Either that, or I’m having a very freaky dream.

But if this is real, Ava looks incredible. Her hair is wavier than I remember, but it still carries golden streaks, and it’s long enough to wrap around my fist. Her skin is a healthy, sun-warmed hue—the shade you get when you spend time outdoors.

She’s wearing a blue V-neck top that shows off a silver chain around her smooth neck. I used to kiss her right there while I stripped off her clothes one piece at a time…

Her gaze flips upward and collides with mine, and it’s chilly. Arctic, even. Ava is not happy that I’ve shown up here.

I really want to know how this happened, but I can’t interrogate her in front of my dad. She works for him.

Christ, that’s weird. She ought to be a million miles away working in a hospital somewhere. “You were going to be a doctor,” I blurt out. “Weren’t you?”

Ava visibly stiffens, and her eyes get even colder. “Like that’s any of your business?”

That shuts me up. Because she’s right—it’s not. I gave up the right to care what she does with her life right around the time I told her I didn’t want to be part of it.

My father comes out of his office wearing his coat. “Let’s go, son. Ava, you found a spot for Reed?”

Wordlessly, I show him the plastic keychain in my hand—stamped with the number twenty-five—and the silver key attached to it.

“Twenty-five, huh?” My dad clucks his tongue. “Interesting.” His eyes land on Ava for a half second, and I think I see amusement flash through them. “All righty! Let’s go.”

* * *

Shellshocked, I follow my father out the back door of the main lodge building. We start the trudge toward the house where I grew up, and my pace is slow, because my mind is reeling. Also, I’m wearing the wrong shoes. The leather soles of my Paul Smith oxfords don’t have any traction in the snow.

If my dad notices any of my difficulties, he doesn’t let on. He’s actually humming under his breath as we walk.

Humming. I didn’t know he was still capable of that. After my mother died, he did a lot of yelling and a lot of sulking. And way too much drinking. There was no humming.

Once upon a time, though, he was a very happy man who spent many pleasant hours with his sons. My father taught me to ski when I was so young there are pictures of me skiing with a stuffed animal under my arm. I remember tromping out into the woods with him to cut down Christmas trees. In the summertime, he taught us to fish. He was a good dad.

But that guy died right along with my mother, and he made living with him a cold, dark hell.

Now he’s remarried to someone named Melody. He eats her cookies. And hums?