I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE TURNED AROUND AND WAITED TO GET MY COFFEE

the moment I walked into the break room and heard my bosses arguing the following week.

Again. For maybe the thousandth time or pretty close to it.

In my defense, if I walked out every time I heard them fighting over something, I would rarely get to drink a single cup of coffee. Or eat my lunch. Or refill my water bottle. Or find out if I’d read their chicken scratch on Post-It notes correctly.

That morning, more than normal, I needed caffeine. I’d had a dream about my dad for the first time in months. It had felt so real I’d woken up with tears rolling down my cheeks. It had been years since the last time I’d cried so hard… and that had only made me cry even more. It had felt like I was back living with them, back to those nights when my dad would get drunk and go from being unbearable to being a nightmare; back to the days where, if I was lucky, the woman my sisters had known as their mom would be on the couch, high out of her mind, doing nothing other than letting me know how much she hated me. I’d ended up staying awake, lying in bed, telling myself things I had told myself a thousand times.

I was loved. I had a roof over my head. Food to eat. A bed to sleep in. Money in my bank account.

I reminded myself that life was a gift—sometimes one you wanted to return, and other times one you’d want to keep forever, but it was still a gift. The grass might look greener on the other side, but at least you still had grass. There were places in the world that didn’t have any to begin with.

I was fine.

I had more than I ever would have let myself hope for. I was fine.

I was really glad my little sister could sleep through anything. Otherwise telling her why I’d woken up crying my guts out would have been a real pain. While I went long periods of time between thinking about them, about those times in my life, my youngest sister had decided just never to think about them at all in the first place—at least not that I knew of. I had tried before to get her to discuss it, just to make sure she was fine, but she’d refused.

Knowing all that I had and reminding myself of it hadn’t helped much, but it had done enough. It got me to take a deep breath, climb out of the bed I’d had to save six months for, and shower in my own bathroom in a house I had a mortgage on—a mortgage I paid every month and even managed to put in a little extra for the principal. I grabbed my lunch bag from the refrigerator, filled with food Lily had bought that weekend, and somehow managed to remember to grab the cake I’d made the night before while Lily had made our lunch. I had fought her for so long about how she should just buy food at the school, but she’d insisted it tasted like crap and she could make something ten times better herself. After all that, I drove to work in a car that I had bought with my own money and headed to a job that I loved most of the time.

I was loved. I had a roof over my head. Food to eat. A bed to sleep in. I had an enormous bag of Skittles in my desk at work. Had an oven to bake cakes in and money to actually buy the ingredients to make them. All on my own. All because someone had given me a chance, a little love, and let me work hard to have all the things I did.

And that made me feel better more than anything else—the knowledge that I wasn’t vulnerable and didn’t have to rely on someone else for basic things.

So, more than on any other day, hearing my two bosses argue weighed me down like a hundred-pound sack of flour on my shoulders. I needed to make some coffee to wake up and get to the booth where I worked so I could pretend like I hadn’t woken up upset. I didn’t feel like trying to be subtle and break up an argument between anyone.

But I knew I would. I hated people arguing, especially when I loved one of them and cared too much about the other.

“When were you going to tell me?” came the voice that was all gruff, hoarse, round edges dipped in chocolate. It was such a nice voice, even if he did wield it like a freaking sword to chop people and their feelings in half. But at least he did it with everyone. He had high expectations and

didn’t let anyone at the shop get away with things. Me—and my screwup

—included.

Regardless of how he’d been with me on Friday, I had still made a nice, big birthday cake for him yesterday. I made one for everyone, even the ones I couldn’t stand at CCC. I didn’t have it in me to be mean and single them out by not bringing something for them too. But my favorite people at the shop got their favorite cakes. Everyone else got whatever box mix was on sale.

“Ripley, give me a break. I didn’t think you would care,“ the other voice, the one I’d been listening to for nearly the last ten years of my life, responded. It was softer, lighter, patient.

The exact opposite of Ripley’s in more ways than one.

“You think I wouldn’t care about who you hire to work with me?” “Of course you’d care about that, but all I did was post an ad for the

job opening. I didn’t think I needed to check with you about posting one. Come on, son,” Mr. Cooper said.

“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not your son.”

If I had a dollar for every morning that I’d come into the break room and overheard them disagreeing over something in one of the two offices, I would have had enough money to go on that vacation to Greece I’d been promising myself for forever.

The first time I’d heard them fighting, it had worried me. It had been an argument over payroll and how the shop had too many employees the day after he had put me through his random test over how much I knew. I’d been worried for days that a lot of us at the shop were going to get fired. I was one of the youngest employees. If anyone was going to get the boot, I’d figured it would have been me. They could always contract out to a business that only did paint. I was fully aware of that.

Luckily, no one had gotten fired. It had taken two months of waiting around and eavesdropping almost daily to figure out that Mr. Cooper had put his foot down and wasn’t letting anyone get axed.

At least, no one got fired unless they deserved it.

Now, I just accepted that the man with the voice I liked listening to— and the face I liked looking at—picked arguments with Mr. Cooper for no reason at all. The sky was too blue? He’d blame him. There was some part that he needed that hadn’t been ordered? He’d blame him.

I didn’t get it, and I doubted I ever would; Mr. Cooper was great. Greater than great. I would give him any organ in my body if he needed it.

As much as I eavesdropped, I hadn’t been able to figure out what had happened to make them the way they were. If I really thought about it, there were a lot of things about them I hadn’t been able to figure out. None of us had, and we had tried. I had spent a lot of time listening to Mr. Cooper and Rip because something about their arguments felt… weird.

I was pretty sure there was some serious resentment, at least on Ripley’s part, but I couldn’t figure out why. Why Mr. Cooper would bring someone into the company—his company—who he didn’t get along with?

There had to be a reason why a man had shown up one day and become our newest boss, almost without warning, without anything more than a strained smile from the owner of the business and a “I’d like you all to meet Ripley” in the break room.

Ripley, this man who constantly kept his skin covered with long- sleeved shirts. I had never, ever seen him wearing anything else. Not when we worked until midnight. Not when we worked until two o’clock in the morning. Not at seven in the morning. Not even on a Saturday. He constantly hid whatever tattoos he had.

At first, I had wondered if they were ugly or old, but he didn’t strike me as the type to care what other people thought. Plus, wouldn’t he have just gotten them redone if that was the case? Mr. Cooper had never been slumming it financially, and the business had only boomed in the years since it had expanded into the restoration business—specifically with the cars Rip bought, restored, and then sold. I couldn’t think of a single car he’d worked on that hadn’t been flipped in a matter of weeks for a lot more than he had invested in them. He could have easily afforded getting tattoos redone if he didn’t like them. The only reasonable explanation I could think of was that some tattoos were intensely personal to people. I didn’t walk around flashing the one I had around.

A part of me was holding out hope that one day he’d slip up and tug his shirt up his forearm or something. He could accidentally pull up his shirt too if he wanted, and I wouldn’t complain. Knowing him, that day was never going to come. If he hadn’t shown them off already, I really doubted he ever would.

Then again it wasn’t my business what they were. If I wanted to know bad enough, I guess I could have used the favor he owed me to get him to tell me, but I didn’t. I wouldn’t, either.

Focusing on that moment though, I decided to do the same thing I always had when I overheard them. While I was at it, I could drop off the

cake that I had made for Rip. Up until last year, I hadn’t even known what day his birthday was; the only reason I found out was because he’d tossed his wallet at me one day so I could grab his credit card and buy his lunch, and his driver’s license had been right there.

Last year, he had looked like he didn’t know whether he wanted to throw his cake away or eat it, but he had still thanked me.

I was expecting pretty much the exact same thing this year, but that was good enough for me.

After filling the coffee pot with water and a brand-new filter, I pulled out the secret container of decaf I hid in one of the cabinets and scooped some into the basket. Then, turning around to make sure no one was hiding in a corner and watching what I did, I filled up the rest with regular caffeinated grounds. So far, in the years since I’d taken over making the first pot of coffee, no one had caught onto my blend. Otherwise, there would be a whole lot of crying over drinking decaf.

The fact was, I didn’t need my hands shaking from too much caffeine when I had to deal with paint, and the last thing most of the people I worked with needed was anything else to get them even more wired than they were on a normal basis.

I watched the pot and waited.

I also kept listening to the two men in the room next door because there was nothing else to do. At least that’s what I told myself to justify eavesdropping. I wasn’t standing outside the office door with my ear pressed to it or anything. It wasn’t my fault the building wasn’t soundproofed that well.

“Last time I checked, this is our business and we make decisions together,” the deeper voice grumbled.

“You’re getting mad over an ad?”

“I’m getting mad over you not including me in decisions that affect me,” the younger man replied.

I had to give it to Mr. Cooper. I wasn’t sure why Rip was picking an argument with him over an ad for a job opening. I mean, really?

“Ripley, I didn’t hire anyone. All I did was place an ad.”

“It’s not that you placed an ad. It’s that you didn’t tell me about it. I’m sick and fucking tired of you doing things without telling me. You don’t listen.”

“What haven’t I listened to you about?” Mr. Cooper asked, finally sounding a little impatient.

“Where do you want me to start? You want me to work my way back or work my way in order to this?”

I winced.

This wasn’t going to get any better. I didn’t need a crystal ball to know that, if anything, this was going to go downhill real quick. Crap.

So I did what I’d been doing when I thought their arguments were on the verge of spiraling out of control—like that one time I’d heard something break from inside the office and then hadn’t seen Mr. Cooper at the shop for days afterward. He had finally told me, weeks later, that he wasn’t used to having someone else to answer to and had needed time to get away because his blood pressure had gone up so much his chest had ached.

I didn’t want Mr. Cooper, who had been taking blood pressure medicine for as long as I’d known him, to have an achy chest. So I was going to have to be the one to do something. No one else would.

A memory of my dad calling me a nosey-ass slipped into my thoughts for a second, but I forced the memories down and snagged two mugs from the drying rack beside the sink and poured identical amounts of sugar into each.

The light on the coffee maker came on just as I finished pouring the last of the creamer into one of the mugs. At the same time, I heard Mr. Cooper raise his voice on the other side of the wall, sounding more frustrated than I had heard him in a long time. “What have I honestly done lately to make you be like this with me?”

Part of me wished that wasn’t about the tenth time I’d heard those exact words said out loud.

It only made me wonder even more what the hell that even meant.

What have I honestly done lately to make you be like this with me? I mean those were some harsh words. Resentful words. But it was as far as they went.

Filling the cups with the hot coffee, I stirred both of them with the same spoon and slipped the loops of the shopping bag carrying the cake container around my wrist. Then I picked up the mugs by their handles, ignoring how many times I had done this exact same thing for other people in my life—except in those cases, the coffee never did anything, no matter how much I would have wanted it to. It had always come back around to bite me in the ass.

But anyway.

“Mr. Cooper?” I called out as I walked out of the break room and turned to the left. Making sure I didn’t spill coffee on myself, I tapped my elbow against the closed door directly next to the one I’d just come out of. The only thing that told anyone what was behind the door was a

small faded green plaque that said OFFICE. We had brought it with us during the move from the original CCC building.

There was a pause before Mr. Cooper’s familiar voice called out, “Morning, Luna. Come in,” like he had every time I knocked on his door.

I made myself smile as I pushed the door open and found Mr. Cooper behind his desk, looking pretty worn out for how early it was. His hair had already been a mix of silver and white by the time I’d met him, but it was hard not to notice how much more there was now. The lines at his eyes were deeper than I remembered, and his thin lips were pressed tight so often now it was hard to remember what they looked like when they weren’t.

The man needed a vacation, and not just a quick weekend getaway but a nice long one. I should mention it to Lydia. He needed to start cutting back on his hours too, while he was at it, but that was another battle.

“Good morning, Mr. Cooper,” I replied as I took a step inside the tiny room he called his office. “I heard you both in here and wanted to bring you some coffee before I head to the booth and get started.” I walked toward his desk and handed over the chipped white mug that said COOPER’S COLLISION AND CUSTOMS that was more than likely about as old as I was.

Mr. Cooper smiled at me, but I could see the tension along his eyes. “You didn’t have to,” he said, like he had every morning we did this routine of me pretending to come in here to be nice, but all of us knowing that wasn’t exactly the truth. Maybe they didn’t know how much I eavesdropped when they spoke in normal voices, but we all knew there was no ignoring them when they raised their voices or yelled.

“It’s no problem,” I told him as his hands clasped the bottom of the mug and he took it from me. I eyed him and raised my eyebrows. “Nice haircut.”

“Thank you,” he replied, a wary expression dusting his cheeks as he kept on smiling.

I flashed him one back, except it wasn’t forced or strained at all before I turned with my other hand outstretched, holding the second mug of coffee—a vintage one that Lenny had given me that said Cats The Musical on the side—and faced the other man in the room. I didn’t let my expression change. I kept the big smile on my face. “I brought yours too, Rip,” I said, calmly holding the coffee cup out, my eyes gluing

themselves to the hint of a tattoo on his throat that he always had mostly concealed by the high-necked gray layer he had on.

I hid my surprise that he was arguing with Mr. Cooper on a day he wore gray and let my smile grow even bigger instead, just to be a pest. Maybe Friday hadn’t exactly gone great, but from experience, he didn’t hold grudges for too long. Also, he wasn’t going to ask if I’d decided what favor I wanted because we weren’t alone. He’d find me later on and do it.

I watched as a hand that seemed to be twice the size of mine lifted from beside where it had been hanging loosely at his side. Then I watched as his fingers and the back of his hand—covered in a miniature grim reaper with a sickle and other random thick black lines and a letter that I was fairly certain was an M on the ring finger—took the cup from me. Then, and only then, did I let myself glance up and take in the face that I thought about way too much for my own good, even when he wasn’t being his nicest.

Because even if I only thought about him once a day, it was one time too many. I knew where we stood. I also had an internal radar for pointless things, and he was one of those.

I wasn’t in love or anything, but I liked a lot of things about him. What I honestly probably liked the most was that he didn’t take anyone’s BS, even if he did take that a little far sometimes. I admired Lucas Ripley. I admired a lot about him. Maybe he wasn’t the kindest or the sweetest man in the world, but he wasn’t mean or unnecessarily rude… the majority of the time. The other guys at the shop called him a hard- ass, but I thought he was a decent man.

I liked Rip the same way I liked Louis Vuitton purses that I realistically knew I would never own because there was always something else I had to spend money on. Just because they would never be mine didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate them. So…

What I didn’t like was how grouchy he was with Mr. Cooper, but Mr. Cooper had told me three years ago, not to let it bother me after I had brought it up. I’ve known him forever, little moon. He’s a good kid beneath it all. Don’t think twice about it. I can take it.

“Thank you, Luna,” the huge man replied.

“You’re welcome,” I said, like I had every morning that we had the same exchange.

Because this was what we did every morning, even if he wasn’t fighting with Mr. Cooper when I showed up. I made coffee, prepared a cup how he preferred it—I’d learned how he liked it by watching him a

couple of times when we were in the break room at the same time—and took it to whatever car he happened to be working on in the massive open floor space. I would set the mug on the nearest flat surface and say, “Good morning.” Then, depending on what color shirt he was wearing, he would tell me “thank you” either clearly or in a grumble. I would say, “You’re welcome.” He would ask me “Did you decide?” I would tell him I hadn’t, and also depending on his mood, I’d ask if he’d had a good night or a good weekend, or whatever. I would either get a one-word answer or two-word, if I was lucky, and that was that. That was it.

I pulled the handles of the bag off my wrist and opened it. “Happy birthday.” I pulled the metal pan with the plastic cover over it out and then held it in his direction, still smiling. “It’s chocolate with vanilla frosting,” I explained, still holding it out toward him.

Those blue-green eyes widened.

Then those eyes—those freaking eyes that were a shade of color that didn’t seem natural—flicked down toward the cake then back toward my face.

His eyes widened just a little more. Then he did it.

For the first time in months, his mouth tipped up maybe a millimeter. At the most a millimeter. But it was a smile. A tiny smile that might have been interpreted a dozen other ways by people who hadn’t spent a whole lot of time looking at this man’s face… but I had, and I knew what it was. A little smile.

All because of a birthday cake.

Like a hopeless dummy, my heart thumped.

“No shit?” he asked, sounding like he hadn’t just been arguing two minutes ago. Like he was still surprised I had made it for him even though I had done the same last year. His mouth was still formed into that microscopic smile, and I could see his eyes stray to my earrings of the day. They were cupcakes. I’d put them on for his birthday.

So I nodded, still grinning. “I didn’t want to leave it in the fridge in case you didn’t want to share.”

That and he wouldn’t want anyone to make a big deal about his forty-first.

Those huge hands came up and took the container from me, moving it up and down like he was testing the weight. It was just a sheet cake in a normal pan with a lid on it. It wasn’t a big deal. The whole thing took maybe thirty minutes total to mix ingredients and then decorate. It was nothing. Really. I just remembered what it was like to want a birthday

cake and not have anyone around to buy one or make one for me. The girls had been too young then.

“Thanks, Luna.”

I tried not to beam at him, but I was pretty sure I failed. “You’re welcome.” I wasn’t going to warn him it said Happy Birthday Boss-Man on the inside. Hopefully it would make him smile when he was alone in a dark room. “You don’t look a day over forty.”

He didn’t react to my joke. Those almost teal-colored eyes were still on the red lid when he basically muttered, “You coming to Mickey’s tonight?”

Mickey’s was the bar a few blocks down where everyone at the shop celebrated birthdays or just randomly met up for drinks sometimes after work. He had never made it a point before to spend time with any of us though. Not even on his last birthday or anyone else’s. So….

“Sure,” I told him, just barely holding on to my smile. I’d have to tell my sister I was going out, but according to her work schedule on the fridge, she’d be waiting tables until ten anyway.

Rip nodded, that tiny smile melting off until his facial expression was just… more easygoing than usual. “All right.”

That was the level of excitement I was expecting, and it made me smile.

It was fine. I was ready to get the hell out of there and get to work, forget my nightmare and this morning, and just… be fine.

“I hope you like your cake, but I should get to the booth,” I told him, taking a step back and keeping the smile on my face.

“Busy day?” Mr. Cooper asked, sounding about as professional as he ever did with me because we were in front of Rip.

I turned to look at him and nodded, giving him a rundown of what I had on the schedule. “It’s been so humid, the paint is being a pain drying, but I’ll figure it out.”

Mr. Cooper nodded. “Miguel called in today.“

Miguel was one of the shop’s body guys, and one of my favorite people at CCC. He called out every other month, usually always on a Friday, but when he did, it was to take his kids out of school early so they could go do things. I thought it was sweet. For him to take a Monday off, especially on a day that wasn’t a school holiday, was weird. I’d have to text him and see if he was all right.

Rip was the one who kept talking though. “I needed his help.” I already knew where this was headed. “Think you can squeeze in some

time to help me finish up some bodywork and do at least a coat of primer before you go today?”

Well, the only plan I’d had for the evening was going to his birthday get-together thing that evening… and even if that hadn’t been my only plan as of two minutes ago, I already knew I would have said yes.

Even though I would have rather not added more items to my list of things to do. I guess I could skip taking a real lunch break and eat in my room instead? That would clear up some time.

It wasn’t like I needed to go to his birthday thing in the first place. Or needed to get there at a certain time.

“You don’t have to,” Mr. Cooper added a moment later.

I watched Ripley open his mouth—to argue? To tell him that I did have to? I had no idea—but he closed it almost immediately. They weren’t supposed to argue in front of employees.

Even me.

But I didn’t miss the aggravated look he shot Mr. Cooper for giving me an out.

“It’s okay, Mr. Cooper.” I had my eye on a granite countertop that was way out of my budget, and more overtime meant I was closer and closer to affording it. I nodded at Rip, still giving him a smile. “Let me look at my list for the day and rearrange some things, but I think I can make it work.”

It was Mr. Cooper who asked, “You’re sure?” Not really but, “Yeah.”

Rip nodded, but I could see the look my original boss shot the man who was sharing his responsibilities with him now. He wasn’t pleased. It was nice at least that he wasn’t.

“If you need help, let us know. I’ve been thinking Jason should get some time in the booth,” Mr. Cooper offered after a moment, watching me carefully. The booth was what we called the large, isolated, illuminated room where the painting went on for the shop. It was where I spent most of my time, unless I was helping out doing bodywork or detailing, if things were slow.

The idea of spending time with Jason sounded worse than flicking bleach into my eyes, but I nodded and kept the grimace off my face. At least I hoped I did. Mr. C knew better than anyone how I felt about him. If he was trying to get me to work with him… maybe he knew something I didn’t. Then again, maybe he didn’t and he figured the only way to fix things between us was to stick us together. I wasn’t a fan of that plan though. “Thanks.”

Mr. Cooper’s mouth shaped into a smile that eased my horror over Jason a little. I guessed he was pleased I wasn’t automatically telling him not to send that pain in the butt over to me. “We’ll chat later?”

Not thinking anything of it, I said, “Sure. I’ll see you later. I’m going to get started.” I glanced in Ripley’s direction, briefly taking in his long- sleeved shirt and the jeans that had so many stains on them there was hardly any hint of blue still on them, and gave him one last little smile. “Have a nice day, Rip. Happy birthday again.”

In the same way he always had and probably always would, he grunted his response. “Thanks, Luna.”

“See you later,” I said to Mr. Cooper.

“Let us know if you need help,” the older man called out to me as I backed out of the room. “I can get Jason to go back there, if need be.”

I raised my hand and waved in acknowledgment.

Swallowing at the pulse in my chest from that smile Rip had shared, I made my way toward the break room and tried to prepare my coffee as fast as possible. I was going to need every minute I could get if I wanted to try and make it to the bar for Rip’s birthday.

I wondered why he’d made that decision but then decided it didn’t really matter, did it?

I’d barely managed to scoop one teaspoon of my stash of coconut sugar into my travel mug when I heard the men on the other side of the wall begin talking again.

But this time in almost whispers. I guess they either didn’t realize how good my hearing was or how thin the walls were, because I could hear everything.

It was Mr. Cooper who spoke first. “She’s such a nice girl.”

There was a pause that I wasn’t sure what to do with and then a response of, “Yeah.”

That was probably the nicest thing he’d ever said, other than the occasional compliments he gave one of my paint jobs.

Then Mr. Cooper kept talking, “You should—” The response came in the form of one word. “No.” No.

No what?

What the hell was Mr. Cooper trying to say before Rip had cut him off? He should what? Tell me thank you? Buy me a card? Be a little friendlier? Not be so abrupt with someone who was slightly fonder of him than he probably deserved? I had never said anything to Mr. Cooper, or anyone at the shop, about finding Rip attractive or anything like that. I

couldn’t see him making such a forceful “no” to Mr. Cooper suggesting he tell me thanks or buy me a card being worth that, but…

There was no way it would be anything else. Like Mr. Cooper would tell him to be interested in me. And like Rip would even put thoughts into his head like that. Yeah, right.

I couldn’t even—

What was I doing? Was I really going to let a dumb dream about my dad get me down? Was I trying to feel sorry for myself? Was I going to get flustered because Rip didn’t like me? I knew damn well that had never even been a possibility in the first place. He could barely talk to me without huffing and puffing half the time. He’d agreed I was a nice girl, not that I was pretty or that he should ask me on a date or anything like that.

I needed to get to work and forget all of this. I was going to ball all this up and just… throw it away. I’d done it enough over the years. I could do it again.

And I did. I wrapped up the tiny bit of hurt I felt at the idea that Rip would never be interested in me, my dream about two people who didn’t know what kindness was if it kicked them in the face… and I dropped it into the imaginary trash can that was full of other things I didn’t let hurt me anymore.

I was fine. The heart is more resilient than anyone ever gave it credit for, and I liked to think mine was a bad bish.

I rushed through pouring way too much milk into my cup, mixing in the coffee, giving it all a stir, and then hauled my ass downstairs so I could get to work.

I was fine. I was loved. I had everything I really needed. And my sister had made cherry pie, and I was pretty sure she’d put some into my lunch bag. That was definitely something great about today.

I’d been at Cooper’s for so long I could have gotten around with a blindfold, luckily. Down the stairs and straight forward was the main floor where the repairs and remodels happened. Down the stairs and to the left, then straight, I could take the hall that would lead to the part of the building where I worked. It wasn’t anything fancy, but there were two big bay doors. One that led into the hallway connected to the main floor and another that opened to the parking lot surrounding the building. The rest of the room was pretty sparse, containing a desk with a computer and printer on it, three different machines used to agitate the paint, a big industrial sink with soaps and products beside it, and a

couple of chairs. The big, white booth set up against a corner took up a third of the room.

I’d already dropped off my things when I’d first showed up. I set my tumbler on the desk and went to unlock the drawer to get the folders for the projects I’d be working on. I opened the first one and had just started reading through what needed to be done, when my ringtone went off.

With my eyes still on the folder, I opened the drawer my purse was in and pulled my phone out.

I only hesitated for a second. It was the same number that had called and texted me last week. The one I had ignored.

Screw it.

I answered it. “Hello?”

There was a sound on the other end of the line before a voice I didn’t recognize answered, “Hello, can I please speak with Miss Luna Allen?”

Miss Luna Allen? That was formal. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had used the m-word on me. “Hi, this is me.”

“Oh,” the unfamiliar male voice answered. “Hello, Miss Allen. How are you today?”

“I’m doing great,” I lied a little. “How are you?”

“I’m well. Thank you for asking,” the man replied. “My name is Julius Randall, and I’m calling on behalf of Miss Eugenia Miller.”

At the mention of my grandmother’s name, my chest went tight. I hadn’t heard her name in… years. Not since I had gone to pick up Thea, Kyra, and Lily from her house.

Don’t come back here, Luna, she had told me the last time I’d seen her. Take them and none of y’all come back.

And I hadn’t. None of us had.

“Is everything… okay?” I asked, ignoring how quiet my voice had gotten.

“Unfortunately, Miss Miller passed away Saturday evening.” I swallowed and blinked at the timeframe.

“I attempted to contact you when she first went into the hospice…” He trailed off before clearing his throat. “She specifically requested that I reach out to you.”

She had wanted me to know that she was sick? I hadn’t….

Something heavy—guilt, it was freaking guilt—settled right onto my chest. Had he called me before because she’d been asking for… maybe not me specifically, but my sisters? To see them one last time? To make sure we got to say goodbye, even if she wasn’t aware of it?

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered, trying to process his words. “I haven’t spoken to my grandmother in years.”

There was a pause on the other end. “I apologize for being the bearer of bad news, Miss Allen, but she made it very clear that when the time came, that she wanted you to be informed.”

It seemed like the words got sucked straight out of my mouth. I didn’t wonder why she wanted that. I knew she had cared for my sisters. She had taken them in for three years before she had decided they would be better off far, far away from the rest of the family. She had told us not to come back.

We had never been that close in the first place, and… because life had gotten so crazy after that, I hadn’t kept in touch. I hadn’t realized that my siblings wouldn’t have either. We rarely ever talked about life before they had come to Houston.

“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked, heaviness still weighing down on my chest.

“She suffered complications from pneumonia,” the man on the line explained in a gentle but professional voice. “She had been diagnosed with dementia a few years ago. The funeral arrangements have been settled. There was an announcement in the paper. The funeral will be this upcoming Thursday.”

“This Thursday?”

“I apologize if this seems last minute,” the man apologized, too polite to say that he’d tried to warn me she wasn’t doing well. “I can provide you with the service information if you’re interested in attending.”

Interested in attending her funeral?

The reality of what that meant suddenly clicked but…

My grandmother had wanted me to go. Or at least one of my sisters. Otherwise she wouldn’t have asked her lawyer to contact me. She had wanted us to know.

I didn’t want to go.

I felt terrible for thinking that but…

I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want Kyra or Thea or Lily to go either.

No. Way.

She had known there was a reason why we hadn’t physically seen each other since I was twenty. Yet she had still asked at some point when she had been well enough to make that kind of request. After everything Grandma Genie had done… taking in three kids while I’d been off in

Houston, hundreds of miles away, working and trying to piece my life together, I could do it. For her.

Oh, God, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t freaking want to. I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t.

The idea of my little sisters going was even more unbearable.

Memories of my life before I’d been seventeen, before I’d gotten the hell out of that house, ripped right through me and one of my knees instantly went numb.

I didn’t want to go.

“Miss Allen?” the man spoke up.

I swallowed and clenched the muscles in my quads to wake my leg back up. I remembered everything good in my life.

And I still didn’t want to fucking go.

I didn’t want to see anyone, not in this lifetime or the next, if I was going to be totally honest.

“Miss Allen, are you there?”

I didn’t want to see any of them. I had told myself that when I left, I never would ever again. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t.

But Grandma Genie asked. Grandma Genie who had taken care of the girls when you couldn’t. Who had called you to come for them.

I fisted my free hand and felt this horrible sense of anxiety wrap around my heart, stealing the breath right out of me.

She had asked for me specifically. It was the least I could do.

I don’t want to go.

I didn’t want to see the biggest assholes on the planet. But Grandma Genie….

“I’m here,” I muttered, flexing my quad muscles again. I couldn’t even stand the sound of my own voice as I replied, and I sure didn’t like the sound of it as I said, “Can you give me a second to get a piece of paper so I can write down the information?”

“Of course, Miss Allen. While you do that, I would like to inform you about a matter of an inheritance that Miss Miller endowed on you in her will. There are some forms you’ll need to fill out and return to me—” I hated how much my hand shook as I wrote down the name and the address of the funeral home, memorizing the time for it. I let the information about inheritance go in one ear and out the other. None of that mattered to me even a little bit, especially not when I was too focused on all the rest of the news that came with Grandma Genie

passing away in the first place. On what going to her funeral might mean.

I thought I was better than this. I thought I had gotten over it. I had grown up. Gotten stronger.

I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to fucking go.

Not to San Antonio. Not to anywhere near San Antonio.

Part of me wanted to believe they wouldn’t be there. Or maybe if they were, they wouldn’t have the balls to say anything to me. They picked on people they thought were weaker than them. I was older. Not tougher, but I was older and stronger.

Lily and them might be mad when I told them that I didn’t want them to go, but they’d get over it.

We had made a pact when I had picked them up and taken them back to Mr. Cooper’s house. We weren’t going back there. We were going to start over again, together. We were going to do great.

I stared at the notes written on the work order I needed to get started on, but not remembering a single word of it because…

I didn’t want to go.

Just as quickly as that thought entered my head, another one did too. Hell.

I had something to think about.