He was still trailing kisses over her when the phone rang. It was his landline, so they both ignored it. It went to voice mail. Daniel froze at the sound of the voice.

“Hi, Daniel. This is Gus from...well, you know where from. Uh, listen, I’m kind of hoping you’ve changed your mind about things since the last time we talked... Anyway, I’m calling because there’s a gun-control rally coming up, and we could really use your voice. I know you had said you weren’t interested, but it’s been a year since the last one. I spoke last time, and it made an impact. We need to hear from parents and survivors of gunshot victims... We need to make sure no other parent goes through this again. Anyway. You know how to reach me.”

Daniel pulled back and sat up. What the fuck was Gus doing, calling him after all this time?

Annika sat up and looked at him. “Is Gus...?”

“Yes. He lost his son the same day as...” Daniel swung his legs to the floor, away from Annika. “He’s become an activist. Gun control.” He let his voice turn bitter, as it did every time he thought of Gus. “As if gun control now will bring our children back to us. Or make our grief go away.”

“People grieve differently.”

“Well, Gus should keep his grieving to himself. What difference does it make to legislators or anyone else if I get up and pour my heart out over losing... What difference?” He stood, pulling on his pants. Annika watched him from the bed, a sheet covering her.

“Well, you never know...”

“One thing I do know is what happens when you do stand up.” Memories he had quite successfully suppressed—until now—flooded his mind. His heart beat rapidly and he started to sweat.

Annika moved closer to the edge of the bed where he stood. “What happened, Daniel?” Her voice was calm, but her eyes shone with concern.

“About a year after the incident, Gus and I, we spoke out. Did a few interviews, called for gun control. We called for waiting periods, background checks. We also called for better mental health care.” He swallowed at the memory. “I was still drinking, but telling the story, speaking out and trying to change things, made me feel like I was doing something.” There had been a light, showing him a path out of grief. It was only a pinprick of light, but it was something.

“Then Sheila got a call.” He fisted his hands. “Some asshole had the balls to call our home and accuse us—” A lump of anger in his throat stopped him.

“Accused you? What could someone possibly accuse you of?”

Daniel found his voice, though it burned with anger. “They accused us of making the whole thing up just so we could come out against guns.”