My hand drifts absently to my sternum before I catch myself.
I force a shrug. “Us hockey players, we’re superstitious as hell. You do something once after scoring, you do it again.”
Not a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
But she’ll know soon enough.
Her eyes dip briefly to my chest, tracking the movement I didn’t mean to make, before she hums softly, like she’s filing my answer away for later.
The trees sway, and the floating lights I set out earlier blink and shimmer across the water. I halt my steps and turn to face her.
“Do you trust me, Erin?”
“I do.”
“Close your eyes.”
She does what I ask without hesitating, and I drink her in for just a moment—fluttering eyelids, long lashes, and the curve of her lips.
She’s a damn vision.
I guide her to the end of the jetty, our feet padding against the boards. “Sit down.”
She lowers herself to the wooden surface, legs crossed in front of her. I reach out and tuck a loose tendril behind her ear.
“Open,” I whisper.
She follows my instructions. Confusion and trust fill her eyes, and then she follows my gaze. Her brown eyes land on the cake and candles I set up for her, and her breath hitches
“Happy birthday, Bookworm.”
She’s still at first. Then she reaches for my wrist, looking at the date and time on my watch—October 11th, 12:01 a.m.
“I don’t understand…” Her voice cracks as she struggles to string a sentence together, her eyes clouded with disbelief. “How did you… I didn’t tell you.”
I already know she wasn’t expecting this. Bella told me last week that Erin never celebrates her birthday and doesn’t like talking about it.
“Tell me why?” I whisper.
She’s silent before her tears fall in a slow stream. I catch one with my thumb.
“I’m here.”
“Turning eight started off with a bang—three of them.”
Her words are doused in sadness and it does me in.
I pull her right onto my lap and hold her close. Her breath stutters. Her hands fist into my shirt. Then she folds into me, body shaking. Every sob that escapes hits like a horse kick to the torso.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“I miss him,” she wheezes.
“I know, baby.”
“I never celebrate. It hurts too much,” she says, and now I know why Bella told me what she did. Erin’s dad died on her birthday, and she never told Bella she watched it happen.
