I sigh, staring at the door and wondering if I could just keep this a secret to protect Fitz a little longer.

“Parker. If you want to use the lock tonight, you can.”

I wince. Fitz is sweet, too thoughtful. Every night we’ve shared the same bed, he always says the same thing. And most nights I did. But the door is the last thing on my mind.

“It’s not about the lock.”

It’s never been about the lock.

After a few deep breaths, I make my way over and climb onto the bed. “I have to tell you something.”

“Parker, you can tell me anything.”

My shoulders shake as I try so hard not to cry.

Fitz reaches for my hand. “What’s going on? What happened?”

So much. I feel it—the weight of everything past and present on top of my shoulders, pushing me down. I want that weight off. But I don’t want to shovel it onto Fitz.

“There’s nothing you could do that would make me love you any less.”

Love. It hasn’t been a word Fitz has kept secret, but one he doesn’t use as often as I know he wants to. It’s a word I’m worried I don’t know the meaning of. But maybe, slowly, Fitz is showing me. Whether he continues to do that after tonight, I’m not so sure.

“Your preseason game is on the sixth, right?”

Fitz nods. “In Tampa. Kickoff is at four.”

I sigh. “How heartbroken would you be if I missed it?”

“Heartbroken?” Fitz asks. “I’ll hardly play.”

Maybe I didn’t hear him correctly. “What?”

Fitz laughs. “Parker, preseason games, they’re meant more for the second strings and below. I’ll take a few snaps, but they try not to get the starters hurt before the season starts.”

Well. That takes care of one of my issues, but not all of them, and Fitz clearly can see that. “Is it the campaign?” he asks. “Did your mom call?”

“No, no, it’s just…I have to see Cam.”

Fitz’s eyebrows wrestle with the thought for a second.

I hold up a hand. “I swear, at the reunion, nothing was going on between us, not like that.” I take a deep breath. “I need his help with something. And no, it’s not campaign related unless, well, it ends the campaign.”

Sitting up straight, Fitz leans forward. “What are you talking about?”

I slip off the bed, wiping my face with the back of my hand as I turn on the light in the closet, heading to the back of it for the cookie tin. Fitz sits up against the pillows when I hand it to him.

“What’s this?”