“Don’t—” I spring up from my perch on the edge of the bed. “Don’t do that. I’m not crazy, and I’m not making this up. Look.” I pull my phone from my pocket and open the most recent photo, then I shove it at him.

He starts to refuse to take it. But then his focus drops to my screen, and he goes so still it’s like someone tapped the pause button. I’m not sure he’s even breathing.

“Oh my god, there is a dead baby.” He takes the phone and sinks into my desk chair again. “That’s so fucked up.” He frowns up at me. “Why would you take a picture of it?”

“Look at the bag.”

Still frowning, he uses two fingers to zoom in on the image. “It’s a CHS duffel bag. Every athlete in school has one. They even sell them to the golf team.”

“Look at the bottom of the bag, on the left side.”

He zooms in again, and I can tell the instant he sees the stain. He keeps blinking while he stares. “Bleach.” Finally, he looks up. “Okay, that doesn’t mean anything. I mean, it’s creepy, because that’s definitely my bag. But I already told you. I lost my duffel.”

“You said you hadn’t realized you’d lost it until I texted.”

“I hadn’t. But that doesn’t change anything. I have no idea how it got there, and I have nothing to do with that baby.” He shoves my phone at me. “Is my bag really in police custody?”

“Yes. They don’t know it’s yours yet, but—”

“You didn’t tell your mom?”

“I wanted to ask you about it first.” Because I had to know. And because I felt like I owed him that, after everything he did for me after my dad died. Night after night of holding me while I cried myself to sleep. Calming me down after nightmares. Riding out emotional outbursts I couldn’t even explain. He was so there in those moments. So present. Which is why I can’t understand how things changed. Why he’s lying now. Hiding things. Unless … “You’re sure that’s not your baby?”

His gaze hardens. “Of course I’m sure.”

“Is there any way that could be your baby without you knowing it?”

“No!” He stands and runs one hand through his hair again. “What are you now, a cop?”

“You look scared.”

“Of course I’m scared. If you don’t believe me, why would the police?”

“When they figure out that’s your bag, they’ll take your DNA and run a paternity test. If the baby isn’t yours, you’ll be cleared. But if it is … Well, lying about it now is pointless.”