Page 30 of Dead Men Tell No Shells

“You didn't give me much choice, did you?”

“No.” His voice broke slightly on the word. He pressed his lips together, took a breath, and tried again. “No, I didn't. I took away your chance to make your own decision. I took away the chance for us to work through it together, even if we'd eventually decided we couldn't make it work. I told myself I was protecting you, but I was really protecting myself from having to ask you to take that uncertain future with me.”

I felt my chest tighten. That was the part I'd needed him to understand. He hadn't merely left me behind; he'd decided that my answer wasn't worth hearing.

“I can't promise I'd have gone with you,” I said. “We were young. Maybe I'd have been frightened, too. Maybe we'd have argued about it. Maybe we'd have tried and discovered it wasn't what either of us wanted. But it should have been our decision.”

“I know.”

“And if you'd asked me, I might have said yes.”

His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them again, the regret on his face was almost painful to look at.

“I've thought about that for years.”

“Thinking about it doesn't change what happened.”

“No. It doesn't.”

I sat back, rubbing my palms against my thighs. I wanted to be angry enough to make the conversation easy. I wanted to tell him that the explanation was too late, that it didn't matter, and that he should go. But the truth was messier. I could understand how fear had led him to make the first decision, even while knowing that it didn't excuse what he'd done afterward.

“I don't know if I can get past it,” I told him. “I don't know what I want from you, or whether there's anything left between us that could become what we had before. I can't give you an answer just because you've finally given me one.”

“I'm not asking you to.”

“Then what are you asking?”

He straightened a little, though his hands remained tightly clasped.

“I'm asking for a chance to know you again. Not to pick up where we left off, and not to pretend I can make up for all those years by saying the right things now. I want to earn the right to be part of your life, if you'll let me. I'll be honest with you, Max. Even when it's difficult. Especially when it's difficult.”

I studied him for a long moment. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the effort it took him to remain seated rather than fill the silence with more explanations. He wasn't asking me to forgive him tonight, and he wasn't trying to tell me that everything would be different if I simply gave him another chance.

That mattered. It didn't make me ready to trust him, but it mattered.

“I'll listen,” I said at last. “That's all I can offer you right now. I'll listen, and I'll be honest about how I feel. But you have to do the same. I won't spend another fifteen years wondering what you're thinking or waiting for you to decide what you think is best for me.”

“You won't have to.”

“You can't promise that nothing will go wrong. You can't promise you'll never be afraid or that we'll never disagree. But you can promise to talk to me instead of making decisions for me.”

“I can promise that I'll try, and that I won't use fear as an excuse to shut you out again.” He held my gaze. “You deserve that much from me.”

I didn't answer. I wasn't ready to tell him what I thought he owed me, and I wasn't sure I knew how to measure it.

Josiah rose slowly. For a moment, I thought he might reach for me, but he kept his hands at his sides. He'd always been affectionate when we were together, and the absence of that familiar touch felt almost as noticeable as the things he'd said.

“I should go,” he said. “You've had a long night, and I know this hasn't been easy.”

“No, it hasn't.”

He nodded and walked to the front door. I followed him, stopping a few feet away while he opened it. The night air slipped into the house, cool against my face.

He turned back to me.

“Max?”

I waited.