He knew he wasn’t supposed to know about it; he had eavesdropped on a conversation he was never supposed to hear, made in the worst of circumstances. But he’d heard it, there was no denying it, even if he didn’t truly understand what was said. He’d made the decision that any man who loved his family would make.

After all, she’d risked everything for him. Her reputation, her marriage, the exposure of her secrets, all to find him. To save him.

His grandmother, who went from mildly famous to internationally infamous, faced the kind of scrutiny that would make most people turn away from the world. But not his grandmother. She was stronger than anyone he’d ever known.

I’m trying to be brave like you. To risk everything for my family. It’s why I can’t tell you where I am.

He hated causing her to once again relive the pain that she—and all of his family—endured more than a decade ago. Despite everything they’d gone through since then, he knew all they wanted was for him to be home.

But you are alive. Without me, Nanna isn’t a danger to anyone. But if I return, you could all die.

From now on, his memories would have to suffice—of the family that loved him and that he loved so much in return.

William Chance had no choice but to never see them again.

The most famous boy in the world was dead.

William repeated the words in his head like an invocation. He’d waited in the Jeep in the parking lot until the kid, dragging his mother in a faded Razorback tank top and balancing a cigarette and a toothpick in her mouth with the skill of a juggler, emerged with a grape slushy. When they got into their Mini Cooper and pulled out, only a rusted Honda Civic with the bumper sticker, “I Miss Bill,” remained.

The stifling air, void of a trace of a breeze, propelled through the vents in the Wrangler. He’d taken the doors off in the absence of air conditioning that had cut off about three months ago. When the Jeep came to a halt, even at a stoplight, the summer heat rushed in, threatening to drown him in his own sweat.

This was his chance.

The most famous boy in the world was dead.

He turned off the engine and slid out, pulling the rim of his St. Louis Cardinals ball cap down low, and walked through the doors.

“Welcome to Uncle Steve’s Food Mart,” a girl at the checkout said with the enthusiasm of a deflating balloon. William imagined a manager sending out a memo, maybe stapling it to the paychecks: Every customer must receive a greeting at the door—a warm greeting means hot business! William nodded in sympathy.