But Doyle didn’t shrink under the glower. “Larkin was on medical leave and in no position to deal with apartment hunting. I offered for him to stay as long as he needed.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Noah asked. “In a studio with one bed? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

Doyle raised his hands up in a defensive manner, but his voice was still a smoky calm as he said, “Noah, whatever you think is happening between us—we’re friends. That’s it.”

“Sure,” Noah answered mockingly. “Just fuck buddies, right?”

“No,” Doyle said, more firmly. “We’re not having—”

“He’s my husband,” Noah cried. “Not yours.”

“Noah—” Larkin tried.

“You ruined my marriage!” Noah said accusingly, pointing a finger at Doyle.

Larkin stepped in between the two. “We ruined our marriage,” he corrected, motioning between himself and Noah.

“Bullshit.”

“You told me over and over that you understood,” Larkin said. “But I think… a part of you… hoped all the weird shit I say and do wouldn’t apply to you—would change because of you. And I think you’ve come to resent me and the fact that that isn’t true.”

“So now it’s my fault?”

“No. I didn’t say that,” Larkin snapped. He took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, and said, “You’ve underestimated your limitations when in a relationship with someone who’s neurodivergent. I’m not blaming you for anything. I’m only trying to say that there’s a disconnect between what you’re capable of handling and what I’m capable of giving. It’s not fair to either of us, and I’ve tried to tell you this a dozen times over the last fifty days. It’s not fair.”

Noah’s eyes shone with unfallen tears. He swallowed, sniffed loudly, and countered, “I really appreciate how you make me out to be stupid and heartless, Everett. Thank you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“And don’t think so highly of yourself,” Noah continued, “because what you’ve been giving for the last year? Zero. Fucking zero.”

“Great. I look forward to your list of grievances in court.”

“Why wait? I can start now. You refuse to visit my parents with me.”

“They don’t want me around, Noah. They don’t like me.”

“How could they? They haven’t seen their son-in-law since our wedding. You don’t listen when I talk to you.”

“Sometimes your conversations are overwhelming.”

“You hang up on me.”

“I’m a detective. I can’t keep taking personal—”

“You recently became a pill-popper.”

“For my panic attacks.” But Larkin’s voice was growing quieter, weaker, like he was giving up, with every counter to Noah’s attacks.

“You won’t have sex with me.”

“It’s the Xanax.”