“Remembering,” he says with a sad smile. “It was good, Mal.”

“Uh-huh, until it wasn’t. Do you remember why we broke up?”

“I remember why you ran away.”

“I didn’t run—”

“You did. You didn’t stay to talk it through. A few bad words—”

“A few?” I cry. It was more than a few. It had been a torrent, coming from the person I most trusted in the world, and it had sent me into a downward spiral of loneliness and doubt. I spent months trying to recover from that argument. The memory of it, even now, is painful. “You called my father a murderer and my mother a coward. You called Margo a ball-buster and Anne stupid. You called me a basket case who couldn’t make up her mind what she wanted. You called me spineless. You said I was crippled by my father. You said I was damaged—permanently damaged, you said, if memory stands—and you said it when you knew I was falling apart, knew my family was falling apart, knew I was crushed. Do you know the meaning of love, Jack? Love means you put another’s pain even above your own. I was in pain, and you were too obsessed with yourself to see it. You’re abandoning me, you said. Well, no, Jack. You abandoned me. For you, it was only about the Sabathians, but I had family, too. I had issues and fears, and you were blind to everything but—” I stop. “What is that smile about?” It is triumphant.

“I love it when you’re passionate.”

I gape at him. “You do not. That’s what set us off twenty years ago.”

“No,” he says, still smiling, “what set us off was shock. We’d never argued before. We threw words at each other, and at the worst possible time. But now? Now is deliberate and rational. You never did it like this back before that night, but I wanted you to. Has living in New York given you balls?”

Rational? Hah! If I were another type of person, I’d have hit him. It might be the resurgence of those memories and my need to lash back for those ugly words. It might be his smugness. Or the fact that this man has the ability to so quickly strip me raw.

But I’m no hitter. Physical violence gives me a panic attack. Words—now, words are another thing entirely. I don’t even bother to move away, because what I have to say can be said inches from his gorgeous face.

“Listen, bud,” fury keeps my voice low, “living in New York gave me nothing that I didn’t work my tail off for. And I sure as hell didn’t do it for you. I’ve been with men who are kinder than you. I’ve been with men who are smarter and more successful. I’ve been with a ton of men.”