I can’t say anything. I just cry more than a decade of tears. I let a river of it all flow from me. And when the tears slow—but don’t stop—I lean up to look at him. I want to see his face. I want to memorize the way his scruff curtains off his hidden dimple, the two things the perfect balance of Fitz the boy, who I never knew I gave my heart to, and Fitz the man, who I realize I wish would never give it back.

I’m terrified he’ll return what’s left of it—as is his right. Because here I am, making things difficult. And maybe that moment will come in the next breath, the next second or minute or in an hour. But for now, he’s holding me. He’s with me.

Fitz rubs his hands up and down my back, bringing them to rest on my shoulders. “How I feel about you now is the same as back then,” he tells me. “And how I feel about this—and that place—now? I would’ve felt the same back then. I would’ve come for you if I knew, I swear.”

In my mind, I see the writing he added on the bottom of the bleachers and part of me wishes he could’ve done that. But the other part of me can’t ignore that what he has now, as a professional athlete, isn’t even close to what he had going on then.

“Parker. What happened to Sarah?”

My shoulders shake beneath Fitz’s hands. “S-she died.”

Fitz’s hold on me tenses and I lean my forehead against his bare chest.

“She died,” I repeat with a hoarse voice. “And she didn’t have to. All this time, I just imaged she was free, you know? And when I got out, and I looked at the sun and there was no one to tell me my fifteen minutes of outside time was done… I didn’t want to look back at any of it. I didn’t want to find her. But I didn’t know what really happened until now. She’s Abby’s sister.”

Taking a deep breath, I lean back from his chest.

“Abby’s family never appealed the wrongful death lawsuit because their lawyer felt they didn’t have enough evidence. I know the exact days she was sick. I told them I’d testify if they filed a new lawsuit.”

His face remains unchanged. “And?