“No,” he said softly. “I was afraid you’d realize loving me would hurt you.”
That should have broken me.
Instead, it made me angrier.
Because despite everything —
despite the betrayal clawing through my chest —
a part of me still loved him enough to hesitate.
And that hesitation terrified me most of all.
Then Callahan spoke again.
“Merritt… there’s something else.”
The rain hammered harder against the windows.
“My father wasn’t the only person there that night,” he whispered.
My blood turned cold.
“What are you saying?”
Callahan’s shaking hand found the edge of the dresser.
I couldn’t move.
The room blurred around me as I stared at him.
“No,” I whispered.
Callahan swallowed hard.
“I was sixteen.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
His face tightened with pain.
“I know.”
The rain outside had become violent now, rattling the old bakery windows beneath us. Somewhere downstairs, pipes groaned through the walls like the building itself was listening.
“You were there,” I repeated slowly.
Callahan nodded once.
And suddenly, my memories cracked open.
Not the fire.
Before the fire.
A boy standing outside near the alley.
