Page 206 of The Liar's Reckoning

“Wait—what?”

“Yeah, like I said—I lost that job, and even full-time at The Eastmoor I can’t afford it here, so yeah. My aunt lives in a retirement community down there, and I’d like to be closer to her.”

“I feel like I missed a lot,” Chris says. “Let’s sit. Somewhere.”

“Terrace?” Gibson suggests.

Chris looks confused. “Yeah.” He picks up the margarita pitcher and his glass.

“Should I leave you to it?” his husband asks.

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I’ve got no secrets from you, do I?” There. I managed to get in one good solid dig. Now, hopefully, I’ll stop.

Gibson draws in a deep breath and takes the pitcher from Christian, pouring himself a full glass. “Terrace is just through here.”

Chris pinches the back of my arm, and I glare at him. “Ouch.”

“Don’t be a dick,” he says once his husband is out of the room.

“I’m done. Promise.”

“He’s not like how you think he is.”

“What’s he like?”

“If you’re lucky and stop acting like a brat, maybe he’ll show you.”

“You understand where I’m coming from, right?” I ask sincerely. Because if he doesn’t, then my news is delivered, and I can skip dinner.

“Of course. Yes. Look, he’s very nervous, but he wanted to do this. He doesn’t expect you to forgive him, but he’s planning to apologize. You don’t have to accept it.”

“And if I don’t want to talk about it?”

“Silas…comeon. Everybody deserves a second chance.”

I stare at him, his clear blue eyes pleading.

When I don’t say anything for a minute, he adds, “Okay, maybe not everybody, but he does. He’s the best person I’ve ever met.”

“I get it. You love the guy. I loved a guy once, too.”

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks, sounding mildly desperate.

“No,” I tell him. “Let’s go drink. I’ll play nice.”

“Go ahead without me,” he says. “I’m gonna bring out some food.”

“Nice trick, friend.”

He shrugs and turns back to the kitchen. Following the windows, I figure out where the terrace is, spot Gibson, and choose a seat from the outdoor furniture arrangement, which consists of two couches and two chairs. He’s on a couch. I take a chair. “Nice penthouse,” I say flatly.

“Thank you.”

A very Manhattan silence settles. Quieter up in this part of town, but not noiseless by any means.

“I really regret it,” he says after a minute.

I don’t speak.

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