“For leaving you—for leaving everyone, to be honest. I knew I’d hurt people. I just didn’t know how much. I’m getting it now.” And gah, that kiss. He blamed himself. “Grant, when you and I kissed, I knew there was nothing there.”

His entire face twisted. “Nice.”

“We were young, and I was a coward. I should’ve told you straight up right then and there, but you never pushed, and I didn’t realize what you were going to think. You never scared me. I was okay. We kissed, and it was what it was. You were my best friend, and in a way, I think you still are, but I didn’t run to Damian because of you. When we left the swing and I drove away, I decided to just let it lie. I was waiting to see if you pushed for something, and if you did, I was going to tell you then that there was nothing romantic between us. You and me kissing had no bearing on me falling in love with Damian. At all.”

“It didn’t? I didn’t?”

We’d been so young, and I heard it in his voice again. That guy was in front of me, the one I’d thrown away.

“I am so sorry. When I fell for Damian, it was a whirlwind. He consumed everything in me, and I fell hard. I fell fast. We were—I could think something, and he knew it just by a look, or a twitch, or somehow he could feel it in the air. I don’t know. It was unsettling at first, but I’ve never had someone know me the way he knew me and so fast.” Pain sliced me right down the middle, my guts falling out. “He was my soulmate, and what happened with us—it wasn’t a case of him cheating on me or abusing me. It wasn’t like that, but it was tragic, and it was hard to walk away from. But I had to.”

“A year, Charlie.” He picked at the counter beside him. “You’ve been away from him and hurting for a full year. Why didn’t you—I mean, you could’ve called. You could’ve emailed. Anything. I would’ve been there for you. What happened with you two? You’re half the size you were back then. You were healthy and glowing, and you’re like a shallow reflection of yourself. He did that to you. I don’t care what you say. He did that to you.”

“No.”

“Yes! Stop defending him—”

“He has dementia!”

Oh—I bent over on a dry heave. I hadn’t intended to say it out loud, not for a long time. But those words were out. I couldn’t take them back.