"I don't actually know that." I shook my head. "I know what you've told yourself. I don't know if it's true."
He didn't answer that. He just stood there, swaying slightly, looking at me like he was trying to memorize something he was scared of losing again.
"I think about it," he said finally, voice dropping low. "More than I'm supposed to. More than is fair to anyone — to Miranda, to you, to any version of the life I'm supposed to be living right now." He laughed again, that same humorless sound. "I watched you walk out of that Packhouse with him, and something in me wanted to put him through a wall. I didn't understand it then. I think I understand it now, and I hate that I do."
"Don't." My voice choked up despite everything I was doing to keep it firm. "Don't say things like that to
