Paisley’s gaze darted to Ember, then Sam. Sam took a step closer. To support or restrain me? I didn’t know, and I didn’t give a shit.

“You said you were in therapy. That you couldn’t talk about him. That you needed space! I was just trying to give you that space! I figured that when you were ready, you’d call and I’d tell you.” Sweet mercy, the woman had the audacity to look hurt.

“God, I’m trying so hard!” I screamed at the sky. “I thought I was ready for this, but maybe I’m not.”

“Don’t walk away,” she begged when I retreated a step. “Morgan, you’ve been my best friend all my life, and the silent treatment is killing me!”

“Killing you?” I fumbled for words as my soul scraped over a cheese grater, cut to tiny, shredded pieces by the blades of my anger and my own guilt for feeling it. “It’s killing you?”

“Please talk to me! If it’s the invitation, then you don’t have to come, and I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, I swear. I was just trying to protect you like you’ve protected me our entire lives.” Her hands rose beseechingly, as if she could tug me back to emotionally stable ground.

Spoiler alert—there wasn’t any emotionally stable ground. There hadn’t been in years. I was more combustible than the unlit bonfire next to us.

“It’s a little late to start protecting me, Paisley Lynn.”

All the color drained from her face, and her hand rose to her chest, a nervous tell from when her heart hadn’t been healthy. “Morgan…you have to talk to me.”

Raw, ugly emotion bubbled in that little container I kept it locked up in. I was a shaken soda, and Paisley was twisting my top.

“I can’t!” My anger would eat her alive, and that was something she didn’t deserve.

“You can!” she urged.

Those hideous feelings started to hiss as she cracked my seal.

“How long have you known he was getting the medal?” I questioned, looking for any reason to hold on to my composure. “Was it last week when the invitations came?”

Regret slackened her shoulders. “No. Daddy told me six weeks ago. Right before you told me you needed space.”

I exploded.

“Six weeks? You’ve known for six weeks?”

She pressed her lips in a thin line and nodded. “I’m so sorry—”

“Did you know?” I pivoted my rage at Ember.

She glanced between Paisley and me, then nodded. “Yeah, but we live right next—”

“You?” I faced Sam.

She put her hands up. “Don’t look at me. I had no clue.” She pinned a look on Josh and Jagger. “And neither does Grayson.”