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“You are a fucking idiot,” she tells him.

Bitter doesn’t answer. His eyes stay on me.

I straighten the bent plate in my hands.

That is ridiculous.

The pulled pork is probably cold. One corner of the cornbread has fallen into the potatoes.

For some reason, that almost breaks me.

I came to feed him.

Again.

After what he did this morning.

Apparently my dignity has a death wish.

“Sweet,” he finally says.

My name in his mouth hurts worse than seeing him inside her.

I lift my chin.

“Were you going to apologize?”

His face tightens.

“For this morning,” I clarify. “That’s why I came.”

Trixie stops dressing.

Bitter looks like I just put a knife under his ribs.

“Sweet.”

“That was a question.”

He swallows.

For one terrible second, I think he might say yes.

Then something shuts down behind his eyes.

I recognize it now.

The door.

The one he slams every time feeling something gets too close.

His expression hardens.

“Told you what I was, sunshine.”

Clean shot.

Center chest.