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Because she knew exactly what that kind of loss felt like. She’d been living inside it for years.

Sam had taken her own devastation and turned it into fuel to make sure no one around her ever felt as alone as she had. She’d built an entire identity around being the person who made other people’s lives better, brighter, easier—because somewhere deep down, she believed she owed the world that much. That it was the only way to justify still being here when Bryce wasn’t.

Everyone on campus thought Sam was Miss Happy Positivity, but it had all been a front for the pain she carried by herself, never wanting to burden anyone else.

“I should’ve told you before we got here,” she said quietly, still not looking at me. Her fingers were knotted together in her lap, twisting and untwisting. “It wasn’t fair to bring you into this without⁠—”

“Sam.” I reached over and wrapped my hand around both of hers, stilling the nervous movement. She didn’t look up. I squeezed gently, then again, until those beautiful blue eyes of hers finally lifted to mine. They were red-rimmed and glassy, but worst of all they were guarded, like she was braced for me to say or do something that would confirm every fear she had about letting someone in.

“You don’t owe me any explanations.” I held her gaze and meant every word with everything I had. “I’m here for you. Always. The why never mattered.”

Her guard dropped, like she’d been bracing for impact and the blow never came. She’d been waiting for me to flinch, to pull away, or to look at her differently, and instead I was still right here, caring about her more than I’d ever been brave enough to say. She hadn’t been ready before and I wasn’t sure she was ready now. But I’d let my actions do the talking until she was ready to hear the words.

She shook her head, and her teeth sank into her lower lip like she wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come. Or maybe she didn’t trust them. Maybe she didn’t trust that whatever she wanted to say wouldn’t change things between us in a way she wasn’t ready for.

I watched the war play out across her face—the wanting and the fear, tangled together so tightly I wasn’t sure even she could tell them apart. And my gaze snagged on her mouth. On the way her teeth dragged slowly across her bottom lip before releasing it, leaving it flushed and full, and every rational thought I had went quiet.

God, I wanted to kiss her.

The urge hit me so hard it stole the breath from my lungs. I wanted to close the distance between us and press my mouth to hers and pour everything I couldn’t say into the space between us. I wanted to take every ounce of her pain and self-doubt and hold her until she felt whole. I wanted to show her that the woman sitting next to me—broken pieces and all—was the most extraordinary person I’d ever known, and nothing she’d just told me had changed that. If anything, it had only confirmed what I’d known since the night she’d first called me Harry and refused to take no for an answer.

She was everything.

Her eyes dropped to my mouth. Just for a second—so fast that someone who wasn’t watching as closely as I was might have missed it. But I noticed everything, especially when it came to her. And I definitely noticed the way her lips parted slightly, the way her breath caught, the way she swayed just barely toward me like gravity was making the decision her brain wouldn’t let her.

The air between us went electric. Every nerve in my body was attuned to her—the warmth of her hands still wrapped in mine, the faint smell of lavender from the latte she’d had at Mira’s, how the cold had turned her cheeks pink in a way that made her look impossibly soft.

For one charged, endless moment, we just looked at each other.

Then she blinked and the spell shattered. She straightened, pulling her hands from mine to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture that was so perfectly casual, it hurt to watch. Because I knew it was her mask sliding back into place. The armor going up.

She still thought this was fake. She still believed that whatever was between us had an expiration date, that I was here as a favor and nothing more. And I couldn’t correct her. Not now. Not when she was this vulnerable and barely holding it together. If I told her the truth about how I felt right now, she’d think it was pity. She’d think I was only saying it because of what she’d just told me, and she’d never believe it was real.

So I swallowed down the words I wanted to say and the kiss I wanted to give her and the future I’d been building in my head that had her in every moment for the rest of my life.

“We should head back,” Sam said, and her voice was almost normal again. Almost. “Before my mom sends a search party. Or, more likely, changes the locks.”

The joke was weak but she was trying, and that was so fundamentally Sam that it made my chest ache. Even now, even after everything, she was reaching for humor. Reaching for lightness. Trying to make me comfortable after she’d just bared her soul.

“Whatever you want to do, I’m here,” I said, standing and offering her my hand.

Her expression flickered and her smile faltered. She could try to make this moment light again, but I wasn’t about to let her think I wasn’t very serious about doing and being whatever she needed. She looked at my outstretched hand for a beat, then up at me, and I watched her throat work as she swallowed whatever quip she’d been loading.

She took my hand and let me pull her to her feet, and when she was standing, she didn’t let go right away.

Neither did I.

We walked back toward her parents’ house with our fingers intertwined. She didn’t lean into me the way she had on the way to the park, but she held my hand like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to solid ground.

For now, that was enough.

But when the timing was right—when she wasn’t convinced she was undeserving of anything good—I was going to tell Samantha Lowe exactly how I felt about her.

And I wasn’t going to let her run from it.

FIFTEEN

I’d been awake for at least an hour before I heard my family start moving around the house, making their way downstairs—every single person stepping on that creaky third step—and the familiar sounds of the coffee maker starting followed by the low murmurs of my dad’s deep baritone voice and my mom’s lighter one.