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Archie said, “I don’t need anything to eat.”

Beau and Scarlett ignored him—this was starting to feel like old times at Casa Langham—and he headed for the stairs. Not that he kidded himself Beau would forget about their little tête-à-tête. Maybe Beau was the one stuck in a time loop because what the hell was there to say seven years later?

At the same time—and this was the troubling part, the painful part—he couldn’t quite smother that flicker of doubt, worse, of hope, that there was still maybe something to be offered, explained. Not that anything could be changed, but he would have liked to understand why everything had happened the way it had. And why Beau was still so angry nearly a decade later.

By the time Archie reached the top landing, Beau was right behind him again.

They walked in silence down the hall—everybody in the inn appeared to be tucked up for the night—Archie unlocked his room, and they went inside.

The lamp next to the bed was still on, the coverlet on the bed thrown back. Everything was as he’d left it—in, it felt like, the distant past. Before he’d learned about Breland. Before he’d learned that those sixteen months had been for n—

Don’t be stupid. You know better.

Maybe it was time to pop open that bottle of antidepressants.

Beau quietly closed the door behind them, and Archie sat down on the side of the bed. There was really no choice about that. He was too tired to stand. He watched Beau warily. Beau gazed back at him, and it went through Archie’s mind that maybe Beau wasn’t as one hundred percent sure of his next move as he’d seemed four minutes earlier.

Beau’s face twisted and he said, “The timing’s shit, but if I don’t say this now, it might not get said.”

“Maybe you should go with that instinct.”

It wasn’t cowardice on Archie’s part; he just couldn’t see the point in punishing each other for things that had happened a lifetime ago. He didn’t want to fight with Beau. He really didn’t.

But Beau didn’t seem to take it in the spirit it was meant. He flushed. His eyes narrowed. “Sorry, but I just can’t take another minute of you walking around thinking you’re the victim in all this.”

“I never said I was a victim. I think—I know—you decided to end our relationship. That was your decision, not mine. That’s all I ever said. What I don’t get is why you’re apparently still mad about it.”

Beau laughed and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. Are you going to sit there and say you have no clue why I’d want to end things?”

Not for the first time, Archie felt that they were talking at cross-purposes.

“I know you weren’t happy—”

Beau overrode him. “The fact is, I just pulled the plug. You’d already ended things.”

That was too much. Archie said fiercely, “How did I end things? By going away to college? By taking the job I told you for years I planned on having?”

They were keeping their voices down, both always, instinctively aware of being overheard, but the conversation was heating up fast, both of them flushed and bright-eyed with emotion.

“Are you telling me, you don’t think the timing was maybe a little problematical—I mean, if you’re actually still claiming you gave a shit about anyone but yourself.”

“The timing?” Archie was blank. “The timing of what? College?”

Beau shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus. What happened that summer, Crane?”

Archie stared at Beau. Beau was as pale as he’d been flushed. He cast his mind to the summer before he’d left for college. It had been a rough and emotional few months. For both of them. But yes, it had been harder on Beau. Hell, yes. But.

He said slowly, “Dasha Martin saw us kissing behind the fieldhouse.”

“We got outed.” Beau met Archie’s gaze and corrected, “I got outed. Because, yeah, you were already out. You were used to—”

Beau’s cellphone rang.

It was like being jolted out of a dream. They both flinched. Beau made a sound of angry impatience, snatched up his cell, bit off, “Chief Langham.” His expression changed; he said a little sheepishly. “Oh. Thanks. I’ll be right down.” He turned, and face to the door, said gruffly, “I’ll be back.”

He slipped into the silent hallway, remembering to leave the security guard flipped, so he could get back in.

Archie stared, stricken, at the closed door. His memories of that summer clicked past like images in an old-fashioned slide show.