Page 43 of Resurrection

He chuckles. “Nah. You never gave me the impressionIwas your first choice to fulfill those duties.”

I angle the fork into another piece of lettuce and stare at my plate for a minute, letting his words sink in. “Didn’t I?” I search my memory for those moments when I might have made it clear, but he was so wild, untamed, and I worried I’d spook him. “You never wanted to settle down? Have kids?”

His cool gaze scans my face as he bites into his burger, contemplating my question. “Why would anyone want that with me? I’d get them killed.” He flicks his finger to where my scar lies under my shirt. “You’re the proof of that prophecy.”

“I didn’t die.”

“Took that as a warning.”

“Strings of women were what you were used to, anyway. You never had trouble attracting them.”

“Your tone of voice makes that sound less complimentary than I’d like.”

I give him a wry smile. “Oh, does it?” I pick up my glass of water and take a sip. “Marriage is archaic. I grew up with a deeply unhappy mother and a philandering father. Men aren’t capable of being faithful.”

He chews for a moment, eyes narrowed, and sets his burger on his plate. “You lumping me in with those men?”

“You’re a man, aren’t you?”

“With a capital M.” He winks.

“Then, yeah, I am. Whatever. We screwed around for the better part of three years. I never expected you weren’t doing whoever else on the side.”

His eyes become slits. “You wondered if I was sleeping with other people?”

I shrug. He’d never given me a sense either way. We did what we did, and we didn’t talk about what it meant, or where it was headed, or even, most of the time, what we were doing.

“I was a shitty boyfriend.”

“Probably most men are shitty boyfriends between twenty and twenty-three. I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Besides, were you my boyfriend? Fuck buddy, maybe.”

“Why didn’t you ever ask?”

“I wasn’t going to be one of those needy girls.”

He picks up a French fry and sweeps it through mayonnaise before popping it into his mouth. As he chews, he stares at me. I want to raise my hand for the waiter and ask for some alcohol. Having this conversation sober is torture.

“I came to the hospital,” Finn says.

I refocus on him and frown. “What?”

“When you were stabbed. Before my father had me tossed on a plane, I came to see you.”

“Oh.”

“I told you that night in Boston. It was after we’d had quite a few more drinks. Figured you were too drunk to remember it.”

“I always thought—”

“You said. But it’s not true. I came. Christ, I’m not sure anything coulda stopped me from making sure you were alive.”

My heart squeezes at his words, at the intensity on his face. “You didn’t see me, though.”

“No.”

“Why not?” His appearance would have changed everything. To know he’d come, that I meant something to him.

His mouth quirks up, but there’s bitterness in his expression. “Charles and I had a heart-to-heart in the hall. He wasn’t wrong. Staying with me woulda been a death sentence for you.”

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