She would hate that.
“You can’t tell anyone,” he repeated. “No one. She would not want that. She would not want to…to become the focus of this. You can’t tell Emily.”
Michael huffed out another breath, no amusement in this one. Only exasperation.
“Just what I fucking need,” Michael said, turning away.
But then Griffin caught it—the addition of something else. A muttered exhalation. Griffin thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to hear it, but at the same time, Michael wasn’t stupid. Wasn’t reckless with his words. If he said it, some part of him wanted Griffin to hear it.
“Another secret to keep from her.”
An ominous prickle went through Griffin’s skin. Left side.
What the fuck does that mean?he wanted to say, but those words were still too fresh in his mouth from talking to Jamie, from some other held-back piece of knowledge about someone else he—
Well. He couldn’t think about that now. His skin was getting pricklier, warmer. The flour on his hands felt itchy.
“Mikey,” he said to his friend’s back. Sharp, even with the nickname. “What secret?”
It was a long wait. Griffin watched his friend’s shoulders move up and down, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“What secret?” Griffin repeated. Needles now. Hot.
Michael turned around. Did not look at Griffin’s face.
He said, “She doesn’t know about Sara Beth.”
For long seconds, Griffin could not think, just from the sound of her name, which he tried to never hear, even after all this time. Because for so long, for years and years, that name had only been a scream to him: his own, first, desperate and searching and panicking, and then, later—after—Michael’s.
A sobbing howl, broken and disbelieving.
“You said you told her,” Griffin said eventually, his voice quaking. He thought distantly about how they were out on the street. Not a busy street, but not a desolate one, either. This was a different city than the one he’d been in yesterday. Steep and crooked and wrong.
“I did tell her,” Michael said. “I told her there was a house fire. That—that it’s how you got hurt. I told her a…a friend of ours died.”
“A friend of ours?” Griffin repeated. He could still feel the scalding pain along his skin, but also, he was strangely numb to it, his brain on fire now.
Michael looked devastated. Ashamed.
“You were going tomarryher,” Griffin said.
He felt ashamed, too, saying that. It was too simple, really, for what Sara Beth had been. Michaelwasgoing to marry her. He’d bought the ring the week before his graduation from the Air ForceAcademy. He’d sent Griffin a picture of it. He’d already asked Sara Beth’s father, who was an absolute deadbeat, but still. He’d known she would say yes. Everyone knew.
Because Michael and Sara Beth had loved each other for years.
Since ninth grade. High school sweethearts. Kept it together long distance, all through college, a rarity. Sara Beth practically lived at the Plackett house, from the time she turned seventeen. Had chosen Paula to be her sponsor at her community college graduation, had been the only person that could ever get Fitz to laugh.
Had called Griffin “Griffy.”
She was sweet and sometimes annoying and Griffin had loved her because she was Michael’s girlfriend, Michael’s forever, but he had also loved her because she was herself. A good friend, a good person.
“How could you not tell her?” he said, and Michael winced.
“I wanted to,” Michael said. “I’ve tried. But Emily is…” He trailed off, and Griffin thought,He is not actually going to say it, is he?
“Young,” his friend finished, sounding utterly defeated.
Now Griffin turned away, a wild, short-stepped pacing that sent a shaft of pain through his leg. He had never wanted to lay hands on Michael in his life, but he did now, and he had to get far away enough—only a couple of steps, fine—for the feeling to pass.
