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"Who is that?" Sam whispers to me.

"That's Chip. Franklin Chipley," I tell him.

"The sheriff's son?" Sam remembers everything.

I nod. Sam nods at Chip in greeting and Chip nods back with a slightly confused expression. Of course, he has no idea who Sam is.

The judge re-enters and we all stand in unison until he tells us to be seated. I'm called to the stand not a minute later.

I am a pathetic witness. My voice is shaky, soft, and the judge asks me to speak up several times. I feel like I'm failing, but I tell the truth. I answer every question, if not always particularly eloquently, and Prosecutor Counter is very patient with me. The defense objects more times than I can count, and the judge grants their objections more often than he overrules them, making me more anxious each time. It feels like he's on their side. I don't know why, but it does, and it terrifies me even more.

I avoid Robin's eyes, except for when I'm asked to point him out in the courtroom.

I disappoint myself by crying more than once, and I have to take three breaks, and one more anti-anxiety pill. But I don't panic and I suppose that's some small victory.

It's nearly five in the evening by the time I'm finished and the judge decides to continue with my cross tomorrow. I'm partly relieved, but at the same time, I just want to get it over with.

I step down from the stand and receive hugs from both my mother and Sam, who whispers to me how brave I was. Chip approaches us hesitantly, and my mother pulls him into a hug, thanking him for showing his support.

I can't find words to tell him how much it means to me that he showed up. Instead, I start crying, and he wraps his arms around my shoulders. It's the first time I've tolerated the touch of a man other than Sam since Cam's death.

"Of course I'm here, Rory girl. I've always had your back, you know that," he whispers to me. It's true—he has. But I'm not sure if I've always known it.

"Thank you Chip," I murmur as I pull away, wiping my eyes.

He turns to Sam and holds out his hand. "Franklin Chipley, I'm an old friend of Rory's," he introduces.

Sam shakes his hand, sizing up Chip as if he might be some kind of competition, which is ridiculous. "Sam Caplan, Rory's boyfriend."

Chip's eyebrows raise as he continues shaking Sam's hand. He doesn't trust him, that much is obvious. Of course, he knows what happened with my last boyfriend.

"Did you drive down?" I ask Chip.

He nods. "Left at dawn, woulda got here earlier, but I-95 was shit."

"Are you drivin' back tonight?" I ask.

"Is this bullshit hearing over?" he asks, already knowing the answer, so I don't offer him one. "Then I ain't goin' anywhere, Rory girl," he says meaningfully.

Hearing the nickname both twists my heart painfully and makes me smile. That's what grief does once you've actually begun to process it, which I'm starting to realize I have, thanks to Michelle's Cam box. It makes you think of the happy times, and makes you miss them terribly at the same time.

"Well, where are you staying?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Haven't quite figured that out just yet. I'll find a motel."

I look up at Sam.

"I'll get you a room at our hotel," he offers.

Chip starts to argue, but Sam explains his hookup and Chip relents. My mother wants to work on the case tonight, so Sam, Chip and I plan to have dinner together and catch up. I want them to get over their distrust of one another. I want them to like each other. Because Chip has no romantic interest in me and Sam would never hurt me, and once they both realize that, I'm sure they can be friends.

Chapter Seventeen

R
ory's mom is still talking to Prosecutor Counter and Rory and Chip are chatting like the lifelong friends they obviously are, so I decide to give them a few minutes to catch up in private. The truth is I could also use a few minutes. Hearing Rory recount all that—watching her relive it… it wasn't easy for me. I leave them talking and head to the men's room.

It's good that they're still in the courtroom because I stop cold when I turn the corner to find her father and
that motherfucking bastard's
father standing around talking about the day's proceedings.

Fucking traitor.

Neither man notices me and I don't make myself known. As much as I'd love to tell them both off—or fucking deck them—I know that wouldn't be helpful to Rory.

Robert Forbes takes the opportunity to say some nasty things about Rory's testimony and I grit my teeth to stop myself from reacting. I wait there, not wanting to pass them, which I have to do to get to the bathroom.

"Your daughter is one good liar," Forbes observes.

I wait for Rory's asshole father to agree, or at least respond, but his silence surprises me. Both times I've met him he's jumped at the chance to condemn Rory. There's a long, pregnant pause and, for some reason, it startles me.

"She's not, actually," her father mutters so quietly I almost can't make it out.

I listen more intently, suddenly riveted by the exchange.

Forbes scowls. "What?"

There's another long pause before Rory's father speaks again. I stare at the small glimpse of profile I can see of him, his introspective expression confusing me deeply.

"When Rory was nine she broke a vase," he says cryptically.

Forbes glares at him with impatience, but he doesn't seem to care.  

"I came home from golfin' early—with you, actually—on account of a sudden rainstorm, and there it was, shattered on the livin' room floor. I went up to her room to ask her about it. Cam Foster was with her, told me they heard a noise, but had no idea what had happened. That it musta been the cat."

Rory's dad lets out a soft, ironic snicker at the memory. "Kid was a good liar. Convincing as all hell. I asked Rory if that was the way of it. You see, those kids couldn't go an hour without tossin' a baseball around those days. Little League season was just startin' out and Rory was intent on startin' with the boys. She never could warm a bench.

"But like I said, it was rainin'. They weren't supposed to play ball in the house, Rory knew that…"

He trails off for a moment, Forbes watching him both warily and with frustration. "Honestly, Marty, my son is on trial for sexual assault and battery! His entire goddamn future is at risk because of your daughter! Why the hell am I listenin' to this stupid story—"

But Rory's father cuts Forbes off, continuing as if he wasn't interrupted in the first place.

"She had this tell, you know.
Has
this tell. She can't lie for shit. Bites her lip every time. When I asked her about the vase, she chewed it red. I knew right away she was lyin'. That she and Cam broke the vase, probably playin' ball in the house. Even as a teenager she bit her lip any time she so much as stretched the truth or left somethin' out. Amy and me, we always knew when somethin' was up with her because of it… Until I stopped payin' attention…

"But, you know, Bobby, that wasn't the only reason I knew she lied. She wasn't just bad at it, she couldn't stand doin' it. That stupid lie about the vase—an hour later she came to me sobbin', her eyes rainin' harder than the rainstorm, confessing that she did it. That she talked Cam into practicing inside, and she knocked it over goin' for a catch. "

His voice has grown strangely self-recriminatory, and I wonder. I wonder if it could be possible that he's finally coming to his senses. And from the look on
that motherfucking bastard's
father's face, he's wondering the same thing.

"Rory ain't a good liar, Bobby. Rory ain't a liar at all," he says pointedly.

Forbes expression morphs from nervous to indignant. "What exactly are you sayin', Marty?"

"I think you know exactly what I'm sayin'. I—
shit
." And then without another word, Rory's father turns and walks away, heading into the stairwell and disappearing inside it.

I back away, not wanting to be noticed, but I'm hoping. I'm hoping that what I just saw, what I just overheard, is exactly what it appeared to be. I'm not sure how it can help Rory's case, but the idea of Rory winning this small piece of vindication, it gives me just that—hope.

I won't tell her. I'm not sure what good it could do. But if Rory's father, one of
that motherfucking bastard's
biggest supporters, was convinced by her testimony, then maybe the judge was too.

But I'm not leaving it up to chance. My father explained the best way to ensure the case, including this hearing, goes our way, and I plan on seeing to it.

Like I've said before, I keep my promises. Especially to my girl.

Chapter Eighteen

S
am
and I meet Chip in the hotel restaurant for dinner around seven. We spent the last hour sitting on Sam's hotel room balcony just decompressing from the day. Sam had a lot of questions about Chip even though I'd told him a bit about him before. Eventually he seemed satisfied that Chip’s and my friendship was more like brother and sister than anything else, complete with a healthy sibling-like rivalry.

He also wanted to hear details of how Chip reacted to what went down in Linton after Cam's death. Like he wanted assurances of his loyalty. He was satisfied to hear that Chip essentially bullied me into making my statement against Robin. That if it weren't for him, I may have never done it at all.

Chip looks more like himself at dinner in faded jeans and a golf shirt, which is still pretty dressed up for him. When Sam excuses himself after appetizers, murmuring something about letting Chip and me catch up, I realize that through all his earlier questioning he was looking for reassurances about leaving me alone with him. I don't know his real reason for excusing himself. Not for certain. Because Chip and I could just as soon catch up with Sam here, and I
want
him here, but I suspect he needs some alone time after a long day of testimony, and I don't want to make him feel guilty for it. So I say nothing.

I let spending time with Chip distract me. It turns out he's going to college in New York as well—the John Jay College of Criminal Justice—and with the knowledge that I really may get my friend back, we relax and just enjoy each other's company. We both pretend like it's the only reason we're here, in this restaurant in this hotel in Miami. We ignore the real reason.

We talk about memories. We talk about Cam. It feels good to talk about him with someone who was there, someone who remembers. Someone who loves Cam as much as I do. We don't discuss his death, we only discuss his life, and we do something I never thought I'd do again while thinking about Cam—we laugh.

But there are things I'm not ready to talk about. That I'll probably never be ready to talk about. Mostly because there is nothing to say. No answers. Because when Chip suddenly gets serious, an uncharacteristic look for him, and tells me how much Cam loved me, I have a striking suspicion he means more than the obvious. It's only a moment later that he confirms my suspicion.

"Did he ever tell you, Rory?" Chip's voice is soft and hesitant, and he seems oddly invested in the answer.

I can't meet his eyes, so I train them on my raspberry sorbet instead.

Chip sighs. "Well I guess he must've. Or you wouldn't even know what I was talkin' about, would you?" he says more to himself than to me.

It's minutes before I speak again, and in those minutes I'm desperately conflicted, as I always am when I think about that night, about our kiss. But even more so when I try to guess what would have happened if he hadn't vanished from my world—from
the
world—the very next morning.

Sometimes I play out an alternate life. One where my plans weren't thwarted by my own naivety. Where Cam never read Robin's texts, where I woke up before him and had Robin arrested before Cam could try to confront him. Would we have ended up together? I don't see how we wouldn't have.

I loved Cam, I know that. But it wasn't what I feel for Sam. It wasn't
less than
, but it was different. But knowing how deeply in love I am with Sam doesn't change the fact that if Cam lived, I would be his. And I could have been happy. I may never have known the all-consuming passion, the borderline obsession and desperation for another person that I do now.

But that's just it, isn't it? I never would have known. Do you miss something you don't know exists? Particularly when you have a different, safer kind of love? A life-long companionship that means the world to you? I don't know the answer, and that's the problem. I'll
never
know the answer.

But I can't seem to stop asking myself the question.

"I love Sam," I say finally. It's the wrong thing to say, but then, anything I say right now is the wrong thing. There is no right thing when there's no right answer.

"I can see that," Chip murmurs, not even the smallest ounce of judgment coloring his words. It helps me meet his eyes again.

"But I did love Cam," I tell him. He knows that of course. "It could have been more. It might have already." My eyes well up, but I don't let a single tear fall. "What if in some alternate universe, I'm with Cam? Or at least, I'm supposed to be…"

I feel like I'm betraying Sam somehow. Like I do when I go through my Cam box. I know it isn't based in logic. Or maybe that's exactly what it is. If P then Q. If I hadn't lost Cam, I'd never have met Sam. I'd undo Cam's death in a microsecond…

"Rory—"

"I never thought I'd have this," I breathe. "I didn't even know it existed. It's not what I felt for Cam," I admit.

Chip looks at me with sad, compassionate, infinitely familiar brown eyes. He's aged more than the year we've been apart. Tragically losing your best friend will do that to you.

"But I'd give it up to bring him back. Not to be with him. Just… for him to be alive."

It's my darkest confession.

Guilt. It isn't rational, but it's there, consuming me every time I let myself really consider the reality of my life. Of the seemingly small choices, the oversights that change everything, forever.

"Of course you would, Rory girl. That doesn't mean you don't love your man," Chip says soothingly.

I shrug. I know it doesn't mean I don't love him. Because I do love him—I love him more than words can adequately explain. But it does mean I probably don't deserve him.

"He tell you? Sam, I mean. That he loves you? 'Cause he does," Chip says confidently.

I chew the inside of my cheek. Sam hasn't said those words since the last time we were here in Miami.

Chip narrows his eyes. "He should tell you," he says, again, almost to himself. Something in his tone, in his mannerisms is different. It's almost as if he's taken over Cam's protective streak for him. Like he fancies himself my big brother, even though I'm two months older than he is.

It's both refreshing and overwhelming having Chip here to talk to. But this particular day has been far too emotionally draining, and I change the subject before it gets to be too much for me.

"So what about you, Chip? You datin' anyone?" I always thought he and Emmers would get together. She certainly hoped so.

Chip shakes his head. "Not anymore. I was seein' this girl Tully Winters. You remember her?"

"That Bill Winter's daughter?" I ask. "Isn't she kinda young?"

Chip smirks. "Old enough. She was a sophomore this year."

"Didn't work out?"

Chip shrugs. "I'm gonna be in New York in a couple months. She wanted a commitment. Wasn't really up for all that."

"I thought you'd end up with Emmers," I admit.

For the second time tonight Chips features set into a strangely serious expression.

"What?" I ask.

Chip shakes his head incredulously. "Really, Rory girl? After what those bitches pulled with you? You think I was just gonna pretend
what?
All is forgiven just because you left town?"

I blink at him.

"We don't speak to them. We got your back. Whether you're there or not."

I try not to show my surprise but I'm sure I fail. "We?"

"Uh...
Nick, Perry
…" he says our childhood friends' names like he can't believe I didn't know who he'd meant. He shakes his head again, but this time it's reproachful. "Did you really think we wouldn't have your back?" He doesn't bother hiding his offense.

And he's right. I shrug. "I guess… I guess I was so desperate to escape that I didn't really think at all. And then, I just figured life went on without me, like before."

I wince at my own words. Of course nothing was like before, not without Cam.

"I didn't mean—I mean I know everything changed, once Cam died." It still feels like a knife to my chest every time I vocalize it.
Cam. Dead
. Words that should never have gone together, but are now inseverable.

Chip's brow furrows like he's trying to work something out, and then lands back on incredulity as he shakes his head again. "Yeah, Rory. Once Cam died, and then we lost our other best friend, too, remember? We had the rug pulled out from under us—findin' out what he'd been doin' to you. You have any idea what it was like for me that day in the hospital? When you unzipped your hoodie…" He takes a deep breath, his features set as if he's in actual physical pain.

"And then… Look, I get you were going through serious shit. I get that it wasn't about me, but like, we've been friends since we were little, and then suddenly you couldn't even be in the same room with me without hyperventilatin'. Like you were
scared
of me. We both just lost Cam and—" He swallows his pain and I'm flooded with guilt.

Not for my anxiety; I know I wasn't to blame for that. But I never really considered how much it all affected Chip.

"Shit, Rory. You act like… like you thought your own friends just up and forgot about you. And I don't mean Lacey and those hags. I mean your real friends. The guys you'd known since kindergarten.
Us
."

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

"No, Rory girl.
I'm
sorry. I thought you needed distance, so I gave it to you. I thought you'd call me when you were ready. But I never should've let it drag on so long. I should have found a way to get in touch."

"I should have called you." I know I wasn't ready before, but at least since I started talking to Michelle again, I should have tried to call Chip. And Nick and Perry too.

Chip sighs. "Well, we're talkin' now. That's what matters, I guess. But just know, we were always thinkin' of you. We never forgave the people who hurt you." His lip twists up into a small, wry smile. "Not even when Emmers put her hand on my crotch out by the lake and whispered that her mouth would feel even better."

My eyes widen and my last sip of soda spits out with my laughter. "You didn't cave for a blowjob? Well that's real loyalty right there."

His smirk grows. "My will power has gotten much stronger I'll have you know."

"God I'd have loved to see her face," I admit.

"Well, it looked a little somethin' like this." He drops his mouth open and sets his features into indignant shock, batting his eyelashes dramatically.

I giggle uncontrollably.

"Then she told me I didn't know what I was missin'."

"And what'd you say?"

He sighs, his face growing somber once again. "I told her I did. That I was missin' my two best friends. Not head from some skank who helped run one of 'em off."

I blink at him for a full minute before I get up from my chair and wrap my arms around his surprisingly broad shoulders. Chip hugs me back fiercely.

****

T
he
rest of the evening is exponentially lighter. With all of the unsaid between us now finally said, I actually feel like I have my old friend back.

Eventually we call it a night and make plans to meet outside the courthouse at 8:45 the next morning.

Sam isn't in his suite when I get upstairs. He isn't in my room either. My heart plummets. I try calling him, but his cell goes straight to voicemail. But I'm not worried, just disappointed. Because I know he's probably walking the beach clearing his head. And I know it's because of me.

I'm the reason he's here right now, testifying and lying on a witness stand. Listening to me testify about the horrors of that night.

All of his friends are back home, partying, celebrating. Yesterday was the last day of school, Monday is his Athletics Awards dinner, Saturday is our senior Prom, and next Tuesday graduation. These are the things that should be on his mind. Not this.

But there's no help for it. We fell in love. And good or bad, Sam is going to be there for me, I know it, even if he wasn't a witness himself.