Page 178

Ross leans forward slightly, but his voice stays controlled.

"Then I'm saying it badly."

I wait. He takes a breath.

"My father died, and everything I'd been trained for since I was a boy took over before I even understood it was happening," he says.

"There was a company that needed stability, a family that needed direction, and a succession everyone expected me to carry without hesitation. I'd spent my entire life learning that when something goes wrong, you control what you can and eliminate anything that might interfere with the job."

I hold his gaze.

"And I was interference,” I say.

"No."

"That's exactly what you're describing."

Ross shakes his head.

"That's how I treated you. It isn't what you were."

I say nothing. He continues.

"At the time, I believed loving you made me vulnerable when I couldn't afford vulnerability. I believed if I cut away anything that complicated the responsibility in front of me, I could keep everything else from falling apart."

"That sounds like you."

"It does."

"At least you know that."

"I do now."

The third course arrives before either of us speaks again. The waiter explains the dish, asks whether we need anything else, and leaves after Ross tells him we're fine. I barely register the food. Ross's words have already unsettled too much.

He picks up his glass but doesn't drink from it.

"It took me longer than it should have to understand that I didn't protect anything by ending us," he says.

"I sacrificed something I wanted because I convinced myself wanting it was irresponsible."

My throat tightens. I hate that sentence. I hate it because there was a time when hearing it would've changed everything.

"It's a little too late, Ross."

"I know."

"Very late."

"I know that too."

I look at him, waiting for the argument. There isn't one. That disarms me more effectively than anything else he could've done.

"You always have an answer," I say.

"Not tonight."

My eyes narrow.