“Thirsty?”
He shakes his head, running a hand through his wet hair.
“Movie then,” I say, making the decision.
He smirks and we go to the couch, where I grab the remote and start searching. He looks like he could use something funny, so I browse the comedy section. I settle on Night at the Roxbury—for obvious reasons.
“I haven’t watched this in so long,” he comments.
“Neither have I.”
The movie starts up and I get comfortable, but notice from the corner of my eye that Austen doesn’t look so comfortable. I get up to get him a blanket from the closet and open it up, throwing it over his shoulders. He watches me curiously. I just shrug.
“You looked cold.”
With a nod, he pulls it tighter around him and we go back to watching the movie.
The silence feels… off. It’s not exactly awkward but it’s not comfortable either.
“Do you want to talk about why you’re here?” I ask.
Nothing in his posture tells me he heard me, but I spoke loud enough so he must have.
“I just didn’t know where else to go,” he says, turning his attention to me. There’s something in the way he’s looking at me, but I can’t quite tell what it is.
Does he know that I know? Is he waiting for me to admit it? Does he even know at all? This could have nothing to do with what I saw. I mean, Savannah isn’t the kind of person to get herself into trouble, so I doubt she admitted it.
“Does Savannah know about… you know? What happened with us?” I ask carefully.
He shakes his head. “No, I never told her.”
“Does it bother you that you’re lying to her?”
He purses his lips, looking back at the TV.
“At first, it did. Now? No.” He looks at me again. “You were right about me being miserable, Cameron. I am. My marriage is in shambles, my life is… a mess.”
“I shouldn’t have said that to you,” I say.
“Maybe not, but it’s the truth, and you have always seen me for what I really am. You’ve always, somehow, seen through the mask I put in place.”
I swallow hard, not knowing what to say to that.
When I couldn’t sleep, I hadn’t expected someone to show up at my place, never mind to have this deep conversation.
“You’re not that hard to read, Austen. Savannah just…” I sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know how to say it nicely.”
He huffs a laugh. “It’s okay, I get it.” He groans, stretching out. “Trust me, I get it.”
“I’m sorry that your marriage isn’t doing well. I never wanted that for you.”
“Didn’t you?” he asks with a smirk.
“I never wanted you to be hurt or unhappy. I just… didn’t want you with Savannah.”
He nods. “Maybe I should have listened. Maybe I…”
I swear his gaze darts to my mouth, but he’s so far on the other end of the couch it’s hard to tell.
