Page 117 of Smoke and Glitter

"I could have answered you. I chose not to."

That's a different sentence.

Not couldn't.

Chose not to.

"I'm sorry I made you walk out believing you had asked for too much."

For months I've replayed that night from every possible angle. Too angry. Too many questions. Wrong timing. Maybe I should have started smaller. Maybe if I'd stayed calmer or given him one clean thing to answer instead of everything I'd been carrying, he would have found his way through it.

Sam just took all of those versions away from me.

It hurts.

It also feels strangely good to put them down.

I wipe beneath one eye before the tear gets any farther. His fingers curl once against his knee, but he stays on his side of the table.

"Keep going."

He exhales through his nose. "The envelope."

That pulls the beginning of a smile from me. "That fucking envelope."

"Yeah. That fucking envelope."

Sam reaches for his coffee, takes a drink and immediately grimaces.

"Cold?"

"Disgusting."

"You've been sitting here too long."

"I got here early."

"How early?"

His eyes narrow slightly. "That's classified."

I shake my head, and the pressure between us loosens for a few seconds.

Then he puts the cup down.

"I opened it."

My hands close around my coffee.

"And?"

"I used your plan."

I watch his face.

"It worked."

There's no triumph in the admission. If anything, he looks faintly embarrassed.