“There you are,” Chloe says, snagging my arm as soon as I walk through the front door. “I was wondering when you were going to show up. Come with me; I want to introduce you to a few people.”

“Okay,” I laugh, allowing her to drag me through the small crowd.

“Hey, baby,” Lincoln says when I stumble past him. “I was hoping you’d get here soon. I want to introduce you to Roy.” He tries to pull me into his arms, but Chloe is having no part of it.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she says. “If you get your hands on her, I’ll never get her back. Let me have her for fifteen minutes, and then she’s all yours.”

Lincoln holds his hands up and steps back. I mouth “Sorry” as I’m pulled away.

“You have to meet my best friend, Rose. She’s Roy’s daughter. You’re going to love her.”

“Oh, uh, Chloe—”

“There she is. Rose!” she hollers.

Rose turns around, and her smile falters when she sees me. Chloe practically shoves me in front of her.

“This is Lincoln’s girlfriend, Adley. Adley, this is my best friend, Rose,” Chloe says. “Oooh, there’s Deacon. Stay here,” she says to me. “I’ll be right back.”

Chloe disappears, and I’m left standing in front of Lincoln’s ex.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

We stare at each other in an awkward silence, and then Rose blurts, “I’m really sorry about the other night. I promise you didn’t walk in on anything bad.”

“I know I didn’t. Lincoln explained the situation. How’s your ankle?”

She shrugs. “It’s fine. Just a sprain. Still sore after a long day, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“That’s good.”

“So, uh, you and Lincoln talked… Did he tell you about…”

“About the two of you?” I ask.

She nods.

“Yeah. He told me you have history.”

She nods, but it’s feeble and a little apologetic. “A tiny history. And by history, I mean that I was head over heels in love with the guy, and he never really saw me as anyone other than Roy’s daughter and his sister’s friend.”

I shift uncomfortably. It doesn’t seem right to talk to Rose about her relationship with Lincoln without him being here.

“Sorry,” she offers. “I’m not trying to make things weird. I just want you to know I’m not the type of girl to stir up trouble. I see how happy you make him, and I would never try to come between that.”

Tension drains from my shoulders. “Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me.”

She smiles thoughtfully. “Chloe and Linc mean a lot to me, and if you’re part of their lives, I’d really like for you to be part of mine.”

It took a lot of courage for Rose to give me those words. And Lincoln may not love her the way she loves him, but he still cares for her, and I don’t want mess that up.

“I’d like that,” I tell her.

“You two played nice, I hope,” Chloe says, dragging Deacon toward us.

“Hey, Deacon,” I say, waving.

“Hey. Thanks for the food the other night. It was delicious.”

“Any time. I hope there was enough for everyone.”

“Wait. You two already know each other?” Chloe asks.

Deacon wraps his arm around her shoulders in a brotherly fashion—although the way he looks at her is anything but brotherly. “Yup.”

“Same,” Rose says. “If you’ll excuse me, I just remembered something I need to take care of.”

Rose slips away, and Chloe looks at me. “I’m guessing you’ve already met my father too?”

I nod. “The other night.”

“And…what did you think?”

Deacon tightens his arm around Chloe’s shoulders. I’m guessing if she didn’t want me talking about it in front of him, she wouldn’t have asked.

“That’s a difficult question, because I know about his past. It’s hard to look beyond that.”

“Try,” she says.

“Okay. He was nice—normal and funny.”

Chloe looks up at Deacon.

“Maybe Lincoln is right,” he says. “Maybe you should try talking to him.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

I notice that with Deacon’s arm around her, Chloe looks a little more vulnerable than when she talks to Lincoln about her dad. Deacon studies Chloe and then looks at me.

“Would you give us a second?” he asks.

“Sure. I’ll just be over there.”

Lincoln said this party was going to be small, but there are tons of people here. I weave through everyone and search for Lincoln, but come up empty, so I go to the food table instead. Chris is getting a sandwich when I walk up.

“Great minds think alike,” I say, reaching around him to take a sandwich for myself.

He looks at me and smiles as he drops some potato chips on his plate. “Would you like to join me?”

“I’d love to.”

We find a small empty table off to the side, and I set my stuff down. “Would you like something to drink?”

“A beer would be great.”

My eyes widen, and he laughs.

“I’m kidding. Calm down; that was a joke. I’ll take a diet soda.”

“Not funny,” I say, giving him a pointed look. I return a minute later with two diet sodas and sit down next to him.

“She’s in love with him,” he says, nodding toward Chloe and Deacon.

“I was wondering about that.”

“I don’t remember much about the past… I guess that’s what happens when you’re drunk ninety-nine percent of the time. But I remember the way she used to look at him. Any time he’d stop by to see Linc, or if we’d run into him somewhere, she’d get stars in her eyes. That look stuck with me, because it was the same look her mother used to get when I’d walk into a room.”

Chris stops talking so he can take a bite.

How the heck am I supposed to respond to that?

After a few minutes of silence, he takes a drink of his soda and continues.

“She looks just like her mom.”

“Really? I think she looks a lot like you.”

Chris looks up, seeming stunned. “You do?”

I nod and take a drink. “It’s the eyes. Lincoln has them too—big, brown, and full of so much life.”

“It wasn’t always like that…full of life,” he adds. “I wish I could take away the pain I caused them, give them back their childhoods, but I can’t. For the longest time, that thought only made things worse. I would dwell on the past and bury the pain with a bottle of Jack. I’m tired of doing that,” he breathes, looking down at his food. “I’m tired of burying the pain. I’m tired of hating my life and the decisions I’ve made. But I’m afraid it’s too late to make amends. The scars are too deep.”

Reaching out, I rest my hand on top of his. Chris looks at my hand and then at me. Tears swim in his eyes, and I wonder when was the last time anyone showed him some affection.

“I’m a firm believer in forgiveness.”

Chris squeezes my hand. “You think they’ll be able to forgive me?”

“I don’t know. They’ll never forget about the past, but I’d like to think that someday they’ll be able to forgive you.”

He takes a breath and looks at Chloe. She’s watching us and talking to Deacon.

“I’m not so sure,” he says.

“Asking for forgiveness is sometimes much harder than forgiving. But the thing is… You can’t receive forgiveness if you don’t ask for it. And when you ask for it, you need to be sincere. You can’t ask for it and then fall into the same dark hole you always fall into. You need to be sure you’re ready to follow up your words with actions.”

“You’re a smart girl,” Chris says, pushing his plate away.

I notice he only took a couple of bites. “Something wrong with your sandwich?”

He swallows and shakes his head, his face going a little pale. “No. I’m just not feeling the best.”

Making a fist, he presses it to the center of his chest, and all of my senses go on high alert.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, with a deep furrow to his brow. “It’s probably just indigestion from all the damn cookies I ate.”

“You had one.”

Chris gives me a look. “Seven. Every time I felt a pull toward the beer cooler, I went to the food table instead.”

“Well, that’s one way to avoid alcohol.”

Chris laughs, but it quickly turns into a moan. Sweat dots his forehead, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

“It’s not indigestion,” he manages.

My head whips to the right. Chloe must’ve seen what’s going on, because she’s already running toward us with Deacon close behind her.

“Call 911,” I tell them. “I’m going to find Lincoln.”

Deacon has pulled his phone out and is already making the call.

“I just saw him,” Chloe shouts, reaching for her father. “He’s by the front door.”

I run across the room. The bustle of the crowd must’ve gotten Lincoln’s attention because I find him walking toward me.

When I’m within arm’s reach, he grabs me. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s your dad,” I say frantically, pulling him across the room. “I think he’s having a heart attack.”