Page 337 of The Lies We Play

Angry.

Not at him.

Never at him.

At the lie, still trying to survive in his mouth.

He stops.

I stand too.

“You didn’t crash that car,” I say. “They crashed that car. They crashed it with brake lines they had cut, and you got us inside it because the alternative they built was worse. There was no version of that night where we walked away clean. You took the version where we survived.”

“We didn’t survive.”

“We did.”

“Liv.” His eyes flash. “I woke up not knowing you. Not knowing Creed. Not knowing myself.”

“You survived.”

Creed rises slowly beside him. “You saved her—and yourself.”

Halston turns toward him.

Creed’s voice goes rough, but he doesn’t look away. “I’ve lived inside that call for ten years, Hal. Every night. Every road trip. Every time it rained and I was alone in a hotel room, I heard you trying to save her. That is what I have. That is what I’ve had. That is what you gave me.”

Halston’s mouth opens.

“Creed.”

“You did not fuck it up, Hal.”

Halston’s face changes.

Not relief.

Not yet.

Recognition hurts first.

“I thought I did.”

“I know.” Creed steps closer and puts one hand on the side of Halston’s neck, right under his jaw. “I know they made you think that.”

“They told me⁠—”

“I know, babe.” Creed’s thumb moves once, a small touch, just enough to keep him here. “I know what they told you.”

“I fucking believed them.” Halston’s voice breaks apart on the last word. He turns his face away, but Creed’s hand follows him, gentle and unyielding. “How do I⁠—”

“You don’t,” I say.

Both men look at me.

“Not today. Not tomorrow.” I move closer until I’m standing on Halston’s other side. “We have time.”

Halston lets out a bitter breath. “I don’t deserve⁠—”