He lets out a gruff laugh. God, it is horrible to be in love with your dead fiancé’s brother. The absolute worst. It is especially tragic when you know what it feels like to kiss him, to make love to him, to be the center of his world, even if for one night.

“Keep the socks. I want you to get on that train.”

“But Joe, it will be so horrible for me.”

“You’ll survive it. And live to tell the tale.”

We are both quiet for a moment. I’m trying to think of more excuses I could use not to do it.

“I would want pictures when you do it. As proof.” He is getting ahead of himself. I wonder if it’s because he knows I’d cut off my right arm if it means pleasing him.

“Gee, dude. Where’s the trust?”

“At the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, along with your old cell?” he suggests cordially. Touché. “We don’t have the best track record.”

I stroke Loki in my lap. “I bailed on you twice. There won’t be a third time.”

I hear him lighting himself a cigarette. “Color me skeptical and extremely fucking exasperated, love.”

Love. Just the word on his tongue makes me shiver. But of course, it is a casual endearment, not a declaration.

Yes, I want to make Joe proud, but it’s not just that. He is right. As long as I’m afraid of the subway, as long as I opt to walk instead of catch a train because I’m too scared to face this memory that I so violently shoved into a drawer in my brain, I cannot be completely free to build a life for myself.

True, I create. I leave the room. I see people. But I still haven’t chosen a path. A direction. I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do with my life. If I go back to Salem or stay here. Hell, I’m still paying half the rent for that god-awful pigsty. All because I’m too afraid of making a decision. I didn’t want to slam the door on Salem. But my savings have been dwindling rapidly, and I can’t keep doing that anymore.

“All right. I’ll do it.”

“When?” he shoots out.

“You want specifics?”

“Always.”

“This Wednesday. At noon. It shouldn’t be too crowded,” I hear myself say.

“Take a picture of you with a Montgomery Street sign in the background.”

“Yeah, yeah. I feel like I should ask you for something equally as unpleasant just to even the score,” I grunt, pushing off the window. Loki jumps off my lap in a classic I-wanted-to-get-up-before-you-did cat move.

“You can, and should. I’m always at your service.”

“Not always,” I point out, remembering all the weeks he’s spent ignoring me.