Owner, Denver Kodiaks
What the hell?
It’s mysterious and so hard to believe that I check the return email address to make sure it’s not a hoax.
But it’s the same format as Harlan’s, only the name is different.
James Parker.
I thought I left this behind me.
Evidently not.
As kids, Mari and I used to set paper lanterns on fire every summer with our hopes and dreams in them.Seeing them float up into the darkness was freeing.
I stomp to my bedroom and dig through the back of my closet.My fingers close around Clay’s jersey, and I yank it off the hanger it’s been on since I put it there a month ago.
Back in the living room, I retrieve a lighter from the drawer in the coffee table.
This is moving forward.This is closure.
I huff out a breath as I hold the shirt up.
I flick the lighter until an orange flame dances on the end.
My heart accelerates.
Bad idea, Pink.
I shove the voice, his voice, down and lift the lighter to the corner of the jersey.
The fabric holds fast.
I grit my teeth.
Eventually a curl of smoke wafts up from the edge.The fabric darkens, beginning to blacken and melt.
A knock comes on my door.
Dammit.
Dropping the lighter and jersey on the couch, I cross the room and answer it.
Brooke is there wearing a full face of makeup and a Canada Goose parka.
“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow?”I ask.
“Yeah, well, apparently, I came early to call an exterminator because your ass hasn’t.I saw two ratsinsidethe building,” she insists, tugging her hood off.
I step back to let her in, and she throws her arms around me.
“It’s good to see you,” I murmur into her jacket, meaning it.
“Well, If I hadn’t insisted on coming to visit my friend, it wouldn’t have happened.”
I take her coat and cross to the counter.“Wine?”
“Hell yes.”
