“You think running away is going to fix anything?” I asked, stepping between him and the suitcase.

He stiffened, but when he turned to look at me, his face was blank. “I’m not running. I’m leaving before I break anything else.”

“No,” I seethed. “You’re not leaving. Not like this.”

I grabbed his suitcase again, gripping the handle tightly.

Blake did the same, and for a long moment, we were locked in a silent battle, both refusing to let go.

He leaned in, his face inches from mine. “It’s done, Beverly. I’m leaving. And you’re not going to stop me.”

I tightened my grip. “Talk to me first,” I insisted, my voice shaking. “Just stay for an hour. Please. I’m not asking for the day. Just an hour⁠—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he cut in. “I’ve thought long and hard about this. I’m going to college, and you’re staying here. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

My breath left me in a choked sound, something between a sob and a plea. “Blake.”

He couldn’t leave.

Not like this.

Not when everything was broken between us.

I had already lost my dad. I had already lost my mom to her own grief. Blake was all I had left. If he left, he would have control. He could ignore me.

He could move on.

But I wouldn’t.

“What about us, Blake?”

He sighed, tilting his head toward the sky as if he was asking for patience. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You look at me like I’m some damaged thing you can fix, and I’m telling you, Beverly, I am not fixable.”

“No. No, that’s not true⁠—”

“Isn’t it?” Blake’s voice cracked slightly, but he covered it fast. “I killed him.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did.” His chest rose and fell too fast, his breathing uneven. “And every time I look at you, all I can think about is that I’m the reason you don’t have a dad anymore. That I took him from you. That I—” He stopped, clenching his jaw so tight it looked painful.

Tears blurred my vision, and my body trembled with how badly I needed him to believe me. “You didn’t take him from me,” I croaked out. “Blake, you tried to save that woman and her son.”

“And I lost him in the process.”

I stepped forward, grabbing his arm, gripping his sleeves so hard my knuckles ached. “But that’s not all you are,” I told him. “You think you’re broken. You think you’re this horrible person, this—this mistake, but you’re not. Not even close. You’re brilliant. You’re good. You care so much it hurts.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “And you have no idea how much I need you.”