The Birthday List(103)

Every step throbbed behind my eyes—the light from the windows only making it worse. By the time I made it downstairs, I walked straight to the couch and collapsed so I wouldn’t puke or pass out. “What are you doing here?”

Dad sighed and sat on the coffee table. “Matt Hernandez called me this morning. He’s been trying to get ahold of you since last night but kept getting voicemail.”

Shit. Where was my phone? It must have died sometime in the evening and I’d been too drunk to notice. Had Poppy tried to call?

“What did Matt want?”

“Just to check in.”

“Did he . . .”

“Tell me you found Jamie Maysen’s killer on Friday? Yeah.”

I grunted. I didn’t have the energy to rehash the story again and I was sure Matt had told him all about Nina Veras. “So?”

“So, I got the story from Matt.” He paused. “And then I went to her house and got the rest from Poppy.”

My eyes flew open as I sat up straight. “You saw her? Is she okay?”

It was New Year’s Day—Jamie’s birthday—and I couldn’t imagine today would be easier on her. I hated that I wasn’t by her side, but the last thing I wanted was my presence making things worse.

“She’s okay. Sad, as to be expected.”

I slumped back into the couch and stared at the ceiling. All that time I’d been working so hard to make Poppy happy. If only I had known that the best thing I could have done for her was to stay away.

“Cole, look at me.” Dad’s eyes softened with his voice. “There’s only one person to blame for that murder. It’s not you.”

I shook my head. “No. No, it is my fault.”

“Bullshit.” His bark made me wince. “We all give warnings. Every single cop in America has given a warning. Whether it be a speeding ticket to a soccer mom. A college kid that’s had too much to drink. Or a girl who was spray-painting an old wall that has since been torn down. If you’re to blame, then you might as well condemn the rest of us too.”

I sighed and hung my head. “Poppy lost her husband. I could have prevented that.”

“I just don’t believe that’s true, and if you would stop to think about it for a minute, you probably wouldn’t either. There’s no guarantee that girl ever would have been sent away. And even if she had been shipped back to California, all it would have taken was a bus ticket to get her back. The only person to blame for that murder is her. Are you hearing me? Her. Not you.”

My throat started to close. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is Poppy, and I lost her.”

“Then go find her.”

Without another word, Dad stood and let himself out. He left through the front door, but his words stayed, echoing in my living room.

Then go find her.

She’d asked me to leave. She hadn’t called. She wouldn’t want me around. Would she? As the question went unanswered, I pushed myself off the couch and shuffled into the kitchen. Dad’s words were still ringing in my ears.

Then go find her.

I filled a glass of water, chugging it down along with three pain pills.

I wanted to see her, but the truth was, I was scared. I hadn’t stayed away because of some text. I’d stayed away because of my own insecurities—my own jealousy. I’d assumed she was still so in love with Jamie that she’d never see past this horrible coincidence. That she’d never forgive me.

When in reality, I hadn’t given her enough faith.

Poppy had enough love for us both.

Then go find her.

Maybe things really were that simple.

I put my glass in the sink, ignoring the pain in my temples, and jogged to the stairs. Heading straight for the bathroom, I didn’t wait for the water to warm up before I stepped inside the shower. Then I washed away the booze and self-loathing, stepping out clean and ready to find Poppy.

There was no guarantee that she’d forgive me. No guarantee that we’d make it through this together. But I was going to find her and find out. I wasn’t going to let my own issues keep me away for another moment.

I drove to the restaurant first, but since her car wasn’t there, I flipped my truck around and went the opposite direction toward her house. A new For Sale sign was in the yard with a Sold placard already slanted across its front.

What the fuck? She’d sold her house already? I’d been here three days ago and it hadn’t even been listed.

I parked in front of her garage and went to her door, knocking but not expecting an answer. Every window was dark, and inside, I could only see empty rooms. Where was she? Where were her things?

My hand dove into my pocket for my phone. “Shit,” I muttered when it came out empty.

I didn’t have my phone. It was dead somewhere in my house.

Cursing myself for getting so drunk last night, I raced back toward my house, mentally drafting my apology speech once I got my phone charged.

I pulled up to my house, hitting the remote for the garage, but did a double take when I noticed the porch.

Two white rocking chairs—chairs Poppy had sworn she was going to buy after moving in—were placed perfectly in front of the railing.

She’d been here? I scanned the street, looking for her car, but it wasn’t here. Which meant we’d crossed paths. While I’d been searching for her, she’d been here. But why had she left?