Her tone isn’t malicious, and she’s not wrong, but the words sting anyway.

I don’t stick around to hear Abby’s response. Or Fitz’s, for that matter, if there is one.

I walk. And then I keep walking. The hospital is a blur of people and white corridors. I have to get out of here, but I’m so discombobulated that I end up lost.

Finally, a kind nurse directs me to the nearest exit and I make my way outside.

I’m halfway to my car before I notice him. He’s already there, leaning against the driver’s side door, hands stuffed in his pockets. I stop and glance back at the hospital—is it too late to go hide in a bathroom?

“Reese.” He steps away from the car.

As he approaches, I studiously ignore the attractive way he moves, the confidence of his gait, the lean muscles in his arms flexing. I wrap my arms around my middle. “You know, Abby didn’t really try to hurt herself. Well, she did, but not to actually inflict damage.”

He stops a few feet in front of me. “What are you talking about?”

“She told me she did it to get your attention.”

His mouth opens, then closes.

“But it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re still with her.”

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Her momma thinks you are.”

He grimaces. Shoving his hands in his pockets, his head falling back and his eyes shutting for a brief moment before he gives me one quick nod. “Yes.”

“Does your family know?”

“We didn’t tell our parents about the breakup. I told Abby I would wait. She was already in trouble for other stuff and I figured we could tell them later.”

“So that’s the real reason you couldn’t live with your parents. You didn’t want her to get in trouble. You were protecting her.”

“Initially, yes. But then my parents decided to sell and move anyway, so it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“When are you gonna tell them?”

His eyes are dark with concern. “I’m not sure.”

I stare down at the street, where a dandelion has had the audacity to take root in a crack of asphalt. Somehow, this little weed was strong enough to grow in the least hospitable environment. I’m sure there’s a metaphor somewhere in there but my heart is hurting so badly it’s affecting my brain, and nothing is coming to mind except wanting to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. Away from all this.

“Even now? After what I just told you? It’s one thing for Abby to be a drama queen, it’s quite another to . . . to lie and pretend she’s suicidal with the sole purpose of messing with your life. Can’t you see that?”

“I can’t—I don’t know. I need to think about it.”

“It’s not like I want to meet your parents as your girlfriend or anything yet anyway. But . . . Fitz. It hurts that you don’t care enough to tell people we’re together. Because . . . we are? Aren’t we? I didn’t mistake everything that’s been happening, did I?”