Page 69 of Iron

“That one,” he says, stopping in front of a large watercolor, mountains dissolving into a wash of blue and gold, big enough to need two people to carry it.

“For what?”

“For over the bed. The new one.” He says it like it's obvious, like we've already had this conversation somewhere I wasn't paying attention. “We need something on the wall. Right now it's just a very large, very empty bed and one very sad blank space above it.”

“You want to hang art in your apartment based on the size of the mattress you just bought.”

“I want to hang art that matches the scale of the commitment, yes.”

I don't have a good response to that, mostly because I don't want one, so I just pick up the pen and write a number on the bid sheet that ends the conversation for the rest of the night. Nobody's going to outbid that, not tonight. TJ's still grinning about it when I feel the air in the room shift.

It's not a sound, not a specific thing I see first. It's just a feeling, low in my chest, the kind you get right before you step on something you already know is going to hurt.

Then I see him. Marius, across the room, mid-conversation with someone from a clothing sponsor, looking exactly like he always looked: put together, slick, unbothered, like nothing that happened between us ever cost him anything at all.

I go still. Not dramatically. Just still, the way you go still when your body's deciding something before your brain's caught up.

TJ feels it immediately and follows my line of sight.

“Who is that?”

“Nobody.”

“Gavin.” His voice drops, sharpens. “Who is that?”

I don't answer fast enough, and that's answer enough on its own. TJ's face does something complicated, working it out in real time. When he lands on it, I see his jaw clench the same way mine had at the diner over a shoulder pat.

“That's him,” he says. “That's Marius.”

“TJ…”

“That's the guy who…” He stops himself, but I know exactly where the sentence was going, and from the look on his face, so does he. He turns, shoulders squaring toward the other side of the room like he's already halfway through a conversation he hasn't had yet.

“Don't,” I say, and my hand finds his arm before I've fully decided to put it there.

“Gavin, I'm not gonna just stand here…”

“I'm asking you not to.” I keep my voice low, steady, even though nothing in me feels steady right now. “Please.”

He stops. Looks at me instead of past me, and whatever he sees on my face makes him pause, some of the fight going out of his shoulders even though I can tell it's still sitting right under the surface, ready.

“Why not,” he says, quieter now. “Give me one good reason.”

“Because it's not worth it.” I keep my hand on his arm, grounding both of us. “He’s not worth it.”

“He hurt you.”

“He did.” I glance over at Marius again, and it's strange how little that glance actually costs me now. “But that was six years ago, and I'm not that guy anymore. I do not need him to be sorry.”

TJ's still watching me, waiting for more, so I give it to him.

“I'm over it,” I say. “I mean that. Not the polite version of over it, the actual version. Whatever he did, whatever it cost me back then, I'm glad it happened because it's part of what got me here.” I nod toward the room, toward the two of us standing in the middle of it. “I got you out of it, eventually. My mind is in a state that I can take care of you. That's not something I'd trade to go back and fix.”

“That's not the same as forgiving him.”

“No. It's not. I don't forgive him.” I say it plainly, no heat behind it, just fact. “But I don't need to confront him either, because he doesn't get to be the reason my night goes sideways. Not tonight. Not with you standing here in that bow tie I want to unwrap like a present.”

That gets a small, reluctant smile out of him, the fight easing back another notch.