Kids run around, adults discuss holiday plans as they admire the tree, and happiness radiates from every single soul here.
All except one.
I take in the sorrow in Celeste’s face as she raises her gaze, looking at the tree before us. “It’s really beautiful.” A heartbreaking contrast to the melancholy words that leave her lips.
“It is,” I whisper.
When her eyes meet mine, her sadness tugs at my heart. How devastating to lose something that’s supposed to be as special as the holidays to grief.
“Cele—”
“CC, think Hank’s ready to head home.” Caleb interrupts by cutting in between us, despite the closeness that rose during the light display. But when we look to where he’s nodding, Celeste swears under her breath and takes off after her father. Currently peeling off his layers and shaking his head, he gets the attention of more and more of the crowd.
Dammit.
“Daddy, why’s Mr. Black taking his clothes off? He’ll catch cold,” Maise says, hands coming to rest on her hips.
“He’s just confused. CC will help him get home.”
“Oh.” The little sound is disappointment personified.
Squatting, I take her by the arms. “How about we head home, too? That way, if CC needs a hand later, you can help out.”
“Can I stay up later than usual if I help?”
“Sure thing.”
“Yes!” She jumps on the spot before strangling my neck with her arms.
I sweep her onto my hip. “Let’s get out of this cold, hey?”
We head for the truck. And when we reach the parking lot, Celeste is helping her half-dressed dad into their truck. And it hits me...
In this stage of Hank’s condition, Celeste is the parent. But unlike my relationship with my daughter, her happy moments are much rarer with Hank. Double that with the memories of the man and father he used to be, and that makes my heart hurt for her.
Hell, when did I turn into such a damn sap?
“Daddy, let me in?” Maise tilts her head at me, frowning.
“Yeah, let’s go home.” I unlock the truck and open the door before tucking her into her booster seat, securing her belt.
Closing the door, I glance back at Celeste. She’s leaning on the passenger door, but her forehead is pressed against the glass. Defeat is written all over her face. And I decide in that moment to help her anyway I can.
Whether she wants my help or not.
She’s turned her life upside down to take care of her father.
But who is looking after Celeste?
Chapter
Thirteen
CELESTE
The house is bare. Compared to Quinton and Maisey’s home, it feels dull. And for the first time in years, I feel the urge to decorate. To see this holiday, one that’s caused our family nothing but hurt, in a different light. My phone lights up with an incoming call.
Marie.
