Page 153 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

We talk until the overhead lights begin to dim for the afternoon competition.

It isn’t enough time. Ten years could never fit inside a convention break.

She tells me about Caleb. Her whole face changes when she says his name, softening in a way that tells me everything before she even begins. She shows me pictures of Bruiser, who isn’t remotely small enough for the nickname anymore. There’s a photo of him pretending to hate the birthday crown Harper put on his head and another of Caleb asleep on the couch with Bruiser’s feet shoved beneath his thigh.

I show her Owen.

I show her Mayhem hanging upside down from the curtains and Goblin sitting inside the bathroom sink like a tiny judgmental gargoyle.

She tells me about her shop, and I tell her how August is building his own name. We discover we live close enough that there is no excuse not to be in each other’s lives again for real.

Then I tell her about Jake.

Not everything.

Not here.

But enough.

Her hand closes around mine and stays there while I speak. She doesn’t interrupt with questions that make me prove what happened. She doesn’t tilt her head or search my face for inconsistencies.

She just believes me. Immediately. Completely.

“I’m sorry,” she says when I finish. “God, Lennon.”

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m getting there.”

She nods. “You should have called me, babe.”

“I know.”

“I would have come.”

“I know that now.”

Her face crumples. “I hate that you didn’t know it then.”

I lean against her shoulder.

For a while, neither of us says anything.

The convention continues around us. A crowd cheers somewhere behind the rows of booths. Music starts over the speakers. The world keeps moving, careless and loud.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” I say.

“You won’t.”

“People always say that.”

“I’m notpeople.”

I glance at her.

She wipes under her nose with the back of her wrist, looking deeply offended by the entire concept of tears.