He trails off, and I know I’m busted.

“Hey,” he nudges me with a shake of my leg. “Are you awake?”

“I’m awake,” I mutter into my pillow.

He chuckles in his good-natured way before pulling the pillow out from under my face. “Will you at least sit up and acknowledge me then?” he teases, hitting me in the back with the pillow he just stole.

I know I’m not going to get away with this now.

I sit up and sniffle, but I don’t bother trying to dry my eyes.

“Are you crying?” he demands, sounding equal parts shocked and concerned.

I roll my eyes. “No, I was just moisturizing my cheekbones.”

“Maddie girl,” he soothes, genuinely sympathetic this time as he pulls me into a hug. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

I lean into his side and sigh. It was stupid to come here. I knew I wouldn’t get through this weekend without breaking down.

“Oh, just having one of my daily cries,” I admit with a shrug.

“One of them? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

I sigh again—something I picked up from Dempsey, apparently—before pulling back and studying my brother. “If I tell you, do you promise not to judge me?”

He agrees, so I tell him everything.

About the first night, when I realized Dempsey didn’t know who I was. About the clock tower and his reaction when he drove me home. The nights that followed at The Oak, and about helping Fielding at the party.

Rhett cuts me off there and makes me show him the video on my phone—he stays silent while he watches, but his jaw does that agitated tick thing it does by the end.

I explain what happened when Adley came to the bar, and I take great pleasure in ratting out Jake for telling Fielding about our secret relationship. I go on about my summer with Dempsey. I show him pictures of New York. And then I recount the harrowing time we spent apart after their mom died, followed by what I now realize was the most meaningful, profound week of my life.

I tell my brother how I left, and that Dempsey didn’t ask me to stay. I sob as I confess that I’ve cried over him every single day for the last five weeks.

Rhett holds me and pets my hair. He soothes me and assures me it’ll be okay. At some point, Judy magically appears in the loft with a box of tissues, two glasses of lemonade, and a plate of fresh-baked cookies. I would roll my eyes at her overbearing antics if I wasn’t so comforted by the gesture.

“When’s the last time you talked to him?” Rhett asks through a mouthful of warm chocolate chip goodness. Judy really does make the best cookies.

“The night before I left Hampton. Five weeks ago.”