Sarah’s studying me like she’s wondering the same thing, but she’s too polite to say it. “I’m pretty sure, yes,” she says. “I assumed it was something you’d talked about.”
I shake my head, dumbfounded. “I had no idea.”
“I guess that doesn’t surprise me, now that I think about it.”
“What do you mean?”
Sara shrugs and fiddles with the zipper on her purse. “I did a lot of coursework on adult dyslexia when I was working on my special ed degree. Unfamiliar fonts—like the ones on those forms for the field trip—those can be especially challenging for adults who have a tough time with reading.”
Or the fonts in the program.
I clear my throat. “Apparently, he didn’t want me to know.”
My head is reeling, and I can’t wrap my brain around this. We were as intimate as two people can be. He told me about his childhood dog and the story about the laughing boys at the zoo, but he didn’t see ft to share something this important?
“Don’t feel bad,” Sarah says, resting a hand on my arm. “It’s really common for adults with learning disabilities to keep it to themselves. They don’t want to look stupid.”
Stupid.
You’re so fucking smart. Why is that such a turn-on?
Dax’s words from our time in the Oregon Adventure exhibit rearrange themselves in my memory, like puzzle pieces clicking together. Did I make him feel dumb? Like he couldn’t be himself with me?
“Don’t blame yourself,” Sarah says, reading my mind. “With dyslexic men in particular, there’s a lot of shame involved. With someone they care about, they’re afraid of looking weak or unworthy in a new relationship.”
I shake my head, stung by the words almost as much as the fact that I didn’t know. “We’re not in a relationship,” I murmur. “Not anymore. He made that pretty damn clear.”
Sympathy clouds her eyes, and she slips an arm around me. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “He said we’re both ready to be done with this.” I swallow hard, hating the tightness in my throat. “And I said okay.”
Sarah gives me a squeeze. With the other hand, she reaches into her bag and pulls out the flask. “Here. Keep it. You need it more than I do.”
“Thanks.” I take a hearty swallow, feeling sadness and shame burn down my throat with the gin. I wonder if I should find Dax and apologize.
No. He chose not to let you in. He made it clear he’s done.
“It was only meant to be temporary anyway,” I murmur, lifting the flask to my lips again. “Maybe it’s best just to let things go.”
Sarah says nothing at first, but there’s pity in her eyes as she nods. “Sometimes it’s fine to be single while you figure out who you are and what you want.”
“Cheers to that,” I say with no cheer at all. I pass the flask back, knowing how badly we both want to believe that.
Wishing like hell I did.
Wishing, more than anything, that I hadn’t fallen hard for Dax.
Chapter 20
Dax
I move through the pat-down like a zombie, holding up my arms so the guard can frisk me before I shuffle through the metal detector in a daze.
I’ve visited my brother in prison a million times before, but it feels different this time.
“You look like shit,” Paul says the instant he sits down across from me at the battered metal table.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “You’re fucking ugly, too.”
