“It’s sixty-eight—” I started.
“What part of WE WIN do you not understand?” Chloe cut in. “I can’t believe I won the Super Bowl!”
I lost it in a fit of laughter, almost dropping her.
“I need a victory lap!” she squealed.
I gave her a victory lap around the driveway. She kept her hands raised in triumph as she made a speech thanking everyone but me for training her. Mom kept on chanting her name.
On the second lap, I froze.
So did Chloe.
So did Mom.
“Hunter,” Dad said, nodding his head. He narrowed his eyes at Chloe.
I carefully released her until her feet were on the ground, but she didn’t step out from behind me. “Colonel,” I replied.
His eyes moved to Mom. “Celia. Nice to see you upright and coherent.”
She didn’t respond.
“Who’s your friend, Hunter?”
I didn’t answer him. But Chloe stepped to my side, her voice mousy when she said, “I’m Chloe Thompson, sir—Colonel—sir. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Right.” He nodded. “You might want to put a shirt on, young lady. My house isn’t a strip club.”
I wanted to punch him, but Chloe held me back.
And with that, he turned and walked away.
“Asshole,” Mom said. “I’m sorry, Chloe. Don’t pay him any attention. He’s a miserable old bastard.”
I turned to Chloe, but she was looking at the ground. “Hey . . .” I drew her into me and hugged her.
“Can you please take me home,” she said into my chest.
I rested my cheek on the top of her head. “You don’t have to go.”
“I know, but I should.”
I looked at my mom. She was watching us with a frown on her face. I held more tightly on to Chloe. Mom mouthed, “I’m sorry.” And I knew she wasn’t just talking about Dad, she was talking about Chloe and how much she obviously meant to me. And she was sorry that soon it would all be over.
Chloe pulled out of my hold and made her way over to her shirt, silently shrugging it on before going to Mom and hugging her good-bye. Then she walked to my car and waited for me to catch up.
“You want to go somewhere and hang out?” I asked her as we pulled out of the driveway.
“No. I just want to go home,” she said, looking down at her lap.
“Sure?”
“Yeah, Blake, I’m sure.”
After dropping Chloe off, I didn’t really feel like being in the house with my asshole dad, so I went out to the guesthouse.
“How long?” Mom asked, handing me a drink and sitting on the couch opposite me.
“Four weeks.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry, Blake.”
“I don’t know what to do, Ma. I’m just not ready to let her go.”
Mom sighed. “Just ask yourself this: If you could describe your days with Chloe as black or red, what would it be?”
I smiled, remembering how she used to tell me about red- and black-letter days. Black-letter days had negative impact. Like when you got news of someone’s death. A red-letter day was the opposite of black. A positive experience or something unexpectedly phenomenal.
“Red,” I told her. “Definitely red.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Chloe
“How did it go?”
Dean grinned. “Great.” He ruffled Harry’s hair. “It’s official. Harry’s ours. He’s stuck with us for life now.”
Harry contained his smile and tried to move away from Dean.
“That’s awesome, Harry.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I guess.”
“So. I was wondering if you still had that big gear bag from when you did karate last year?”
His face fell instantly. “Yeah, why?”
“I don’t have a bag big enough for when I leave. I was wondering if I could have it?”
“It’s in my room,” he bit out. “I’ll go get it.”
And then he left the kitchen, thumping loudly up each step to get to his room.
“What’s with him?” I asked Dean, just as the sound of a door slamming shut echoed through the house.
“I think you should talk to him, Chloe. I think there’s a lot he’s not telling you.”
I knocked twice on Harry’s door before entering. A single step in, and a bag was hurled at my head. I ducked right in time to avoid being hit. “Whoa. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” His nostrils flared, and a snarl appeared. “Just take the bag and fuck off already.”
My eyebrows pinched as I took in his state. He stood at the foot of his bed, with his hands fisted at his sides. “Dude, what the hell?” I stepped farther into his room. I wasn’t going to let up until I knew what was going on.
“Seriously, I don’t even care about you right now. You’re leaving in a week, and you’ve barely been around. You’re always out with that Blake jerk, or he’s always here. He’s not even part of the family. You know that, right? We are. We’re your family.” His voice broke, but he kept going, his tone getting harsher with every single word. “Do you even think about me? I’ve been here for years. You’re my sister. Not his.”
Before I could speak, Harry added, “You know what? I know about you—and about your mom’s cancer, and your aunt, too. I know that Mary and Dean asked to adopt you, and you told them no. And I don’t get it. Mary and Dean—they love you.” He paused for a beat. “I love you, Chloe, and you don’t even care.”