I didn’t show Declan the screen. I didn’t have to.
Me: Yeah.
The lie sat there glowing.
Roman didn’t reply.
Somehow that was worse.
Declan clipped Tiny’s leash shorter as another couple crossed into the lot with a small dog that Tiny desperately needed to befriend. “This is the first pressure point,” he said.
“Sounds like a coach.”
“It is a coach. It’s also true.”
“I know.”
“No more unnecessary lies to him.”
I looked up. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Not everything. But don’t build a version of your life that requires you to remember ten false details.”
I hated how reasonable that was.
“I can’t tell him I was with you.”
“No.”
“Then I lied.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t punish the word. Didn’t excuse it either.
Tiny whined at the small dog disappearing into the dark. I knew the feeling.
“I’ll be more careful,” I said.
Declan looked at me then, really looked. “Careful is not the same as alone.”
My throat tightened.
There were a dozen things I wanted to say. None of them were safe in a parking lot with his wife calling and my best friend circling the truth like a puck loose in the crease.
So I nodded.
We stood there for one more second too long.
Then Declan reached down under the cover of Tiny’s massive head and brushed his knuckles once against mine. Barely a touch. Gone before anyone could clock it.
It hit harder than it should have.
“Go home,” he said.
I breathed out. “Yeah.”
“Eat something that is not cereal.”
