Agreed. “I don’t blame you. You deserve way better than that. She’s stupid.”

It’s hard to love so many people, want to see them happy, but also not like them for the things they do. My mom would be disappointed in Sydni for chasing after my dad and for making Tor feel like he’s not good enough. I want to see my dad happy again, and while I admire him for staying committed to my mom, I wonder how long he’ll torture himself by not letting himself move on. I don’t want him to move on with Sydni, though. Not because I don’t like her, I do. But because it’s just too twisted. She’s his wife’s best friend and his best friend’s ex.

I live in a deep, dark, perplexing sea of people. Some might be starfish, and some might be sharks. I just bob along on my little raft; watching and learning.

Rubbing my bare arms, I pull my knees up to my chest and watch as my father walks away from Sydni and takes his acoustic guitar to the gazebo to join the others playing some old rock songs. She doesn’t follow him. Good.

“You cold?”

“A little,” I answer. “Just when the breeze blows it’s kinda chilly.”

He pulls off the gray hoodie he’s wearing over his t-shirt and hands it to me. “Here, put this on.”

I hesitate before accepting. “Then you’ll be cold.”

He frowns, like he’s too cool to feel the chill. “I’m fine. Put it on.”

Taking it from him, I slip it over my head, and shiver, but not from the cold. The heat from his body is still in the fabric of the sweatshirt, and it warms me like a hug. I push my hands through the sleeves that are way too long for me and roll up the cuffs.

“It’s huge. But thank you.”

“You look cute. Keep it. Add it to your growing collection.”

Laughing, I lean against his shoulder and he rests his head against mine for a few seconds before pulling away to finish off his beer.

I’ve been hoarding Tor’s things since I was a little girl. Mostly shirts, mugs, his old lighters, his faded denim jacket he wore in high school, a switchblade, some baseball caps, a leather belt, and other random stuff. I’ve taken all sorts of odd things that I fixated on and wanted to have, just because they were his. And he always let me have them.

He’s been collecting parts of me, too. I just didn’t know it yet.

2

Tor

Kenzi ~ age five

Toren ~ age twenty

I can hear her crying before I even step through the door. And when I do, she bolts to me and I catch her as she throws herself into my arms. Her face is red, stained with tears, her green eyes bloodshot.

“Uncle Tor…” she gasps for breath between each word, tearing my heart out.

I wipe her cheeks with my thumb. “What’s wrong, Angelcake?”

“My bunny! I looked everywhere and he’s gone. I think he’s on that fucking tour bus!”

Ah. The coveted stuffed bunny I gave her for her last birthday. She drags it everywhere with her.

I try not to laugh at her epic use of the word fucking.

“Whoa. Kenzi…that’s a very bad word.” Her eyes meet mine defiantly and she says she doesn’t care.

I love her fire.

“I wonder where she learned that.” Ember says, glaring at me.

Kenzi pulls on my hair. “He’s gone, Uncle Tor. That’s all that matters.”

“He’s not gone, Angel. He’s just on a journey. But ya know what? There’s another bunny out there that needs you. Do you think we should go find him?”

She nods solemnly and sniffles. “Yes. Right now.”

Ash and Ember just shake their heads when Kenzi and I come back hours later with a new stuffed bunny…and a real live bunny equipped with a deluxe cage I set up by the window in her bedroom. Kenzi is over the moon with the little rabbit we named Snuggles, and I feel like a hero for saving the day and bringing her smile back.

“She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, man.” Asher says.

“And you’re gonna take care of that rabbit, Tor,” Ember warns. “I’m not cleaning that cage every week.”

I shrug. “I don’t mind. Pets are good for kids. It teaches them responsibility.”

“She’s five, Tor.”

“So? Age doesn’t mean shit.”

I wink at Kenzi who’s cradling her new bunny across the room, an adorable smile on her face, tears long forgotten. It’s the best high I’ve ever felt.

Tor

Asher hands me a cup of black coffee and falls into the chair across from me at his kitchen table, zoning in on me with his dark eyes.

“Sydni thinks you’re avoiding her.”

My head hurts too much from drinking last night to deal with Asher’s probing into my life today. He’s always trying to play shrink, and sometimes he has great advice, but other times his philosophical ramblings grate on my nerves. Now is one of those times.