Taking a deep breath, I knock on Claire’s front door. It’s late, but I know she’s up because the light in her living room is on. She’s probably waiting on me, and now I feel like an ass for not getting here sooner. The porch light flips on, and a second later she opens the door. Milo darts out, stumbling between my feet, and I pick her up.

“You lost something.” I hand Claire her dog.

“Thank you.”

She smiles as she holds the door open, and all I can think of is that damn fantasy of coming home to her after a long day on the ranch.

“Come in.”

I step over the threshold and hear her shut the door and lock it behind me.

“How was your day?” she asks, quietly.

“Rough.”

Turning around, I take Claire in. Her back is against the door, Milo squirming in her arms. She’s wearing a pair of silky shorts and a matching purple tank top that leaves very little to the imagination. Her nipples are puckered, threatening to break through the thin material, and I want to lift her top up and suck a tight peak into my mouth.

She takes a step forward, drawing my eyes up. “What happened?” she asks, setting the pup down. Milo scurries off, leaving me alone with her owner.

I grab Claire’s hand. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Oh,” she says. “That must’ve been awful.”

I tug her forward until her body falls against mine. “Wasn’t sure I was going to make it through the day.”

“Maybe I can make it up to you.” Pushing up on her toes, Claire presses her lips to my mouth, and I let her because I need this connection. I need to ensure I get one final kiss before I say what I’ve come to say.

Her soft mouth molds against mine, but when she pushes her tongue against the seam of my lips, I stop her, afraid that if we take it any further, I’ll chicken out.

“Can we talk first?”

“As long as you haven’t changed your mind or come up with an excuse for why this won’t work.”

I hate the uncertainty in her voice. “I haven’t, but you might after you hear what I have to say.”

“Okay,” she says cautiously. “I’m listening.”

Every worst-case scenario runs through my head. I take a deep breath and motion for the couch. “You might want to sit down for this.”

She swallows hard. “I’m good.”

“Please, Claire, sit.”

“You’re scaring me, Trevor,” she says, lowering herself to the couch.

“I, uh…wow.” I rub my hands together. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be—”

“Listen, if this is some weird it’s-not-you-it’s-me thing you’re trying to figure out how to say, then just forget about it.” Claire pushes up from the couch, but I catch her before she makes it far.

“No. I swear it’s not like that. Please, sit back down.”

She eyes me warily but returns to her seat. “Come on, Trevor, just tell me already.”

“I’m the reason your dad is dead,” I blurt. My entire body trembles as adrenaline pumps through my veins, and my arms and legs go numb as I wait for her to say something.

Claire’s mouth opens, and a cold knot forms in my stomach.

“What?” she asks, shaking her head. “I…I don’t understand.”

I take a step toward her, but she doesn’t move. She’s staring at me like I just spoke in a foreign language.

“The fire your dad responded to the day he was killed? It broke out around twelve o’clock that afternoon, during my lunch period.” I say, lowering myself to the couch beside her, making sure I keep enough distance between us.

I’ve relived that day more times than I can count, but I’ve never talked about it out loud to another person. “I was twelve and in a bad place—rebellious, crazy hormones, and mad at the world. I snuck out to the bleachers during lunch to smoke. It was freezing outside, and I kept lighting cigarettes, one right after the other, and the next thing I knew, the fire alarms at the school were going off. At first, I thought it was the bell, so I snuffed out my cigarette. By the time I made it across the football field, kids were spilling out of the school, tripping over each other, crying and screaming, and that’s when I knew it was something more. And then the fire department showed up, and all hell broke loose. Your dad was the first one on the scene.”

Claire’s eyes are swimming in tears. She was in high school at the time, so she wasn’t there during the fire, but I’m sure she’s heard how horrific it was that day.

“He didn’t waver, Claire. He ran into that building without abandon, dragging kids out. They eventually contained the fire, but there was one kid unaccounted for, and that kid was me.”

My fingers are numb, my palms growing increasingly sweaty with each word, and I wipe them down the front of my jeans. “Your dad went in after me, but I was already outside.”

Claire starts shaking her head, but I keep talking, needing to get it all about before she says anything else.

“God, Claire, I was already outside. I knew they sent him in to find me, and I could’ve spoken up, but I was scared. I was a coward. And I’ll never forgive myself, because your dad went into that building one last time because of me, and he never came back out.” The words get clogged in my throat, and I cover my face with my hands.

Claire inches closer, resting her hand on my back. “Trevor,” she whispers, repeating my name a second time when I don’t look up. “Trevor, that’s not how it happened.”

“Yes, it is,” I say, pushing up from the couch to pace. “I saw it all play out from the bleachers. I heard them tell your dad to go back in. I should’ve hollered and jumped, run up to the chief—anything—but all I could think was that I didn’t want to get caught. I didn’t want my parents to find out I was smoking, so I stayed hidden. At some point during the chaos, I snuck into a crowd of kids and pretended I’d been there the whole time.”

Stopping in front of Claire, I watch her, waiting for her to lash out and tear into me. I think I need it. I need her to tell me I’m a coward and she’ll never forgive me for what I did. What I don’t need is for her to stare at me like she is now: speechless, with more love and heartache in her eyes than I’ve ever seen reflected back at me.

“Say something,” I whisper, falling to my knees in front of her. “Tell me you hate me. Tell me I’m a coward, something.”

She doesn’t. Claire shakes her head as tears fall down her face, and I don’t bother wiping them away because I don’t deserve that privilege. I don’t deserve to touch her. And now that my feelings have bubbled to the surface, I can’t seem to keep them from boiling over.

“I was a coward, Claire, and I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I would never ask that of you, but I want you to know I would give anything to go back to that day and change things. I’d give up my life if I could take it back.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I can’t keep it in any longer. My bottom lip trembles, and tears flow down my cheeks. I wipe them away, but they keep coming.

“I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve come clean and—” I choke back a sob. “I’m so sorry. These words are pointless. They don’t bring back your father, but I don’t know what else to say. Tell me what to say, Claire. Tell me what to do.” Dropping my chin to my chest, I swallow past the giant lump in my throat. “I’m sorry, Claire. I’m sorry.”

“Stop, Trevor.” Cupping my jaw in her soft hands, she lifts my face. “Please, stop saying that. Remember when you told me I wasn’t allowed to apologize to you for pulling me out of that fire?”

I nod, unsure if I can form words without losing my shit.

“This is the same thing. You didn’t kill my father, Trevor. He died doing what he loved. He died doing what he was trained to do. But he did not die because of you. The building collapsed, trapping him, but that wasn’t your fault.”

Did she not hear a word I said? “But I was out of the building, Claire.” Pulling her hands from my face, I scoot back. She’s not thinking clearly, and once she realizes what I’m telling her, she’ll hate me.

“Yes, you were, and I’m so glad, because if you’d been in the building that day, something might’ve happened to you, and I can’t imagine a world where you don’t exist, Trevor.”

“You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Her voice demands every bit of my attention. “He didn’t go back in because he thought there was someone still in there.”

“But I heard them. I heard the men talking…”

“I wasn’t there, Trevor, so I don’t know what you heard, but I’ve read the report, and I’ve talked to my dad’s crew who were with him that day, and I promise you he did not go back into that building because of you.”

I don’t understand. “Then why?”

“Did you know my dad was an arson investigator?”

“No, I didn’t.”

She nods. “He was. The report says the final sweep of the building was all clear, and the structure was deemed safe. My dad went back into the school to begin his investigation.”

This is all too much. I stand up, pushing my fingers into my hair while I pace the room. Tears burn my eyes, but I look up at the ceiling and squeeze them shut. For thirteen years I’ve carried this around with me. I’ve lost sleep over it, and I’ve let it eat at me. To find out everything I thought to be true is something entirely different—that’s a little overwhelming.

“Then why do I remember hearing them say they were missing a kid?”

Claire shakes her head. “I don’t know. The reports didn’t say anything about a missing kid. That day was hectic. There were children and adults crying and screaming, and people running all over. Who knows what you heard. And you were only twelve at the time, Trevor. It’s possible you misunderstood the situation, or maybe over the years that memory has been skewed.”

“Maybe, but I…”

I don’t know what to say. For years I’ve hated myself for that. It’s the reason I’ve kept Claire at arm’s length. It’s also the reason I’ve kept a protective eye on her from afar—almost like it was my duty to watch out for her and somehow repay my debt.

“It wasn’t your fault, Trevor, and I hate that you’ve lived with this for so long. I barely survived living with my guilt for a few weeks, and you’ve been battling it for over a decade.”

I never told a soul—not my best friends, siblings, or even my parents. I was too ashamed. For years it consumed me, and as I struggled to become the man I am today, there were many nights I lost myself in the bottle or the arms of a willing woman. Other days I was able to cope, but no matter what, it was always there.

When I was eighteen, my career choice slammed into me with enough force to rock my life off its axis. I had a nightmare—the same one I’d been having for years. I was crouched behind the bushes, watching the firefighters fight the flames, but instead of the scene unfolding, a hand grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me to my feet.

“Don’t just sit there,” a man yelled, tossing me toward the group of firefighters. “Get off your ass and help us.”

That man was Claire’s dad.

And that dream changed my life forever.

It wasn’t until I completed my training and became a full-time firefighter that I really learned the risks you have to be prepared to take every time you run into a burning building. But I promised himself I’d always be ready to take them, to pay forward the sacrifice Claire’s dad made for me.

The guilt lessened after that, but it never quite went away, and now I’m not sure how I’m supposed to let go of something I’ve carried around with me for so long.

“You have me,” Claire whispers.

I blink, completely unaware that I said that out loud.

“It’s not going to get better overnight—isn’t that what you told me? So let me help you. Let’s release your hold on that guilt, and day by day, we’ll let it go.”

Her words soothe my soul in a way nothing and no one ever has, and little by little, I feel the burden lifting from my shoulders.