Teagan

I knock on the door first. It’s ridiculous, I guess. I mean, it’s my room too, but after our fight last night—after the things I said—I feel like he deserves some privacy. So I knock, and when he doesn’t respond, I knock again.

I was grateful that Saanvi was nearly drunk upon returning to her suite last night. She was giggly and chatty and completely oblivious to the fact that I was one wrong word away from falling apart. I slept like hell, wondering if I’d ruined everything between me and Carter, wondering if we ever stood a chance to begin with.

“Carter?” No answer.

I use my key and squeeze my eyes shut at what awaits me inside. His suitcase is packed and sitting by the door. He’s ready to leave, and I can’t blame him one bit.

I pull out my phone and open the text stream between us to tell him it’s okay. To tell him I understand if he wants to go, and I appreciate all that he did. But our most recent texts stare back at me from the night he showed up at my house and made me dinner.

Carter: You home?

Me: In my pajamas and curled up with a book. I’m trying to enjoy the calm before the chaos tomorrow.

Carter: Want to come to the door?

I close my eyes, remembering that night. Was that only four days ago? It feels like a lifetime has passed since he sat across from me and made me laugh with his stupid pet names. I tap to start a new message, but I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to ask him to stay, because I’m not sure I deserve it. But I can’t bring myself to tell him he should go either.

Carter

I could count the number of times I’ve seen Isaiah cry on one hand, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him cry like this. When I push into his bedroom, he’s sitting in silence, curled on his side—as much as a linebacker teen with a thigh-to-foot cast can curl—tears rolling onto his pillow.

I sit on the couch beside the bed and run through a dozen things I can say. None of them are right.

Before I can figure anything out, he says, “It’s my fault he’s dead,” and my heart breaks for him all over again.

“Isaiah, it’s normal to feel like that, but—”

“You aren’t hearing me. It’s my fault.” He rolls to his back and stares at his ceiling. “I’m the reason he went back in there—the reason he broke the rules and got himself killed.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand. Why would you think that?”

“Because I was there. He caught me hanging out there a few nights before the fire. It’s where a bunch of us would go to smoke.” When I lift a brow in question, he sighs. “Weed, Carter. But as far as Dad was concerned, we might as well have been smoking crack or some shit. We used to smoke in Rafe’s basement, but his mom said she could smell it, and we’d all heard rumors that people would hang out at the warehouse to drink and smoke and screw.