“It can be,” I think for a minute. “Are you going to tell me why you kissed me?”

“Are you going to tell me what made you so upset this afternoon?”

My shoulders drop, and I sift through more pieces. I don’t even know what the final product will reveal. A sunset maybe.

Fitz sighs. “There’s no expiration date on my question. You can talk to me anytime.”

But if we proceed as we initially agreed, there technically is an expiration date for us, sometime early next year after the Super Bowl. I have to wonder if we’d make it that far—if Fitz would if he knew everything.

“I just want to be a safe space for you,” he continues, “I have a feeling you haven’t had one for a long time.”

He’s right and his words? They slice me open. It’s his honest reassurance that lets me talk.

“They call it a therapeutic boarding school,” I say after taking several deep breaths. My eyes remain focused on the table and I watch the puzzle piece Fitz holds still between his fingertips. “They sent me there when my dad was first running for president. Because of how I was acting. Because of my behavior.”

The puzzle piece Fitz holds between his fingertips stills.

“It’s nothing like school,” I whisper.

Fitz folds the piece into his palm, bringing his hand down to rest on the table.

I take a deep breath. I wish I could spill everything that eats away at me—everything that happened to me, but I only manage one thing. “I hate them,” I whisper, reaching out for another puzzle piece. “And I want the country to know that the man they elected to take care of them couldn’t take care of his daughter. I was thinking I’d do that the night of the convention in August. They’re planning for me to give the introductory speech.”

Drumming my fingers, I lean back from the table, bringing my gaze to Fitz. “I don’t want you to hate me. I didn’t think about how that might impact you until now. I don’t know if I’ll fit the mold for a football wife after I see this through.”

Closer to Fitz lies a sharp corner. I go to grab it, but Fitz intercepts my hand.

“You have an out, Fitz.” I slip my fingers from his. “I feel like we jumped into it all too fast, and I know I haven’t told you everything, but⁠—”

“Parker.” His voice is clear and steady. “I’m with you.”

My lips begin to tremble. “You don’t even know…”

You don’t know what they did to me, I want to cry. But no more words come out of me. Only tears.