His face sobers. “I had to know.”
“If I was safe?”
“If you wanted me gone.”
My throat tightens.
“I don’t.”
“I heard.”
We turn slowly, boots scuffing dirt.
“Are you mad at me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
The answer is immediate.
Honest.
My chest aches.
“For leaving?”
“For leaving like that.” His fingers flex at my waist, then settle. “For making me wake up in that bed alone after you said you wanted real.”
I look down.
He stops moving.
“Eyes up, Amelia.”
The command is soft enough to be a request.
I obey anyway.
“I deserved more than a note,” he says.
Tears prick my eyes. “I know.”
“And so did you.”
I frown.
His jaw works. “You deserved me learning to let you leave without you having to sneak out.”
That breaks me a little.
I press my forehead to his chest, and this time he doesn’t stiffen. He lowers his chin to the top of my head and holds me in the middle of the song while the Queens talk, laugh, drink, and pretend not to watch.
“I thought you would chase Jeremy again,” I whisper.
“I might have.”
“I thought you would end up in jail again.”
“Probably.”