I snort. “Well, okay. I hear that. Just . . . trust me to fix this. I’m giving you my word. Man to man.”

“All right,” he says, his voice a little singsongy. “I like that. Man to man.”

“Just don’t say anything to her, all right? Give me a second. I have to get some things in order first.”

“What am I supposed to do? Let her cry? Terrible plan, Cole. Terrible plan.”

He sounds just like his mother. It makes me smile.

“I’ll hurry,” I say, laughing. I’ve missed this kid as much as I’ve missed his mom. I hope he—and she—will give me a second chance once I get my shit together. “But it might be a day or two.”

“Make it one.”

“I said I’ll try.”

There’s a pause between us. It’s not as contentious as before, and I don’t think he’s plotting my death, which is a plus. Instead, he laughs.

“Hey, Cole?”

“Yeah?”

“Just so you know, I knew you wouldn’t just leave. I knew there was more to the story.”

My smile is so wide it hurts. “You did?”

“Yeah.” He laughs softly. “So go figure it out and come back. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, little man.” More than you’ll ever know.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE PALMER

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

PALMER

At least there’s a little sunshine today.” I peer through the blinds across the parking lot. “It might be a decent day after all.”

I roll my eyes at myself. I don’t believe for a second that it will, in fact, be a decent day. I haven’t had a decent day all freaking week.

My desk demonstrates just how shitty of a week it’s been. There are empty paper coffee cups, the kind Kirk loves and justifies because he can recycle them, all over my desk. My trash can is overflowing. Wads of discarded paper litter the floor and dot my desktop like errant snowballs that refuse to melt.

I’m as messy and chaotic as my workspace.

My hair is going on five days without a wash. I can usually pull three days pretty easily, but five is pushing it in a good hair week—a week when I’m not crying myself to sleep every night. But the tears have been getting a little better, and the cry headaches have eased a bit. I’m still overcaffeinating to make up for all of it, but I’m picking my battles in the Cole War.

The door pops open, and Burt sticks his head inside.

“Hey, we’re all leaving for lunch except Fred. Want us to bring you back a burger from Fletcher’s?” he asks.

“I’m good. Thanks for asking me.”

“No problem.”

He doesn’t smile or wave or really offer anything in the way of friendliness except his offer—and I’ll take it. It’s progress.