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Carys
Finn orders a burger and a beer. I get a salad and mineral water. I’m tempted to feign a trip to the bathroom to have my drink changed to vodka and soda. He’d never suspect unless he got close enough to smell my breath. A personalized breathalyzer is entirely possible. Since the lobby, he’s been looking at me like he could devour me instead of the burger.
“Well,” I place my phone on the table, “you wanted me sober. What were you hoping to discuss?”
Finn smirks. “I didn’t need you sober for the conversation portion of the evening.” He turns his hand as though he’s flipping an imaginary object over. “Only for what comes next.”
His eyes are ice chips as they sweep over me. Ice isn’t what’s running through my veins. Heat. So much heat I want to fan myself. Instead I squeeze my thighs together and pray for the server to have understood mineral water meant vodka.
Clearing my throat, I’m grateful when the waiter puts our drinks in front of us. “I should have asked before. Thoughtless of me, really. Is there anyone in Boston you need me to contact to let them know you’re okay?”
“You mean besides my backstabbing fucker of a brother? No.” He raises his beer and takes a long pull. “Not a fan of attachments.”
“Right. Yeah. I guess that’s always been the case.”
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Not always.” He skims the restaurant before focusing his intense gaze on me again. “What about you? Seventeen years ago you were marriage, kids, white picket fence.”
I was so naïve. That’s what I want to say. How often does anyone’s life turn out how they expect? First, my heart couldn’t quite master marriage, and then my body wouldn’t let me carry a child. He doesn’t need to be told those things, though. Why would he care? “Marriage. Kids. Both liabilities. Loving anyone more than you love yourself makes you weak.”
He chuckles and sits forward, scanning the room in an exaggerated fashion. “Where’s Carys? Who the fuck are you?”
I shake my head. “I’m serious.”
“No, you’re not. That’s a bullshit line people like you use to cover up their oh so tender heart.”
“Well, if you’re so smart, you tell me why I didn’t end up married with kids.”
Our food arrives, and I twirl my fork in my hand before stabbing my lettuce. His perceptiveness is annoying, even if it’s probably what’s kept him alive all these years.
“You got shitty taste in men.”
“Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?” I stuff a forkful of lettuce into my mouth.
He laughs and picks up his burger. “All right then. Tell me the real reason.”
I slow my angry chewing and try to give off a carefree air. “It didn’t work out. I don’t know.”
“You used to light up whenever you talked about the future.” He watches me as he takes a bite.
A sad smile plays at the corners of my lips. “I must have scared the shit out of you.”
He chuckles. “Nah. You never gave me the impression I was your first choice to fulfill those duties.”
I angle the fork into another piece of lettuce and stare at my plate for a minute, letting his words sink in. “Didn’t I?” I search my memory for those moments when I might have made it clear, but he was so wild, untamed, and I worried I’d spook him. “You never wanted to settle down? Have kids?”
His cool gaze scans my face as he bites into his burger, contemplating my question. “Why would anyone want that with me? I’d get them killed.” He flicks his finger to where my scar lies under my shirt. “You’re the proof of that prophecy.”
“I didn’t die.”
“Took that as a warning.”
“Strings of women were what you were used to, anyway. You never had trouble attracting them.”
“Your tone of voice makes that sound less complimentary than I’d like.”
I give him a wry smile. “Oh, does it?” I pick up my glass of water and take a sip. “Marriage is archaic. I grew up with a deeply unhappy mother and a philandering father. Men aren’t capable of being faithful.”
He chews for a moment, eyes narrowed, and sets his burger on his plate. “You lumping me in with those men?”
“You’re a man, aren’t you?”
“With a capital M.” He winks.
“Then, yeah, I am. Whatever. We screwed around for the better part of three years. I never expected you weren’t doing whoever else on the side.”
His eyes become slits. “You wondered if I was sleeping with other people?”
I shrug. He’d never given me a sense either way. We did what we did, and we didn’t talk about what it meant, or where it was headed, or even, most of the time, what we were doing.
“I was a shitty boyfriend.”
“Probably most men are shitty boyfriends between twenty and twenty-three. I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Besides, were you my boyfriend? Fuck buddy, maybe.”
“Why didn’t you ever ask?”
“I wasn’t going to be one of those needy girls.”
He picks up a French fry and sweeps it through mayonnaise before popping it into his mouth. As he chews, he stares at me. I want to raise my hand for the waiter and ask for some alcohol. Having this conversation sober is torture.
“I came to the hospital.”
I refocus on him and frown. “What?”
“When you were stabbed. Before my father had me tossed on a plane, I came to see you.”
“Oh.”
“I told you that night in Boston. It was after we’d had quite a few more drinks. Figured you were too drunk to remember it.”
“I always thought—”
“You said. But it’s not true. I came. Christ, I’m not sure anything coulda stopped me from making sure you were alive.”
My heart squeezes at his words, at the intensity on his face. “You didn’t see me, though.”
“No.”
“Why not?” His appearance would have changed everything. To know he’d come, that I meant something to him.
His mouth quirks up, but there’s bitterness in his expression. “Charles and I had a heart to heart in the hall. He wasn’t wrong. Staying with me woulda been a death sentence for you.”
“I should have been given the choice.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m glad I wasn’t given a choice either. Without even thinking too hard, I can come up with at least five instances where you might have died because of my foolishness.”
Part of me doesn’t care. A life with him, however short, would have been better than the one I’ve led so far. “I had seven miscarriages and then I found out he’d been cheating on me the whole time. Got one of his side pieces pregnant and paid for her abortion.” The words leave my mouth almost before I can consider them. I can’t look at Finn—don’t want to witness whatever emotion crosses his face. Pity, probably. Maybe anger because I let Eric humiliate me.
His burger rattles his plate when he throws it. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
I don’t respond and instead continue eating my salad. He was right. I created a false narrative to tell people, strangers, friends, business acquaintances, to protect myself. “Since we’re giving each other the truth, that’s mine. I wanted it. I wanted that future so badly. But I just couldn’t get that version of my life to stick. It wasn’t supposed to be mine.”
Tension radiates off Finn from across the table. He takes a long drink from his beer and avoids eye contact. His silence speaks volumes.
“Sometimes,” I say. “No matter how much you want something, it just isn’t meant to be. And now, well, now it’s too late.”