“To my room.”

In a flash, he’s leading me up the long flight. Even though I tell myself not to, I can’t help but look at his right leg, wrapped up in his tight-fitting jeans. I desperately want to ask him how he is, but it’s one subject I can’t get myself to touch upon, one question I can’t seem to voice. And I’m sure it’s not something he wants to talk about . . . ever. But still, I’m curious.

Thankfully, from the continuously active lifestyle he seems to lead, I can gather that he’s okay and that he’s hopefully moved on. At least that’s what I try to tell myself.

But with every step we climb, I notice a hitch in his step, a slight pain in his stride, scorching up the side of his leg, a reminder of that night.

The smell.

The burning flames.

The ash of his pants.

His black and burnt leg . . .

The end of his career.

It’s still raw, still heavy on my heart, a weighted brick of guilt on my conscience.

We make the turn down the hall once we reach the top step and pass a few doors before we step through the familiar navy-blue door at the end of the hallway. He pushes inside, and it’s like stepping back into the past. Sports posters still hang on the wall, encased footballs are displayed on his shelf, and the bed where we had many . . . dry-humping sessions is still covered in his navy-blue comforter from years ago.

Pressing past the memories that immediately tighten my throat, I take a deep breath and look around. “Wow, nothing has changed.”

“All our rooms are like this, little shrines to our childhoods. My parents refuse to change them. When Jen brings the kids over here, they get the choice of which room they want to stay in. They love the different ‘themes.’”

“Oh, I’m sure. What was it . . .” I think about it for a second. “Griffin was in the basement with Jen. Jen’s room was lined with New Kids on the Block posters; Griffin’s was neat and clean, nothing on the wall besides pictures of him and Claire.”

Rogan nods.

“And then you had the football room, Brig’s was covered in Ford Mustangs, and Reid . . .” A snort escapes me. “Please tell me the kids aren’t allowed in his room.”

“The posters of women have been taken down; that was the one thing my mom changed. She put up pictures of watering cans instead.”

Another unladylike snort pops out of me. “Watering cans? Why?”

“She thought it would be the perfect punishment for driving her crazy all those years. She was really nervous he was going to rub himself raw.”

“Well, you weren’t that much better.” I look him up and down.

“You caught me jacking off once during sophomore summer. I was nothing compared to Reid.”

I shrug my shoulders and stroll through his room, my finger skimming over his comforter. “I don’t know, you were really going to town on yourself.”

“Because I was so goddamn hung up on you. I needed release.”

I face him. “Stop.”

Taking a few steps, he closes the distance between us, leaving only a few feet. “Seriously. Before our first kiss that summer, I was so goddamn infatuated with you . . . and your tits.”

My eyes nearly reach the ceiling with the roll they give. “You were a horny teenager; you would have been happy with any pair of boobs.”

His face dead serious, he shakes his head, moving in another few inches. “No way in hell. Like it was yesterday, I distinctly remember the day you showed off your new yellow bikini. You took your shirt off, and I immediately rolled onto my stomach from how hard I got in seconds. You were so goddamn hot in that thing that it was the first time I realized I didn’t want you to be just my best friend.”

“The yellow bikini?”

Biting his bottom lip, he takes another step forward, this time reaching out and grasping my hand. He laces our fingers together, and for a moment, I savor the feel of his large hand wrapping around mine.

“Yeah, it was sexy. And from there, it was a downhill slope for me. I started noticing everything, from your long legs, to the flare in your hips, to the small belly button ring you liked to hide from your dad. I was infatuated with you, and the minute you mentioned never being kissed, I knew I had to be the one who gave you your first kiss. I became obsessed with the idea, and then you shocked the shit out of me and took charge, just like my best friend would.”

I don’t know what to say. At the time I didn’t sense his desperation for me, but in this moment, not only do I feel his current desperation but I can also see the teenage boy in his eyes, and that look is devastating; it’s what makes the first crack in my wall.

He tugs me close.

“That feeling I had for you back then doesn’t even come close to how I feel about you right now.”

Oh God . . . I don’t know if I can do this.

“Rogan . . .”

He places his finger over my lips, quieting me. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know where I am, and I want you to understand something.” He takes my other hand in his and places it against his chest, squeezing it tenderly as his heart beats rapidly underneath our connection. “You don’t owe me anything. And I know that what happened between us destroyed any chance of getting you back, but since I’m never going to ever find what we had with anyone else, I thought I would let you know how I feel.”

Lungs seizing on me, I try to take deep breaths, but it’s practically impossible.

“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Harp. I brought you up here because I wanted a chance to talk to you in private. I wanted to tell you that this year, I’m thankful for you coming back into my life, even if it’s just as a friend. I didn’t think I would ever have the chance to talk to you again, let alone see you walk around town with that beautiful smile on your face. Even if nothing ever happens between us, I’m grateful for these little moments we’ve had.”

Lips pressed together, eyes welling up with tears, I hold back the flood of emotions that wants to spill over. This right here, this is the man I knew and loved so many years ago. He’s the one who captured my heart, the one who held it close and protected it with everything he had.

And as I stand here, my hand clasped in his, my mind whirls with the possibility of what we could be.

Leaning forward, I let my feelings take over. I lick my lips and glance up at his. With one lift up to my toes, I could easily press my mouth against his, steal this moment, show him how thankful I am that he’s thriving after everything that happened, after all he’s lost and everything he’s been through.

Just a little taste. It would mean nothing, right?

Hell, it would mean everything. It would be the beginning of forgiveness, the start of a second chance. Is that what I want?

Honestly, at this point, I have no idea what I want; all I know is that my body is leaning in toward his, and a wave of goose bumps spreads over my skin as Rogan tilts his head down.

The air around us stands still; a whisper of yearning passes between us, swirling around us, creating a sweet, safe cocoon of familiarity.

It would be so easy to fall back into a relationship with Rogan, the one boy who made me and destroyed me.

He licks his lips.

I do the same . . . again.

He squeezes my hand tighter.

I rest my free hand on his hip, finding a belt loop to hook my finger through.

He lowers his face.

I’m rising up on my toes—just as the door to his room flies open.

“Dinner’s ready!” Brig shouts, scaring the crap out of the both of us.

Springing off Rogan, I back up until I hit his bed and topple over, hitting the mattress with a thud.

“What the fuck, man?” Rogan asks, helping me to my feet.

Chuckling, Brig just shrugs. “What? Dinner’s ready. Was I interrupting something?”

“You’re dead. You better start fucking running.”

Still laughing, Brig backs up and takes off down the hall, his feet pounding the stairs as he loudly announces, “Rogan was making out with Harper.”

Irritated, Rogan grips the back of his neck, his muscles bunching up. “The dickhead is almost twenty-four, but I swear to God he still acts like a twelve-year-old.”

I scoot around Rogan and head for the door, mortified. “Probably for the best.”

“Hey.” Rogan catches up to me quickly. “I meant what I said, Harper.”

“I know.” I twist my hands at my waist. “And honestly, I don’t know where my head’s at. I’m not sure I can ever give you what you need, despite how much I may want to.”

With a sad smile, I take off for the stairs, prepping myself for the stares and questions that are going to come my way.

Dinner has been consumed, the pies decimated, and the dishes cleaned. I would have given Mrs. Knightly a hug and a thank-you and been on my way by now if it weren’t for my dad, who is passed out, open mouthed, beside a snoring Mr. Knightly.