Page 60 of Drop the Mitts

“It was supposed to be simple.”

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence.

“I can’t fix what’s happening,” she murmured. “But I can fight for them.”

He visualized her face, imagined the way her brows pulled together when she got serious, the tight line of her mouth when she was trying not to show any emotion. “Well. That sucks.”

“What?”

He exhaled. “Turns out you were right.”

“About what?” she asked, and he heard the grin in her voice.

“That’s the real reason you and I would never work.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm. You’re altruistic and I’m an asshole.”

She laughed. “Self-aware, at least. That’s something.”

He smiled, turning onto his back. He could almost convince himself he could see her move in the mirror.

“When did you start smoking?”

He scoffed. “Wow. Doubling down.” She could’ve asked him about a hundred different things. His career for one, which he’d love an opportunity to talk about since women were always impressed. She’d never been curious about it. Slightly emasculating.

She exhaled. “No, not judging, just?—”

“You can’t say ‘not judging’ when you told me exactly how you feel about smokers.”

“I said that before I knew?—”

“That I didn’t taste like Nicotine?” He turned back to his side, propping his head on his pillow.

“No. Before I knew . . . you.”

His lungs tightened. “Hm. And that changes things?”

“Not . . . things. I—” She blew out a breath. “I answered your question.”

He was so giddy and nervous that his hands were trembling. “Fair.” André breathed, trying to keep his voice steady. “I started because of my brother.”

“As kids?”

André nodded against his pillow. “Teenagers. Our dad smoked, so it wasn’t hard to get cigarettes. Had to be careful, though. Couldn’t take more than one at a time.”

“Did he ever catch you?”

André’s hands tensed. He thought of the scar above Luc’s left eye. How he told everyone it was from dropping gloves with McGillick at provincials. “Yeah.”

That old anger simmered in his gut. His father didn’t give a shit that Luc had three concussions by the time he was fifteen. If he’d done something about it, that hit wouldn’t have caused the damage it did.

“Daddy issues?”

André let out a sharp laugh. “You could say that.”

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