George

Silas wanted to meet someplace public. Maybe to force us to keep this conversation civil; we both had professional reputations that didn’t really agree with public blowouts that got the cops called or something.

So, he’d picked a restaurant. One we’d been to a million times because it was right across the street from the condo. It was probably comfortable and familiar for him, and it was close to home in case he decided I could go fuck myself and he needed to bail.

Fine. I was happy to do this on his terms. Anything he wanted as long as I could see him again and maybe—hopefully—do some damage control.

I texted him from the parking garage: Just got here. On my way in.

He replied: Give the hostess your name.

That meant he probably already had a table. No surprise, since he lived so close. And either way, I was glad, because this would be less awkward than standing in the waiting area, twiddling my thumbs while anxiety threatened to melt my brain.

Sure enough, after I’d given her my name, the hostess showed me to the table where Silas was already waiting. I nervously took the seat across from him. We each ordered drinks in addition to the ice water that was already there, and once we were alone, we locked eyes.

Silas’s expression was hard and closed off, but the hurt lingered in his eyes. Or maybe that was just the red.

Silas wasn’t one of those guys who cried easily. He was as in touch with his emotions as anyone, just not prone to waterworks unless something really hit him in the feels. His grandfather’s funeral had made him choke up. He’d cried the day we’d visited his aunt in hospice. The day that stupid basilisk had dropped me, I’d been shocked to see a few tears because, I mean, I was fine. I was okay. But it was a close enough call that it had shaken him, and he’d cried a little while he’d hugged me after I’d told him about it.

So I’d seen him cry a handful of times in the years I’d known him, and it killed me that the worst of those—past and present—had been my fault. I’d never seen him as broken as he’d been the day I’d confessed my sins and ruined our relationship, and that was a memory that would haunt me well into whatever afterlife was waiting for me.

And then he’d had to relive that for the first time yesterday. Alone. It killed me that he’d found out that way instead of hearing it from me. As much as it tore me apart to tell him what I’d done, I didn’t deserve the mercy of him finding out without me being the one to say it. He didn’t deserve to stumble across the truth instead of me looking him in the eye and confessing.

Or maybe none of that made sense. Did anything make sense these days? Because nothing really had for me since I’d ruined everything in Toronto.

The waitress brought our drinks and rattled off the specials. Neither of us felt like ordering yet, so she left us to it, and the stare down continued.

I couldn’t take it anymore, and I finally said, “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry. For what I did, and for not telling you.”

His lips thinned.

I fidgeted in my chair. “I honestly was trying to figure out when and how to tell you the truth. Or if I should tell you.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” he gritted out. “You knew I’d find out eventually.”

I winced and nodded. “Yeah. I did.” I stared down at my wringing hands as I drew in a breath. “It wasn’t that I wanted to hide it. I just… I knew how bad it hurt you the first time around. I’ve…” I exhaled and shook my head. “A day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about that.”

Silas didn’t speak, but I could feel him watching me.

Being the coward I was, I still kept my own gaze down. “I knew you were going to find out one way or the other, and I wanted to be the one to tell you. When you asked at the clinic? If we’d broken up? I…” This time I did meet his eyes, which were still icy and red. “I guess I panicked? You were a mess right then. Anyone would’ve been. All the shit you were trying to deal with? I wasn’t going to pretend we were still together, but I just… couldn’t tell you the truth. Not then.”

Silas’s jaw worked. “So you pretended we were friendly?”

“What else could I do?” I whispered. “Kick you while you were down?”

He cut his eyes away, and I was surprised I couldn’t hear his molars grinding.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I hurt you with it once before. I knew it was going to hurt you a second time. I was just…” I waved a hand before letting it drop heavily in my lap. “Trying to figure out when and how to tell you so I’d hurt you the least.”

He gave a slow nod of acknowledgment. Heavy silence hung between us as he took a long drink from his glass. He watched himself putting it down, and he kept his gaze fixed on his fingers as they drew loops in the condensation. All the while, my stomach twisted itself into knots and my heart slammed into my ribcage. I didn’t know if we had any hope of coming out the end of this conversation with some kind of peaceful resolution; I just wanted to avoid as many of his landmines as I could. It seemed like the least I could do.

Finally, Silas spoke. “I don’t want to know. At all. But… I need to, and I deserve to.” He flicked his eyes up to meet mine. “No bullshit, George. Tell me the truth, or this conversation is over.” He inclined his head.“Why?”

The question thumped against my chest, and I was again the one to break eye contact. He didn’t need to elaborate either. I knew what he meant, and he was right—he deserved to know.

“I wish I had a good answer for you,” I whispered. “Honestly, I wish I did.”

Silas gave an impatient huff, and the squeak of his chair on the floor sent panic through me. He’d barely started to get up before I said, “Wait. Please. Just… hear me out.”

He glared hard at me, still partway out of his seat.

“I’m not going to bullshit you,” I said, my voice plaintive. “When I say I don’t have a good answer, I mean because there isn’t one. There’s no excuse. I’m just telling you upfront that I can’t justify what I did, and I’m not going to try.”

He studied me for a few heartbeats. Then he eased back into his chair, guard fully up.

I did my best not to let my relief show. Resting my injured arm on the table, I sat straighter and looked right in his eyes. “I fucked up, and it’s a hundred percent on me.” I swallowed. “I own that. Okay?”

Silas’s response was a barely perceptible nod.

“As for why I fucked up? I…” My shoulders dropped under the weight of fatigue. I swore I was more exhausted than I’d been during the worst stretches of veterinary school, and that said a lot. “It was…” Where to even start? We hadn’t made it this far the day I’d confessed, and no matter how many times I’d relived that conversation, going through futile rehearsals of an alternate version where I somehow said the right thing, I’d never found the words.

What if I fucked things up this time again? What if I ruined my second chance and Silas leaves here?

I couldn’t let that happen. I had to make things right.