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“Yeah. We were sitting right next to each other when the blast happened.”

He sucks in air, eyes flooding with emotion once more. “Did it hurt?”

“Once the shock wore off, yeah. But in the moment, no.”

“Dad… Was he scared?”

“No. Well…” John’s eyes are vivid in my mind. “He wasn’t scared to die. But he… he was scared to leave you.”

Kamden whimpers, the devastation heart-wrenching.

“He…” My throat constricts, painfully so. “He knew he wasn’t going to make it. And he…” I look away, grinding my teeth to keep my voice from breaking.

I’ve replayed the words thousands of times.

Usually they arrive unwanted.

Middle of the night.

During showers.

When some random smell drags me backward eleven years.

But saying them to Kamden is different.

“He made me promise something.”

Kamden goes utterly still. “What?”

My chest tightens so fiercely I can barely breathe. But I meet his eyes, hold his pain in my own.

I can hear John as clearly as if he’s sitting in this room, not eleven years dead.

Take care of my boy.

“He asked me to take care of you.”

His body trembles. “He—Did you…”

I reach out and brush a tear from his cheek with the back of my hand. “I’m so sorry it took until now, sweetheart.”

10

Kamden

Adrien’s hand falls away from my face, but I can still feel where his knuckles brushed my cheek, a lingering stripe of warmth against skin already damp and overheated from crying.

For a little while, I don’t say anything.

I’m not sure I can.

There are too many pieces moving around inside my head, all of them sharp-edged and impossible to hold at the same time, and every time I think I’ve managed to understand one part of what Adrien has told me, another rises underneath it and changes the shape of everything.

Dad wanted me.

That’s the first thing.

Dad wanted me enough that he was planning to leave the Navy, hire lawyers, fight Mom, build me a room with pink walls, and buy me a sewing machine even though I’m almost positive he wouldn’t have known the first thing about choosing one.