The woman’s lip began to tremble, and tears formed in her eyes. “Happy . . . Birthday . . . December,” she said as she slowly dragged the icing bag across the green and blue cake, inscribing my name. She handed the cake back over with shaking hands and I accepted it with a thankful nod.
I turned to see the CU guy with his hand in mid-reach for a pack of blueberry muffins, but his eyes were locked on me, wide with shock.
I couldn’t blame him; I was shocked at my outburst, too, appalled that I’d lost it in the middle of the grocery store.
Tears streamed down my face unnoticed as I stood at the register, waiting for the young girl to ring up my cake and ice cream. “Thirty-two nineteen,” she told me. I reached for my back pocket, where I normally kept my tiny wallet, but found only the smooth spandex of my running shorts.
“Shit,” I whispered, closing my eyes in defeat. No coat. No wallet. Great planning.
“I got this.” The brown-eyed guy slid a fifty dollar bill across the conveyor belt to the clerk. I hadn’t even noticed he’d been behind me.
I turned to look back up at him, stunned at how tall he was. I only reached his collarbone. The sudden turn made me sway, and he reached out to steady me, his strong hands gently supporting my arms. “Thank you.” I dragged the backs of my hands over my cheeks, wiping away what tears I could, and handed him back his change. There was something so familiar about him . . . What was it?
“Do you need me?” he asked softly, as the clerk rang up his Vitamin Water.
“What?” I had zero clue what he was talking about.
He flushed. “Do you need me to carry that out? I mean, it looks kind of heavy,” he finished slowly, like he couldn’t believe he’d said it, either.
“It’s a cake.” He had to be the hottest awkward guy I’d ever met.
“Right.” He grabbed his bag and shook his head like he was trying to clear it. “Would you at least let me drive you home?”
Wow, did he choose the wrong day to try to pick me up. “I don’t even know you. I hardly think that’s appropriate.”
A soft smile slid across his face. “You’re December Howard and I’m Josh Walker. I graduated three years ahead of you.”
Josh Walker. Holy shit. High school. Memories crashed through me, but that Josh Walker couldn’t possibly be the one standing in front of me. No, that one had been a tattooed, motorcycle-driving, cheerleader magnet, not this clean-cut all-American nice guy. “Josh Walker. Right. I used to have a picture of you taped on my closet door from when you guys won state.” Shit. Why did I say that? His eyebrows raised in surprise, and I mentally added or still do, but whatever. “If I remember correctly, you had your head stuck too far up your hockey helmet to notice any underclassmen.” But I had noticed him, along with every other girl in school. My eyes narrowed as I assessed the lean cut of his face, only made more angular and freaking hot by quasi-adulthood. “And you had a lot more hair.”
His devastating grin cut through the fog of my brain, distracting me from the pain for a blissful moment. How did a hockey player have such straight teeth?
“See, I’m not a stranger.” He handed me my cake, and his smile vanished, replaced by a flash of . . . pain or pity? “Ember, I’m sorry about your dad. Please let me drive you home. You’re not in any shape to drive.”
I shook my head, tearing my gaze from his sympathetic one. For an instant, I had nearly forgotten. Guilt overran me. I’d just let a pretty face distract me from . . . everything, and it all came rushing back, shredding into me. What was I doing even thinking about him? I had a boyfriend, and a dead father, and no time for this. Dead. I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain.
“Ember?”
“I need to do it. I need to know I can.” I thanked him again for paying and headed back into reality.
I slid onto the frozen leather seat in my car and sat in stunned silence for a moment. How could something as simple as seeing Josh Walker again right a little piece of my soul when the rest had been flipped so wrong? The cold of the seat seeped through my running capris, forcing out the warm thoughts of Josh. The cake on my front seat mocked me with stupid, happy, martial-arts turtles. Gus would love it. If Gus could love it. God, what was he going to do without Dad? What were any of us going to do? Panic welled up in my chest, catching in my throat before exploding in a cry that sounded nothing like me. How was I supposed to take care of Mom without Dad? How was I going to do any of this when I wanted to curl up and deny it all?
My composure crumpled, and I sobbed against my steering wheel for exactly five minutes. Then I sat up, dried my tears, and stopped crying. I couldn’t afford to cry or break down anymore. I had to take care of my family.
Chapter Two
This wasn’t my first military funeral, but I had been a kid then, and the death of someone my parents once knew hadn’t really struck a chord with me. Dad’s funeral slowly tore me apart with each tear I held back. Every time someone hugged me, or told me they were sorry, another piece of me shut down, like my maximum pain threshold had been reached.
Riley, my exquisite, perfect boyfriend of three years, drove down from vacationing at his family’s cabin in Breckenridge to be with me. I’m not sure I could really say he was with me, though. He’d been more with his cell phone the last few days, and wasn’t even here yet. I couldn’t really blame him. It’s not like I was a joy to be around. Since the notification last week, Christmas had passed with a whisper, the New Year was upon us, and Mom still hadn’t responded to . . . anything. Thankfully, Grams had shown up, all Southern-steel backbone and silver hair, and kept the wolves off the door. No one was threatening to medicate Mom. Yet.