She narrows her eyes at us. “Are you lying to me?”

“No,” Josh insists, putting his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. “Your mom is telling you the truth. I promise you.”

She stares at us both with the first look of severe distrust I’ve ever seen in her eyes and it cracks my heart in two. This is how children lose their magic and innocence—from the crap life deals.

“Why didn’t you tell me? He’s my dad…”

“It’s very, very private. And he wanted to talk to you himself. When I talked to him this morning, we talked about him coming to visit. He loves you. It’s hard for him to talk about all this and he’s not ready yet. You know how sometimes when you don’t feel good and you just want to be alone, and lie in bed and nap and watch TV? That’s how he’s been feeling. He just needed some time alone to rest.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“When can I talk to him, then?”

“I’m not sure. But what I can do, is call his friend Reece and I can ask him to tell Blue that you’d like to talk to him, and I’m sure he’ll call you soon. Okay?”

“I guess.” Her face twists into a disappointed frown.

Josh smooths her hair and wipes her cheeks with his thumbs. “This is one of those things in life that adults understand but it’s really hard for kids to understand. You have to try your best to just be patient and trust your mom, and trust Blue,” he explains softly. “Why don’t you write him a nice letter? I think it’ll make you feel better, and I’m sure it will make him feel better, too. He must be missing you just as much as you miss him.”

“Can I do that?” she asks. “And maybe make him a card with a poem and print it on the computer?”

I nod enthusiastically “I think that’s a great idea. He’ll like that a lot.”

“Okay. I’m going to do it right now.”

As we watch her walk back to her room with her head hanging down, the anger and frustration I felt weeks ago for Blue rises back to the surface and I clench my jaw in an attempt to suppress it and not start venting about it to Josh, which will only make things worse.

“He better fix that,” Josh says when I glance up at him. “That’s all I’m saying.” He points down the hallway. “He needs to make this right somehow, because she doesn’t deserve to feel like that. She’s just a kid.”

I nod. “You’re right. And he will.”

Chapter Sixty-Three

I pack my clothes, throw my makeup bag in the suitcase, and kiss Lyric and Ditra goodbye at my front door. I tell them I’ll see them when I get back from my business trip in two days. Lyric, as always, is excited about Ditra staying at our house with her because Dee is going to teach her how to bake a different cake each night. I have no idea when my best friend turned into Martha Stewart, but I hope there’s some cake left over for me when I get back home.

I wave goodbye to them as I back my car out of the driveway, then I drive eight miles across town to the hotel near the park. My stomach burns with anxiety as I park my car in the parking garage and then make my way to the hotel lobby. I bypass the front desk and go directly to the elevator, getting off on the second floor.

Room 1205.

I hesitate in front of the door, fluffing my already-fluffed hair, straightening my already-straight shirt, taking extra breaths I don’t need to take.

I knock lightly on the maple door and time seems to screech to a halt as I wait. My suitcase feels twice as heavy as it did a few seconds ago, the handle slippery in my damp palm.

I shouldn’t be this nervous, and it’s silly that I am, because it’s only….

Blue.

Evan.

The door opens and I’m staring up into eyes the color of faded denim.

He steps to the side and I cross the threshold so he can close the door behind me. After placing my stuff on the floor I turn to face where he’s still hovering near the door.

I expected him to look different after spending six months in a hospital recovering from various physical and mental issues.

But I didn’t expect him to look so much better.

Not that he’s ever really looked bad. He was born with the kind of good looks that can’t look bad no matter what mess he made of himself. But holy shit, the man standing in front of me is like Blue version 2.0 with the extended elite upgrade package.

His wavy hair is a few inches shorter, just a bit past his collarbone instead of the mid-chest length it’s been since I first met him. It makes him look mature and more handsome.