Cluck cluck cluck.
“Maybe you are chicken, after all,” he finally says.
My head jerks up. “What?”
He shrugs. “I thought you were braver than this.”
“Garrett!”
“Prove me wrong, then,” he says with silky menace. “Be brave enough to tell me the scary thoughts inside your head.”
“What are you doing?”
“Playing emotional chicken with my favourite person.”
I let out a watery laugh. “You’re joking.”
“You’re so strong, Rory. I can’t cajole you into being soft for me. You like to fight. So let’s face off. Come on. We’ve got…” He glances at the timer. “Eighty minutes left. Let’s put it all on the table. You hate how calm I am.”
I gasp. “No.”
“It irritates you.”
“That’s not the same thing ashate. I actually love how calm you are, even when it prickles me.”
His eyes light up, emerald flecks ablaze with hope so bright it takes my breath away. “Tell me more.”
“Shut up. You tell me something now.” I glare at him. “Emotional chicken goes both ways. Are you brave enough?”
“All right.” He lets go of my hands, but he doesn’t move away. He relaxes into the couch and stretches his arm over the back, curving around me without touching me. “I was wrong to say that you hate your job.”
My insides flip flop.
He watches me closely, scrutinizing me, but his own expression is hard to read.
“This makes me mad,” I admit. “Not knowing what you’re thinking.”
“I just told you.”
“No, you told me that you thought you were wrong. You didn’t say that you’ve changed your opinion.”
“Can’t get anything past you.” He sighs. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Garrett! You said it wasunbearablethat I wasn’t happy. Well, it’s unbearable that you fixate on my job being the problem between us.”
His eyes narrow. Not angrily. Probably thoughtfully, but I’m simmering now, so I read more into his expression.
It’s so hard to stay present in the conversation. I want to jump up and run away, but the stupid clucking keeps me on the couch.
I’m not going to let him win this game of emotional chicken-partridge-truth wars.
“You’resomad about this,” he finally murmurs. “Do you ever think aboutwhyyou’re so mad?”
“Why don’t you tell me,” I say sarcastically.
“Because it’s not fucking fair. You fought so hard to get to where you are now, and you put so many years into this and so much money.” He sighs. “For a long time, I just told myself that I can’t be the person to tell you that you don’t like your job, because I knew you didn’t want to hear it. But now that I’ve said it out loud, I know it’s not quite that simple. Because you love it, too. And it’s so fucking complicated, isn’t it? That’s what makes you mad. I’m trying to reduce something complicated to a simple yes or no question.”
Stunned, I just stare at him.
