Page 77 of We Are Just Us

“Then what was it about?”

“Fear.” The word came out broken. “I was afraid that if you knew, you’d look at me differently. Like I was damaged. Like I came with too much baggage. Or worse…you’d feel sorry for me. And I can’t do that again. I can’t be the sad widower everyone tiptoes around.”

“I wouldn’t have done that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that I deserved the truth.” Kieran’s voice sharpened. “All of it. Not only the parts you’ve decided are safe to share.”

Rory’s expression stiffened, the softness in his face closing off.

“You think you’re entitled to all of me?” His voice was low. Dangerous.

“I think if we want this to work, yes.”

Rory laughed, short and bitter, nothing like his usual warmth. “That’s rich.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t even know if you’re staying here.” Rory’s voice rose, cracking at the edges. “You’ve said it yourself, multiple times. You don’t know if this is permanent. You don’t know if you’re going to be here in six months. You’re in my life on a month-to-month basis, Kieran.”

Kieran stepped back.

“So forgive me,” Rory continued, louder now, “if I didn’t hand you every painful piece of my past when you can’t even commit to a zip code.” He was moving toward Kieran, not threatening, just unable to stand still. “You want to talk about trust? You want to know why I held back?”

He was shouting now. Kieran had never heard him shout.

“Because you want all of me, but you won’t give me the one thing I actually need. Which is to know that you’re not going to leave.” The words echoed off the driveway.

Kieran didn’t move. His brain started doing what it always did, filing, sorting, building walls, but for once, the walls weren’t going up fast enough. Rory’s words had gotten in before the defenses could close, and they were sitting somewhere in his chest, and they were true, and that was the part he couldn’t stand.

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Rory’s face was red. Regret crossed it, but he didn’t take it back.

“I need to go,” Kieran said. His voice came out flat.

“Kieran…”

“Don’t.”

He turned and walked to his door. Hank was already waiting on the other side of the screen, tail going, nose pressed to the mesh.

Kieran crouched down and held him, face buried in the dog’s neck, and stayed there until his breathing evened out. Then he walked to his bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed in the dark.

Through the wall, thin enough to hear everything, always thin enough, he heard Rory’s front door open and close. Then nothing.

TWENTY-THREE

Kieran hadn’t slept.

He’d tried. Had lain in bed for maybe an hour, staring at the ceiling, replaying the fight in his head on an endless loop. Every word. Every accusation. The look on Rory’s face when he’d shouted.

Eventually he’d given up and moved to the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, the blue glow of the screen the only light in the dark house. His eyes were gritty and raw. A dull ache was building behind his temples.

2:47 a.m.

He was on Airbnb. Scrolling through listings in San Francisco. Portland. Denver. Anywhere that wasn’t here.