I snatch my hands back.

My head whips around to Carter. "What is she talking about?"

"Amber, I'm so sorry—" Chloe cuts in.

"Stop," I put a hand between us, "Mark isn't dead."

She stumbles away from me until her back hits the kitchen island. Pressing a hand firmly against her mouth, she attempts to muffle her sobs, but it's in vain. They're loud in the silence of the kitchen, accompanied only by the sound of the rain outside.

Carter rushes over and puts a hand on my back, but I shake him off.

"Mark isn't dead," I repeat forcefully.

He eyes me wearily but doesn't touch me again. "Amber, listen to me—"

"No, you listen." My hands tremble at my sides, and I ball them into fists so tight that my nails pierce the palms. I don't even feel it. "Mark is not dead. I've been calling him and his voicemail picks up, which means he's still paying the bill."

Chloe trains her eyes to the floor. Carter takes me tentatively by the shoulders, his breaths shaky. I don't brush him off this time, thinking he understands what I'm saying. He bends down until he's at my eye level, but instead of comprehension, all I find is grief.

"We pay the bill, Amber."

I go still in his hands. It's as if all the air gets sucked from the room.

"What?"

Carter's eyes brim with tears, but he keeps them at bay. He inhales sharply, "We pay the phone bill to keep the voicemail open. You call it sometimes when you miss him, or on his birthday—"

"No." The word barely passes through my lips. "You're lying."

"Amber, I'm not."

"You are," I shout past the lump in my throat. I try to suck air back in, but my airways are closed off. "I can't breathe."

"Yes you can, you just have to calm down." He rubs my shoulders in wide circles, but I've gone completely numb. His comforting touch can't reach me.

My eyes fly around the kitchen, trying to remember which hallway leads back to the front door. The kitchen has become insufferable; it feels like the walls are closing in and I'm desperate for the open air outside. I need to get out of this house. I need to get far away from what they're saying.

I need to get to Mark.

Jerking away from Carter, I swerve around him and dash across the room. Chloe tries to catch me as I run by, but I slip from her grasp. Ignoring their shouts behind me, I bolt down the hallway and past the closet, my coat forgotten. Once out the door, I'm immediately drenched. Freezing rain falls from the sky in sheets, but I don't let it stop me. I barrel down the front lawn and onto the street without missing a beat.

I'm running totally blind. I was asleep on the way here and have no idea how to get to our neighborhood, but I know Carter won't be far behind me. Flipping a coin, a dodge to the right and full out sprint, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible.Wiping rain and tears from my vision, I pound the pavement until my feet cry out in pain. I let them scream and push my legs to the limit, doing my best not to slip.

A car drives up the street and keeps pace with me. "Amber, stop!"

Carter's voice gets sucked up by the thunder booming above us. My lungs heave, hanging on by a thread, but it still isn't enough to make me listen to him.

He must realize it too because next thing I know, he's revving the engine to pull ahead and cut me off on the sidewalk. His tires screech as they hit the curb, sending me staggering back. The car's still running when Carter swings his door open; it snaps me back into action, and I take off the way I came.

"Amber, please, just get in the car!" Carter calls through the storm. "I promise I'll explain, just—"

"You knew," I scream over my shoulder. "All this time, you knew and you didn't tell me!"

I hear him gaining on me, but when I attempt to fake him out, my foot lands on a patch of ice. It slides out from under me, and I fly back into strong arms that catch me under the armpits. Carter holds his grip, and I fight against him with everything I have. The momentum sends us tumbling into the snowbank of a nearby yard.

"At least let me explain," Carter pants, trying to catch his breath.

I crawl away from him, but stay on my knees, too winded to get up again. Tears choke me as I bend over the snowy slush, letting the chill numb me down to the bone. Anything not to feel.

"You haven't changed at all," I grit through my teeth.

"Amber, listen, you have to understand. You don't remember—"

"Exactly!" I shout, my head snapping up to finally face him. "I don't remember. That's why I've been depending on you, following everything you say blindly, only to learn you've been lying to my face. You had to know I would find out, and you didn't tell me anyway. Why would you do this to me? Why?!"

"Because you don't remember!" he screams, the vein popping in his neck. "You don't remember what it was like when he died. But I do!"

My mouth gapes, halfway ready to yell at him again, but he barrels on.

"His death broke you, Amber. We almost lost you over it. Weeks went by where you didn't leave your room, days where you wouldn't eat. When Mark died, part of you died with him, and for a while, none of us knew if we'd ever get that part back."

A sob cracks through lungs, searing my throat before escaping my lips. Hearing Carter say it again knocks the wind from my chest, and cold reality fills its place. The world fades away until all that's left is Mark — his face, his laugh, every part of him I took for granted. Details jump into focus; the way his eyes cross when he concentrates too hard, the small gap between his front teeth, the same lopsided haircut he's had since we were kids. The sound of his voice calling my name plays faintly in my ears. A sound I'll never hear again.

The flame goes up in smoke, and I deflate like a hot air balloon. My anger dissipates into the crisp, night air, leaving me even colder than before. I wrap my arms around myself, desperate to get warm. Everything comes into excruciating focus, and my feet ache painfully in my waterlogged boots.

My lip quivers as Carter inches towards me, and when I don't protest, he closes the distance between us.

"But if we got your memories back, that's what it would've been. A memory." His voice softens, barely audible over the rain. "A painful one, but one you had grieved and made peace with. I didn't want to risk telling you because I knew that meant you reliving it again. It meant doing this to you."

He's just as cold and soaked as me, but I cling to him when my body finally gives out. Shivering violently, I nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Carter rubs my shoulders, trying to create friction, but the only heat I feel is the sting of my tears as they burn trails down my face.

"But I love you, and I'm sorry you found out this way. I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He holds me close, stroking my hair as I wail against his shoulder. "And I'm sorry he's gone."

"Turn."

I break the silence just before Carter misses the street.

"Amber—"

"Just turn, Carter."

It's the first thing we've said to each other since we left Chloe's. Once he got me calm enough, Carter wrapped his coat around my body and picked me out of the snow. Comatose, I let him carry me over to the car and place me gently in the passenger seat. I kept my eyes forward the whole ride, refusing to look at him once. He never told me where we were going, but now I'm telling him. I don't care if he wants to or not. We're turning here.

I have to see it for myself.

Stopping at the intersection, Carter hesitates for a beat, then flips on his blinker. The state of the houses gets progressively worse the further we drive, but I hold out hope that his is still okay. With blood rushing in my ears, I press my cheek against the window as we come around the bend. It leads to an abandoned cul de sac that looks nothing like the one I remember. From far away, I feel Carter park us along the curb, but my soul has left my body at the sight of Mark's house.

Its roof is in shambles, with parts hanging off in jagged pieces. The wood siding is severely chipped in multiple places, and two of the five windows are broken. The front steps where Mark sat for carpool are gone, replaced by two large cinder blocks. From this distance, I can just make out the "FORECLOSURE" sign on the front door. Trash is strewn across the lawn and tumbles over into the neighbor's yard. Inside, nothing stirs.

"Where are they?" I ask, the words scraping against my throat like sandpaper.

"Who?"

"His mom. Ronnie and the twins. Where did they go?"

I surprise myself with the question. It's not what I was thinking when I opened my mouth, but I don't regret asking it. I'm not ready for the big one yet.

"When it happened, the police came to the house to tell her," Carter begins quietly. "Found her piss drunk and mad as hell. Attacked the officers for coming on her property. They took her into custody, but from what I heard, it was days before she understood what they were telling her. Her son was gone and she didn't even know."

Dropping my head, I stare fixedly at my hands. The wave of grief threatens to crash over me again, and this time, I'm afraid I'll drown. I find a hangnail on my thumb and pull at it, hoping the pain is enough to keep my head above water. I don't stop, even when blood pools at the cuticle.

"She went away for a while after that. It was meant to be a rehab facility, but she fell off the wagon as soon as she got out. She turned up dead three years after Mark."

I rip the hangnail further up my finger, the skin peeling in a straight line. Blood pricks its way up the path. "And his siblings?"

Carter pushes away from the wheel and sinks back into his seat."I don't know. In all the chaos, we didn't notice they were gone until it was too late. When they arrested their mom, the state got involved. Ronnie wasn't eighteen yet, so he and the girls ended up in the system. It was impossible to track them down after that."

My heart plummets to my stomach. Surprisingly, I don't know much about Mark's brother and sisters. It's rare that I see them, and the times I do, they don't speak. But I do know how much they mean to Mark. I know every late hour he spent at the diner was to help provide for them. His heart would break knowing they were taken away, or worse, split up.

Though I guess a heart can't break if it isn't beating in the first place.

I lurch forward as nasuea rolls in my stomach.

"Hey, it's ok." Carter reaches over to comfort me. "We can talk about this tomorrow."

"Just—" I push his hand away before I break it. I'm nowhere near done being mad at him. "Just tell me, Carter."

I shut my eyes to brace myself, but I can feel him hovering. It's always been in his nature to comfort through touch, but he thankfully keeps his hands to himself. He settles back on the other side of the car, his wet jeans squelching against the leather interior.

"He overdosed at Darren's back to school party."

Self loathing pours over me, more overwhelming than even the grief. When I saw Mark hunched over a bathroom sink, nose glued to the porcelain, I kept quiet. When I found his stash by the log, I let him walk away with it. I let him kick me out of his car, let him drive away in his condition, without ever putting up a fight. The signs were all there, and I ignored them.

"Don't," Carter says, reading my mind. "You couldn't have known how bad his problem was. He was good at hiding things he didn't want people to see."

"I should've seen it," I spit back. "It was my job to see it. I should've been there for him." Breaking off, I breathe through the threat of more tears. I need to get through this without breaking down again. "Why wasn't I with him at the party?"

"You never came. Something happened at home. It's what Ben wants to tell you," Carter explains. Before I can argue, he holds up a hand. "I wasn't there and you deserve to hear it from someone who was."

Scoffing, I swivel away from him and lean against my door. While I was home dealing with family bullshit, Mark needed me. I wasn't there, and he died. Alone.

"You can't blame yourself."

"Who else is there to blame?"

Through the side mirror, I watch Carter stare out his own window. "I don't know. There's plenty of blame to go around, but you don't deserve any of it. You being there that night wouldn't have changed anything. Sometimes, you just can't save someone." He reaches over and rests his hand on the gear shift. "I should know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We should get home. We'll both get sick if we stay in these wet clothes."

"What does it mean, Carter."

Without a word, he drives around the circle and back down Mark's street. My eyes stay trained to the mirror until the house disappears from view.

"I saw him that night." Carter keeps his eyes on the road, taking each turn at a snail's pace.

"But Chloe said—"

"She doesn't know. No one does except Mom. I didn't even tell you until now."

The list of secrets grows ever longer. "Why?"

Our street is only three over from Mark's, so it isn't long before we're passing my house. My attention doesn't waver from Carter; I know I'll have to look at it eventually, but I'm not mentally prepared to face whatever emotions that might bring up.

He pulls into the driveway, eyes fixed on his own house. "This was hard for everyone, Amber, for a lot of different reasons. It took all of us time to accept what happened. I didn't want to make things any harder."

He taps his finger against the steering wheel absently. Even though he's sitting here, I can tell his mind is years away.

"I was looking for you," he continues softly. "All I wanted was to find you. Instead I found—"

His voice breaks off, leaving me to fill in the heartbreaking blank.

"You found him," I breathe, wanting to be wrong.

But his reaction lets me know I'm right. He draws a guttural breath, "In the basement. He was barely breathing, just laying there on the carpet. I gave him the compressions, I tried everything I could but...." his grip on the wheel tightens, "I was too late. By time someone found us, he was gone."

A light flicks on inside the house, bathing the car in faint light. It's just enough to make out traces of tears on his cheeks. Carter wipes at them brusquely with the back of his hand. "You should go in. I have to take Chloe's car back."

A pang of despair hits my chest, but this time, it's for him. Regardless of whatever happened to break them apart, at its core, their friendship was real. For years, I hoped Carter and Mark would find their way back to each other; by a cruel twist of fate, it seems I got my wish.

I creak my door open and step out onto the sidewalk, thankful when my legs don't give out. I'm exhausted, both physically and emotionally; it's amazing I can keep my head upright.

Something comes over me as I shut the door, and before he pulls away, I tap on the window.

"Did he say anything?" I ask once Carter rolls it down. Steeling my nerves, I force myself to say the rest. "Before he died?"

"Yeah," he answers, deflated. "'Tell her I'm sorry.'"

I step away and let Carter back down the driveway. Pulling his coat tighter around my shoulders, I watch him drive away, his answer echoing in my ears. I'm not sure if knowing makes me feel better, or if it's the final blow that breaks my heart.