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I pinch the bridge of my nose before turning toward him. “Milo Fletcher. The love of Max’s life.”

Dr. Fredrickson’s brow furrows as he looks down at the notes on his clipboard.

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize that name. We have no record of a Milo Fletcher visiting her since she was admitted.”

“Yeah, well, if you ever see Milo walk through those doors, Doc, I suggest you check yourself into one of these rooms.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asks, looking somewhat offended.

“Milo’s dead, Doctor. He’s been dead for almost eleven years now. He was one of the five teenagers who died in the Crowley Mill fire.”

Dr. Fredrickson’s face pales immediately.

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah. Well, now you do.”

He looks down at his notes again, flipping through a couple of pages.

“She’s never mentioned him during our sessions. Not once. I even have her notes from her therapist in New York, and there was no mention whatsoever of this Milo.”

“Just because she doesn’t talk about him doesn’t mean he isn’t on her mind twenty-four seven.”

“I see.” He pauses, studying Max through the window. “So he was involved in the same fire that caused her injuries?”

I nod. “The very same.”

Outside, Max tips her head back and laughs at something, her face lighting up despite the rain now falling more heavily around her.

For a moment, I can almost picture him sitting beside her.

Milo.

The boy who loved her so much that even death, apparently, wasn’t enough to make her let him go.

“You should probably add this to your notes too. The only reason her entire body wasn’t burned to a crisp is because Milo pushed her away from the worst of the blast,” I say. “Do you know how I know that, Doctor? Because I was there. Hell, if I’d arrived a few minutes earlier, I might’ve ended up just as badly burned as they were.”

Dr. Fredrickson tugs at his collar, clearly uncomfortable with my particular brand of bluntness.

I’m not offended.

Most people aren’t exactly fans.

I turn away from him and look out into the courtyard again, where Max is still sitting on that bench, seemingly oblivious to the angry weather.

“I watched them both get thrown through the air. And even when every movement must have been agony for him, Milo still found a way to reach her. I saw him crawling across the grass, his skin peeling off his bones, just so he could hold her hand. He kept telling her to hold on. To stay with him.” The memory leaves a knot in my throat. “Even when the paramedics finally arrived, he wouldn’t let go of her hand. Not when they put them on the stretcher. Not even during the ambulance ride. It was only when they got to the hospital that he finally had to let her go.”

I swallow past the familiar lump in my throat.

“Milo held on for as long as he could. Max’s dad wasn’t so lucky. When he heard about the fire and thought his daughter had been killed, his heart gave out. Just like that.” I snap my fingers. “Her dad died without ever knowing she’d survived.”

Dr. Fredrickson’s expression softens, but I keep going before he can say anything.

“Max pulled through, though. She held on, just like Milo asked her to. She was lucky, all things considered. Most of the burns were concentrated on one side of her body, and although some were pretty severe, the doctors managed to save her.”

I pause, watching a raindrop slide down the window.

“Milo wasn’t so lucky.”