Page 299 of The Lies We Play

Or he couldn’t.

I don’t know which one should comfort me. Neither does.

“I get it,” I say. “We let her go because it’s best.”

Creed’s jaw moves once, like he is grinding down a protest.

He doesn’t say it.

There is another knock. Softer this time. A warning instead of an interruption.

He looks toward the door.

Time’s up.

That, more than anything, makes me feel the loss. Not ten years. Not threats. Not lawyers. Fifteen minutes in a room that smells like tape and sweat, with a man I loved and don't remember loving fully enough, and even this has to end on someone else’s schedule.

Creed turns back to me.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question is careful.

Too careful.

It nearly destroys me.

He asks as if I am a locked door he once had a key to and will not try without permission.

I stand.

My knees almost betray me.

“Please,” I say.

Then he steps into me.

Slowly.

He is still in skates, so he has to bend. I have to lift my face. The difference should feel awkward. It doesn't. It feels like a body finding the old angle before the mind can follow.

His hand comes to my jaw.

Stops there.

A question against my skin.

I turn into it.

His mouth touches mine.

For one second, it is only contact.

Warm.

Careful.

A breath shared between two men who have lost too much to rush the first thing they are allowed to take back.