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I miss her so damn much.

Without thinking, I hold up my phone and take a photo of her to add to my secret stash—a phoenix rising from the ashes.

But as I zoom in on my photo, I notice her expression.

Tears are streaming down her face.

My lungs constrict, her grief robbing me of my breath.

I want to know who did this to her, who made her cry.

I want to kill that person.

She sobs into her hand as she tosses small scraps of paper into the inferno, her lips moving like she’s whispering to the fire.

My feet move of their own accord.

I want—no, need—to make her feel better. This is my life’s purpose at this very second. My heart will give up on me if I can’t make her smile.

Make her smile, Rex. Make her laugh. Be the Anderson jokester. That’s what you’re good at.

But I can’t bring myself to speak, to intrude on the outpouring of emotions on her face. And with the time I’ve spent with her on this trip, I know one thing.

Olivia holds everything inside her. In some ways, we’re the same—I act out, but she restrains herself.

But both of us are hiding. And sometimes, we just need to let it out. To cry. Jokes won’t be appropriate.

I stop a few steps from her, and she must’ve sensed me because she looks up, her mouth parting, clearly in shock.

Her black hair is undone and flowing down her back. Wetness streaked over her ivory cheeks, her dark lashes clumped from moisture.

She’s so beautiful. So bewitching. So broken.

Just like me.

Without speaking, I walk up to her and cup her face, my heart twisting as I dry her tears with my fingers.

Olivia hiccups. Suddenly, she trembles, like something has knocked her off her feet.

She sways, and being the bastard with no impulse control, I haul her to me and crush her in my arms.

And she sobs.

I don’t know how many minutes pass by. I don’t care how passersby might look at us, wondering why we’re crying during a celebration to bid farewell to the winter and to welcome the fresh hope of spring.

If there were anything I could do to take away an ounce of her pain—jump off a building, walk through the literal flames before me—I would, no questions asked.

It’s madness. It’s illogical. It’s righteous.

Maybethisis my purpose, my calling. Maybe all the pain I’ve been through has led me to this very moment, to be the man to hold her when she cries.

“There is no closure,” she whispers into my shirt, already soaked through with her tears.

I stay silent, hoping she’ll let me in.

“I was an identical twin.”

I startle, wondering how none of us knew this about her. I’ve never heard her or my siblings mention anything about Olivia other than her family is on the West Coast. She’s kept her past hidden from everyone.