He was unpredictable. What he said, he didn’t always mean. He was dangerous.

We were kids, I told myself. He’s grown up since then.

Teenage me made a face at the thought. Did people really change, or did they only shift, shimmy, slide? And even more troublesome—had he changed, or had I pegged him wrong all along?

His hands on my back nearly shocked me off the swing. With a quiet laugh, he gave me a little push.

“Look at that. It holds,” I said over the thumping of my heart in my ears.

“You doubted me?”

“Considering I didn’t know you knew how to make anything but trouble a couple days ago, I’d say a healthy amount of concern isn’t out of line.”

“Fair enough.”

He pushed me again, as firmly as he could in the space we had, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The window stretched almost to the floor and all the way to the ceiling, the installment several feet inside of it. I glanced up at the cloud, which was built to look like it was suspended over the swing, the pampas grass swaying with the motion.

“You did good, Luke,” I admitted, not sure how to fill the silence between us.

“You did too. Difference is, I never doubted you.” It wasn’t an accusation. The words were touched with levity, like he was smiling.

“Well, I’ve never given you a reason to doubt me, have I?”

He considered for a beat. “No, I guess not. You’ve always been capable, reliable. Dependable, even when we were kids. But what have I done to convince you I’m not?”

There was something in his voice, the edge of a wound, a tendril of hurt.

“Well,” I started, not wanting to hurt his feelings, but compelled to be honest, “aside from you never holding down a job? Or being in a serious relationship?”

“I was married, Tess,” he said quietly. “How much more serious could I get?”

But I laughed it off, hoping to defuse the tension. “I mean, was Wendy really serious?”

He pulled the swing to a stop. “You think I’d get married if I wasn’t serious?”

I gripped the ropes, shifting so I could look back at him. The hurt on his face was unmistakable.

“I … that’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what did you mean?” He waited for my response like he’d wait until hell froze over if he had to.

My lips gaped just a little, my mind scrambling with how to explain, and when the words came, they were honest and blunt, wielded with the unwavering certainty that nothing could faze him. Nothing could hurt him. “It’s just that you’ve always been a player. You fooled around with Ivy for years. Never had a girlfriend in high school, just a string of hookups. And then, out of nowhere, you disappeared with Wendy, who was a notorious flake and player equal to you. You were always so … I don’t know. Unattainable. No one could lock you down. You toyed with every girl’s emotions in a twenty-block radius, so when Wendy did, I assumed it was just a game. Temporary.”