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“Football things,” I repeat, nodding my head.

“Okay,” Winona says, accepting his stuttering excuse without question.

“I’ll go call our Uber,” Winona says, stepping away from Marcus and me, obviously intending to give us some privacy to say our goodbye.

My emotions are all over the map as I stare at Marcus. Faking in front of the cameras and all of Nashville drained me. I need time to process all this new information about him—to sort out what I believed and the evidence that’s making me question everything about him.

But why?

Marcus isn’t mine.

I don’t need to decipher what’s real about him.

I need to end this. Now.

I walk over to him. He glances up from his phone.

“Everything okay?” he asks, that same softer look in his eyes.

“We can't keep doing this,” I say.

His forehead scrunches, brows furrowing.

My stomach feels like a bottomless pit, sinking and hollow.

I press on. Mom always said when you’ve got bad news to deliver, do it carefully and swiftly.

“You've gotten good press,” I say. “I've gotten exposure for Porch Light. I can't do this anymore. It has to stop.”

Winona walks up, apparently finished calling our rideshare.

“What has to stop?” she asks.

Marcus looks at Winona and then back at me.

I take in the confused expression on my sister’s face and then glance back at Marcus.

Then I blurt out, “We have to stop saying goodbye and not seeing one another for a whole week.”

What?

I start to say something else—to correct my slip.

Marcus speaks up before I can say anything. “I know, I miss you too—when I’m away.”

His hand lifts and I’m frozen in stunned silence. His silver-blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

He cups the back of my neck and I stand stock-still as if I’m in a trance, rooted to the ground outside Channel Seven.

Marcus tugs the back of my neck just the slightest.

I could stop him.

I could turn my head away.

I could laugh this off.

But I don’t.