Cal Harper was pronounced dead at 12:30 in the afternoon. Cali watched as the house swarmed with people. The hospice nurse had arrived, followed by the police. Allina stood to the side, speaking with the representative from the funeral home.
Cali had managed to pull herself together long enough to take care of the phone calls and make a few arrangements. But when the funeral home carried her uncle’s lifeless body out of the house, she collapsed onto the floor.
Now, she sat nursing a beer in a private booth at the bar. She’d locked herself in Uncle Cal’s room earlier, even while her concerned friends were in the house trying to help her. Syd had even come over although she’d just been released from the hospital, but Cali needed to be alone. She needed to process everything. So she snuck out.
She thought that a few drinks would numb the hurt. That didn’t work out quite the way she’d planned. The feeling of emptiness had taken her by surprise. Logically, she’d known this day would come, but nothing had prepared her for that actual moment, the moment she knew that she’d never hear his voice again. Her uncle had died in the middle of the night, in the room right down the hall from where she’d been asleep. Her only family member had succumbed to an illness that took away his quality of life slowly, and there was nothing she could do about it. No money would bring him back—nothing.
She didn’t want company. She didn’t need to hear about how he was in a better place. All she wanted was to grieve for the one person in her family who’d never turned his back on her.
Sliding the bottle back and forth between her hands, she thought about the last thing he’d said to her. “Chin up, baby girl.” At the time, she’d wondered why he said that, knowing she was just going to bed. Now she knew. It was his way of telling her to move on, to live even though he wasn’t going to.
The bar was pretty empty, the lunch crowd long gone. She ordered a shot, but service was slow. Then there was a shot glass in front of her. She peered up through wet lashes. Red was standing before her with a fifth of Patrón in one hand and a bowl of tortilla chips in the other.
He didn’t speak, though. He slid into the booth beside her and poured the liquor into her glass. Lifting the glass, he tipped it in her direction and downed the contents, slamming it back on the table when he was done. He filled the little glass again and slid it toward her.
She took the shot, enjoying the way the liquid burned her throat. Setting the glass back on the table, she waited while he poured her another. Wanting to avoid eye contact for fear that she’d break down yet again, she ran her thumbnail over a crack on the table, then traced it with her finger.
She hadn’t expected him to be there. He was supposed to be on the other side of the state, but he’d shown up again—right when she needed him, even though she’d treated him like crap. All the anger and resentment she’d felt toward him melted away.
He placed a hand on top of hers and squeezed, bringing her palm up to his lips. “Cali,” he said softly. “You don’t have to talk. But I’m so sorry about Uncle Cal. I want to be here for you and give you whatever you need. If you want silence, then we won’t talk. If you need me to hold your hand, I won’t let go. The only thing I won’t do is leave you while you’re hurting so bad.”
Cali met his gaze then, lacing her fingers with his.
They sat like that for a while—in silence, hand in hand. After a while, she took the shot and pounded the glass back on the table. He never let go of her other hand, he simply poured more.
“I miss him already,” she murmured, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. She cleared her throat. “He was an awesome father. I loved him so much.” Despair threatened to choke her. “I’ve lost so much, Red. How am I supposed to get through this?”
He scooted closer and pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in his neck, taking in his masculine scent, letting it wrap around her.
“You don’t go through this alone, baby,” he whispered. He held her face in his hands. “We’re all here for you. I’m here for you.”
There were tears standing in his eyes. He’d been crying—for her. She rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes as he swept his thumbs across her cheeks. When his hands traveled to the back of her head, she sucked in a deep breath.
He stroked her back, holding on to her. She clung to him, grateful that he was there. “Where’s Corrine?”
“At Syd’s.”
Cali knew she shouldn’t have left the way she did. Her friends were probably worried sick. “I know everybody was trying to help but I couldn’t be there, in the house where he…”
“They know. They’re just worried about you.”
Once again, he filled up her glass. This time, though, she pushed it toward him, motioning for him to take the shot. When he did, she smiled. “Thank you,” she said.
“Never say thank you for this. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Cali.” Their gazes met and locked. She moistened her lips, noting the way his gaze followed her motions. Smiling slightly, he gave her a sweet kiss—on her forehead.
Before he could pull away, she grabbed his face. “Do you mean that?”
“You know I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Tilting her head up, she kissed him. It wasn’t intense, but it was persistent. “Red,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Yes.”
Touching her lips to his again, she pulled him into another kiss—deepening it almost immediately. She wanted to kiss him forever, forget about everything else but how he made her feel. Eventually, though, she realized she couldn’t spend the day kissing Red in a public booth. She pulled back, holding his hand to her cheek.
“Cali, I’m—”
She placed her forefinger against his mouth. “Don’t… don’t say anything.” She filled the shot glass. “Take another with me.”
He obliged without another word. Reaching out, he ran his finger down her cheek and over her lips. She smiled.
“Uncle Cal told me I was the best thing in his life. I hope he realized that he was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.”
“He knew you loved him, Cali.”
“He tried to take care of me the best he knew how. I remember when he enrolled in school. He left a good job at the plant so that he could set an example for me. My mother hit me lots of times, but not Uncle Cal. He was patient, stern but kind. He never hit me, and the only time he threatened to whoop my ass was when I snuck to a concert and didn’t come home until the next morning. He was waiting for me on the couch. I was grounded for weeks over that.” She giggled softly.
“Sounds like he had you figured out.”
She glanced at him. “I tested him, but besides that one time, I never gave him a reason—to whoop my ass. Even then, instead of yelling, he showed me pictures of every girl he could think of that got hurt after they snuck out without their parents’ knowledge. He was there for every moment—high school graduation, college. What am I going to do without him?”
“Cali, your uncle loved you. And he’ll live on.” He placed a hand over her heart. “In you. Then one day you’re going to wake up and feel grateful for his presence in your life. Then you’ll be at peace because you did everything you could to show him that you loved him while he was alive to feel your love. Right now it hurts, but it won’t hurt forever.”