A woman cleared her throat, and I turned to Gus’s desk behind me. A leggy brunette I vaguely recognized stood and offered her hand. “You must be December. So tragic, losing your father, and on your birthday nonetheless.”

My head snapped back like I’d been slapped, and my eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

A camera-ready smile erupted onto her face. “Excellent! I’m London Cartwright, and we’d love your reaction, since I understand you held the family together?”

“My mother would like you to leave, and I’ll have to ask you to do the same, Ms. Cartwright.”

The smile didn’t falter. Eerie. “I’m sure once you understand what we’d like to do . . .”

“And what the hell is that?”

“They want to expose the Green-on-Blue killings, Ember. Really delve into what our continued presence is doing, and why our soldiers are being killed, victimized by the men they were protecting and training.”

What. The. Fuck. “My father wasn’t a victim. He was at war.”

“We just want to give you an opportunity to share your feelings.” Ms. Cartwright crossed the room and stared at the wall behind Uncle Mike.

Mom shrank back. “Mom?” I asked. “What do you want me to do?”

Her eyes went vacant. No. Not again. I grabbed her shoulders, ducking my head to look into those eyes. “Mom? Stay with me.” I pulled her to the doorway. “April, take her downstairs to Grams. You, too, Gus.” April led Mom and Gus downstairs, and I made sure they were clear before I turned back to Mike and Ms. Cartwright.

“Do you see how fragile she is? What are you thinking?”

“Your dad deserves to be remembered and the American people should know that he didn’t die in vain.” Her voice dripped false sympathy. Maybe a weaker person would have fallen for it.

“It’s a war. No one dies in vain.” I shook my head and nearly laughed. “Hell, everyone dies in vain. My father is not your headline.”

Uncle Mike leaned forward with his car-salesman smile. “Ember, this could be really good for the family. People are moved by what’s happened, and we know college isn’t cheap. We could all use this.”

My face fell slack, unable to even process that he’d suggested we profit from Dad’s death. A very bitter taste filled my mouth. “You’re out of your mind if you think—” I sucked in my breath as I saw the pennant Ms. Cartwright pinned to Gus’s bulletin board. West Point. “Get. That. Thing. Off. His. Wall.”

“We thought it would be a good touch, army family and all. You’d be representing the army, so to speak.” She made it sound so reasonable, like I was the one off my rocker.

“Dad went to Vanderbilt, not the Academy.” Words slipped through my clenched teeth. I was afraid to give full rein to my temper. “Gus doesn’t want to go to West Point, and he’s not going to.”

“Be fair, Ember. Gus should be proud of the military legacy in this family.” Uncle Mike pulled a West Point shirt out of Ms. Cartwright’s bag. “Besides, people will eat it up when we interview him in this. Who knows, maybe one day he’ll be the military man in the family.”

Something within me snapped. The fine web of civility I’d woven around myself after Dad died and Riley screwed Kayla shredded around me. They were not going to use Gus. I clamored over the bed and ripped the shirt from Uncle Mike’s hand. “Get out!”

“Ember—”

“GET. OUT!” I gripped the shirt, longing to shred it, but it wouldn’t be enough. I shoved through them and tore the pennant from the bulletin board. The thumbtacks went flying under the bed, skidding along the bare hardwood. “No story! No pennant! No West Point!” I held the offensive crap in front of me and herded them out of Gus’s room. “Now get out!”

They scurried from the room, Ms. Cartwright’s stilettos frantic on Mom’s cherished hardwood floor. I chased them down the back steps, the camera and sound guys getting caught up in their wave of retreat. “Get out! Get out!” It was my mantra, and it was all I could think.

They bottlenecked at the kitchen door before popping through, scattering across the tile floor. Mom sat at the dining room table, a cup of coffee in her hand. Grams stood guard, wearing a look fiercer than I’d ever seen. I pitied that news crew. For a second. Maybe.

“Ember—” Uncle Mike started toward me, and I backed around the island to the kitchen sink.

“Don’t! How dare you bring this in here! How dare you even think of putting such an idea into Gus’s head! The army? West Point?” I shook the shirt and pennant as if they were his neck.

“It’s just a symbol—”

“No! There will be no army for Gus, no West Point, no interview! Are you insane? Why would we ever want him to . . . to . . . No! This family has bled enough, and I will not let you walk in here and cut us any deeper!” My voice cracked. I couldn’t handle the images that pennant put into my head. Gus in a uniform. Gus laid to rest under an American flag.

I threw the pennant and T-shirt into the empty kitchen sink, then tore open the drawer to the right, pulling out the lighter Mom used for birthday candles. A click later, the flame burst to life, and I set the West Point shirt on fire.

“Ember! What are you doing?” Uncle Mike stepped forward, but the warning in my eyes must have been enough because he quickly retreated.

“That is what I think of your cute notions of dressing Gus up like a future soldier and parading our grief around for profit!” The flames rose from the sink as Captain Wilson came in, flanked by two other soldiers. “Now get the fuck out of our home!”