of those self-deprecating smiles and saying, “I can’t risk losing him. If I told him how I felt, he’d run and I can’t be without him in my life. Unfortunately, he’s also irreplaceable, and no one else matches up.”
At the time, I’d examined him like he was some sort of specimen in a lab. I remember wondering what kind of love spoils you for anyone else. Now I know the answer — the real kind.
Henry picks up the phone. “I’m ordering food,” he says calmly. “You need something to mop up that alcohol. I can smell it all over you.” I throw myself back on the sofa’s cushions, and he examines my face intently. “What did you do?”
I open my mouth and start talking. It’s ages later when I draw the story to a close, the words stuttering on my tongue and my heart clenching at what I’ve done.
Henry shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “Jesus, Gabe.”
I scrub my hands down my face. “I know,” I say quietly. “I’ve lost him now.”
He sighs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
I look up, hope flaring. “Do you think?”
He stares at me. “The real question is why that would make you happy, Gabe?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that tonight you’ve singlehandedly pushed away the best thing that has ever happened to you. You broke his heart, and you did it deliberately, so I repeat, why does the fact that he’d have you back make you happy? Do you want to hurt him again?”
“No!” I burst out, jumping up from the sofa and starting to pace. “I don’t want to hurt him, ever. I hate myself that I did it at all.”
“And yet you did it, anyway.” His voice is calm and analytical like we’re in court, and I flush hot with rage and horror.
“I’m a monster,” I say numbly. “I’m like him.”
“Really? How are you like him?”
I’d expected incredulity from him, not this cool appraisal. We’ve never spoken about my past since the night of the nightmare, but I know he’s never forgotten it.
“Because I destroyed Dylan and us. I was frightened.”
“Really? You didn’t tell me you’d shot Dylan.”
I jerk. “Jesus fucking Christ, Henry. I can’t believe you just said that to me.”
“It’s the truth, Gabe, isn’t it? Did you pick up a gun and turn it on him?”
I actually gag at the thought. “Of course I didn’t. I couldn’t because–”
“Why?” he says sharply. “Why couldn’t you do that?”
“Because I love him,” I shout, and then stare as a sad smile crosses his face.
“Finally,” he says softly. “I know you won’t talk about your parents and the end, and I respect that. But I must ask you one thing. Do you think your father loved your mother?”
I shrug awkwardly. “I presume at one point he did.”
“And do you think he loved her when he killed her?”
I feel shivers running up and down my body. “No,” I whisper. “I think he hated her, and I don’t want to ever feel like that around Dylan. I would die before I hated him and hurt him.”
He sits back. “If he cheated on you, what would you do?”
Bile rises in my throat at the thought of Dylan with someone else. I swallow hard. “I don’t think I could stay with him.” I hear the hesitation and the question in my voice.
“Would you hurt him so the other person couldn’t have him?”
“Never,” I vow fervently. “Never. I might punch the other man.” I look at him. “The sad truth, Henry, is that I’d probably try and work it out with him.”
“Why is that sad?”
“What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, his face warm and sad. “There is a wide space between marriage and relationship troubles and what your father did. Fortunately, not many people take that option, and I should know.” Henry is a family lawyer. He stares at me searchingly and seems to come to a conclusion. “Gabe, I see every kind of humanity in my rooms, and my job depends on my accurate summing up of people. Listen to me very carefully now and hear me for the first time. You are nothing like your father.”
The words rush through me like someone has opened a window in a stuffy room and let in a cool breeze. I think it’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever spoken about this, apart from the night of my nightmare.
“How do you know? Are you sure?” My voice is hoarse and deep. I examine his face intently.