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Who would be next?

“My lawyer came when Mom was here. Said he thinks he can get charges dropped to a probation. Community service or something like that.” Ben put the cup down on the small table.

“Well, that’ll be one way to get to know your new town.” I forced a smile.

“Yeah.” He smiled back. “Heard they moved the championship.”

I stood up and walked toward his window. “Granddad said Coach Crowley did that so I could pitch.”

“Wow.” Ben brought his bed up straighter. “Guess those Crowleys are more unpredictable than I gave them credit for.”

Tell me about it.

The clock ticked several times and filled the silence.

The door opened again, and Officer Ferguson pointed to his watch. “Time’s up, Fulton.”

“Just another minute, please?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes but stepped back out.

Ben cleared his throat. “Look, what I said about Eliza. Calling her a princess and comparing her to Erin—”

“Ben, we don’t—”

“Just let me finish, okay?” He stared at his IV tube for a moment before continuing. “I know you and her go way back, and maybe this thing you’ve got going on is, um, great, but promise me you won’t throw this season away now.” He swallowed, and his face scrunched up in pain when he did. “That championship, it means something big to your family. And you worked your ass off this summer to get this far.”

I rubbed the back of my neck and leaned against the window. “I know.”

“Good.” He let his head fall back against the pillows. “Then go win the damn thing. Everything else will work itself out.”

The door opened, and Officer Ferguson nodded toward the hallway. “Time’s really up, Fulton.”

I patted Ben’s knee. “I’ll see you around. Rest up.”

“Good luck in the championship,” he said.

My eyes stung as I turned to leave.

“Reed?” Ben called out, stopping me.

“Yeah?” I turned around.

“Tell Eliza I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t make up for anything, but”—he picked at the edge of his blanket—“I’m sorry for everything.”

I nodded and tugged on my hat before hurrying through the rest of the hospital. Fresh air never tasted or felt so good.

I ripped off my visitor sticker, chucked it into the trash can, and kicked it.

My fault.

All of this was my fault. Had I not broken the pact, Ben wouldn’t have left the farm. Had I responded to his text before that damn tea party, he wouldn’t have spiraled the way he did. I could’ve helped him through it. We would’ve gotten through it. Together. Like we always did. He never would’ve gone into that theater.

Shit.

I was just as guilty of starting that damned fire as he was.

I trudged back to my truck and didn’t see the Jeep parked a few spots over from mine until I unlocked my door.