Chapter 1
One
Storm
I tug at the black tie around my neck, hating the many pairs of eyes on me as I walk down the aisle and sit in the front row of the church.
It’s a bright day, sunshine pouring in through the stained-glass windows to send rainbows of color scattering this way and that.
Reminding me that Fate has a fucked-up sense of humor.
Norm Harrison was about as far from sunny as a person could get.
He was the brutal violence of lightning storm, the lashing wind of a hurricane, the destruction of an earthquake…
And now he’s gone.
Dead.
Right there on his rickety front porch, beer bottle clutched tight even in death, his face screwed up, prepared to yell at anyone who dared tread too close to his lawn.
Well, the last I don’t know for certain—since I wasn’t here—but I’d bet my life on it.
Because that was my dad.
“About time you showed up.”
I go stiff and glare down at my brother as I slide into the pew.
He’s similarly clothed in a dark suit and tie, his face and muscled body almost a mirror of mine—though where my eyes are gray, his are blue, and where my hair falls into my eyes with that trademark hockey flow, his is contained, neatly corralled into an appropriate style for church.
“I’m here.” I jerk my chin toward the closed casket I’ve been avoiding looking at. “He doesn’t deserve even that much.”
“Pot meet kettle,” Rain mutters. “Since you’re doing your best to be exactly like him.”
Rage flashes through me in a hot wave, so intense, so all-consuming that I jerk toward him, my fist lifting, that I barely remember I’m in a fucking church, that I’m not on the ice where I’ll just get five minutes in the box for beating up this asshole.
My brother.
Apparently, he’s still an asshole too.
But he’s not wrong about the drinking and fucking around and generally being an asshole.
Those traits run rampant in Harrison DNA.
Even if, once upon a time, I thought I might be diff—
Clenching my teeth together, I shove that thought away and force myself to look forward again, my gaze drifting to the closed lid of the casket.
“Anyone check to see if the bastard’s actually in it?” I mutter and hear a gasp behind me.
My eyes flick back, connecting with an old biddy’s. It takes me a minute to place her face, but when I do, I just look forward again.
Nothing will stop Gertie Walkins from gossiping.
Or from judging.
“Oh, I checked,” Rain mutters.
“Yeah?”
“Looks like fucking Dracula—arms crossed, hair combed, face full of makeup, and trademark Harrison scowl on display,” he says to another gasp from Gertie, and for a second, I almost smile.
Because there was a time when Rain and I—
No. It doesn’t matter.
The priest moves to the lectern and begins talking about my father like he wasn’t the asshole everyone in this town knew he was.
But this is Cedar Hollow.
The town might be located in the foothills of the nearby mountain range, might be a destination for tourists with its quaint streets and riverfront location, its local businesses supported year-round by snow in the winter, apples in the fall, tulips in the spring, and rafting in the summer…
It might be a great place to grow up—
Except when one’s father was Norm Harrison.
Norm was a widower, a dad (barely), and an alcoholic abuser (the only thing in his life he was any good at).
And none of that fucking matters.
Because he’s dead.
We all know the truth.
There’s no hiding here. Not when everyone knows everyone, not when rumors spread like wildfire and funerals and weddings and birthday parties are a whole town affair.
Case in point? Today’s full church.
“…and now I’d like to welcome anyone who would like to share a few words about Norm to come up and speak.”
The silence that follows…well, yup, Fate has a great fucking sense of humor.
Rain sighs from next to me, and I don’t bother to look at him.
There’s no way I’m going up to that mic and saying anything that’s remotely close to kind.
Something he clearly understands, having grown up with Norm Harrison as a father.
But my brother is the responsible one, the good one—
So, it’s no surprise that he pushes to his feet and finds the one story that doesn’t make our dad look like the complete and total bastard he was.
“…and that’s when we decided a possum didn’t make a very good pet,” he says, eliciting soft laughter through the room…and leaving out the part where it wasn’t we—as in, Rain and I—who decided a possum wasn’t a good pet.
Nope. That was Norm.
And our father didn’t give one fuck that we’d raised Millie from the time she was a baby, that she relied on us, that she trusted us…
We had to set her free.
And when she came crying to the back porch, my dad took out his gun and—
Rain drops back into the pew, his hands clenched into fists.
I find that I’m doing the same.
Suddenly, my tie is too tight—or maybe it’s my throat.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
“…and give you peace, this day and forever more. Amen.”
I burst up to my feet, push through the throng of people leaving, rounding the corner of the old building and not stopping until I’m alone, until I can breathe past the lump in the back of my throat.
Movement flashes in the corner of my eye.
My head shoots up and…
Time stops.
Seven years vanish.
I’m that kid on Cedar Hollow beach again, lusting after a girl in a skimpy red bikini.
“You okay?” Poppy Baker asks softly.
“Great.” It’s dry, and sharp enough to wound.
And she winces as though I’ve done exactly that.
As though I’ve wounded her.
Nodding, she turns away, and though I open my mouth to apologize, guilt rippling through me, I find the words don’t come.
Can’t come.
Because just then a little girl with dark brown hair plaited into neat pigtails skips up to Poppy and takes her hand. She’s wearing a simple black dress, tights, and shining black shoes, but I barely register all that.
Because she’s the spitting image of Poppy.
And because her striking gray eyes flick toward me as she asks,
“Mom, can we go get ice cream now?”