Since I got back from rehab, I come here and watch her for an hour or two, trying to find the words to ask her to take me back. Plus, my sponsor, Amy, has told me I need to settle into a routine. I’ve been working my ass off at my bank. I still go see Hannah, and I’m finally taking my sessions with her seriously. So seriously I started to take a low dosage of my antidepressant. I still have nightmares of my dad blowing his brains out, and I do hallucinate smells, but I’m working extra hard on my issues. I just have to take it one day at a time. Cora moved back in the day after I was released from rehab. And now I’m a full-time dad to her. I told my family about my PTSD, and what happened that night with my dad. My ma cried and did her own therapy by getting out that damn sage stick. They were very supportive of it.

This is it. I need to get my ass in gear if I want to get the girl I love.

As I cross the street, my heart beats so fucking hard I fear it’s about to burst. I place my hand on the glass door, and I breathe in my nose and out my mouth. The bell above the door dings as I walk in, and immediately, I use my hand to wipe snowflakes from my Burberry coat. I hate the fucking snow. If I could, I’d move to a more tropical area, like Florida or Hawaii.

“Welcome to Sandi’s, ho—” She stops mid-sentence and drinks in the sight of me. “Gunner.” She says it like she doesn’t believe I’m standing in front of her. She dyed her hair bubblegum pink and is wearing a purple, long-sleeved shirt with the company logo. She’s so beautiful, the kind of beautiful you stop to admire. She belongs in the summer rain dancing with headphones over her ears with fat water drops hitting her forehead and beautiful hair. My pulse hammers in my neck and adrenaline rushes through my veins. My dick’s hard and it hurts against my zipper and I button up the bottom of my coat to cover up my erection.

I miss the fuck out of her. So much it hurts.

I stroll to the counter, trying to play it cool.

“Love the hair,” I say, “it suits you, Rainbow.” Apple orchard lingers in my nostrils. Gia smells of love and home.

“Did you know that the hairstylist had to bleach it to get it this color? It was your mom’s idea. She took me to her hair salon before we went out to eat two days ago.” Her cheeks turn red, and she bites her bottom lip.