Page 138 of Smoke and Glitter

There is no accusation in his voice. No suggestion that two people from his past are sitting on this bench with us.

He just looks tired.

"I let that become an excuse for things it didn't excuse," he says. "You weren't Elise. You weren't him. You didn't betray me, and you weren't waiting for the right opening to screw me over. You showed up for me over and over again, and I still made you pay for something you didn't do."

I look toward the path because looking at him suddenly feels dangerous.

A little girl in a red coat is throwing bread to birds while her father tries unsuccessfully to convince her that ducks do not need an entire croissant each.

Normal people doing normal things on a normal afternoon. Meanwhile, the man beside me has decided to excavate my rib cage with his bare hands.

"So when you told Bex we were casual," I say, keeping my eyes on the ducks, "when you said it wasn't serious and it wasn't that deep, what did you mean?"

Sam goes very still.

When he answers, his voice is lower. "I meant I needed it not to be."

I turn toward him.

"That isn't the same as it not being serious."

"No."

"You knew that."

"Yes."

It hurts even though I already knew.

Maybe because this is the first time he has given it to me without somewhere to hide inside it.

"I told myself if I kept it unnamed, I couldn't lose anything I had admitted mattered." His mouth twists without humor. "Turns out refusing to name something doesn't make it disappear when you wreck it."

I look down at my gloves.

Sam's hand shifts on the bench between us, not toward mine, just enough that I notice it.

"I wake up reaching for you more often than not."

I stop breathing properly.

He doesn't seem to realize what that sentence has done because he's looking at the ground again.

"I see things you'd like and pull my phone out before I remember I don't get to send them to you. I still make too much coffee. I can tell you what time it is here without checking because I've been doing the math in my head for weeks."

My eyes start burning. Absolutely fucking not. I blink hard and stare toward the path until the feeling backs down enough for me to trust myself.

Sam lets me.

He doesn't reach for me. He doesn't apologize for making me emotional or try to turn it into proof that I'm still his.

He gives me enough time to get myself under control, then rubs both palms over his thighs.

"When we talked in Chicago, you asked me what you were to me."

My stomach tightens.

Sam looks at me now. "I got all the way to the answer and stopped."