“Truthfully? Because . . . because it’s like if I put it out into the atmosphere, I can never reel it back in.”

She makes a face. “Why would you wanna reel it in?”

“Because . . . I’m dumb?”

“Jamal.”

“Because then . . .” My throat clenches. “Because then maybe it won’t hurt as bad when it’s over.”

She frowns. “Why does it have to be over?”

I shrug. “Because everything ends.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, well, it’s the only version I know.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s time you take responsibility for that.”

“What’s that mean?”

She turns to face me. “It means maybe you’d still have a few good things if you weren’t so determined to be an asshole to everyone.”

I nod. “I’m sorry I lied. I guess I wanted to erase Q from my brain. I didn’t want to acknowledge he’d ever meant anything to me.”

“You can’t change that. And even if you could, what good would it do? You’re only hurting the people who’ve stuck by you. And you’re only hurting yourself.”

“You’re right.”

“Pain’s never a reason to be shitty. And I’m telling you, right now, if you ever treat me like that again, it’ll be the last time you see me.”

“I know. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.”

“So, does this mean you forgive me?”

“It means you’ve got some work to do.”

I scoot closer. “Autumn, I . . .”

But she puts her finger to my lips. “No,” she says. “Don’t say it. Not now.”

“But I . . .”

She slips my arm over her shoulders. “Wait until it’s right. When you want to say it.”

Her cheek falls into mine.

“Okay,” I say, even though right now feels right.

“But don’t wait another two years, or honestly another two weeks, because you will be saying it to yourself at that point.” She pulls her head away to see my eyes. “You got me?”

I stare right back. “I got you. Always.”

I slide over a bit more, and this time she does too. Meets me in the middle, which is all anyone can ask for.

She slowly lowers her head to rest against mine, like she’s not certain it belongs there anymore.

“You scared me, Jamal. When they pulled you from that water, I . . . I . . .”

“I know,” I say, squeezing her tighter.

“You can’t scare me like that again, okay? Like ever.”

And of course, we both know there are things beyond our control. Things we can’t truly promise away.

But also, sometimes, that’s not the point. “I won’t.”

With her free arm, she flings another rock—but attached to me, she can’t get the same velocity, the same arc, and it just barely finds the water.

Which, sorry, but uh, can you say metaphor?

Sure, you might sail faster, farther, alone.