I’m careful not to look at him because even though I want to kiss him, it’s taken a lot for me to get to a point where I feel like I could live without him, and I don’t want that progress to vanish. Not before I hear him out in more words than one of his poems.

His shoulders are slumped, almost as if he’s struggling to keep his body upright.

“That was beautiful.” My lips quiver. I didn’t plan on getting emotional, but tears sting the corners of my eyes.

“I know it’s not enough,” he says.

“I just want to know why.” I don’t even know what I’m asking, specifically. I want to burrow deep into his mind and mine the recesses for answers to everything. I’ve already said what I needed to say at Aguyack Mountain. It’s his turn now.

“It’s complicated, but I’ll try to untangle.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m so torn up, Chase. I’m so deeply, ridiculously sorry for what Callum said about you and how I treated you. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.” Jack’s shaking—his voice, his hands, everything. Pain is etched on his face. “Our history is complicated. He’s my best friend. He’s been treated like a part of my family, and people think we’re brothers. He has this hold on me, and I wasn’t expecting to see him here. I thought maybe I could come to CIA, and my life here would be my life here, and my home life would be in the past, separated.”

“I get that, but it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know.” Jack motions for us to sit on a bench. “I remember being on the playground, and a couple of older kids were picking on me, and Cal just showed up like Captain America or something and told them to leave me alone. He was two years older than me but three years younger than my older brother, so he kind of just fit in between us in the family, like some long-lost sibling. It didn’t matter to Cal that I was young. We were inseparable. He took me under his wing. He helped me navigate high school and my first girlfriend and …”

Jack’s voice trails off. I give him time to calibrate, not bothering to press further until he’s ready. His eyes are big and open and ready to be honest in a way he hasn’t been before.

“I didn’t really realize that I was doodling our names together in the margins of my notebook or that the poems I was writing while I should’ve been paying attention in math class were about Cal. You know, overwrought stuff about how his eyes were bluer than the sky and that he was a blooming flower in a meadow of dead grass.”