“What happens if they won’t let you meet her?” he asks. I’m definitely not hungry now. Just the thought of it is nauseating. I shrug. “I guess I’ll move away. I don’t want them to feel like I’m a threat.” I force myself to eat a french fry, only because I don’t know what else to say. Ledger takes a sip of his tea. The truck is quiet. It feels like there might be an apology hanging in the air between us, but I’m not sure who it belongs to. Ledger claims it when he shifts in his seat and says, “I feel like I owe you an apology for stopping you from—” “It’s okay,” I say, cutting him off. “You
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