"I just want to, I just need to, I'm just begging to get lost with you," Franklin sings in his bluesy voice. And my father turns his hand so that his palm is against my mom's and their fingers intertwine.

I sit back, enjoying watching my parents as much as I enjoy the concert.

"All right, folks," Franklin says a few songs later, motioning for his band to quiet down behind him. "I'm looking for a very special family to come up here on stage with me for this next song."

Nerves are metallic butterflies scraping against my throat. This is it.

"Is the Evans family somewhere around here?"

My mom looks at my dad and he's already looking her. As one, they turn to me. "Cassidy?" my mom asks.

"Let's go." I grin, praying this goes how I want it to. I take my dad's hand and lead him down the front aisle to where Zach is waiting to take us to the steps at the side of the stage. The audience is cheering the whole time, and when Franklin sees us, he hoots into the microphone. "There y'all are!"

Both my parents are in shock, their faces pale, their movements stiff. And on stage the spotlight is blindingly bright.

Please don't let this have been a horrible idea. Please, please.

"I hear y'all lost someone recently," he says, just to us, away from the microphone. "This is for him, for your son." He glances from my parents to me. "For your brother."

He puts the mic back to his mouth, and he kicks off the lyrics for "Crisscross Family Lines."

The song I once described to Zach as our family anthem.

Franklin faces us the entire time, but I can't stop watching my parents and the way they're looking at each other. My dad glances at me a moment later and pulls me into him, his arm around my shoulders.

By the end of the song my mom's crying. And my dad's wiping his eyes, too, and then my own vision grows blurry.

And it's perfect. In every way.

"We have to leave," my dad says, stiffly, after we've made our way back to our seats, getting high fives from everyone we pass. He won't meet my eyes.

My mom nods. She can't stop crying, but she's smiling through her tears. "This was... I won't ever forget this, Cassidy. But I need to go. I need to..." She trails off, unable to finish.

"I'll take you now." I understand what she can't say. She's overwhelmed. They both are.

My dad waves me back down when I stand, though. "Stay, enjoy the show-we'll take a cab."

I start to protest, but then I notice how my mom's clinging to him. They need each other right now. And so I let them go, hugging them and promising to come home from school soon to visit.

I listen to a few more songs, but they're not the same without my parents beside me. I head to the VIP patio instead, to give Zach the address to mail my last paycheck.

But Gage is at the bar. Facing away from me, tossing back a shot and holding the glass out for a refill.

Completely chickening out, I change my trajectory to leave through the side door, hoping he won't see me, but Clark waves from behind the bar-what is with this guy, always giving up my location?-and Gage turns, and it's all over from here.

"Cassidy," he calls, standing and heading toward me. Behind him, Clark winks, like he's done me a favor.

"Figured you'd be in there watching Franklin Charles," I say to him.

"Why aren't you?" he counters.

"I was for a while..."

"And now?"

"And now I'm with you." I don't know where the words come from. But they make him smile.

I shouldn't read into it. He's drunk, I can tell by the soft unfocus in his eyes.

But then he closes the space between us, and he kisses me.

Gently, sweetly.

And how can I not read into it?

I slide my hands up to his chest, leaning into him, into the kiss.

But he breaks it a second later. "Sorry."

"I love you." The words slip out of my mouth and the statement tiptoes across my skin, leaving the glow of something true.

Then the panic hits.

"Sorry," I stammer. "I don't know why I said that."

But...lying makes me feel like a fool. "Actually, I take back my apology. I'm not sorry. I said it because I mean it."

I study him closely, waiting with my stomach in my throat for his reaction, except...now I notice the unfocus in his eyes is way more than soft. He's unsteady even standing still.

He's not just a little drunk, he's wasted.

"Cassidy," he says, "I-"

"Wait." I put a hand up to stop him from speaking. I can't have this conversation with him now. Alcohol makes people say things they don't mean, and I'm not trying to trap Gage into giving me another chance or baring his soul or anything else he might want to take back tomorrow. "You aren't driving, are you?"

"I gave Clark my keys," he slurs the words together.

"Do you need a ride?" This much, at least, I can do for him.

But he shakes his head. "Not done drinking. Clark'll drive me home later."

"Okay." I'm not sure what else there is to say, and now my stomach's down somewhere closer to the ground. Regret's a heavy, heavy thing. "Have a good night, Gage."

He looks like he wants to say something, and for a moment I hold my breath. But then he nods and only says, "You, too."

I leave him there and do my best to ignore the splitting of my heart. I drive home, and I set my alarm for first thing in the morning because I have a long trek back to school to get up for.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE.

I knock on Gage's door just after the sun rises.

He opens it shirtless (good God), bleary-eyed (poor guy), looking not especially happy to see me. I'm really hoping the last part's only because it's so early.

"I'm really sorry to wake you. But I didn't want last night to be the last time we saw each other," I say, holding out the coffee I picked up for him on my way over. "Hopefully this will help a little. Or I have water in my purse if you'd prefer. Or orange juice. And Advil."

He doesn't move. "Last night?"

"At BackBar," I say. But the blank look on his face tells me he doesn't remember our conversation. For a moment, relief floods me. Then it's gone. "I told you I loved you."

Panic filters through his expression-which, in turn, makes a huge helping of it spiral through my stomach-and he doesn't say anything. Which makes me ramble even harder. "And now I'm bombarding you with it first thing in the morning. My timing sucks. But...I'm leaving for school, pretty much right now, and I needed to see you before I left. I needed to tell you before I go."

He doesn't say anything and, for a moment, he looks over my shoulder instead of at my face.

"I am sorry it took me so long to realize it," I continue, unable to stem the flow of words. "I will never stop regretting the stupid decisions I made this summer."

"Cassidy, hold on," he says, finally taking the coffee from me. "I need-" He clears his throat. "I need to wake up for a second."

Right. Of course he does. "Sorry."

"Come in." He steps to the side, making room for me to pass.

I step in and then wait for Gage to take the lead. He can choose where this conversation happens. Or, if it happens at all-though the fact he just let me in is a pretty good sign.

He turns into the living room. Katy's picture catches my eye again, and I ask Gage how she is.

"Could be better, could be worse." His voice is coarse, more whiskey than honey this morning. "She's back living with our parents, so that's something."

"Has she been staying here?" I sit gingerly on the edge of his couch, my nerves buzzing when he sits beside me instead of across the room in an oversized armchair. Well, there's a couch cushion between us, so he's not exactly beside me, but still. Maybe it means something.

Or maybe I should stop trying to read the signs in every little thing.

"The past few weeks. She said it was easier. She had trouble being around my mom at first."

"Are they close?"

He nods.

"It must be hard to love another woman like a mother when her own passed away so recently," I say. "So tragically."

"Yeah." He sips the coffee, watching me over the rim of the cup. His eyes are still a little swollen with sleep and he looks so adorable, I want to jump in his lap and kiss him until he's wide awake.

But...baby steps.

"You're leaving for school today?" he asks.

"Straight from here. Are you...uh...how's the hangover?" It's hard to make small talk with an already-spoken I love you sitting between us.

"Not the best. The coffee helps. Thanks."

"Figured it was the least I could do, waking you up this early." And after everything else. My mouth is so freaking dry right now. Wish I hadn't already downed my own coffee in the car already. "Gage..."

"Cassidy..."

Jesus. Just do it already. What's the point if I don't do what I came to do?

"I'll never be able to express the depth of how sorry I am. You're amazing and I haven't deserved any of the things you've done for me. But I want to. I want to deserve you. You've given me so many chances-and I'm just asking for one more. That's all it'll take."

"You're just asking for one more?" A muscle works in his jaw. "I forgave you for kissing him. I forgave you for leaving with him and...everything that entailed." He looks away, the corners of his mouth tucked down, while he works through an internal struggle. "Hell, I came to North Carolina to beg you to leave with me-and you stood there and chose him. Again."

You walked away, I almost say. But I'm done making excuses for myself. "I should have followed you out the door that night. I was scared and stubborn and couldn't see that the guy I was half in love with was the one I needed to leave with... Which, in case it's not clear, was you. Always you."

"It was clear," he admits, "before you left town. I knew how you felt about me-and I knew you were fighting it. So I fought for you. And then you left. There's only so much I'm willing to take. I hit my limit when you told me I didn't really know you. You told me we'd had a few nights together and that I needed to get over it."

Those words-my own words-twist like barbed wire around my heart. I hate myself right now. "I'm an idiot. I-"

"You were right," he says, talking through me. "I thought I knew you, I thought every night we spent together was building to something more-but I was holding onto an idea instead of paying attention to every sign you gave me otherwise."

"You do know me," I plead. "Better than I know myself sometimes, I think."

"It didn't do me much good, did it? You still shut me out. You still left with Luca."

Luca. The name sits heavy in the air and I can't help cringing.

"It didn't mean anything," I say, knowing as soon as the words are out of my mouth they're the wrong ones to use.

"It did to me."

"He didn't mean anything, is what I meant to say. You, though, Gage, you've always mattered. It's just...I thought I needed something meaningless for a little while. I thought I needed not to feel anything." I glance down at my hands, strangling each other in my lap, and wonder if regret will ever not live in my belly, like heavy bricks with lacerating edges. "I was wrong. I only ever needed you. And my friends. And my family... And common sense."

"Cassidy, I appreciate you coming here," he says, though his expression is shuttered. "But no matter how heartfelt your apology is, it's too late."

"I know." And I do. "But...I was thinking. You've done all these amazing things. Dealing with my neuroticism earlier in the summer. Showing up in North Carolina. Taking me to my brother's grave. Punching Jared. And...I wanted to make a gesture of my own. Because I should've been the one doing things for you this entire time, not the other way around. And even if it amounts to nothing in the end, I need you to know how much you mean to me." I reach into my purse. "It's why I have these."

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX.

Popsicle sticks.