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"No?"

"No," he says. "There isn't an answer that makes what I did fair to you."

I look away. For one terrible second, I see Wells sitting at the kitchen table concentrating over a chessboard with that same slight crease between his brows. Then Miles flashes through my mind, tilting his head when he knows he's about to argue his way around a rule. Ross does both. I hadn't noticed it this clearly before. Or maybe I refused to. My stomach knots.

"Blaire?"

I snap my attention back to him.

"What?"

"You disappeared for a second."

"I'm tired."

It isn't entirely a lie. Ross watches me carefully. I reach for my wine before he can ask anything else.

"Did you ever try again?" I ask.

His eyebrows lift slightly.

"With someone else?” I ask.

He understands.

"Yes."

The answer bothers me even though I have no right to resent it. Ross looks away for a moment and then down, as his voice goes low.

“Her name was Vanessa.”

“And was it serious?”

"Yes," he says. "Vanessa was serious."

"How serious?" I ask, even though my heart is beating out of my chest.

"She wanted a future I couldn't give her."

"That's vague,” I say.

"It's accurate,” he responds.

I take another sip of wine.

"Did you love her?"

Ross is quiet for a moment.

"I cared about her."

"That wasn't what I asked."

"No," he says. "I didn't love her the way she deserved."

Something inside me loosens before I can stop it. I immediately resent myself for caring. Ross looks down at my left hand again. I catch him this time.

"You keep doing that."