I gasp as she hands it to me, and I unfold it. My father’s name is printed across the back of the white cotton in bold, black letters.
I’m running for:ROBERT MORGAN
Grief clutches my heart.
“This is perfect.”
Evan reaches out and nudges my shoulder. “He’d be so proud of you for doing all this.”
Yeah, he would be.He was proud of me for anything and everything I did, no matter how big or small the accomplishment was.
On instinct, my eyes drift to the pictures of him on the wall.
As much as I love organizing this fundraiser, it’s another reminder that my father was taken from me too soon. Normally, I can busy myself with work and lacrosse to keep the sadness at bay. But there’s no escaping it with April on the horizon.
“You decide whether you’re going to put the house up?” Evan asks.
“Not yet.” I clear my throat and fold the T-shirt, laying it in my lap. “Okay, I think we’re done for tonight. We have the shirts, the permits, the sponsors...am I forgetting anything?”
Ivori takes the hint and pushes out of her chair. “Nope. You’re on top of everything, as usual.” She smacks Evan’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s head out.”
He stares at me for a beat longer before he rises from the chair. “See you tomorrow, kiddo.”
I smile at the ridiculous nickname he gave me back in high school. “Thanks for your help, big bro.”
I give Ivori’s hand a squeeze as I walk them out to the porch, a silentthank youfor stopping the house conversation in its tracks.
She shoots me a wink, and I watch as they head for their cars before closing the door.
I don’t know how I would’ve survived without those two. They became my family after I lost mine.
Landon’s face flashes in my head, and it’s like an unexpected physical blow to my chest. I’ve gone over a decade withoutthinking about him, but now that he’s back in my life, he’s been creeping into my mind, drudging up the past with him. Especially at night when I have nothing left to distract myself with. The jerk is wrecking my sleep schedule.
It’s pointless to wash up and lie in bed when all I’m going to do is toss and turn.
So, I shove my feet into my sneakers and trudge next door.
Bernard rocks back from his chair on the porch as he appraises me. “You look like shit, kid.”
I huff out a laugh. “As if you look any better.”
Buddy waits for me by the empty rocking chair, his tail thumping a mile a minute. I crouch down on the porch beside him, and bury my face in his flurry golden fur. No one hugs you better than a dog.
“I tried that green crap you made me.” Bernard scrunches his nose. “It didn’t taste half bad.”
“That’s a high compliment coming from you.” I arch a brow as I scratch behind Buddy’s ears. “And that crap is calledbrussel sprouts.”
“Well, I liked it,” he mumbles.
“Good. I’ve got another meal coming your way tomorrow. I just didn’t have time to cook tonight.”
“You’ve got a lot going on between work, practice, and the fundraiser. You don’t have to worry about an old man like me.”
I scoot myself up into the rocking chair, and Buddy lays on top of my feet. “Who else is going to get your stubborn ass to eat your vegetables?”
He lets out a raspy chuckle. “You get old, and it feels like the rest of the world forgets about you. Life goes on, but it’s like you’re stuck in the same place.” He pauses, turning his blue eyes to look at me. “You never forget about me though.”
Emotion bubbles to the surface, but I try to swallow it down. “You’re in bad shape if I’m your only friend.”
