Page 64 of Knights Like These
“And Lily?”
“She told me to tell you that Jeffrey learned a new dance move and you have to watch it tomorrow.”
He almost smiles. Then he crosses the room and sits on the couch—not at the other end, but in the middle. Close enough that I can smell the faint scent of his cologne. “Syd.”
“Yeah?”
“You said we’d figure this out when I got back.”
“I did say that.”
“So.” He turns to face me, one arm along the back of the couch, looking at me with that steady, patient, gray-eyed focus that makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the room. “I’m back.”
Here we go. Three days of rehearsal. Airtight argument. Logical, responsible, mature.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” I say. “A lot. Like, an unhealthy amount. And I, um—” I set the book on the coffee table and pull my feet up under me so I’m facing him. “I think if we were younger, if the circumstances were different, maybe we could try this. But Arch, you’re barely divorced. It’s been, what, four months? You probably need to process that. Maybe go to therapy, I don’t know.”
He doesn’t interrupt. He just watches me.
“And if things didn’t work between us—if we tried and it fell apart—I couldn’t live with that. I can’t lose you. People who date and break up don’t stay friends. They just don’t. Not really.”
“Syd—”
“And the kids.” My voice catches, but I push through it. “If we hurt the kids, Archer. If they get attached to the idea of us together and then it doesn’t work, and they lose me on topof already losing their parents’ marriage—I couldn’t do that to them. I couldn’t live with that.”
He’s quiet. The house hums around us.
“So.” I exhale. “I’m sorry. I’ve thought it through from every angle, and I don’t see a path forward. Not one that doesn’t risk everything that matters.”
I sit there and wait for him to nod. To say okay. To do what Archer does, which is accept the reasonable thing and go upstairs, close his door, and give me the space I’m asking for, even though I don’t actually want it.
He doesn’t nod.
He sits there looking at me for a long time, and his face doesn’t do any of the things I expected—he doesn’t look hurt, doesn’t look resigned. He looks like a man who just listened to a closing argument and found the hole in it.
“You just listed every reason this won’t work,” he says.
“Because there are a lot of them.”
“You didn’t list a single reason of why you don’t want it.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
“Everything you said is real, Syd. The divorce, the kids, the friendship—all of it. I’ve thought about all of it too. So many times, believe me. But you didn’t say you don’t want this. Not once.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.” He shifts closer, his knee pressing against mine, and I don’t move away. “You gave me a list of things you’re afraid of. You didn’t give me a no.”
“Archer—”
“Tell me you don’t want this. Look at me and say, ‘I don’t want you, Archer,’ and I’ll go upstairs and we’ll never talk about it again. But if you can’t say that—if the only thing stopping you is fear—then I’m not accepting the speech. I’m sorry. I’ve spent fifteen years accepting reasons. I’m done.”
My chest is tight, my eyes are burning, and he’s sitting right there, close enough that I can see the stubble on his jaw, the tired lines around his eyes, and the way he’s looking at me like I’m something he’s seeing for the first time.
“I can’t say that,” I whisper.
“Can’t say what?”
