Carter brushes the tears from my cheeks. "Baby, don't."

It's no use. Hard as I try, I can't stop the sobs that catch in my chest, making it difficult to breathe. I pull away from him and stumble to my feet, using the log for balance. He disrupts the blanket in his haste to follow me, but I shake my head.

"Stop, I'm fine, I just—" Talking only makes it worse, but I force it out anyway. "I just need a second."

Turning my back on him, I walk a few feet away to the edge of the tree line. I don't want him to see me. I don't want him to hear me. I don't want any witnesses when I let it all hit.

Because when I do, it's fucking agonizing.

Back in New York, on the day Charlie showed me around the city, we rode the subway just so I could experience it. And when we were down there, I stood near the platform's edge, even after the automated speaker told me not to. Even when the train burst through the tunnel and barrelled down the track, I just watched it come. And when it whipped past, for a split, horrifying second, I imagined what it would feel like if it hit me.

Now I know. It would feel like this.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I throw a hand over my mouth to muffle my cries. Carter's story plays on loop in my head, each detail stabbing me through the chest like a blunt knife. I can't stop picturing their faces — their screams — as they tried to fight something they didn't even understand. Emma and Josie, only a few years older than Brynn at the time. Ronnie, so broken he couldn't do more than follow commands meant to keep him safe.

But Mark is the final blow that sends the blade straight through my heart. This wasn't an isolated incident, not by the way Carter described it. Mark was dealing with this alone, for who knows how long, and I can't help but blame myself. I spent every day with Mark in the months leading up to sixth grade — and I never noticed a thing.

I inhale sharply through my nose to help stop the world from spinning. It's hard to tell if I'm gonna faint or vomit, but I fight relentlessly to do neither. I can't give away how upset I am, not if I want Carter to keep talking. I don't need him trying to make a safety call, even though the last thing I want is to hear more. But this isn't about me, and I owe it to Mark to listen to it all. I wasn't there for him then; he deserves to have his story heard now.

I wipe the last of my tears away, taking deep breaths to help regain my composure. Wrapping my arms around my midsection, I turn around and face Carter once again. He's moved from his spot on the blanket to sit on the log and stares blankly off towards the woods. His figure is silhouetted by the few candles still standing; the wind's taken most of them out at this point, leaving the clearing nearly dark.

Stepping carefully around the extinguished candles, I fumble over to the log, then stop directly in front of him. He looks right through me, his gaze fixed on a spot just below my chest. I can't gauge his feelings any better than my own, making it difficult to decide where to pick up the conversation.

"They called their father to help them," I whisper. "But he didn't stay?"

"No. He didn't."

"How long?"

Carter sighs but still won't meet my eye. "I don't know when he left again. There are still some things I don't fully understand. Things Mark took with him to his grave."

A chill slices down my spine. "So she started hurting them again. It's why they took the kids after Mark died, right? The police must've seen their bruises when they got to the house."

He barely nods. "That's been my guess for the last few years. But for all I knew, they were safe. It's what Mom told me the next day, once she finally coaxed me out of my room. Their father was home. Everyone was fine. Mark was going to be okay, which I thought meant we were okay."

"But you weren't." I finish. "And neither were they."

"No." Carter drops his head into his hands, staring intently down at the ground. "All those years, I thought his dad was protecting them. I could live with Mark being mad at me — hell, even hating me — as long as something good came out of it."

"But why would he hate you?" I cut in, sitting close enough that our legs touch. "The abuse stopped because of you. They were safe, even if it was for a short time. I know you broke your promise, but I also know Mark. He would have forgiven you. You didn't have to lose him as a friend."

I force myself not to voice my next thought.

You didn't have to lose me.

Carter keeps his body hunched over so I can't see his face, but the hitch in his breath suggests he could be crying. I reach over and rub a hand along his back, pulling him closer against me.

"It's okay, Carter. We can stop." And I mean it. As much as I want to know everything, the Andersons weren't the only ones hurt that night. I can just as easily imagine Carter at that age, rushing in to help when he was only a kid himself. He would've been just as scared and traumatized as the rest of them. When I was questioning Ronnie, I made the mistake of being insensitive. I refuse to make the same one with him.

He finally lifts his head, sweeping a hand over his eyes before focusing back on the woods. I'm ready to grab his arm and pull him to his feet, but he surprises me.

"There's a field through those trees," he starts, so low that I'm not sure I've heard him right.

"A field?"

"Nothing nice. Just an empty plot of grass where I used to practice soccer drills sometimes. Didn't even let my dad come with me so I wouldn't have to worry about impressing anyone. I could just play the game, you know? There was only one person I ever brought with me because I knew he wouldn't expect anything great. He'd just let me play. He'd let me be me."

Carter doesn't have to say who. Mark would've loved it, sitting in the shady grass with a book while Carter did his own thing. No pressure, just easy company. It's another thing I never knew about them, this depth to their friendship. A friendship completely outside of me.

"I was out there the day after the call. At that point, it felt too raw to see him again, but sitting at home made me think about it more. So the field felt like a good option. I didn't have to mope in my room, but I still got to be alone. Seemed like the perfect place.

"And it was for the first hour... until Mark found me. To this day, I have no clue how he knew I was there. If I had to guess, he was looking for a while before deciding to check there. Initially, I hoped it meant that all was forgiven, but the minute I saw his face, I knew. He wasn't there to make up. He was there to fight."

I follow his gaze out to the darkness and a spot I can't see. The trees seem to stretch on for miles, making it feel like Carter and I are in our own little world. Nothing outside this space exists, not in this moment. There's only him, me, and the secrets that have stood between us for years, finally crumbling away.

"Did you?"

A pause. "Not because I wanted to. I tried to apologize and explain why I told, but it was clear Mark didn't believe me. When he threw the first swing, I didn't block it, and after what I saw the day before, I couldn't hit him back. So I just took it, partly because I didn't want to hurt him... and partly because I felt like I deserved it."

"Carter, look at me." When he doesn't, I take him by the chin and make him meet my eyes. "You didn't deserve any of it. Not what happened at Mark's house or any fight you had with him after. The consequences of his mom's actions were not your fault, and I could've made Mark see that. Shit, I would've made him see it if that's what it took to keep you in my life." I trace the curve of his jaw before laying my hand flat against his cheek. "Which is what I still don't understand. We were real, Carter. You said it yourself. Why did a fight with Mark mean you had to leave me too?"

And finally, it's out there. The moment it leaves my lips, more tears slip down my cheeks, this time from relief. It's a question I turned over in my head as a kid on the nights bad dreams kept me awake. I honestly gave up hope on ever getting an answer; based on the look in Carter's eyes, it's one he still doesn't want to give.

But he does. Softly, slowly, and without hesitation. "Because that day on the field, the fight wasn't just about a broken promise. It was about you."

My fingers go still against his cheek.

"Me?" I repeat, praying that he'll correct me. When he doesn't, my stomach churns with anxiety. "How could it be about me? I didn't even know this happened."

"You didn't have to. Our fight went deeper than the incident at his house. It was rooted in what always stood in the way of us being close: Mark couldn't trust me. I don't think he ever did. He was always waiting for proof that I wasn't really his friend, and when I broke the little trust we did have, he got it. Mark didn't think I was trying to help. He thought I was trying to get rid of him so I could have what I really wanted."

Even as a kid, I knew you were it for me.

My heart sinks. "Me."

Carter takes my hand, kisses the inside of my wrist, then rests it in his lap. "You."

"How do you know?"

"Said it himself. Right there on the field, just before he told me to stay away. I genuinely think he was so afraid of losing you, he did the only thing he knew to ensure he wouldn't. He threatened that if I didn't leave you alone, he would tell his side of the story. The version where I tried to get his family taken away so I could have you all to myself."

"That's insane, Carter." His face blurs as more tears threaten to fall, but I force myself to blink them back. "Shit, I'm not saying I was a genius back then, but even I would've seen through that. How could you have possibly thought I'd believe him?"

He sighs, a sad smile lifting in the corners of his mouth. "Because I was young. And scared. But mostly, because he was Mark. Just like he knew how I felt about you, I knew how you felt about him. You would've picked Mark over anyone. I was gonna lose you either way."

I want to deny it. More than anything, I want to assure him that's not true. But Mark has always been more than my best friend. He's a permanent fixture in my life ever since I can remember. For those years before Ben was born, when I had no one at home, Mark became my everything, a dependency that never really went away. Back then, I wouldn't have questioned anything he said; I trusted him without a doubt. If he came to me saying someone tried to hurt him and his family, would I have hesitated cutting that person from my life?

Even if that person was Carter?

"Plus, part of me still thought I did something wrong," he adds, almost as an afterthought. "It's what kept me quiet for so long. Those first weeks when I ignored you were some of the worst of my life, followed by years of us not talking. I convinced myself it was better than you hating me for what I did to Mark. It wasn't until high school that I realized telling my mom was the right thing to do, but by then, I thought it was too late. You felt miles away, and after Mark saying God knows what about me, I figured you would never want me back in your life. Especially not the way that I wanted you."

"Until after Friday detention. When I found you back here." Another puzzle piece slides into place. He was sitting in the same position then too. Facing the woods. Relaxed — like he'd done it a thousand times. "Which wasn't your first visit."

He snorts. "Not at all. But that day, it felt like forever since I sat on this old thing." He runs his fingers over the decaying wood with the same tenderness as his car. "The fight with Mark didn't last long. He just kept hitting me harder and harder until I finally snapped. I didn't mean to push him, but when he slammed back onto the grass, I went numb. It was so similar to what his mom did to me that I panicked. Before my mind could catch up, I was running for the trees and didn't stop until I found this old log.

"And I don't really know why I stopped, but I sat here for hours and just broke down. It's crazy, but I still remember exactly how I felt. Hopeless... like I'd lost everything I cared about in a matter of seconds. All because I couldn't wait a day to give him a stupid present. After I got it all out of my system, it felt so good that I came back the next day. And the day after that — and the day after that — until it became like a daily routine. I spent all of sixth grade on this log, trying to avoid you two. Trying to forget that I lost you both."

It all hits a little too close to home. Carter's reasons for visiting the log weren't far off from my own during high school, especially those first weeks we started carpooling. The idea that we both found this place and only missed each other by a few years feels unreal. But if I've learned anything through all of this shit, it's that everything is within the realm of possibility. Nothing like a little time travel to teach you that.

We fall quiet, the sound of rustling trees filling in the silence. My eyes adjust as the last candle goes out, using only the thin streams of moonlight breaking through the leaves. The log feels so familiar, yet entirely brand new. Sitting here with Carter, it's like experiencing this place for the first time again.

But I don't revel in the feeling long. I've had a lot thrown at me in the last few hours, but there's one thing I need to know.

"Would you still have told me?"

I can just make out his frown through the shadows. "What do you mean?"

"If Mark lived. You said all of this was forced out after he died." I look down at our conjoined hands, watching his thumb graze across my knuckles. "Was that the only reason you finally told me?"

He stops at my ring finger, resting gently on the wedding band. It's a miracle I haven't yanked it off after today — I'd be lying if I said the idea didn't cross my mind. I mentally thank myself for fighting off the urge.

"I was always going to tell you, Amber," he insists, squeezing my hand a little tighter. "From the very first time I drove you to school, up until the night of Darren's party. It's the whole reason I went. The confrontation with Mark scared me in a way that felt too familiar, and somehow, I knew something was wrong, more than just the drugs. Before that, I never felt justified in dredging up the past. Mark's home life wasn't an issue anymore, so why break his trust more and tell you? But then, his safety was in question again, and I finally had a reason. It was time for me to explain everything so we could be there for him, together— and then he fucking died."

He drops my hand and slides further down the log.

"Carter—"

"I was too late," he says harshly. "And everything changed. My chance to make up with him was gone, along with the choice of when to tell you about the fight. I couldn't pretend to be shocked when word got out about his mom. It was hard enough keeping it a secret from you. There's no way I was gonna lie about it straight to your face. When you inevitably started asking me the hard questions, I was preparing for the worst. For the first time in my life, I didn't want to tell you what happened that night at his house, all because I was afraid you would—"

He stops.

"Would what?" I scoot over until we're even closer than before. I'm surprised to find him trembling, and when I take his hand again, it's coated in sweat. "Hey, are you okay?"

It's like he doesn't even hear me. "Mark started using drugs for a reason. A kid like him doesn't get into stuff like that just for fun. He was using them to escape something, and I knew exactly what that thing was. And if I didn't wait so long to tell you, maybe we would've put the pieces together in time."

My mouth goes dry as his meaning sets in. "You were afraid I would blame you."

Carter squeezes his eyes shut.

"Never." When his eyes stay closed, I take him by the shoulders. "Do you hear me, Carter? I would never blame you for his death."

Reluctantly, he meets my gaze, and that's when I notice the shift. Instead of the steadiness he's exhibited throughout most of this, there's an undeniable fear. Not of something that could possibly happen — but of something that already has. A fear of history repeating itself.

It was forced out when Mark died — and it almost tore us apart.

A cold pit forms in the middle of my chest. "I already did."

I don't need his confirmation. Back then, I didn't have the luxury of finding this out with a clear mind. It was after losing the most important person in my life, and knowing me, I doubt I spared Carter's feelings after he told me. Sitting here with him now, I can't imagine thinking something like that, much less throwing it in his face. But it's clear he's afraid I'll blame him again. It tells me one thing: Carter still doesn't understand how I feel about him — then or now.

So I decide to tell him. Softly, slowly, and without hesitation.

"I love you, Carter."

The words slip off my tongue like melted chocolate, sweet and indulgent. They leave Carter speechless, his lips slightly parted in shock. I don't think he could say anything right now if he tried. Thankfully, he doesn't. I'm nowhere near finished.

"And yeah, I know you've heard me say it before. I haven't forgotten the whole 'we're married' thing. But this is my first time, and it's a big fucking deal, okay? Because I've spent so much of my life denying it, just trying to survive the fact that you left me.

"Every year, I thought it would go away, but if anything, it only got worse. And the most frustrating part was, until this very moment, I never understood why. But it's because I always knew it wasn't you. Cutting me off never felt like something you could do, and it's why I've never been able to let you go. I was so sure there had to be a reason," I brush a curl away from his face, "and there was.

"What happened with Mark... you are not to blame for it, Carter. The breakdown of your friendship, his death — none of it was your fault. There's only one person to blame, and she's rotting several thousand feet underground. But what happened between us, that is all on me. Our falling out wasn't just about Mark's threat, like your fight with him wasn't just about a broken promise. For years, I was terrified I did something to push you away, and without knowing it, I did. I have always put Mark first, not just this week, but for as long as you've known me. When you cut me off, I thought you knew how much you meant to me, how much it would hurt me. But now, it's clear that you didn't.

"So here I am, saying that I love you. That I have always loved you, and that I'll love you until my last dying breath." I recall our wedding vows easily, trailing a finger over his ring. "I love you more than all the stars, the moon, the sun, and every fucking planet that's up there. More than all the galaxies combined. But I'm also telling you that I'm sorry. For the night at Mark's house, for the years you spent alone because of it... and for not making you feel loved sooner."

Years of suppressed emotion come bursting to the surface. Terrified should be one of them; the thought of confessing my love to Carter a week ago would've made me shit my pants. But I'm not. Staring into his eyes, his hands in mine, I've never felt more sure about anything in my life.

The silence is deafening now that I've finished my confession. Not to toot my own horn, but that was a Notebook worthy speech. It deserves an equally sentimental response.

"The sun is a star."

A record scratches in my head. "What?"

"You said you love me more than the sun and the stars." A tear slips down his cheek, even as he gives me a teasing smile. "The sun is technically a star."

I stare at him in disbelief. After everything I just said, he's hung up on a space technicality. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I gear up to tell him off.

"Are you fucking —"

His lips shut me up, kissing me with an intensity that leaves me breathless.

"Kidding," he says, pulling back until his mouth grazes mine. "This may not be my first time hearing it, but I think it may be my favorite. And even though I've told you a thousand times, I'll tell you a thousand more. I love you, too, Amber. More than the sun and the stars."

"Don't make me go back to hating you." I try to bite back, but my smile gives me away.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he whispers before closing the last little space between us.