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The words no longer feel like a defense or request for permission.

“I love him enough to stop asking him to protect me from every consequence of that love. I love him enough to let him decide whether the person I become is someone he can trust.”

My fingers remain against Charlie’s name.

“I’m still going to fight for him, though. I think you would’ve respected that.”

No answer comes. The wind doesn’t move at the perfect moment, and no sign appears to assure me my brother heard any of it.

I don’t need one.

I sit beside Charlie until my legs ache and the stone cools beneath the shadow moving across it. When I finally stand, my face is swollen, my dress is wrinkled, and grass clings to my bare feet.

I don’t feel healed.

I feel devastated, exhausted, and more honest than I have ever been.

My mother waits beside the car when I return. She holds my shoes after I hand them to her and opens both arms without assuming I will enter them.

I do because I want to.

Crystal holds me against her while another round of tears comes. She doesn’t apologize, explain Lance, or tell me Charlie would be proud. Her hand moves over my hair until I can pull away without falling apart.

“Did he listen?” she asks.

“He always was a good listener.”

Her mouth trembles.

I wipe my face and look back toward the grave. “I was angry with him.”

“I know.”

“You knew?”

“I was too.”

The admission passes between us without shame.

I take my shoes from her and climb into the passenger seat. The cemetery remains visible through the windshield, but it no longer feels like a place waiting to swallow me. Charlie is there. My childhood is there. The first thing that taught me love could vanish no matter how good I was or awful I was is carved into stone there.

I can leave without running from it.

My mother starts the car, and I rest my head against the seat while the air-conditioning cools my wet face.

For months, Ryan has been waiting for me to find the broken part.

I finally know its name.

28

Charm

Four months and one week after Ryan leaves the castle, the lingering September heat remains trapped inside my loft while I sit at my desk with Charlie’s grave still beneath my fingernails.

I showered twice after returning home, but cemetery dirt remains lodged beneath one nail. I could remove it. Instead, I stare at the thin brown line while the blank page waits in front of me and warm air moves through the open windows behind my desk.

Ryan asked me to fight for him.