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“Okay.”

“I can take you to pick up your car tomorrow,” he said. “We can get your stuff then too.”

“What if he’s home tomorrow? I don’t want to see him—”

“The guys took his keys. They’ll let me know when he’s on his way back. We have time.”

I looked back at Mike’s.

“I need to go in there,” I said. “I want my jewelry box.”

I had no idea what Mike was going to do, mostly because now I realized I didn’t really know Mike. For all I knew, he’d hold my things hostage or try to corner me when I came back for my stuff. Maybe burn it on the lawn in a drunk rampage. There wasn’t much I cared about inside that house. I had my duffel for the cabin with a week’s worth of clothes and all my makeup, my best jacket and snow boots. Mom took the photos with her to South Dakota, and I’d sold most of my furniture. My jewelry box was the only thing I couldn’t live with losing—even if it was Mike who’d given it to me. I loved it too much.

“I can run in and get it,” he said.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I’m sure.”

“The carpet smells bad,” I warned.

“He said he ruined it?”

I coughed out a laugh and squeezed my eyes shut.

“What happened?” he asked.

I told him. Everything. When I was done, he somehow managed to look more worn out than he already was.

“You didn’t tell me…”

I gave him a look. “When was I supposed to tell you, Chris?”

He nodded slowly. It was a long moment of silence before he spoke again.

“I should never have brought her,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry for having a girlfriend?” I said.

“I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

Soft snowflakes were starting to come down. They landed gently on the windshield. “We should go,” I said. “I don’t want Janessa or Donna to see us out here.” I didn’t want to explain what was happening. Or worse, have them call Mike.

I picked up my purse from the floor to dig in it for the house keys. Then my hand grazed something familiar. I lifted it out and turned it over, studying it. My EpiPen.

It was unused.

“Didn’t you use my pen?” I asked, looking at him.

“No,” he said, rubbing his forehead.

“Well, whose was it?”

“It was mine.”

“You had an EpiPen? For what?”

He paused. “I just… had one.”