do. What the hell, Kyra?"
"Maybe this can work," I say slowly, still not daring to look at him. I know those hazel eyes of his would diminish the little self-control I have left. "But right now... I think I need some time. This is a lot to take in at once, and I need to be on my A game for that annual review. Need my head clear."
"Kyra - "
"I'm sorry, Landon."
"Don't be sorry," he urges me, clasping at both my hands. "Don't do this."
I still can't look at him. "I'm not sure I have a choice anymore."
Quiet. Except for the static of the TV. God, Landon smells good.
"I just... I can't get this uncertainty out of my head," I confess, pulling my hands away. "That you'll run out on me when I need you most. I know it's stupid, holding onto what happened before, but I can't seem to let it go, no matter how I try. I can't have that in the back of my head while I'm dealing with all this. I just can't. I'm sorry." Now, I finally dare to look him in the face.
There's an odd look there, one I don't recognize. Not anger. Not sadness. Not fear or nervousness.
"I never told you," he's saying now, "why I dumped you all those years ago."
Something twists in me.
"Don't," I say hoarsely, pulling away.
He catches my hand again. "Just hear me out, Kyra, please."
I rise, suddenly mad. Mad at this whole stupid situation. Mad at him, still making demands of me when he's the last person who should be. "No. No, I won't. You didn't give me any explanation then, why the hell should I stick around and let you make one now? And you didn't just 'dump' me, Landon. You dumped me with no warning, no explanation, at the biggest party of the year in front of all of our closest friends. And then you ghosted me. And now, you show up here and - "
"Hear me out," Landon says, and now I recognize the hurt on his face. "Just - listen to what I have to say, and if you want to kick me out after, then you can, alright?"
"I've heard that offer before."
"And I mean it," he says simply. "Please."
When I don't say anything, he starts talking. "Before I met you, I never told you, but I wasn't doing great in school. Too much partying. It was completely my fault. Dad decided to cut me off. Made me pay my own way - which was fair, considering all his money I had wasted on failed courses. The term I met you, if I'd failed it, I would've had to work years to afford just another semester. I couldn't afford to fail."
He swallows, runs a hand through his light brown hair. He doesn't seem to want to look at me for some reason. Not that I'm dying to lock eyes right now anyway. Screw what he says. Screw his reasons. Nothing can explain away what he did.
"But I couldn't concentrate when I was with you," he continues. "Or when I was without you. It messed up my head. I couldn't study, I couldn't do anything right. I flunked my one course, and knew I couldn't afford to screw up even just one more. And with that jerk friend of yours... it wasn't right, but I ended things because of that. I didn't want to explain or face you because I knew I'd cave. I knew I'd end up confessing it all to you, telling you that you were the girl I saw myself marrying... Then, the next year, when I was finally out of school and I tried to reach out... nothing. You wouldn't take my calls, my texts, nothing."
Finally, Landon looks to me. All I can do is blink back. It takes me a good few seconds to realize that he's waiting for an answer.
"I had you blocked," I say, glaring at him. "I wasn't going to sit around waiting for you to reach out forever."
He shrugs. "I don't blame you."
"Good."
"Good."
We sit there.
So, that's it then. That's the explanation. Did he mean it? Does it matter?
Too much has happened. God knows what I actually think.
"I get it," he's saying now, quietly, emphatically. "I screwed up, OK? I don't plan on making the same mistake twice."
I swallow.
He's waiting for a response. One I don't want to give.
"It might not be up to you," I finally say quietly.
We sit there for another minute. Two. Three. He