That’s enough. That’s a lot.

After the ceremony, my father takes me out to dinner. It’s my choice because I felt I owed him that much, and it’s my last night in our house together. Since I told him I was moving, he’s been quiet. Too quiet. They haven’t been the punishing silences of the last year, but more thoughtful silences. I catch him watching me with an emotion I can’t read.

Dinner is strange, with lots of awkward pauses. When we get home, my father enters the house ahead of me, and I wander out to his garden shed, glad for the reprieve. With everything that’s happened, I’ve never switched the bottles of plant food and weed killer back. He’s remained mystified by the barren state of his garden.

I should feel guilty, and I do, a little. Enough that I toss the two containers in the trash, feeling a pang of regret for taking the one thing he loves from him.

But I wanted so much from my father, and he disappointed me.

Some people just don’t have it to give, though.

I sit on the porch to catch my breath in the evening summer heat, curling up on the swing where Carey once turned my life upside down. Tucking my skirt around my legs, I’m half-asleep when I hear a truck pull up.

Blake doesn’t get out right away. He stares at me through the windshield, and I think maybe he’s been crying. Even from this distance, I can see how red his eyes are. He finally gets out and I meet him on the steps, clenching my hand around the banister for support.

“Is Carey okay?” I ask, worried.

His hands clench into fists.

“Blake?”

“Yeah.” He laughs, but the sound of it is angry. “That bastard is just fine. I just got off the phone with him. He told me the truth, Q.”

Shocked, I sit on the top step with a thump that jars me. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s gay. He’s fucking gay, and he let you take the rap for him this year. He says he didn’t know how everyone treated you, that you never told him. But fuck, what did he expect?”

“You told him?” I ask, though I can see the answer on his face.

“Every damned insult,” he says vehemently. “The ones I know about anyway.”

Well, I think. At last. I should feel vindicated. Triumphant because the truth is out. I can’t figure out what emotions are winding through me, but none of them resemble happiness. I wonder who else knows and what the consequences will be for Carey.

“I want to hate him,” Blake continues, sitting on a step below mine. “But he cried like I was breaking his damned heart. I’ve never heard him cry.”

He shakes his head. “How could he lie to me like that, Q?”

“Sophie,” I say quietly.

“What?” he says.

“My name is Sophie. Not Quinn. Not Q. It’s Sophie.”

Nobody gets why this is important to me, but I’m done being who they think I should be. I am Sophie, whether they like it or not.

“Okay,” he says, sounding confused.

“I don’t think he lied,” I answer. “Not to hurt you, anyway. Maybe he hid who he was because he didn’t know if you’d still be his friend.”

Blake glares. “That’s bullshit. Like I care about that crap.”

“Hey,” I say, holding up my hands. “I didn’t say that’s what I thought. I said maybe that’s what Carey thought. Imagine how I felt when he told me.”

His shoulders stiffen, and I say, “You’re angry at me.”

“I guess I don’t understand why you’d cover for him. Why do you always put him first?” Blake asks. He’s not accusing, but sadness thickens his voice.

“You tell me. You did the same thing,” I remind him gently. He looks down, and I hug myself. “It’s a bad habit I’m trying to break. I suggest you do the same.”

I explain about the night Carey came to me, beaten and bloody. He sacrificed so much to serve, and what did it get him? Even knowing that, my guess is that he’d do it again because, like George, Carey believed in something bigger than himself.

“I didn’t know what else to do, Blake. Do you know how hard it was to see Carey like that? What would you have done in my place?”

After a while he says, “He told me about the night he confessed the truth. The night you and I . . .”

His voice trails off, and I sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m not proud of my reasons for going to you that night.”

He swallows. I know I’ve hurt him when he asks, “Did you ever feel anything for me?”

I kneel down in front of him, placing my hands on his knees. I wait for him to meet my eyes. “That first night, I was confused. I didn’t know what the hell I felt, except a lot of pain. But I figured things out pretty quick.” I touch his cheek, stroking my fingers across his whiskered skin. “I fell in love with you, Blake.”

He twines his fingers through mine, his eyes serious. “You never said. Even after that night in Grave Woods.”

That surprises me. I thought I’d told him how I felt. “Is that why you’ve been ignoring me?” I ask.

“Yes. I couldn’t wait around for you to toss me aside again. Especially once we heard Carey was coming home.”

“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Ditto,” he says.

He tugs me into his arms. Maybe we are both thinking about the damage the three of us have done to one another. Best friends, lost friends. When I can’t take the tension anymore, I move to sit beside him. Blake’s shoulder brushes mine, and sparks zing through me. I wonder if that will ever go away and know I will miss it if it does.