“I couldn’t get to her, not even close. The smoke was too thick. I barely made it inside before they yanked me out,” he whispers. “They should’ve let me go with her.”
The words hollow me out.
Because he means them.
Even now.
My thumbs brush over his cheeks, grounding him the only way I know how.
“Emmett—”
“It was my fault.”
The conviction in his voice steals the air from the camper.
“Emmett—”
“They ruled it an accident,” he says roughly. “But that doesn’t change anything for me.”
His eyes finally meet mine again, shattered clean through.
“I pay for it every day.”
“Oh, Emmett.”
His laugh is small and broken. “It gets worse.”
Fear turns cold and heavy in my stomach.
That doesn’t seem possible.
“An ember from the barn landed on the house, spreading the fire. They were stretched too thin after taking me in and let the homeowners insurance default. They lost the ranch. The house. Rory. Everything.” His jaw clenches. “All because I was pissed about something some stupid kid said.”
When he’s done, the silence feels as endless as the dark sky.
I lean forward until my forehead touches his.
“You were just a kid,” I whisper.
“So was Rory.”
His lashes are damp when he blinks, the grief inside himself barely held back.
“My grandpa took the only job he could get working swing shifts at the mill doing maintenance. Did you know that swing shifts reduce your life expectancy and increase your risk of heart disease?”
“No,” I say forcefully. “You were a kid trying to escape pain, Emmett. What happened after wasn’t a punishment.”
His eyes close. “If I’d gone into the system, they’d still have Rory—she’d still be here with Grandma.”
A tear slips free, catching in his lashes.
He doesn’t wipe it away.
I don’t either.
I press my lips to his temple, slow and grounding. His hands curl into the back of my shirt like he might fall if he lets go. For a long second, neither of us speaks.
“Now you know.”
