The Birthday List(38)

“Got it.”

“And don’t worry. Even if you’re not the lead, this case could be big for your career.”

“That’s not why I’m doing this.”

“I know.” He held up his hands. “I’m just saying. It could be the case that guarantees you get my job when I retire.”

I shook my head. “That’s not—we don’t have time to talk about that today.”

“You’re right. Let’s talk about that later.” His eyes glanced at the clock on the wall behind my back. “Quarter ’til. Out you go.”

I pushed up from the chair. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Say hello to Poppy for me.”

“Will do.” Dad had been a hell of a cop in his day—smart enough to know where I was running off to this afternoon without needing to be told.

But even good cops had blind spots, and my career was his. No matter how many times I told him, he just couldn’t see why I’d never want his job.

Someday, I’d have to make him see. And hope like hell he wasn’t disappointed in his son.




“Hey, Molly. Is Poppy in the back?”

“Yeah.” Molly waved me closer to the register as she leaned across the counter. “Listen, she’s had a rough morning. I know you guys were planning on the fair this afternoon, but she might not be up to it.”

A rough morning? My heart rate jumped up a notch. “What happened?”

“I’ll let her tell you.” She nodded toward the kitchen door. “She’s in the office, just head on back.”

I didn’t waste any time pushing through the swinging door and walking straight to the office, where I found Poppy with her head in her hands at the desk.

“Hey.”

Her red and puffy eyes shot up to mine. “Hey.”

Was her chin quivering? She was going to break my fucking heart. I’d never seen her cry, not even after her husband had been killed. Talk about a punch to the gut.

“What happened?” I walked to the desk, pushing aside a stack of papers so I could sit on the edge. I flattened my palms on my thighs, pressing them down, fighting the urge to pull Poppy into my arms.

Poppy wiped her eyes and sniffled. “I had lunch today with Jamie’s parents and Jimmy, Jamie’s granddad. We got in a big fight. I asked them if I could have Jamie’s old truck, since technically it’s mine, but they’ve had it at their ranch all these years. They asked why I wanted the truck, which led to me telling them I wanted to fix it up, which led to them asking why again and me finally admitting I was doing Jamie’s birthday list.”

“Didn’t go over well, huh?”

She scoffed. “Not at all. Debbie, his mom, started crying. Kyle informed me that it wasn’t my place to do their son’s list and that I was crossing the line.”

Assholes. I didn’t personally know Jamie’s parents, but treating Poppy like that spoke volumes. But calling them assholes probably wouldn’t help. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “I’d expected them to be upset about it, but I guess I’d hoped deep down that they’d understand why I wanted to do his list. We all used to be so close once. Now . . . things are different. They blame me for Jamie’s death.”

“What the fuck?” Jamie’s parents blamed Poppy for his death? That was bullshit. “You aren’t responsible for his death.” That responsibility belonged to the sick fuck I was becoming more and more dedicated to hunting down with every passing second.

Poppy looked to her lap. “No, they’re right. I am partly to blame. I’m the one who asked Jamie to go to the liquor store in the first place. He didn’t really want to go, but he did for me.”

Did she seriously think this was her fault? “You are not to blame.”

A couple of tears started to fall again, and she hurried to wipe them dry. “I am. He’d be alive if I hadn’t asked him to go to that store.”

“No.” I leaned in closer. “You are not to blame. The guy that pulled the trigger? He’s got Jamie’s death on his head. Not you.”

She nodded but didn’t look up.

“Poppy, look at me.” I tipped up her chin with the side of my finger. “There are things in the world outside of our control. Other people’s actions mostly. Nothing you did caused Jamie’s death.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Logically, I know you’re right. But I still feel like this is all my fault.” Her shoulders began shaking as the hold on her tears broke, sending them streaming down her beautiful face.

Screw it. I grabbed her arms and pulled her out of the chair. Then I held her, whispering into her hair as she cried into my black shirt.

She didn’t once try and push me away. Instead, she collapsed against my chest—her hands fisting the cotton at my sides as she let go. When she clung harder, I held on tighter. Every one of her tears sent a spear through my heart.

Had she been living with this guilt for five years? No wonder she’d been so diligent about visiting Simmons. She was looking for some answers—for a place to put the blame so she could take it off her own shoulders.

Poppy cried hard but it didn’t last long. She pulled herself together, sniffling and taking a few deep breaths before she stood back.