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“Do you mean…” I can’t get the words out.

He nods. “Dude was smitten.”

I shake my head helplessly. “I never even saw him. Didn’t meet him after the game.”

Jameson shrugs. “Yeah, he split right after. I don’t know why. You and Kevin started dating and I forgot about it. Things started looking up for you. You seemed happy.”

“Then ka-boom,” I say, raising my glass and downing the dregs.

He nods shortly. “I didn’t know who else to turn to but Leo. We hadn’t talked about you in a while. He’d left the team and started a new one by this point. When you came home from the hospital and… and took those pills”—he clears his throat—“I called Leo and he diverted the ambulance to UCLA, where he was an attending.”

“And he diagnosed me,” I conclude.

“Yeah, with confabu-something or other.”

“Confabulation,” I answer mutedly. “I fabricated memories to replace missing ones. In my case, the trauma of the accident caused me to cut out all memory of being pregnant and everything after.”

Jameson reaches for my hand, grabbing it before I can retract my arm. I tense for a moment, then give in and let his fingers wrap firmly through mine.

“Dad and I waited, Mia. We let you have space. Didn’t bring up the accident at all. Leo said it would take time.”

“But then I had another accident, and you thought I’d tried to kill myself.”

“I didn’t know, honestly. But whatever happened, you weren’t getting better like we’d hoped. So I called Leo again. He finally told me about an intensive, ultra-private treatment facility he’d been working at for a couple months out of the year.”

“You had to convince him?”

Jameson smirks at the affront in my voice. “I had to convince him to admit you when he was there. He didn’t want to treat you. He said?—”

“It was a conflict of interest.”

“Something like that, yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Mia. When Leo and I drove out to Oasis to pick you up, we agreed it wasn’t the time. Not with Dad in the hospital and all the chaos. On my end, it was purely selfish. I’d just gotten my sister back and didn’t want you to hate me.”

I stare at the Christmas tree until the lights blur.

“Mia? I’m sorry.”

“Did you know we were seeing each other?” I ask at length.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“And you still kept the truth from me?”

“Yes. I was scared you?—”

“Thank you for telling me,” I interject, then use the coffee table as leverage to stand. My hand slips from Jameson’s grip. “I’m going to bed. You get the couch.”

I only stumble twice on the way to the guest room. Crawling beneath the covers fully clothed, I curl around a pillow and wait for the tears to come. They do, slow and thick. Silent.

I wish I could turn off my heart again. Undo all the work of the last months. Erase Leo’s mark on me. Reject this fragility. This love.

But I don’t know how.

45

FIND THE STARS

Christmas Day is bittersweet. Though I do my best to hide it, a pall of melancholy hangs over me. I wish I had my phone. I wish I were watching Vincent open presents.