“What are you thinking about?” Josh asked, dropping our bags on the living room rug.

I didn’t bother trying to smile. “This place was my refuge, the promise he made to my mom that one day he wouldn’t be in the army anymore.”

Josh picked up a framed picture of Gus and Dad smiling, both covered in chocolate from a failed attempt at brownies. “It’s good you have it. Another place to feel him in.”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Nothing is going according to plan. Everything is falling apart around me.” I swatted away a tear, the damn things wouldn’t stop coming. “Why couldn’t he have been a banker? An electrician?”

He put the frame down on the end table, his eyes taking on an odd intensity. “He was needed, Ember. He saved a lot of lives.”

“Yeah, all but his.”

The silence in the house ached through me, bordering on pain. This was a place of laughter and raucous behavior, where Mom’s rules slipped and Dad had no other priorities. This is where they locked their bedroom door on Sunday mornings, and where we learned to make our own breakfasts. This was our haven. Was. Why was everything was lately?

Josh distracted me perfectly. “Tell me something about him that makes you smile.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “Anything you loved.”

There were ten thousand things about my dad that I loved. How could I pick just one? But if there was one . . . “The journals.”

“Journals?”

I smiled, thinking back to all the times I caught him hunched over his computer. “He wrote in a journal every day. Well, he typed it. He said he was too lazy to handwrite anything. Personally, I don’t think the man could even read his own handwriting. It was atrocious.” I laughed at the memory. “He kept everything on his computer. He told me that writing everything down cleared his mind, left him ready to tackle the next obstacle. It was his ultimate superpower, the ability to let everything go by just acknowledging it.” I wanted that ability. I wanted the peace he always carried with him.

But more than that, I realized I wanted to read those journals, especially the ones from these last few months. I wanted to know his thoughts, his fears, what it was about his job that made losing his life worth it.

I blinked slowly as if that would clear all the events of the last few weeks from the slate and leave it clean. “Well, since we have all night . . .” I crossed the floor into the kitchen, climbing easily onto the counter to reach the cabinet above the refrigerator. I brought down a clear bottle wrapped in a green ribbon. “Tequila?”

A slow smile spread across Josh’s face, and I nearly dropped my precious cargo. The guy was lethal with that weapon. He streaked his fingers across his short hair, and I saw the blood. “Are you okay?” I asked, setting the bottle on the counter and reaching for his damaged hand.

He shrugged at the sight. “Knuckles are swollen, but that’s not my blood.”

I pulled him to the farmhouse sink, then rinsed Riley’s blood off his hand, watching the fading red tendrils escape down the drain. “Ice?”

“No, I’m fine, really.”

I examined the swelling, brushing my fingers over his skin. What would these hands feel like on my body? I glanced up at him, absorbing the way his eyes darkened as awareness spread between us. His eyes followed the motion as I wet my suddenly dry lips before I gave him his hand back.

Oblivion was calling, and I was more than ready to answer. “In that case, grab the limes out of my bag, because I need to get drunk.”

“As the lady wishes,” he joked as he retrieved the little green gems.

Three shots later, the tequila took effect as heat settled into my belly. I threw another lime wedge into the garbage and hopped up onto the counter in my bare feet and dry pajama pants. I’d long since ditched the wet jeans.

Josh leaned against the counter across from me, keeping up shot for shot. “Feeling better?”

I reached back behind me, opening the cabinet by feel and grabbing a bag of chips. Sour cream and onion were Dad’s favorite. “I’m not really sure there’s an option of feeling worse.” I popped open the bag and shoved a handful in my mouth, offering him the bag. “I’m done dwelling on me. Distract me.”

“How?” His eyes narrowed.

Kiss me. Make me forget. “Tell me what happened to badass Josh Walker from high school? I remember you having hair down to your chin—”

“Hockey.”

“And that black motorcycle . . .”

“In storage.”

“Why? More illegal fun that’s not up for discussion?”

“That was six years ago, December. Besides, would you drive a motorcycle in the middle of a Colorado winter?”

“Good point.” He rolled the bag of chips, placing it behind him on the counter. Every movement he made fascinated me. “You’re so different now.”

His hands flexed on the counter, whitening his knuckles. “How so?”

My eyes closed, and I sank into the memory of a fifteen-year-old girl. “You were popular, a good athlete, and had this whole bad-boy, don’t-give-a-shit vibe going for you and all, but I’m sorry, you were kind of an ass.” Tequila must have loosened my tongue.

Josh sputtered, nearly soaking me in the shot he was currently downing before he laughed. “Good to know.”

“I mean, normally, you were this really hot guy, of course.” I opened my eyes to meet his gaze and fell into it. His eyes had turned dark, nearly unfathomable. “But during hockey season, you were more than that. You were a god. Every girl wanted to be yours, and you . . . let them. You didn’t seem to care that you changed them out faster than your hockey tape. You. Were. An. Ass.”