Unrelatable, I think to myself. I guess it’s more Montgomery now than ever.

I open the car door and walk up to the iron gate, peeking through. The pebbles of the driveway are gone. The dark pavement flows seamlessly into the street the driveway intersects. From what I can see, flower boxes no longer flank the front windows. But this view isn’t enough.

Eyeing the gate, I sidestep, reaching out to touch the concrete wall that stands higher than me. Fitz sighs. He probably knows where this is going.

That’s confirmed when he comes behind me, gripping my waist.

“Ready?” His breath tickles my ear. For a second, I matter more than enough. Because even though he’s got a firm hold on me, there’s a delicate lace to his touch, to the way he stands around me. Maybe I don’t need to see the house. After all, I’ll never have it. In my mind, I’ve already given it up.

“Parker?”

But I’m no chicken.

I nod and Fitz lifts me so I can grab the top of the wall. This one is easier than the fence at school. But maybe that’s because Fitz doesn’t stop supporting me until I’m sitting on the top.

I hold out a hand for him.

“I’ll pull you over if I grab onto you. Just give me a second.”

“Aren’t you a professional athlete?”

“Do you know how much climbing is involved in football? Zippo.”

“Ma’am.”

My eyes sweep from Fitz, who now hangs from the wall, to the SUV, where Agent Samuels. “This is private property.”

“Call the police then,” I say as if I care before turning my attention back to Fitz. In another time and another place, he might mumble my name under his breath, a quiet, boy scout’s warning to not challenge authority. But now? He surprises me again. I don’t have to tell Fitz Let’s go because he’s already on his way up. When he reaches the top, I drop down.

And the moment my feet touch the ground, regret inches up my body as if poison was planted in the soil I’ve now rooted myself on.

With the house in full view, I can’t help but choke over the urge to flee.

From the house.

From my family.

“Come on.” Fitz lands beside me.

From the relationship I drew up.

There’s a mischievous look on his face, one I haven’t seen in a long time, not since we were young before Honey died, before he drifted away—before everything went to shit. The wave of nostalgia he carries is soothing to my burning throat that stings from the scream it holds. It’s calming to my heart that’s sounding the alarm through my veins no one else hears.

“Kind of looks the same,” Fitz says.