“Gael,” I breathe out. “Please.”

He shakes his head, and even though every fiber of my being knows how dangerous this is, being like this, I stay still. I stand there and let him hold me, intimately, as he tells me he loves somebody else.

Slowly, his hands rise, ghosting the length of me and settling on either side of my neck. “Ask me why I’m not with you. Why I’m not marrying you.”

Unable to look at him, I turn my head, and he persists with the questioning. “Ask me why, Jordan.”

“Stop,” I plead. Forcefully, I step out of his hold and let my eyes land on his. “What is the point, Gael?” I ask, exasperated. “What is the fucking point of rehashing all the things we want and can’t have?”

“Why can’t we have them?” he says.