“The night of the fire, Dad had the neighbor check to make sure I was home like I was supposed to be. Only I wasn’t. I was at the warehouse. About an hour before all hell broke loose, he’d texted me. Get the fuck home.” He releases a long breath and shakes his head. “I ignored the text. I was being a punk and was pissed at him for trying to control me. I wasn’t about to admit to anything or let him tell me what to do.”

I rest my elbows on my knees. That’s why Max was so insistent about there being kids inside. He thought his son was there.

“I was there when the fire started,” Isaiah says, his voice low and distant. “We couldn’t get downstairs. By the time we realized the building was on fire, it was too bad. We crawled out through a second-story window and jumped down onto one of the rusted-out old cars in the back. The fire trucks were already there, but we hid. We didn’t want anyone to know where we’d been because we’d get in trouble, so we ran into the forest. Everyone else scattered—headed home or wherever—but I couldn’t make myself leave. I saw Dad go in. I was so scared, but I told myself this was his job. He wouldn’t do anything stupid. I stood watching through the trees and waited for him to come back out.” He pushes himself up and grimaces as he scoots back to lean against his headboard. When he turns to me, tears stream down his cheeks. “Only he never did.”

I reach for his hand and squeeze. He doesn’t pull away. “Your dad made his own decisions that night. He was trained. He knew the dangers, and it wasn’t the first time he took risks when he was told to pull out.”

“I wanted to blame you, but I couldn’t, and the guilt ate at me. It’s my fault.”

“No more than it’s mine.” I draw in a long, deep breath. “Every day since it happened, I’ve blamed myself.”

He shakes his head. “What were you supposed to do? Drag him out? If you’d gone back in and tried, you’d be dead too.”

“I know. And for more days than I want to admit, I wished for that. Thought it would be easier to live with than this failure. But I’m glad I didn’t, because I couldn’t have saved him from the fire, but I can be here for you.” I squeeze Isaiah’s hand hard, and he surprises me when he squeezes mine in return, and I feel the shift in both of us—from guilt to true grief—like a presence in the room.

Maybe we both blamed ourselves because that was easier than accepting that Max is gone. He’s never coming back, no matter how unfair that feels. And maybe now, together, we can finally let him go.

Teagan

He came. Carter came to the wedding. I almost cried with relief when I saw him seated in the pew behind my mother, but I kept it together. Of course he came. He’s Carter Jackson, and I can count on him.