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“Is that why you’re here?” Emma struggles to find her voice. “To tell me you’ll wait for me?”

I sit on the loveseat across from her. I almost reach for her hands but think better of it. Instead, I lean forward with my elbows on my thighs, bracing myself.

“That’s not the reason I’m here. I didn’t actually intend to tell you I loved you,” I admit, averting my eyes. I had yet to admit it to myself. “I wanted to wait until I knew you’d be able to say it back.”

My gaze falls to the scar on her ankle. That’s the night everything changed for me—I recognize it now.

“Why are you here?” She insists again.

I blow out a breath to get my thoughts back in order. Nothing I say tonight’s coming out right. Why do I suck so bad at communicating how I feel? Maybe it’s better to stop and get to what I should’ve been telling her.

“The police came to see me today.”

Panic flashes across her face. “What? Why?”

“They found a partial print on the car and matched it to me.”

“Wait. What car?” The color drains from Emma’s face. “Oh no. But why would…” Her breathing quickens. “He’s dead.”

“Yeah.” I lower my voice to try to calm her. “It wasn’t because of—"

Emma starts shaking her head. “Oh no. Oh God, no. What did we do?” She’s spiraling.

“You didn’t do anything.” I fight to keep her present. “He was hurting you, Emma. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, I promise.”

“I can’t believe… he’s dead.” Emma’s eyes dart around the room. “Can’t we just tell the police the truth?”

“We covered it up,” I explain carefully. “I cleaned any trace that he was here. So no, we can’t tell them the truth. They haven’t charged me with anything; they’re just asking questions right now. And I’ve spoken to a lawyer. It sounds like they don’t have much to go on.”

Todd referred me to a defense attorney, since he only deals with my estate. I reached out to him before I agreed to speak to the police at the station. A lesson I learned a decade ago.

“What did you tell them?” Emma’s trying to focus, but fear has her in its clutches.

“That I noticed his car at Rachel’s party the night before he was found, and that I’d stopped by here to talk to her so I may have inadvertently touched it.”

Emma stares blankly, nodding her head as if absorbing the news one piece at a time.

“I wanted to tell you in case they come by with follow-up questions,” I say, but I don’t think she can hear me. She continues to nod and stare at the floor where the coffee table used to be. “Just stick to your story about not seeing the face of the guy who broke in, and they can’t connect him to being here after the party.”

“Okay.” She says mindlessly. I’m not sure if she’s responding to me or her own thoughts. She seems a million miles away. “Wait. How did they have your print on file to match it?”

I lean back. There’s only one set of my prints on file, despite my legal trouble as a teen. The ones I voluntarily provided to the Hollis police to eliminate me as a suspect after the fire.

How do I tell her this? When will I finally be able to escape the worst night of my life?

“Jonathan, what did you do?” Emma studies me, like she’s trying to translate the answer from my tormented expression.

“Emma, I’ve wanted to tell you.” I run my fingers through my hair. There’s so much I haven’t told her. Where do I even begin? “But I was waiting until I knew you could handle it. Since I can barely live with myself, I was afraid you would—”

“What? Please, just tell me.”

I stand and begin to pace. The best place to start is to answer her question about how they were able to match me. “They took my prints after the fire.”

The horrified gasp stops me mid-step.

“No.” Emma gapes at me, coming to a conclusion that I can’t follow.

“You have to understand,” I try to explain in a rush. “They weren’t supposed to be home. They had been at a basketball tournament, but Ryan got sick. I thought my father was home alone.”