“Why didn’t we take the elevator?” I ask.

“Aren’t professional athletes supposed to be in shape?” Parker snarks, pushing open a door. “If we took the elevator, we’d be stuck in there for two days. Things aren’t exactly up to code around here.”

I press the stack of boxes against the wall beside her apartment.

She turns the key in the bottom lock before slipping another into the bolt and whipping to face me. “Fitz, what are you doing here?”

“We had plans,” I remind her. “You’re the one who couldn’t bother to text me and⁠—”

“I couldn’t have my phone!” Parker’s face wrinkles with frustration. “No, it wasn’t my dad. It was my sister. And my mom and… I just can’t now. And maybe we should take it as a sign, you know? Maybe it was a mistake that I reached out at the club and…”

She shakes her head before squeezing her eyes shut.

“Parker…” I take a deep breath and step closer. “If you⁠—”

“Do you remember Camden Holdings?”

I jut my head back, thinking for a moment. “Cam Holdings from Thacher?”

Parker nods.

“Yeah. Guy was a total douchebag,” I say. “Why?”

“Right?” Parker spins, leaning against the door and breaking into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

I scratch my head. “But… what does seeing your family have to do with Cam exactly?”

I’ve always heard you should never ask questions you’re afraid to know the answers to. When Parker’s laughter dies down and silence floats between us, I immediately regret mine.

* * *

“Married.”

Parker nods.

“Married?”

“Yes, Fitz. Married.”

We’ve been sitting on the couch in Parker’s living room for twenty minutes. I’ve listened while Parker talked quietly, telling me about the trust fund she’ll only be able to access once she’s married, how her mother suggested she date Cam with the purpose of doing that.

“What is this, some sort of arranged marriage? To Cam?”

Parker shrugs gently. “I guess it’s more of dating with the intent to marry. They’ve fished but haven’t pitched it to him yet, or so they say. But… there’s more.”

I don’t need any more. “I’ll give you the money. Whatever it is, I’ll match it. Without strings. Tell your family to piss off. I’ll call my accountant, and you’ll have it in a day.”

She sighs. “You’re not doing that. You worked hard for that money. And⁠—”

“This is going to sound incredibly pompous, especially after what I did on the roof,” I say, holding out a hand, “but speaking from experience, when someone tells you they have more money than they know what to do with, it’s the truth.”