Chapter 1

Life lay covered beneath a thick blanket of white, of death. My orange rubber boots stood out in stark contrast as I stared down at the snow-covered ground. The wind whipped through the leafless trees, yanking loose strands of my hair from beneath my knit cap.

“Stop your sniveling, Hadlee,” Mom said, her tone sharp and stinging, much like the bitter air. She squeezed my hand tight, a reminder to behave or suffer the consequences.

But wasn’t I supposed to cry? Wasn’t my heart supposed to be broken? After all, there was no one around to hear.

I squinted up at her as she pulled her wool coat tighter around her slender waist. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, makeup perfect to the last eyelash. No tears there.

“How did he die?” I whispered.

“He’s not coming back. That’s all you need to concern yourself with.”

I wiped my runny nose. I didn’t understand. Why wouldn’t she tell me? I was eight years old—I had a right to know.

The snow crunched, breaking the silence. I turned to see who else was in the cemetery. Curiosity flooded me as I watched a boy approach us. He was a couple of inches taller than me—probably a few years older than me, too. He tugged on his Seattle Mariners baseball cap while he drew closer, his nose and eyes red. Was it the cold? Or had he lost someone, too?

He came to an abrupt halt a few feet away, and our eyes locked. Deep brown eyes held my stare. After a moment, his expression softened. A hint of sadness flickered across his face as he slowly raised his arm and offered me a single bright-red rose.

“Here—it needs a flower,” he muttered, his eyes darting toward Daddy’s headstone.

My eyebrows knitted together; my gaze flickered to Mom. She scowled but then nodded.

“Thank you,” I said to him, taking the blossom from his gloved hand.

He nodded, turned, and walked away.

My heart pounded as I watched him trudge through the white powder. Why had he given me his flower?

Reluctantly, I turned toward Daddy’s resting place and laid the single rose on his tombstone. The bright scarlet screamed against the gray granite.

“Let’s go.” Mom yanked me away.

I dug my heels into the ground, hot tears streaming down my icy cheeks. I wasn’t leaving him.

But sharp agony shot through my wrist when Mom gave me a harder tug. I hated to admit defeat, yet it was futile to resist.

My throat tightened as we walked farther and farther away. This couldn’t be real. I swallowed, choking back my tears, trying to pacify Mom by keeping quiet.

Sucking in the cold air to steady myself, I peered over my shoulder one last time.

I’d never feel his beard stubble against my cheek, his deep, rumbling chuckle when we watched cartoons together, or his strong arms as he carried me to bed.

Nothing. Ever. Again.

Sobs racked my body as I left my daddy in the frozen ground—and my heart with him.

Thirteen Years Later

“Miss Jameson. Miss Hadlee Jameson!”

“Wha…?” I asked, jerking my head up off the desk. My eyes rebelled against the bright classroom lights; my hand swiped the drool from my mouth. “Yeah?” I leaned back in my seat and removed the small wad of hair that had managed to plaster itself against my cheek, refusing to acknowledge the seventy students who were most likely gaping at the entertainment.

“Late night?” Professor Maddock asked, his elbows perched on his podium as his bushy, gray eyebrow rose with impatience.

“Every night’s a late night,” I mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

Snickers filled the room, but I ignored them and opened my textbook.

No wonder I had fallen asleep; this class could bore the dead. Or maybe it was the instructor? Truth be known, I hated history and found no real purpose for it in everyday life. I mean, was history going to do my homework? Work my job? Clean my room? Do my laundry? No. So why did I need it in order to be perceived as a productive member of society with a college degree?

“Miss Jameson, if you can’t find it in your schedule to attend my class—while awake—then maybe you need to reconsider your options.”

Was that his way of telling me not to come back? Was he going to fail me, making my junior year a complete waste? I’d never flunked a class before. I wasn’t about to start now.

My eyes drilled holes in the book while my cheeks flamed red and my mind willed everyone to turn around and leave me alone. I sucked in a deep breath and held it until he began to speak again.

Professor Maddock’s voice instantly drifted to the back of my mind. I glanced at my watch—only five minutes left. I’d gotten caught sleeping─right before the end of class. What crap luck!

The torture finally at an end, I closed my book, shoved everything into my navy-blue backpack, and slung it over my shoulder. Then I made a beeline for the exit before the professor could single me out to stay after.

I was at the door when my name left his lips.

There was nothing funny about the situation, but a laugh escaped me anyway. And then another as I scurried down the hall, pushed my way through the double doors of the building, and ducked outside. The cold late-October air slapped me, and the first flurries of the season drifted to the ground. The snow had come early this year—and I had stupidly opted for just my sweatshirt this morning. Hunching forward, with my hands shoved in the front pockets of my jeans, I hurried toward Whitworth’s off-campus housing. There was no way I’d make it to my next class when I was this tired. I needed to sleep for a little bit, just an hour or two, before my shift started at work.

Ten minutes later, my feet shuffled across my front porch, the boards creaking beneath me. A cold burst of air bristled down my spine as I inserted the key, unlocked the deadbolt, and entered the house. College life should have been fun, but there I was, falling asleep in classes and sharing space with three smelly guys and my best friend—my housemates. But the real oddity? I’d lived there since the summer after my freshman year and still had never met two of them. Hell, I’d forgotten they even rented the space until the floor above my bedroom creaked with a few unfamiliar footsteps. According to Syd, they were football jocks, so I wasn’t missing much, except the putrid stench after their workouts.

Lionel had lived there the longest, but I rarely saw him either. His major was computer science, and he was seriously one of the smartest people I’d ever talked to. But the kicker? He was a computer nerd with a great personality, which meant that he was popular and threw a lot of parties. Everyone loved him.

The front door was stuck, so I shoved it closed with my hip and leaned against it. I shivered and welcomed the warmth of the indoors, allowing it to seep into my chilled bones. My lips pursed, I scanned the cluttered living room, expecting to see a sleeping body on the couch beneath the pile of books and coats. For a change, though, no one was there.

Several beer bottles and an empty Cheetos bag littered the coffee table. My nose wrinkled in disgust. How in the hell anyone could eat Cheetos and drink beer at the same time was beyond me, but I rarely hung out and drank with anyone, so I’d probably never find out.

Peanuts had rolled out of their package and were scattered across the end table beside a recliner that should really have been destroyed with a chainsaw. The only salvageable part of the chair? It was incredibly comfortable once it was reclined. I’d dozed off numerous times in it, studying, while Syd and her boyfriend, Marcus, used our bedroom.

I pushed myself off the door and proceeded quietly down the hall toward my room. My eyes narrowed and swept the kitchen as I walked by and saw the same stack of dirty dishes teetering in the sink. A sigh of relief escaped me. There were no signs of life.

The bedroom door was cracked open; I slowly poked my head through it, half expecting to see a leg hanging off the edge of Sydney’s messy bed, but the room was empty.

Syd and I had first met in the school’s student center, at a bulletin board covered in announcements. We had both pulled one of the phone number tags off the “Roomies Wanted” sign simultaneously. We stood there and stared at each other for a moment, then decided to look at the house together. When we arrived, there was only one room left, so we sat on the floor and talked. After an hour of Q & A, we decided we would share the room so neither of us would have to put up with dorm housing. The rest was history.

Although our schedules clashed, we always caught up at the end of the day, even if it was two o’clock in the morning and we were flopping into our beds. I loved my best friend and roomie, but a few hours alone would be a slice of heaven and a rare commodity.

The house felt empty. But I wasn’t going upstairs to double-check. The silence spoke for itself.

My door clicked shut, and I groaned, dropping my backpack to the hardwood floor. I slipped my black Converse off and then sank into my rumpled bed. I tugged the blankets over me, then burrowed underneath the covers. My cold fingers fumbled for my cell phone in my back pocket. Before I could put it away, though, my head nestled into the feather pillow, my eyelids fluttered closed, and my hand relaxed. The phone clattered to the floor.

* * *

“Had-leeee!”

“Why is everyone yelling at me today?” I whined and scooted deeper into my bed, attempting to shut the world out again.

“Hadlee! Get up already. You’re going to be late for work tonight.”

“Shit! I just wanted some sleep after class this morning.” I tossed the covers off and shot out of bed. Tripping over my shoes, I landed on the floor with a thud at Sydney’s feet.

“Geez, Had, are you okay?” she asked, reaching down to help me up. “You’re a mess. What’s going on with you?” she asked, her large, sky-blue eyes studying me.

“Thanks for noticing,” I muttered, reclaiming my dignity while I stood and smoothed my rumpled sweater.

“Where’re my scrunchie and hat?” I asked, holding my hair in a ponytail with one hand and searching through the pile of shit on my nightstand with the other.

“Here.” Sydney tugged the hair band from her jet-black hair. “I’ll help you while you call and tell them you’re on the way. Are you okay? This isn’t like you. You’re never late anywhere, much less for work.” Her sculpted eyebrows furrowed, and worry pulled at her features.

I turned toward the mirror, my reflection glaring at me. My hand smoothed back a few strands of honey-colored hair that were tickling my face. Dark, sunken circles had settled in underneath my hazel eyes. No matter what, I couldn’t seem to get enough sleep.

“Hey, look at me,” she said, turning me to face her. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Taking nineteen credits this term plus working is too much, Had.”

“Tell me about it,” I mumbled, embarrassed by her concern.

“You’re burning out. Call in sick tonight and get some rest.”

“I can’t. I need the money; rent is due next week.”

“I’ll help you. Please,” she pleaded, her hands steepled together.

Exhaustion seeped through every fiber of my being as I wilted and slumped forward. “I’m so tired, Syd. I don’t know why,” I confessed, laying my head on her slender shoulder.

“Ummm, hello, super brain. You need some rest. That’s all.” She patted the back of my head. “Call in, and I’ll make you something to eat. Then call your mom and tell her you need some help this month. You can’t keep going at this pace.” She stepped back and slipped out of the room before I could reply.

“No!” I called after her.

Sydney returned, poked her head around the door frame, and batted her long eyelashes at me. “She loves you. Call her,” she said, pointing to my cell on the floor.

My eyes automatically rolled at her. “She just pretends to love me so her reputation doesn’t suffer. Don’t you know having a kid is a burden?” I turned my back on Syd, unwilling to fall for any of her manipulation tactics.

“Fine!” she retorted, stomping off toward the kitchen and proceeding to bang pans against the stove and countertop.

I grinned at Syd’s silliness while I sat on my bed and called Barkley’s Bar & Grill. In my freshman year, I’d landed a job at the restaurant as a hostess. The day I’d turned twenty-one, I begged our manager, Richard, to let me become a server. That was where the money was: behind the bar and on the floor, serving alcohol. As the restaurant’s phone line began to ring, I wondered if he were about to regret his decision to promote me.

Three minutes later, my thumb touched the end call button, and I took a deep breath. Richard had yelled at me for calling in right before my shift was starting, but he yelled at everyone. I imagined him frowning, running his hand over his short, brown hair, and then placing that same hand on his hip right before lighting into me. At least I wasn’t fired.

I leaned back against the wall, stretched my legs, and allowed my thoughts to drift as I stared out the window and noted that the snow had begun falling faster. My nose wrinkled. I had hated the snow since I was eight, but for some unknown reason, I didn’t have the heart to leave Washington.

“Come and eat!”

Syd had actually made me dinner? The girl could barely boil water, so any attempt at making food meant a lot.

I slid off the bed, slipped my feet into my Minion slippers, and then scuffed down the hall toward the kitchen. I expected to be assaulted by the aroma of Syd’s cooking, but I didn’t smell anything.

I slid my butt onto the wooden barstool at our counter and peered at the large round mug resting in front of me. “What’s this?” I asked, sniffing the steaming liquid.

She snickered.

“What’s so funny? I thought you were making dinner.”

“That is dinner.”

“What is it?” I frowned at her.

“A hot toddy,” she giggled, releasing a snort at the same time.

I shook my head, pulled my sweater sleeves over my cold fingers, and laughed. “I seriously thought you were making something to eat.”

“Alcohol is a main food group required for college survival, and it needs to be consumed on a regular basis,” she explained, sounding way too much like Professor Maddock.

I shoved the mug toward her and wrinkled my nose. “I’m okay, thanks. I have a full day tomorrow.”

She pushed it back in my direction and ordered, “Drink. It. You’ll be asleep in no time, and then you’ll wake up rejuvenated and ready to face the day. Besides, you know that when you get like this, you typically get sick, so bottoms up, toots.”

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and stuck my tongue out at her before I picked it up and took a sip.

“Geez, Syd! Is it a cup of alcohol with a drop of honey?”

“Right? It’s courtesy of our friend Jack.” She held up the Jack Daniel’s bottle while she leaned across the kitchen counter, her eyes flashing with mischief.

“How much did you have when you were making mine?” I asked. I took another taste, the warmth of the alcohol traveling down my throat and into my stomach. “I really should find something to eat.”

“Wait,” Syd said, holding up one hand and producing a box of crackers with the other. “Ritz, your favorite.” She covered her mouth as she barked out a laugh.

“Nice.” I took another swallow and then looked at her. We both burst into giggles.

My head tilted as she unscrewed the lid of the liquor bottle and poured a shot into an empty glass on the counter.

“Umm, is that yours?”

“No idea,” she said, slamming it back.

My body shuddered. God only knew whose lips had touched that glass and where they had been beforehand. I shook my head as she grinned at me. I couldn’t handle any alcohol straight. Like, none. It came right back up in five seconds flat. Unfortunately, I’d discovered that fact about myself at the first party Syd and I had thrown at the house. Thank God she’d been there and rushed me to the bathroom. I’d been MIA at parties ever since, and no amount of her pleading convinced me otherwise. I’m not sure anyone else remembered the incident since it’d happened at least two years ago. Now, when Syd and Lionel threw parties, I found something else to do; it sounded lame, but I’d typically pick up an extra shift at the restaurant. I needed the money anyway.

“What are you doing home tonight?” I asked.

“Taking care of you. And as soon as your noggin hits the pillow, I’m getting naked with Marcus,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Ewwww, stop.” I blocked my view of her with my hands. “I do not need to know your deets.”

“Not only do you need to get some sleep, but you really need to get laid, too.”

“I’d prefer a boyfriend first.” I smirked at her.

“Puh-lease, that is a title that—” she started.

“Just boxes us into other people’s perceptions,” I finished for her.

She winked at me, poured herself another shot, and drained it.

“How’s Marcus?”

“He’s good, but I do have something to tell you,” she admitted.

Syd and Marcus had been dating since before I’d met her. They were perfect for each other in every way: they were both fun, caring, and genuine. Marcus also provided a quiet strength when Syd was falling apart emotionally. He seemed to instinctively know how to handle her.

At one time, I’d secretly wished that I could be as lucky as she was with him. Then, I’d finally admitted that my mother was right. I was incapable of having a normal anything, much less a boyfriend.

“Hey, did you hear me? Where’d ya go there, Had?”

I blinked as Syd’s hand waved in front of my face.

“Must be the alcohol,” I said, my cheeks flaming.

“You’re tired, so drink up, and I’ll update you on Marcus another time.” She leaned against the opposite kitchen counter and folded her arms across her chest. I’d upset her. Damn it. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t even focus on my best friend for five minutes!

“Nope, I’m right here.” My palm smacked against the countertop for emphasis. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. You have my undivided attention.”

She exhaled loudly, her hands dropping to her sides.

“I think he’s going to propose to me,” she said softly.

“What?” I scanned her face for a reaction. Was she happy? Sad? Scared?

“I’m not ready,” she whispered. “I love him, but I can’t.”

“Can’t ever or can’t now?”

“Not sure,” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

I rubbed my forehead, pondering the news. “Well, why do you think he’s going to ask? Have you two talked about it?”

“No, but I overheard him on the phone,” she said, her shoulders slouching with the confession.

“Oh hon,” I said, slipping off the barstool and walking toward her. My hands gently squeezed her arms. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to wait. You’re barely twenty-two; you have plenty of time to decide. And you’re stressing yourself out─when he hasn’t even asked you yet.”

“Yeah. You’re right, but until I have a plan, I’m not going to feel better.”

“I know,” I said, stepping back and grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jack from the counter. “Let’s go sit and talk it out.”

“You need sleep, though.”

“Yes, I do, but neither one of us will get any until we have plans A, B, and C in place.”

“You sure?” she asked, wincing. I knew it was painful for her to admit that she needed me.

“Yup. Let’s go.” I took her hand and led her back to our room.

Lionel waltzed into the house just then, his voice carrying down the hall. So much for any real privacy. My eyes rolled while I closed the door behind us and Syd muttered something about noisy buffoons under her breath.

We settled in on my bed, backs against the wall, our feet dangling over the side. I unscrewed the bottle and handed it to her.

“Start from the beginning.”