Page 244 of A Matter of Time

“How can you say that?” His voice cracked. “I know what you––”

“But you don’t,” I assured him. “You can’t because you weren’t here.”

He took a breath. “Tell me then.”

I shook my head.

We were both quiet, and it lasted so long I was about to suggest we get the check.

“Then tell me about the scar on your back,” he said hoarsely. “Do you tell people you sleep with how you got it?”

I stared at him. That was pretty smart. A physical thing, what had happened to me, the cause and effect, was easier to talk about than feelings. And he could learn a lot about what I shared with others from my answer. “Actually, there’s no scar from when I took a bullet for you,” I told him.

“For you is a nice dig, J.”

I shrugged. “Not a dig, just the truth.”

He shook his head. “Yes, true. But how?”

“How what?”

“How is there no scar?”

“Ah. Well see, I have this brother,” I began playfully, and Sam sighed and gave me a relived smile. I had steered us back toward shore, and I could tell from the fall of his shoulders that he appreciated that. And I was feeling better too, back on solid ground. I had been way out in open water for a moment but now, I could feel the sand back under my feet. “And he called a plastic surgeon he knows and voilà—no scar.”

He nodded. “Dane to the rescue.”

“It’s how he is. You know that.”

“Yeah. You can always count on him.”

“The only one,” I said flatly.

“He’s not though.”

“All the evidence says different.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“You don’t get to decide my life for me, Sam.”

“I know that,” he rushed out, and I got the feeling, from the gentleness in his voice and the softness in his eyes, that maybe he too needed to get his bearings. He’d come on strong, realized that wasn’t going to work, and was adjusting. I was both surprised and pleased. “Let’s just eat and talk, all right?”

I was stunned, and it probably showed on my face. He was being so reasonable, and it was a nice change. And of course, because I was me, I was a bit disappointed that he wasn’t going to fight with me, or for me. But honestly, in the real world where I’d been since he left me, it was for the best. Did it still sting? Yes. But I had changed, and I was certain, so had he. Best to put all my cards on the table and tell him how it was going to be.

What was really nice was that he made the conversation I was used to providing. He told me what it had been like to come home to his old life after two years away. He’d had friends to reconnect with and a job to relearn, and all that had taken time. He’d wanted to focus on all his external priorities before he came for me. Make everything perfect professionally and then show up on my doorstep.

“I’m sorry, what?” My thoughts had been drifting, I’d been floating along on our new understanding, but I had caught the last part.

“You heard me, J.”

“Wait You’re actually sitting there telling me that you want us to get back together?”

“Yep. I told you what I wanted before we sat down.”

“But I explained that could never happen.”

“You sure did.”