"You’re running out of excuses, Mike," I replied, sounding more acerbic than I meant to. Like an indictment, the words reverberated in the gallery's silence.
He was standing opposite from me with his shoulders stiff and his hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets. It was more difficult to detect the look in his eyes because of the games the shadows performed on his face.
He answered in a calm but frustrated tone, "I'm not making excuses." "I’m trying to protect you."
I moved in closer, reducing the distance between us. "What will you protect me from? From reality? Because you're failing badly if that's what you're doing. Whether you like it or not, Mike, I'm already involved in this."
He stared at me as if I were a conundrum he couldn't figure out for a moment without saying anything.
