“That article,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not exactly… using it.”
“If I wanted to use it, you’d know.”
Her head turns.
“That is either reassuring or deeply unsettling.”
“Could be both.”
She studies me. “You’re impossible.”
“No. You just don’t like my answers.”
“I definitely don’t like your answers.”
“That’s fair.”
She goes quiet again. Different quiet.
“Why not?” she asks.
“Why not what?”
“Why not keep your distance?”
I glance at her. Back to the road. “Because you’re here.”
She doesn’t move.
“That’s it?”
“That’s not nothing.”
The city passes. Neither of us speaks again.
Her building.
I pull up.
She doesn’t open the door.
“Jax.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
I look at her. Her face is turned toward the windshield, but her hands are tight in her lap.
“For what?”
Her hands tighten once.
“That people keep turning you into a story before they know what actually happened.”
