Thirty-Two
Rhodes
By the timeI get Chloe bathed and into pajamas, I’m more than ready to sit on the couch with Finn, drink one of her cocktails and pass the fuck out to one of those boring ass documentaries.
But as I tuck my daughter in and read her a book I can recite by memory, I’m wondering about other things too.
Like little Holly and Cedar Hollow and…why Poppy looked pained at the mention of Storm.
And also, maybe why Holly has those unique gray eyes—a color like none I’ve never seen before.
Or, correction, Ihaveseen it before.
Just…on one man’s face.
OnStorm’sface.
And I have the feeling, the kid who I hung out with for a few hours, skating and shooting and fucking around on the ice with, is about to be thrown a major curve ball.
Or take a puck to the nuts.
I close the book and glance down at my daughter.
Her eyes are nearly closed, her body limp against mine. “One more, Daddy?” she cajoles sleepily.
I chuckle and press my lips to her forehead. “Bedtime, pumpkin.”
Her nose wrinkles, but she’s so tired from the fun of the day that she doesn’t protest, just burrows into her blankets. I tuck her favorite stuffed rabbit under her arm, fix her blankets, then wait for Olive and Pear to get situated before I give them their scratches.
By the time that’s done, Chloe is done for, the kittens are purring, and my exhaustion has peaked. I reach over to turn on her nightlight.
“I love Finn,” she says sleepily.
I freeze.
And I almost say,Me too.God help me, I almost do.
Instead, I swallow, brush her hair back. “You do?”
A sigh, her eyes slipping closed. “Holly says sometimes grownups leave and don’t come back.”
My heart stutters, an acute pain slicing through my insides.
“Chloe, baby?—”
“I told her I know that.” She rolls onto her side and one tear slips down her cheek. “But I’m still going to be sad when Finn leaves,” she whispers. “Especially if it’s forever.”
I open my mouth, try to figure out what to say.
Only…whatcanI say?
Because this isn’t some distant, nameless fear, not the monster under the bed or the predator waiting to pounce.
This isreality,the reality that’s been nipping at my heels the last few days.
And it’s grief. It’s the kind of hurt no young child should know.
But Chloe knows it far too well.
