Page 99 of For the Plot

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

He sits back slowly, eyes narrowing. “She used to be everything to me.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” he says, voice flat. “She was my first love. My best friend. I thought I’d marry her someday.”

“I understand that better than you think.”

Archer looks away. His hands clench loosely in his lap.

“I didn’t bring you out here to convince you,” I say. “I just wanted to be honest.”

“Honest would’ve been telling me before I walked in on her half-naked in your penthouse.”

Fair.

“I wanted to protect you,” I say.

He scoffs. “You were protecting yourself.”

I nod. “Yeah. I was.”

That catches him off guard. He doesn’t speak, but something shifts in his shoulders. Slightly less rigid. Slightly more curious.

The boat drifts. We’ve been out on the water for a while, the engine idle, the Chicago skyline now a haze behind us. But there’s something I can’t keep inside any longer.

I glance at him. “Can I ask you something?”

He lifts his chin, eyes shaded by sunglasses. “You’re already going to.”

I ignore the edge in his voice. “Why did you cheat on her?” He shifts uncomfortably. “I’m not trying to throw it in your face,” I add, keeping my tone steady. “I just… when I asked her what happened between you two, she didn’t go into detail. But she said it was you who ended things. And that you hurt her.”

“I know I did,” he says, voice low.

He doesn’t meet my eyes.

“I’m not proud of it,” he adds after a pause. “I was immature. Entitled. I had someone incredible in front of me, and I was too fucking arrogant to see it.”

I nod slowly, waiting.

“I didn’t know what it meant to have someone love me like that,” he continues. “I thought I’d always have time to fix it. That I could mess around and come back to her when I was ready.”

“And when she walked?” I ask.

He laughs bitterly. “I realized too late I wasn’t ready to lose her. So I transferred schools like a coward.”

The wind shifts slightly, cooling the sweat at the back of my neck. “She forgave you,” I say.

He looks over sharply. “She said that?”

“She did. She’s moved on. She let it go a long time ago.”

His shoulders sag, like hearing it lifts something off his chest.

“I haven’t forgiven myself,” he says, his voice heavy.