Travis studies me, trying to find a way to cajole me to do the very thing I already have every intention of doing. But he doesn’t know that. It’s essential that this always feels like the setup is completely his idea.

“Lander told me that he was going to talk to you,” I continue. “He misled me at best and lied to me at worst. Why would I want to continue to see someone like that? I’ve only gone out with him a few times. He’s a passing fancy . . . it’s not like it’s love.”

“There is no such thing as love,” Travis mutters, almost more to himself than to me.

“I think . . . I think you might be right about that,” I say, and they’re the first honest words I’ve ever uttered to Travis. We sit quietly for a minute or two, both of us thinking about all the things that have brought us to that conclusion. It’s disconcerting to realize that perhaps Travis has been hardened and molded by circumstance rather than by nature. If so . . . what if this is the brother I have the most in common with? Was Travis ever kind? Hopeful? Is there a part of him underneath all that darkness that’s good?

Ah well, it doesn’t matter now. I don’t have time to analyze the thoughts and feelings of the enemy soldier.

“If you and I—” I break off, immediately regretting the initial framing of my argument. With an embarrassed smile I start again. “If it’s true that there is no such thing as true love, then that’s just all the more reason not to keep around a man who would be dishonest with me. There are other men who are just as pretty as he is. Men who won’t complicate my professional life.”

It almost makes me laugh to listen to myself. I’m talking about my “professional life” as if I’m a surgeon or a partner in a law firm, not a personal assistant to a drug addict and her Tylenol-snorting husband. But I do like the way Travis listens to me when I talk about my job this way.

Travis grabs a chair that’s against the wall and drags it next to mine, taking a seat beside me. “There’s a reason you’ve spent so much time with Lander over the last few days,” he says. “I grew up with the man, I know how fun he can be. I know he can be clever, and his dry sense of humor always keeps everyone laughing at dinner parties. He’s a tennis player, but I always thought he should give golf a go. Not because he’d be good at it but because so many people would be eager to hang out with him on the course.”

“He is a charmer,” I say with a little smile.