Page 212 of Ricardo

He looks away.

“You made me feel outside.”

“Dante—”

“If I meant so much to both of you, how could you both shut me out like that?”

My throat tightens at the pain in his words.

“I didn’t want that.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.”

He exhales roughly, and I know it costs him.

“I was angry that you told me alone,” he says.

“He didn't want that,” I say. “I insisted.”

“But he let it happen.”

“I thought it would be best if it came from just me. I thought if we both approached you, it would feel like we were ganging up on you or something.”

He snorts. “Yeah, you really avoided that one.”

“I didn’t know how to do it,” I say. “I kept trying to find a way that wouldn’t hurt you.”

“There wasn’t one,” he says. “It was too late by that point.”

The car turns, and the motion makes my stomach roll again. I press the water bottle against my lap and take a slow breath.

Dante’s gaze drops.

“You going to be sick?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a mint. He places it on the seat between us instead of handing it to me.

A small offering.

I stare at it for half a second.

Then I pick it up.

“Thank you.”

He shrugs, eyes back on the window. “You always get carsick when you’re stressed.”

I do.