"I'm sorry—" he starts, but I interrupt him.

"No, Dad. I'm not telling you because I want you to be sorry. I'm telling you because I know a way to fix it. To make it stop. To make it right. But you have to trust me."

He sucks in a shaky breath, his shoulders lifting with the strength of it. "Okay," he sighs. "Show me."

Eight times.

Eight times he dips his head, and he screams.

And he cries.

I've never seen my dad cry.

When he's done, he silently walks out of the water and sits on the grass, just like I did.

I sit next to him and wait. Because I know what it's like to be so lost. And so found. All at the same time.

"You've done this before?"

"Yes."

He turns to me. "That boy... Cameron? He helped you with this?"

I nod slowly, unsure of his reaction.

"Tell me about him?"

"What?"

"You mean a lot to him, it's not hard to see that. So tell me about him."

"He's um, in my class. He's fifteen. He plays baseball. And he lives in those houses." I point to the general area of his house.

"No, Luce," he says. "I want you to tell me about him. What kind of person he is. Who he is."

And without knowing, my smile is back. "He makes me happy."

Dad chuckles. "That's obvious, but tell me why? How?"

I turn to him now, confused by his words.

He rolls his eyes and folds his hands under his chin. Then, with a high-pitched tone to match that of a pre-teen girl, he mocks, "Oh but Daddy, he's just sooo dreamy."

I laugh and punch him on the arm. He nudges my side in response. And that's when I feel a calmness take over—the kind of calmness that can't be obtained from hiding away, or living your life through the pages of a book.

It's the kind of calmness that fights the storm.

I let my mind wander to Cameron. My head racing with so many thoughts, I don't know what to say first.

"So?" Dad encourages.

"He's fierce."

His brows rise. "Fierce?"

"Yeah. The way he cares for me—the way he protects me. It's fierce. He's fierce." I take a moment to gather my words. "He's a kid, Dad. We both are. But he doesn't act like it, not with me, and not with the boys. The boys—it's like they're his brothers. And I know that even if I weren't in the picture, he would've still been there—showing up every day. He would have done it for them. Because his heart is huge, bigger than anyone I've ever met. And he makes me smile. He makes me laugh. After everything that's happened, I didn't think that I'd be able to get back there. Laughing, I mean. I thought it was impossible to be able to laugh again. But he did it; he made my impossible, possible. And he had absolutely no idea he was doing it."

"He sounds like a good man."

"He is, Dad. Really. You'd like him."

He smiles at me. The same proud smile he's always had. Sometimes, like now, I think he saves that look just for me.

"So when can I meet him?"

-CAMERON-

Luce: I have a field trip all day today, but I don't want you to think I'm ignoring you or 'studying'. Just thought you should know so you don't worry. Or whatever.

I read over the text I got from her this morning. I don't know why I keep doing it. I've memorized it. It's seared into my brain. Because it's not just a text, it's a confirmation of what she is to me.

When I look up, I see Logan watching me. He shakes his head. "I give it two weeks before she owns your balls."

I chuckle and finish dressing for practice. "Quit being jealous." I pat him on the head as I walk past. "One day you'll meet a girl that's gonna knock you off that high horse of yours and you'll gladly hand her your balls."

He scoffs. "Not me, asshole. Never." He shivers. "Ever." The look of disgust on his face makes me laugh.

We all head out of the locker room and toward the field. Just as I'm about to pass the gates, I hear her call my name. I turn around to see her running to me. "Wait!" she yells, and it makes me laugh. Of course I'd wait. I'd wait forever for her. She stops only feet away from me and bends over, trying to catch her breath.

"Where did you run from?"

"The bus," she pants.

"That's like six yards away."

She flattens her palm on my stomach and attempts to push me, but she's too damn weak and it has absolutely no effect. "I'm sorry Mr. Jockface, I don't run laps for fun."

I smile, watching, and waiting for her breathing to settle. When it does, she straightens to full height. She tries to contain her smile when she says, "I was hoping to catch you before practice."

"Well, you got me."

She chews her lip, her eyes scanning the area around us. All of my excitement from seeing her is instantly drained. Her words come back to me, the ones that tell me she's afraid of being seen with me. Afraid of what people think of her. I make a mental note to find out who the hell said what, and punch them. I've never really been the physical type, but apparently she makes me punchy.

I step forward and hesitate, only for a moment, before bravely taking her hands.

She gasps, her gaze slowly lifting to mine.

My brows rise in question. I need her to know that she's mine now, and all the petty dramas of high school, the whispers and the rumors—they can go to hell. I'll make it right.