Page 617 of End Game

“Yeah.”

His shoulders ease slightly.

I rub my palm over the blanket gathered across my lap, feeling the texture catch against calluses on my fingers.

“Thank you.”

Ronan looks at me for a second longer than usual. “You're welcome.”

The silence after that doesn't ask anything from me.

Maybe that's why my brain supplies the thing I've been avoiding.

I look down at my hands. “I’m still sad.”

Ronan's eyebrows lift slightly. “I didn't ask.”

“I know.”

His face softens.

Telling him I’m still sad presses something sore behind my sternum.

Mom's hands clasped together in her lap.

Her saying “our only child” like the words themselves had broken something.

I can see her face so clearly that the basement blurs around the edges for a second.

I blink until Ronan comes back into focus.

My thumb catches against the seam of the blanket.

“It worked, though.”

“What did?”

“The distraction.”

The smile that crosses his face is small.

“For a while, I couldn't think about anything except what you were doing.”

I swallow, feeling the ghost of the strap across my skin without moving. “Then you stopped.”

“Yes.”

I glance at him. “I wanted more.”

“I know.”

“You knew I would.”

“I suspected.”

“And you still stopped.”

Ronan's head tilts slightly. “You asked me to decide.”