Page 153 of Keller

He nods slowly. “I hear you. But it kind of is.”

I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “This is who I am. The tables. The distance. The way I keep things contained. I don’t know how to be different.”

“That’s what you do,” Cain says. “It’s not who you are. You can do things differently.”

I glance at him. He holds my gaze without backing off.

Quinn sneaks up into my mind, her laugh, the weight of her hand on my thigh. I was different for a minute. Until she reinforced everything.

Cain leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and turns his face toward me. “Keller, I'm no expert on love and relationships, but I know you can have a relationship. Mom wouldn't want you living closed off and afraid.”

"I have plenty of time with the female persuasion, don't you worry," I demure, suddenly uncomfortable with the seriousness of our conversation. We don't usually go this deep.

“Fucking and loving aren't the same thing.”

"Who is this guy?" I ask, trying again to loosen the moment, reverting to our regular joking dynamic.

“For what it's worth, I know you really loved Quinn. And I know what she did hurt you. It reminded you of this fucked up narrative you had in your head. But she didn’t lie to you,” he says evenly. “She did her job. You didn’t like where it landed, so you closed the door before it could get complicated. You don't have to keep it closed.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve been punishing both of you for it.”

I don’t have a good comeback for that.

“There's too much water under the bridge between us. Too much time.”

“There's never too much water under the bridge. It's just a matter of choosing to forgive.”

“I swear to God. I had no idea you were so deep. Did you become some kind of philosopher in New York, or something?”

Cain doesn't answer right away. “I know we joke a lot. And I love our relationship. But you're confiding in me, and I want to give it to you straight. You've been through some hell with all this, carried it for a long time all by yourself. I just don't want you to let it wreck everything going forward.”

The yard is quiet except for the hum of insects in the dark. I think about the way Quinn looked when she told me she was pregnant, how she was steady and matter-of-fact, not manipulative. She truly was there for my benefit, to let me know, and had no other agenda.

I push it away.

“Did I mention that I punched him?” I ask with a smirk.

"Punched who?"

"Charlton Grant. I walked into his office and hit him before I knew the truth.”

Cain’s mouth curves faintly. “That's very Stone of you.”

“It felt good.”

“I'm glad you got it out, I guess. Poor guy.”

I stare out into the darkness beyond the porch light. The anger that lived in that memory is thinner now, less like a blade and more like a scar.

The truth about my mother doesn't erase the night she left. It doesn't change the accident or give back what we lost. But it does remove the betrayal I built my life around. Now, without that betrayal, the walls I justified look less like protection and more like habit.

Cain stands and gathers the empty bottles. “I’m grabbing another. You want one?”

“Yeah.”

He heads inside, the screen door closing behind him.