Told you. You hate me, don’t you? Yeah, I hate me too.

People cast stones at what they don’t know. At what they don’t understand. Houston had every right to punch me. That’s why I didn't throw a punch back.

His hatred was clear in his eyes. I don’t blame him one bit. Not one fucking bit.

My past transgressions are something I’ll live with for the rest of my life. Decisions I made in the heat of the moment.

Events playing out beyond my control, ruining lives in the process. It’s my cross to bear. And I do, every fucking day.

The worst part is Katy. I never meant to do this to her.

I rub the reminder above my eye.

Pulling out my phone, I send Katy a text, begging her to see me. No surprise, I get no answer.

* * *

When I wake the next morning, it’s clear what I need to do. I Google my destination and set out. Not for forgiveness, but to be heard.

The cab driver pulls up to a brownstone in Murray Hill, and I take a deep breath before handing him cash.

One foot in front of the other.

I stare at the door, wanting more than ever to return home to Chicago, forget all of this happened.

With all my courage, I knock.

The woman from last night opens the door, and she doesn’t say hello, she only steps aside for me to come in.

“Thank you. Is Houston here?”

“Through there,” she says, pointing to an archway. “I’ll give you two some time.”

My nerves are trying to get the best of me. The echo of my heartbeat pounds in my ears. Breathe in. I can do this. I should have done this years ago.

I walk into the sun-filled living room. Pictures of a young boy smile at me from the mantle, and I frown.

Shit. I feel like I'm suffocating.

Houston, in blue scrubs, sits behind an oak desk, tapping away on a laptop.

“What do you want?” he asks, never looking up.

“Is this a bad time? I can come back.”

He shakes his head. “No. Sit. I’ll be right there.”

I take a seat on the dark, blue sofa and keep my eyes on the hardwood floor. I can’t bear to bring my eyes up to see the pictures of the lost little boy staring back at me. Just knowing it was my fault forms a pit in the bottom of my stomach.

Every muscle aches, screaming at me to face my mistakes. Look at him. See the boy you killed.

Tears sting my eyes, but I keep my head down.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come here,” Houston says, joining me. He parks himself on an armchair not far from the couch.

I glance up, taking in the pain in his eyes. Pain I’ve seen in my own in the reflection of a mirror.

“I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve that,” I start.

He cuts me off, “Then what are you here for?”

“To explain.”

Before I can continue, Houston rises, crossing to the mantle.

“Did you know he loved Spiderman? So much so, he always wanted to get bitten by them. He wanted superpowers.”

I half-smile. “Don’t we all.”

Houston never looks away from the precocious smile, missing teeth. “He would hunt for spiders, hoping they would bite him.” He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head.

I close my eyes. Breathe in. I can do this. Breathe out.

“I’m so sorry.” That word. I hate it. I’m at a loss. Everything I rehearsed on the cab ride over, gone and forgotten.

“You should be,” he grits out. “He was a great kid, and I miss him.” He braces his hands on the mantle, hanging his head. The silence is stifling when he returns to his chair. He won’t meet my eyes, and I don’t blame him. I can hear it in his voice, he’s holding back tears just like me, when he finally says, “So, explain.”

“It was a horrible morning. Dark, dreary. Rainy. Do you remember?”

“Yeah, we overslept. So, easy to do when it rains,” he muses, tracing his finger on the leather armrest.

“Yes.” I take another deep breath, removing the rosary from around my neck. “This won't mean much to you, but it was my sister’s rosary. She wore it everywhere. Her name was Harper.”

Houston nods, glancing at the necklace briefly. “Ok.”

“She was dating a really bad man.” I can see the confusion in Houston’s eyes, wondering where my story is headed. I keep going, “So bad, one night he beat the hell out of her.” Memories assault me. The swollen lip. The black eye. The bruised cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Houston offers, and I feel bad for his pity. I don’t want it. Not from him. I don’t deserve it.

I lean forward, bracing my forearms on my knees, letting the rosary dangle. “I woke up that morning to a text from her. Said she needed me. So, I rushed over, frantic at what I would find.” I stop for a moment, trying to catch my breath.

“So, you were speeding?”

“No.” I shake my head. “When I got to her house, she looked pretty bad. Black eye, busted lip. It took everything in my power not to go to his house and strangle him. I was upset. She was my baby sister, and some bastard had manhandled her.”

Houston’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment I think he can understand my pain.

“She was drunk. She’d been drinking all night. When I got there, I tried to convince her to go to the cops. I tried to call them,” I glare at the floor. “She cracked a tequila bottle over my forehead.” I point to the scar above my eye.

“Then what happened?”

“She grabbed her keys and ran. Hopped in her car. I chased after her, but I couldn’t keep up. I could barely see with all of the blood dripping into my eye.”

“I don’t understand. So, you chased her with your car and ran that stop sign?”

I shake my head, the squeal of tires echoing in my head. “No. Before I could even get down to the end of the driveway the accident had already happened. She plowed into that other vehicle. I ran as fast as I could.” I remember the pain in my legs. The ache in my side. Hoping, praying she was ok.

“Wait,” Houston says, holding his hand up to stop me. “The police report says you were driving,”

A tear falls onto the rosary. “When I got to the accident, I couldn’t breathe. I flew to her door, ripped it open. She was passed out. I ran to the other car. Oh God.” Another tear falls, sliding down the onyx bead. I can’t go on.

“Keep going.” His eyes fill with tears as I take a deep breath.

“I remember seeing your son. Nathan. I didn’t know what to do. I dialed 911. The driver was unconscious. I tried to get her to wake up. I remember shouting at everyone, at anyone who could help me.” I wipe a few tears.

“Was he alive?”

“Yeah. He cried for his mommy and daddy. I was afraid to touch him. Afraid I’d only make it worse. I went to him. I lifted him anyways, hoping I wasn’t making things worse. I rocked him in my arms as I sat along the asphalt. Rubbed his forehead, telling him everything would be ok.”

Houston closes his eyes. “Did he say anything else?”

“Just that he wanted to go home. That he wanted his mommy. I’m so sorry,” I say.

Houston rises from the chair. “I need a minute.” He walks away and my hands shake, tears dripping onto the rosary in a silent prayer I find forgiveness.

I sit in silence; the only sounds are of Houston sobbing against the wall in the hallway.

His grief is something I understand. It never gets easier, only manageable. The sobs quiet, and he returns.

“Why did you say you were driving?”

I glance at him. “When I heard the sirens, I panicked. She was drunk. Her life would be over. A DUI. She was on the Dean’s list at school. Harper needed my protection.”

“So, you said you were driving?” he asks.

“I didn’t know your son wouldn’t make it. I didn’t know the outcome. I just knew I had to protect my sister.” My voice breaks, and I pause before I set the lie free. “So, I ran to her car, tossed her into the passenger’s side. The blame was mine. It was my fault she drove away.”

He scrubs a hand across his jaw. “I can’t believe this. Where is she now?”

I rub the rosary in my fingers. “She’d always had dark periods. Depressions. When she found out what she’d done, how many lives she ruined, well, she was never the same. And then one day, I went to her house. Found her in the tub. Bloody water. She cut her wrists up so badly,” I sniff as I wipe a few more tears. “She was already dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

Regret fills our eyes as they meet. “Believe me, I wish every day I could give my life to change the outcome of that day.”

“I would have probably done the same for my sister,” he whispers.

I shut my eyes and all my thoughts rush to Katy. “I love her, Houston.”

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

“Listen, I’m on the first flight back to Chicago. I won't ever contact her again, but I need to apologize to her. And, I just wanted you to know how sorry I am, for everything.” I rise from the couch.

“Thank you for comforting my son and being there for him. I'm sure he was afraid. Hopefully you made it better.”

I nod and let myself out. Now to come clean to Katy and beg for her forgiveness.

But, before I see her, there’s one more thing I need to do.