“That’s just wrong.”

I smiled and leaned against his shoulder.

—

I did get some sleep, partly because Ricky kept haranguing me until I closed my eyes, and once I did, I drifted off. I’d been propped against him, his arm around me. At some point I fussed enough to end up lying across the chairs, and he’d put the pillow under my head and draped the blanket over me, and when I woke, I was alone. I sat up quickly to find him still there, pacing.

“Go home,” I said. “Seriously. It’s a police station. I’m safe.”

I was teasing, but when he turned, the smile fell from my face. He looked like he’d been awake for three nights straight.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m—” He sat beside me. “Sorry, you don’t need my shit right now. I know that. I just can’t . . . I can’t keep . . .”

“Ricky . . . ?”

“We need to talk, and I know this isn’t the time, and I’ve been trying to push this off, but I can’t.”

“Do you want to step outside?” I asked.

He nodded.

“We’ll tease the desk officer,” I said. “Make him think we’ve actually given up our vigil.”

I smiled, but his expression stayed dead serious. My heart started to thump.

When we were in the parking lot, I said again, “What’s wrong?”

He glanced back toward the police station. “I shouldn’t do this now. It’s just . . . I managed all day, but then night comes, and what I can put off during the day . . . I can’t anymore.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “It’s over.”

“What?”

“You and me. You were looking for easy and comfortable, and that’s not what you’re getting. Between your father and James, and now this . . .”

“Hell, no. I do not want that. At all.”

“Well, it’s obviously something you’d rather wait to tell me, and that’s the only thing that came to mind.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Liv,” he said. “I really, really do not, and I’m afraid . . .” He exhaled hard. “I just want you to know that I thought I was doing the right thing. Obviously, my solution was the wrong one—the worst possible one—and if I could go back and change it, I would. In a heartbeat.”

“Okay, now you’re freaking me out.”

He exhaled again, and I could see the fear in his eyes, and I wanted to slap my hand over his mouth and say, No, don’t tell me. Whatever it is, if you’re this afraid to say it, don’t, because I don’t want to mess this up. I really do not want to mess this up. Instead, I took his hands, pulled him in front of me, and said, “Tell me.”

“It’s James. His death. I think—I think it might have been me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO