“James,” he says heavily. “It’s different this time.” “Until she gets in the way.” “Sara didn’t—” I pause, scrubbing a hand over my face. “She didn’t get in the way. She was sick. I made the choices I did because I cared about her.” “Exactly.” He reaches out, squeezing my shoulder. “Beckett seems like a nice girl. I’m not saying she isn’t. But we talked about needing to choose the game. I thought you understood that.”
