“If I ask a question?”
“I answer.”
“Even if the answer makes me hate you?”
“Yes.”
So I began.
“Did you ever cheat on me with Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Did you ever love her?”
“Yes.”
The honesty stung.
“When?”
“Before I met you.”
“Did you still love her after?”
“Not the way I loved you.”
I stared.
“That sounds carefully phrased.”
“It isn’t.”
He folded his hands.
“I cared what happened to her. I felt indebted to her. I confused gratitude, guilt, and history for obligations that should have ended years ago.”
“Did you love me?”
He looked almost offended.
Then perhaps remembered he had no right to be.
“Yes.”
“Enough to leave me?”
His eyes filled.
“I thought leaving was the way I kept loving you.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you come back once you realized the danger hadn’t touched us?”
“Because Mercer kept searching.”
“For six years?”
