“How can I . . . Do you even hear yourself?” I’m about to tell her to cut the crap, but the front door opens and her momma calls out she’s home. “Look. Here’s how this is going down. You’re gonna tell me the truth, right now, or I’ll tell your parents everything I know, with or without you.”

“You wouldn’t,” she says through sobs.

“Watch me.” I make for the door.

“Wait!” she calls when I’m halfway out.

I face her, crossing my arms over my chest, standing near the door.

“Okay, okay.” She moves her hands away and her eyes are clear and sharp and I’m stunned all over again that I fell for her lies for so long. “You’re right, Fitz. I might have gone off the road on purpose, but I didn’t want to hurt myself. I wasn’t going fast at all, but then it was dark and the shoulder was steeper than I thought. It was just because you weren’t calling me back and I wanted to show you how much I still care about you. I did it for you, don’t you see?”

I think I’ve passed the point of disbelief and gone straight into flabbergast. I can’t even speak, and I don’t have to because Abby keeps going.

“You don’t understand. I can’t tell them about what I’ve done and Kevin and everything . . . everything I did to you. I can’t stand it. They’ll hate me.”

“They won’t hate you.” Though I might. I sigh and run a frustrated hand through my hair. I’m surprised I’m not bald after the last two days. “How’s this. We tell them we mutually decided we’re better as friends. It’s not a lie, that’s why we broke up. I’ll leave out the cheating and fake accident and let you to decide if and when you want to tell them anything else. But I’m done with this. I can’t keep lying to my parents. I’m with Reese now.” I hold her gaze so she knows I mean it.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe you moved on so fast,” she grumbles.

“You moved on faster.”

“That doesn’t count. Kevin was . . . a blip.” She flicks a finger at me. “You won’t have a blip, Fitz. You stick.”

I think about Reese. Her funny faces, her quick brain, and the way she felt in my arms. “I sure hope so.”

“I can’t pretend to be happy for you.”

“You get to feel however you feel.”

All I’m feeling is relief.

Until fifteen minutes later, when we’ve broken the news to her momma.

She cries, like I knew she would, and she wants more details than I’m prepared to give, but Abby finally convinces her we decided we were better as friends.

I throw into the conversation that Abby needs help—really needs to talk to someone about her accident. Abby protests, but I think Martha listens, at least.

I’ve done all I can do.