Page 95 of Sterling Fight

I swallow thickly as if I can feel the bubbles on my tongue and taste the slightly acrid aftertaste of champagne. “I can’t blame Heather. She didn’t force me but . . . peer pressure, I guess.”

I risk a glance at Judd, who leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees and his fingers steepled at his lips.

“Anyway.” I exhale, blinking at the burn in my eyes. “I didn’t feel well. I wanted to go home. I called my mom first, but she didn’t answer. Then, I called my dad.”

I turn my head and stare at the window where the blinds are partially open, allowing filtered morning light into the room. “He sounded tired. He also sounded like he’d been drinking.” The slur in his voice only comes into my memories when I look back. That night, I’m not certain I could identify the sound.

I glance back at Judd. His shoulders are stiff. His eyes wide.

“He said he’d pick me up.” The worn-down whisper of his voice floats through my head. His promise sluggish. I’ll be there, Genie.

With my eyes focused on Judd, he blurs before me. “He never made it.”

Suddenly, I’m encompassed by Judd’s arms and pressed into his chest. Only, his closeness overwhelms me. The hangover. The memory of champagne in my throat. The slosh of margaritas in my belly.

I press Judd back, needing space. I’m suddenly too warm and if I don’t get some air, I’m going to be revisiting my fortieth-birthday drinks.

Judd leans away, slipping his hands down my arms before resting them on either side of my legs.

“I’m so sorry, firefly.”

I peer up at him. “There’s more.”

Judd runs his thumb beneath my eye, catching a lone tear.

“At the funeral, Heather found me in the ladies’ room, sitting alone, crying. She told me she didn’t know why I was upset. My father was leaving my mother anyway. He was leaving me.”

“Son of a bitch.” Judd hisses.

I choke. “A twelve-year-old whom I was never friends with was telling me my parents planned to divorce.”

The bile in my throat reaches dangerous levels and I swallow hard. “My parents never had that romantic dinner. They had a fight. My dad left. He might have told my mother he was leaving her. She denies it. I don’t even know where he was when I called him, but he’d answered his phone, and he said he would come pick me up.”

I whisper, “Or was he only saying that? Was he really leaving?” I glance back up at Judd. “I’ll never know because he crashed into a tree that night. His car was found on a road leading out of town, not in the direction of Heather’s house.”

Rumors circulated that my father had been drinking. Others suggested he swerved to miss an animal on the darkened road. The gossip about my father’s intention to leave my mother trickled around us.

Maybe he’d been coming to get me after all.

Maybe his car spun in the opposite direction.

Maybe he’d have gone home and changed his mind about leaving.

But deep down, I know the truth. In my gut. In my heart.

“He didn’t want me.” Or my marching beat. My voice breaks and I’m in Judd’s arms again.

This time, I melt into him. I’m tired, so very tired, and it wasn’t only the hangover and turning forty that drained me. All these years later, the events on the eve of my birthday are still a mystery and have forever marred the date. Every other date on the calendar is special, except my birthday.

“I can’t stand the taste of champagne,” I whisper into Judd’s shoulder. “Even looking at a bottle of it makes me shaky.”

And I hate Heather Remington. I shouldn’t have heard what everyone else already seemed to know at my father’s funeral. I shouldn’t have heard it from her of all people.

And if I hadn’t gone to Heather’s house. If I hadn’t drank champagne. If I hadn’t called my dad . . . he might still be alive, even if he left us behind.

I don’t have tears left for something that happened twenty-seven years ago, but a soul-crushing sorrow fills me.

“I’m sorry, Judd,” I say. “But I’m gonna be worthless today.” I pull out of his arms and slip down beneath the covers.