There were little things I should have let go of, but there was one big thing that I still can’t accept. Even now the thought twists my insides and makes me want to change my mind about this whole Atlanta ordeal. I could go check out of my hotel, pack up my carry-on suitcase, and drive two hours back to my house, a place now off-limits to him. Did he remember that? I’ll be able to tell if he often thinks of me by the way he looks at me. He isn’t a mystery anymore, he is now a memory. Maybe I only ever knew a version of him—a bright and hollow form of the man I’m waiting on now. I have to keep reminding myself that this trip isn’t about him, it’s bigger than him, bigger than both of us. Kael would be hurting. He would hide it like a professional soldier, but I knew he would be hurting. I didn’t know how much contact he’d had with our friend over the last year, but I knew Kael couldn’t afford to lose anyone else around him.

I suppose I could have avoided him for the rest of my life, but the thought of never seeing Kael again seemed impossible and worse than sitting here now, driving myself insane with anxiety. At least I can admit that. Here I am warming my hands on a coffee cup, waiting for him to come through that raspy door after swearing to him, to myself, to anyone who would listen for the last few months, that I would never . . .

He’s not due for another five minutes. It feels like the longest five minutes of my existence, but if he’s anything like the man I knew, he’ll strut in exactly on time with a straight face, not showing one hint of emotion.

When the door tears open, it’s a woman who walks in. Her blond hair is a nest stuck to the top of her tiny head and she’s holding a cell phone against her red cheek.

“I don’t give a shit, Howie. Get it done,” she snaps, pulling the phone away with a string of curse words.