"I didn't know," I said, my voice cracking. "I swear to you, I didn't know."
His jaw tightened. "She said you would say that."
The words hurt, but I forced myself not to defend a life he had never seen.
"Can you take me to her?"
"No."
"Evan."
"No," he snapped. "You don't get to just show up and ask for her. You don't know what she went through."
"You're right," I said quietly. "I don't. But I loved her. I still love her."
His face changed, not enough to soften, but enough to show doubt. He looked younger then. Not like my past. Like a boy trying to guard a pain too large for him.
After a long silence, he nodded toward the road behind the station. "My shift ends in ten minutes. If I take you, you don't yell. You don't touch her unless she says you can. And if she tells you to leave, you leave."
