He gives her a sheepish grin. “I knew that.”

  Ellen hugs him, and after a few seconds he hugs her back.

  Whisky. Beer. Vodka. It doesn’t matter. Anything will do at this point. I stand and grab the dirty dishes. I can’t watch this. As I walk off, I hear her sob.

  “Why are you crying?” Harrison asks.

  She clears her throat. “I’m just … going to miss you.”

  “Okay.”

  Okay. God … for just one time in my life I wish I could emotionally detach myself like he can.

  “Night.” He goes to bed. No emotion. No tears. No regret. No pain.

  I set the dishes in the sink. Fuck. I hate this.

  I hear her sniffle behind me.

  “Now.” My pulse makes it hard to hear anything but the rush of blood through my heart. “Walk away now. Don’t say anything. I …” I grit my teeth to keep my shit together. “I lied. I don’t want to watch you walk away.”

  “Flint …”

  “Go.” I rest my hands on the edge of the counter and bow my head.

  Her chest presses to my back as she caresses my arm, stopping at my hand. Her fingers interlace with mine against the edge of the counter.

  “Go … please …” My words are barely a whisper. It’s all I have left.

  “I lied too.” She ducks under my arm and wedges herself between me and the counter, the same way she wedged her way into my life, my heart—my soul. “I need more than a goodbye.”

  *

  Ellen

  TEARS.

  Flint Hopkins has tears bleeding down his face for me. The muscles in his jaw tick, and his eyes redden behind the leaky emotions. My hand inches to his face; my fingers touch the wetness on his cheeks as if I need proof that they’re real.

  Alex never cried for me, at least not that I ever saw. Not when my mom died. Not when I cried for the loss of his friend and his hands. Not when he ended our marriage.

  I rub my wet fingertips together, still in disbelief that I matter so deeply to any man other than my father. “I want this life,” I whisper. “I want you.” Every piece of what gives me life feels like it’s slowly dying.

  “But …” He hunches his back more until his cheek rests on the top of my head.

  I rest my palms against his chest. “But …” My eyes close.

  But humans take on many forms of love, and right now my father needs the love of his only daughter, just like Harrison needs his father’s love. This just isn’t our time.

  But I can’t make sense of it to my heart or Flint’s. It just hurts.

  When my gaze meets his, there’s no need to say anything.

  He knows.

  I know.

  So we say goodbye over the next few hours. It’s the most painful missed opportunity. It’s like trying to breathe but there’s no oxygen. I will forever wear his touch on my skin as a reminder of the life I want.

  In the early morning, when his breathing evens out and his hold on me relaxes, I slide out of bed before the sun and before Harrison awakes—in silence and darkness—like I was never here at all.

  “I love you,” I mouth, standing in the doorway to Flint’s bedroom as he sleeps. “Goodbye.”

  I walk away, leaving him blind to my departure and deaf to my last goodbye.

  Hours later, after the sun brings forth a new day, there’s no call, no text. He’s letting me go—as if he has a choice. As soon as the movers arrive, I give them instructions and turn in my keys to my landlord. My rats and I are on the road to Cape Cod before ten in the morning.

  Someday I’m going to get to live my happily ever after. No more packing up and driving away from the man that I love. Everyone has their time. I will find mine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Flint

  “YOU LOOK LIKE hell,” Amanda greets me.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s four days until Christmas. I thought you’d have your holiday spirit by now.”

  I take off my overcoat and hang it on the coat tree in the corner of my office. “Nope.”

  “Cage called here this morning. He said you’re not returning his messages. He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. When you start to ignore your only friend, it’s a bit concerning.”

  I grunt, taking a seat and turning on my computer. “Why does everyone think Cage is my only friend? And is there a spot on my tie? Spinach between my teeth? What exactly makes me look so hellish this morning?”

  Amanda turns her back to me, pounding away at the keyboard to her computer. “It’s the bags under your eyes and the deepening lines on your forehead from wearing a constant scowl. Are you drinking?”

  “Amanda.” I snap at her with more of an edge to my voi
ce than I intended to do.

  She shrugs, still with her back to me. “I’m asking for a friend. And that’s not code. I’m literally asking for a friend—your friend. Oh … and your parents will be here tomorrow. They called me too. Did you lose your phone? And your mom said she’d call and invite Sandy since she knew you would not.”

  My parents and my mother-in-law. Happy fucking holidays to me.

  “Can I say something as your friend?” She turns in her chair.

  I glance up. “How can we be friends if I only have one friend?”

  Amanda smirks. “Why don’t you call her or go see her?”

  “Am I supposed to know to whom you are referring?”

  “I bet Elle would love to see you. Take Harrison to New York or Boston for New Years and then drop in to see her.”

  “What would be the point?” I return my attention to my computer.

  “Spreading holiday cheer.”

  Ellen walked out a week before Thanksgiving. We haven’t made any sort of contact since then. A clean break. That’s what it had to be. It’s like marking off days on a calendar of Ellen sobriety. I can’t see her and start the whole fucking process again.

  “I think I’ll be plenty busy spreading holiday cheer right here.”

  She snorts a laugh. “Okay, Boss.”

  *

  AFTER PICKING UP Harrison from school, we get groceries and head home.

  “Grab the mail,” I tell Harrison, pulling up next to our mailbox before pulling into the driveway.

  He retrieves the wad of envelopes and advertisements, plopping them onto his lap. “Look! Elle sent me a postcard.”

  I glance over, sure enough, it’s addressed to Harry Hopkins.

  Happy Holidays! I hope you’re playing lots of music this season. We miss you like crazy!

  ~Elle, Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, Mozart, & Lady Gaga

  HE FLIPS THE postcard over. “Ha! Look at this.”

  It’s a photo of her and her rats and they’re all wearing Santa hats. She looks happy. Good for her. I swallow the fucking razor blade in my throat and pull into the garage.

  “I’m going to video message her.” Harrison hops out of the car, leaving a scattered mess of mail on the seat.

  I change my clothes and head out to my greenhouse to make sure the temperature is staying steady. When I come back inside, Harrison’s at the kitchen table eating an apple and talking to the screen of his iPad.

  “Man, I can’t believe you’ve had so much snow already. It’s just cold as crap here.”

  I shoot him a frown for his language.

  He rolls his eyes. “Sorry. It’s cold as crud here. My dad just came inside and he’s giving me his pissed off look because I said crap.”

  I wash my hands and shake my head. This kid …

  “Wanna say hi to him?”

  My body stiffens.

  “Um … sure.”

  It’s the first time I’ve heard her voice in over a month. I don’t know if I can see her too.

  “Look out her window. See all the snow?” Harrison brings his iPad over, giving me no choice but to see all the snow. But all I see is her and how fucking beautiful she looks cuddled in a chair, wearing leggings and a sweatshirt, auburn hair covering her neck and chest like a scarf—and those blue eyes.

  “Lot of snow,” I say.

  She smiles and speaks softly, “Hey, Flint.”

  I try to smile back, but it’s hard to do.

  “Happy holidays.”

  I nod, still searching for something to pass off as a smile.

  Before I can find anything to add to my “lot of snow” comment, like, “How is your dad?” Harrison takes off with his iPad. “He hates the holidays.”

  “That’s too bad. I love the holidays.”

  Of course she does. People who hum and sing all day have to love the holidays. Just like Amanda, who says fantastic all the time—holiday lover.

  “I get three weeks off for break.”

  “That’s awesome. What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing. We never do anything.”

  He makes me sound like such a great dad. Do-nothing scrooge.

  Ellen chuckles. “I’m not doing much either so don’t feel too bad. But I have to go get dinner started. My grandparents went home a few weeks ago, so now I’m in charge of the meals.”

  “Okay. Bye.” He disconnects before she says another word.

  I sip my iced coffee and shake my head at him.

  “What?”

  “It’s polite to wait until the person on the other end of the line has a chance to say goodbye too before you cut them off.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever.”

  *

  Ellen

  MY DAD GIVES me a questioning glance. His speech is still impaired, so I rely on looks and his nifty whiteboard. In the past two weeks his motor control over his right hand has improved enough to write me messages.

  I grin as he reaches for his whiteboard.

  “It was Harrison. I sent him a holiday card, and he just got it today.”

  And his dad?

  “Flint. What about him?”

  My dad frowns as if I should know exactly what he’s asking me.

  When are you going home?

  “This is home. I told you.”

  He pushes the white rag over the board to erase his words and write new ones.

  Do you love him?

  “I love you.” I get out of the chair and bend over, kissing him on the head.

  He reaches a shaky hand for my wrist.

  I sigh. This is not a conversation worth having right now.

  He scribbles more words.

  I don’t want to be your job. A burden.

  “I’ve already started looking for someone to take you to your appointments during the day. And I have new business cards ordered. I’m going to make house calls. What do you think about that?”

  Do you love him?

  “I’m not leaving you. That would mean putting you in a care facility. You won’t get better there. That’s where old people go to die. You’re not even sixty yet.”

  He holds up the whiteboard again.

  I sigh. “Do I love him? Yes. And I love you and my rat babies and chocolate. I’ve got a lot of love to give. You know what else I love? Tacos. So I’m going to make tacos for dinner.”

  “El … len …”

  I stop, halfway to the kitchen. It still frustrates the hell out of him to try to talk. Speech therapy is his least favorite part of the day, so when he does attempt to talk, I know it’s something very important to him.

  Turning around, I kneel beside his chair, giving him my full attention as his hand scribbles and scribbles.

  Tell him to wait for you. I’m going to get better for YOU. If you love him, don’t let him get away.

  I can’t ask Flint to wait indefinitely for me. I won’t give him false hope. “I know you’re going to get better. I’ve made sure you have the best therapists helping you. But you won’t get better if I abandon you. If I’m meant to be with Flint then …” I shrug.

  Then what?

  “Besides, when did you become a Flint fan? I thought you were still holding onto your far-fetched dream of Alex and me reconciling.”

  He erases his writing and pulls the cap off his marker.

  Ron said Alex treated you badly.

  I never told my father just how badly Alex treated me. It was my need to protect Alex in spite of everything he said to me, and I wanted to protect my dad too. He and Alex’s dad, Ron, have been friends for many years.

  I give my dad a painful smile. He wipes the board and writes again.

  Don’t lie to me.

  “Yes. Alex said a lot of things that weren’t nice. I knew it was the pain and anger talking, but … I saw no end in sight, and he wanted me to leave. He wanted a divorce.”

  You deserve better.

  I nod. “I do.”

  Don’t let “better” go.

  I laugh. “When yo
u ditch the dry erase board and climb the stairs unassisted without falling, we’ll talk about my love life. I’m young and incredibly good looking like my mom was.” I wink at him and he grins. “So there’s no need for me to tag a man like a Christmas tree. If he’s here when I’m ready, then we’re meant to be. If not, I’ll find another one.”

  Another frown from my dad, but I’m fine with his frowns. It takes more facial muscles to frown than to smile, so if I upset him, it’s good exercise for some of those injured nerves.

  He draws a Z-shaped Christmas tree.

  There are more good trees than there are good men.

  I laugh. “True. I won’t argue with you there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Flint

  “RATS!” HARRISON PULLS the red bow and white blanket off the cage.

  “What in God’s name …” Heidi’s mom, Sandy, covers her mouth with her hand.

  “They’re rats, Grandma. Just like Ellen has.”

  “Who’s Ellen?”

  “I told you she gave me the guitar and parachuted. She also had sex with Dad and she bakes the best chocolate chip cookies ever.”

  My parents cringe as Harrison spews off random facts about Ellen like it’s her résumé. Sandy doesn’t look too happy. I have this feeling Harrison probably mentioned the guitar and maybe the skydiving, but the sex is news to her—and not the good kind of news.

  “Are they male or female?” Harrison asks.

  “A word, Flint?” Sandy stands.

  “Here, buddy.” My dad gets on the floor by the tree with Harrison to give him the rat information.

  I follow Sandy into my office.

  “The only reason I gave you custody of Harrison was because I thought you were ready to be a mature father, but—”

  “Whoa! Gave me custody? The reason I finished getting my law degree was to get him back without you airing my dirty laundry to the whole damn world. I fought for him. You did not give anything to me.”

  She steps closer, holding up her finger. “I made you fight for him to prove you had what it took. I needed to know you were in it for the long haul. I needed to know you weren’t going to give up on your son, who not only needs a father but someone who can help him with his special needs—the way his mother would have done.”