“The garage door’s open,” Josh mumbles, and without a second thought, Michael makes his way across the driveway toward the garage, cracking jokes with Tommy as he passes.

Josh faces me. “You better get some shoes on, Becs. I haven’t swept the glass yet.”

“I didn’t know you could do this stuff,” Dad says.

Josh scoffs and finally acknowledges him. “With all due respect, sir. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

* * *

“What the hell was that about?” Cordy asks for me.

Dad rubs his hands across his face before sipping on his coffee. “What was what about?”

Grams woke just as Josh was finishing up on the window and he offered to take her for a walk. She’s mobile enough to be able to eat on her own and go to the bathroom, but she still tires easily, so a walk meant him and Tommy on skateboards and her in her chair—something Tommy thought was hilarious. “The Really Wheely Team,” he called them.

Cordy says, “The way Josh spoke to you this morning. That’s not like him. Did you say something to him?”

Dad shrugs. “I may have a had a word with him and I don’t really feel like repeating what all was said, if that’s okay with you.”

I stare incredulously.

“Sweetheart, I just worry about you. That’s all.”

My eyes narrow, and I become unreasonably angry. Not for me. But for Josh. “I don’t care what you said, but whatever it was, you’re wrong. I care about him, Dad. And maybe that’s not enough for you, but he’s going through enough as it is. You need to apologize to him.”

Dad sighs. “Becca. Don’t make a mound out of a molehill.”

I tap my phone again, the words repeated. “I don’t care what you said, but whatever it was, you’re wrong. I care about him, Dad. And maybe that’s not enough for you, but he’s going through enough as it is. You need to apologize to him.”

“You don’t know him like I do. He’s going to carry your words with him long after you leave, long after you realize you regret them. You have to apologize to him, Dad. And soon.”

“What makes you think I regret it?” he asks.

“Because I know you. You’re just like him. You’re hot-headed and you don’t think before you speak. You see everything in one dimension. You know everything. Until someone makes you realize that you don’t.”

He shakes his head as he looks down at me. “You’re wrong, Becca. And he’s right. I’m not like him at all.”

—Joshua—

I don’t know why Martin’s standing at my door, looking into my apartment like he has every right to. “I waited until the lights were out assuming your son was asleep. Is he?”

My jaw clenches, but I nod anyway.

He lifts a six-pack of beers between us. “You owe me nothing, but I’m asking anyway. Just hear me out.”

* * *

I should wear a watch. That way I could at least tell you how long I sit at the bottom of the stairs, sipping on a beer offered by a man I might possibly hate. If he’s waiting for me to speak, he’ll be waiting forever. I don’t have forever. Besides, he’s the one who knocked on the door, and if silence is his way of hearing him out, then he has shit backwards.

“You think she could still be in love with you, Josh?”

My mouth opens, but the words are lost and I feel my heart sinking. “She sent me a letter,” I murmur as if it’s somehow going to be enough.

Martin quirks an eyebrow. “A letter?”

“Yeah.”

“What did the letter say?”

I shrug and avoid his gaze. “It’s irrelevant. I don’t know why I said it.”

He sighs. “Are you messing with Becca’s head?”

“No!” I snap.

“I think you are, even if you don’t realize it.”

I suck in a breath and hold it there—in my chest—sitting right next to my battered heart.

After a while, he says, “Becca’s stronger now, Josh. Stronger than she’s ever been.”

I speak quickly, not giving my mind time to think. “If you honestly believe that me existing is making her weak in any way, then I’ll leave her alone.” I roll my shoulders, trying to find courage in my words. “I think, at the end of the day, you and I both want the same things. We want Becca to be happy. Regardless of what Becca’s probably told you, I do love her. I’ve always loved her. From the first moment I saw her until now, I haven’t stopped loving her. I haven’t been able to move on—”

“It’s been—”

I laugh once, cutting him off. “Two years. Trust me. I know.”

“And you haven’t—”

“Not once,” I interrupt. “Swear on my father’s grave. I can’t.”

He leans back, running a hand through his hair, but he doesn’t speak, so I add, “I realize I’ve made mistakes, horrible ones, but I’m human. I’m flawed. I’m working on those flaws, but I’ll never be perfect. I know that. So if it’s those mistakes that prevent me from living the rest of my life without the person I’m insanely in love with, I’ll wear that.”

“I appreciate that, Josh. Really I do,” he says, his voice soft. And I wonder what his angle is, what he could possibly expect from me. “But Becca’s so fragile and…”

I ball my fists, and he must see it because his words die in the air, and he waits for me to speak, both of us knowing my words come from deep frustration and regret. “It’s like you think I don’t know that.” I exhale loudly and try to keep my emotions in check. “She had these nightmares. She’d jerk in her sleep and wince like she was in actual physical pain. She’d cry, even when her eyes were shut tight, somehow tears would still come. And that was on a good night. Other times she’d scream, but it was silent, you know?” I turn to him, making sure he sees me. “Because even though she could speak before”—I swallow the pain of the past—“it didn’t always work.”

“You don’t need to…”

I ignore him and keep going. “She’d bite down on her thumb so hard it would leave marks. She’d kick at me, hands covering her head, and she’d plead for it to stop, and the only way I could do it was physically.” I disregard the knowledge of who I’m speaking to and tell him exactly how it is, exactly how I feel. “She wanted me to take away her emotional pain by replacing it with physical pleasure. And I’d do it. For her. I’d regret it as soon as it was done, but I wanted to make it stop just as much as she did. I didn’t know any other way.” My breath leaves me in a shudder, the ache in my chest making it almost impossible to inhale and painful to exhale. “And somewhere along the lines, she needed me and I wasn’t there,” I say, my voice lowering. “Truthfully, I wasn’t anywhere. I was lost. She needed me and I was lost. She broke because of me. She tried to kill herself because of me. So you don’t need to tell me how fragile she is. Believe me, I was there. I fucking know.” I gasp for air, wishing the words back, but it’s too damn late. “I used to walk around with a chip on my shoulder… poor me; single dad at seventeen, completely alone and forgotten. But then I’d look down at Tommy in my arms, a baby boy who was mine and mine alone, and I’d wake up every day grateful we had each other. Swear, I thought it was impossible to love anyone as much as I love my son.” At the thought of Becca, air fills my lungs, slow and steady. “Then Becca showed up and she completed the gaps in my life that I didn’t even know were missing. And I’d give anything to go back in time, back to even before we met. Because I know I’d see her in ways the others hadn’t. I’d do anything to fix her. I’d take care of her the way she deserved to be taken care of. Not like how her—” I choke on a sob and push it down. “I don’t understand how a parent can do that to their child. How anyone can do that to a kid… I look at my son and I see the way he looks at me, the way he relies on me to guide him through this world and—” I’m crying, tears falling fast and free. “Her mother should thank God she’s dead, because if she wasn’t, I’d fucking kill her myself. And I’d make her hurt a thousand times worse than she ever did with Becca.”