Where the Road Takes Me Page 47

   Josh sighed and set him on his feet.

   Tommy pulled out his pacifier and pointed to Blake. “Hunt.”

   Blake’s eyes went huge. “He can say my name!”

   “You want Uncle Hunter?” Josh said excitedly. He pulled Blake out of the booth and stood him two feet in front of Tommy. “Go to Uncle Hunter,” he cooed.

   “Hunt,” Tommy said again.

   And then he took a step. Followed by another. And then another. He fell on the fourth, but it didn’t matter. We were out of our seats and cheering by the time Blake picked him up off the floor and sat him on his lap. “I’m your Uncle Hunt,” he said through a smile.

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

   Blake

   Graduation day.

   The last day of Chloe.

   It sucked.

   Almost as much as the fact that when I woke up that morning and opened my eyes, Dad was hovering above me with what looked like a gift basket containing a basketball and Duke Blue Devils jersey. “What the fuck is this?”

   For a second, I got scared. I let his intimidation work. And then I remembered Chloe and, all of a sudden, dealing with Dad didn’t seem so hard. Not compared to saying good-bye to her.

   “What does it look like?” I threw the covers off me and stood toe to toe with him.

   His eyes widened in surprise, but for only a second, before he recovered and glared at me. His lips turned into a snarl when he growled, “Did you tell them you were enlisting? Basketball is not a future, Hunter. What the fuck kind of lessons and achievements are you going to get from throwing a damn ball around?” His voice got louder with every word.

   The thing was, if he would have actually sat down with me, tried to talk it out, maybe made suggestions as to why I should have chosen to enlist rather than play college ball, I would’ve listened to him. I would have heard him out, really considered his point of view. But all he’d done was make me want to tell him to fuck off and that he had no fucking clue about my life or me. So I bit my tongue and contained the rage that had been building for so long. Then I brushed past him, got in the shower, and dressed in the stupid graduation gown.

   One day left.

   I was going to miss the shit out of her.

   Chloe

   Arms around my waist gripped me tight. I panicked for a second, but then a familiarity set in. Blake. I was airborne. My legs kicked out in front of me as I mumbled some form of apology to the family whose ice cream I had just started to scoop. Blake and Josh’s laughter filled my ears. I stopped kicking and gave in to the inevitable.

   The sunlight hit my eyes when they opened the storeroom door that led to an alleyway behind the building.

   Blake set me carefully back on the ground. “I didn’t see you at the ceremony,” he said.

   “I told you I wasn’t going. I was only working a half shift here, and I wanted some extra time with Dean and Mary.”

   “Fair enough. But what about my extra time?” He pouted.

   I leaned back against the wall and hid my hands behind me. “I’m sorry.”

   Truth was I was avoiding him. I didn’t know how I would’ve reacted had I been at the graduation ceremony. I hated good-byes. So much so that I did everything I could just to avoid farewells. Luckily for me, I’d had years to get used to the idea of leaving everyone. When the kids had been heading off for school, I had told them I’d see them soon. Dean and Mary had taken me out to lunch, and then I’d gone to work. Mary had cried when she’d gotten in their car. I knew because I’d watched her. Letting them go actually wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be, especially since I’d promised Harry I’d keep it touch, and I had every intention of keeping that promise. I hadn’t said how often I’d contact them, but it would be often enough that they would know I was healthy.

   Now came the hardest part of all: saying good-bye to Blake.

   “We gotta be quick,” Josh interrupted my thoughts.

   “We got you something. A good-bye gift, I guess.”

   My heart sank. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

   “Yeah, well . . .” He shrugged. “Something to remember us by.”

   Josh held out something long and flat, wrapped in newspaper. I already knew what it was, without having to look. Stepping forward, I took it from his hands.

   He shoved my shoulder. “Open it.”

   Blake’s low chuckle caused the ache in my chest to tighten. He shoved my other shoulder. “Yeah, open it.”

   Josh laughed, shoving me again. “Yeah, open it.”

   I smiled and shook my head. “What is wrong with you guys?”

   “Just do it,” Blake said, his voice low, serious.

   I made a show of ripping the newspaper off and being surprised by the skateboard hidden underneath. “This is amazing!”

   The storeroom door opened, and Trent, who had been hired to take my place stepped out. “It’s getting busy. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

   “Alright, fucktard. Calm your tits,” Josh yelled.

   Trent went back inside without another word.

   I laughed. “A little harsh?”

   Josh shook his head. “I’ve hated that asshole ever since I went to school with him.”

   My eyebrows pinched, and I looked up at Blake. “He goes to our school?”

   He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Chloe, you’ve met him! How do you not know these things?”

   I shrugged.

   Then I was engulfed in Josh’s arms. “I know you didn’t want good-byes,” he whispered in my ear. “So I’m not going to say it. I’m just going to say that I’m forever thankful I met you. And I’ll remember you always, Chloe.” He released his hold and took a step back.

   I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, containing the sob that was bursting to escape. I had held it back the entire day. I hadn’t cried with the kids, or with Mary and Dean. But I was on the edge now, and I didn’t want Blake to be the one to see it.

   Josh nodded once, and then he was gone.

   “It’s got your name on it,” Blake mumbled.

   “What?”

   “The board. Underneath. It has your name.”

   I looked down at the board in my hands as I processed what he’d said. Then I flipped it over. Not Abby, in bright-red letters.

   I laughed. “Always with the red,” I thought out loud and looked up at him. “You always write in red. What’s with that?”

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