Silence stretches between us.The distant sound of traffic.Music thumping from inside.My own heartbeat is loud in my ears.
"But that doesn't make it okay," I add quickly."It doesn't excuse it.You didn't deserve that.Didn't deserve to feel like you were a second choice or a replacement or…" I shake my head."You deserved better.And I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you."
More silence.She's just watching me, face unreadable, and I'm dying here.Dying to know what she's thinking.
Finally, she speaks."Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you deserve to know the truth."
"Do I?Or do you just feel guilty?"
"Both," I admit.No point lying now."But mostly because I can't stop thinking about you and I needed you to know it wasn't about you.It was about me and my shite."
She laughs, but it’s short and bitter."You know what the fucked-up part is?I believe you.I actually believe that you weren't thinking about her."
Hope flares in my chest.
"But it doesn't matter, Tank."Her voice cracks slightly on my name."Because you still said it.You still made me feel like I was nothing."
The words gut me."I know, and I'm sorry.I'm so fucking sorry."
She's quiet again, looking down at the gravel.When she speaks, her voice is softer.Vulnerable."I have a kid, a five-year-old son who depends on me, and I can't bring someone into our lives who's still working through their own damage.I've done that before.It nearly destroyed us both."
A kid.
The information lands heavily, shifts everything into focus.She's not just protecting herself.She's protecting him.
"I'm not asking to be in your life," I say carefully."Or his.I just...I needed to say this.Needed you to know the truth.That's all."
She nods slowly then looks up at me, and Christ, the look in her eyes...It's not quite forgiveness, but it's not hate either.
"Okay," she says softly."I heard you.I appreciate it, I do."
"But it doesn't change anything," I finish for her.
"No."She uncrosses her arms, lets them fall to her sides."It doesn't."
We stand there, just looking at each other.The space between us feels charged, heavy with things unsaid.
"For what it's worth," she says finally, "that night, before you fucked it up, it was good.Really good."
My throat tightens."Yeah.It was."
"Maybe in another life," she says, and there's something wistful in her voice."When we're both less broken."
"Maybe."
She pushes off the wall, makes to walk past me toward the door.I should let her go.Should leave it here, clean break, both of us knowing where we stand.
But as she passes, I catch her wrist.Gentle.Light enough that she could pull away if she wanted.
She stops.
Doesn't pull away.
I can feel her pulse under my thumb, quick and fluttering.I can feel the heat of her skin.
"Enya," I say, and her name feels like a prayer.
