“I’m serious,” he insists. “You say you’re so worried about her, but when it comes down to it, you not only don’t think about what this is going to do to her, but you leave her alone—”

“I’ve done nothing but think about her since we met,” I spit out.

“Okay, fine. Maybe you’re too close to it. Back up a minute and look at the big picture.” When he’s only met with my obstinate silence, he prods me again. “Come on. You can do this. You’re an editor. Look at the whole story. Pretend you’re both characters. What is your character doing here? What is his purpose?”

“My—”

“His,” Casey corrects. “Back up.”

I shove out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. His purpose is her and her words. It always has been.”

“Okay. So, is this his big hero moment? Where he tells her she can do it all this time despite multiple protestations and evidence to the contrary? Despite her clearly having trouble keeping herself on this side of depression already? Is he going to have her repeat the past? Is that what our hero would do?”

“No. He’d make sure it was different this time…” I trail off. It’s a weak, tentative response. And it’s wrong. I can feel that.

You can’t fix her.

Casey hums. He’s probably smirking, too. “I think you’re almost there.”

You can’t save her, either.

I swing my steering wheel around and pull into my parking spot, but I leave the car running. The back of my head hits the headrest in defeat. “What do I do?”

“I can’t do that part for you,” he says. “But I think it starts with taking a hard look at what she actually needs versus what you think she needs. Maybe turning off your optimism and realistically thinking about what the past tells you about your future. If this were a book, you’d want it to end realistically, not in some fantasyland where everything works out with sunshine and roses. Start there.”

Using my thumb to rub my ring, I nod. My dad would have known what to do. He always did right by my mom. Always.

I sigh in defeat. “Let me know if you hear about Charles, okay?”

“Will do. And Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you’re well aware of this, but Scarlett is really special. And so fucking talented. This book…I get why you don’t want to let it go. But I have to believe that by supporting her now, you’ll see more from her later—you know what I mean?”

I’m starting to get it. Lightly running my fingers over the tattoo on my forearm, I say, “Yeah. I hope you’re right.”

But what I don’t say is that I also hope it doesn’t take another five years to get there.

Chapter 37

Scarlett