Page 167 of The Rom-Commers

“Did you hear that just now?” Charlie asked, tilting his head to gesture back at the stage without breaking eye contact.

I nodded, and stepped closer.

“All of it?” he asked.

I nodded again, and took another step.

“Specifically the part about how I’m not dying?”

One more nod. “So that cough that you thought was allergies—it was actually bronchitis?”

“That’s right.”

“So you were sick when you had your screening test? But by the time you went back for the real test, you were well?”

“Exactly.”

“So,” I said, “just to confirm: You’re not dying?”

Charlie nodded in awe, like he could barely believe it himself. “Not at the moment.”

I let that sink in.

“What do you think?” Charlie asked next.

“I think you’d rather feed my heart into a wood chipper than tell me you were sick again.”

“Correct. And I’d do it again, too. Because I wasnotgoing to be another person ruining your life.”

“You really don’t understand how life-ruining works, do you?”

“You can’t be trusted to do the right thing for yourself.”

“For the record, I would never have left you because you got sick.”

“I know that. That’s why I had to leave you first.”

But I shook my head. “Logan sent me your video. The one I wasn’t supposed to see until you were dead. And I came down here ready to force you to let me be with you—no matter what.”

“That’s a hell of a decision.”

“That was a hell of a video.”

“But I’m not sick. So it doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters that you lied to me,” I said.

“I misled you,” Charlie said, like that was different.

“You said I was a hypochondriac.”

“Youarea hypochondriac.”

“But you said it in a mean way.”

Charlie lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You shut things down with me. You said there was no misunderstanding.”

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