“I think you’d make a great mama. Where would you live if you had the chance?” She smiled. I didn’t know where she was going. I didn’t know she was going at all.

“New York?” I contemplated. “Yeah. The Big Apple. Seems like a good place to disappear in.”

She smiled in the darkness. “Then that’s where I’ll take you.”

Eleven Years Ago

I bumped knuckles with Matt Burton after the game, kicking off the heavy mud from my feet. Football season was over months ago, and we’d graduated a week ago, but we sometimes played scrimmages in neighboring cities. Especially with other private schools that were part of the crazy expensive football program All Saints High signed up for every year. This time we were in Sausalito. We’d won. With Trent riding the bench and watching us play—his cast was yellow, old, and smelled like a stale fart—it was my job to guide the Saints of All Saints High from a twenty-five-point hole against the St. John’s Rangers. It was impossible, until it wasn’t, and we scored nineteen points in the final quarter. We made all the plays. We were fucking fantastic, and as the first quarterback playing his very last game for his high school, I didn’t fail to notice—Vicious’s absence in the game (Hawaii vacation) made no difference at all.

Not only did we not need him, but his temper and rah-rah crap proved to be distracting. Case in point, we’d lost the previous flag football game in Monterey, and he was there, double douche canoe galore.

“Gotta love the scrimmages.” Burton slapped my back, and I did the same to him. Jaime approached me, his blond hair dripping sweat to his forehead and messing up his war paint. He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me into a hug.

“Amazing throw.” He rubbed the dark strips on my cheek like he was my fucking girlfriend.

“Amazing everything, dude. It’s me.” I kissed each of my biceps, looking dead serious but obviously screwing around. He punched my pecs and laughed as we all made our way in the rain back to Coach Rowland. Twenty minutes later we were taking showers, getting ready to hop on the bus back to Todos Santos. We’d be sleeping through the nine-hour ride, but it was a small price to pay for all that glory.

After I got out of the showers, I pulled fresh clothes from my duffel bag, ready to get dressed. As I did, a note fell out, drifting to the floor. I caught it before it got wet, recognizing my girlfriend’s handwriting. Did she leave me a good luck letter? That wasn’t out of character for Millie. She was so fucking sweet, it sometimes felt like too much. A casual smile stamped on my face, I began to read.

Dean,

This is the most difficult thing I’ve had to do. I’m not even sure how to start. The one thing I want you to know before you read this is that it’s not you. I care about you so much. You’ve given me what no one else in this town ever has. Security, respect, time, and love.

My smile melted into a frown. It didn’t sound like a good luck letter. It sounded like a goodbye letter. Someone slapped my back as they made their way to another bench in the locker room, and someone else shouted next to my ear. They were all tuned out.

I have to go away. Trust me when I say I have to. Something has happened that I cannot undo. Since the last thing I want is to complicate your life, I need to leave you behind. Please don’t try to find me. It will only make matters worse. I want you to follow your dreams and live your life.

I don’t deserve your loyalty, Dean. I never did.

Taking a big gulp of air, I read the last paragraph, feeling my hands clutching the paper tighter.

You’re the most alive person I know. Walking away from you is hard, but staying in Todos Santos would be even harder. I hope you understand, and in time, I even greedily ask you to forgive me.

I’ve met someone else.

Love,

Millie

Eleven Years Ago

What was I doing knocking on their door, and which sister was I hoping to see, Millie or Rosie? I knew the answer to the last question. I just felt like a fucking tool about admitting it.

Millie and I were done. It was for the best. I saw what love looked like. I saw it on Jaime and our Lit teacher, Mel. Love felt like dipping each other in gasoline and burning together. Love felt like dancing with madness in the dark, watching all of its bright lights. Love felt like gasping for air when your lungs were already full.

Love. Wasn’t. This.

Now she was gone, and my thoughts immediately drifted to her sister. The worst part was that I wasn’t mad at Emilia. I was a tad frustrated. And…