We were ten years old when Molly left, and eight long, blurred-out years had passed since the night she was ripped from my life in the dark of night.

For years after it happened, I couldn't look at the house across the street. Not when it was a pile of ash and rubble, and not when it was rebuilt and occupied with a shiny new family.

I just couldn’t cope with the memories.

With the pain of losing her.

With the guilt.

So, I buried it all down, smothered my tortured memories deep inside the guy I forced myself to be – the guy with the carefree nature, who didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.

That guy was QB1 and focused solely on football. He never got too close to anyone. He had no plans on becoming another teenage statistic and was getting the hell out of this town and never looking back.

It was easier that way.

It was the only way I survived the loss, grief, and guilt that weighed heavily on my shoulders.

For years my denial had worked.

Until now.

Until I remembered that the boy that guy used to be had always planned on taking her with him.

Fuck…

"Okay, something is seriously fucking wrong with you," Rourke accused when he stalked into the locker room after the game. I was the first off the field tonight and should have known he would follow me in here.

"Something's up and I wanna know what that is," he demanded, tossing his helmet on the ground and stalking over to me. "Come on, D. You were off your game tonight. Your head sure as shit wasn't on the field back there. You're being quiet. You are never quiet. And you look haunted, man. Tell me what's going on here."

Haunted didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I was feeling.

"Forget it." Collapsing on the bench, I tossed my pads on the floor and sighed. "You wouldn’t understand."

"I wouldn’t understand?" Sinking down on the bench beside me, Rourke leaned back and gave me his full attention. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Just drop it, dude," I growled, dropping my head in my hands. "I'm allowed to have a goddamn off-day."

Rourke was quiet for a long moment, clearly trying to mentally pick my brain. "Hold up," he finally said, arching an incredulous brow. "You're acting all weird and fucked up because you're still tripping out over Molly?"

I stiffened.

"So you didn’t realize she came home. Big damn deal," he was quick to defend my despicable actions. "You were ten when she left town, D, and it ain't like you've ever been one to listen to idle gossip. Ocean Bay is a pretty big fucking place, dude, and the girl doesn’t run in the same circle as us. Don’t beat yourself up over this."

"You did," I was quick to point out. "You realized she was back." My jaw ticked. "You remembered her." My tone was laced with a concoction of accusation and self-loathing. I was pissed with Rourke for seeing her when I hadn't, but it paled in comparison to the anger I felt towards myself.