“Forget it,” I mumble. “You won’t understand.” “I’m trying to.” My head jerks up, and when I meet his eyes, I experience a roaring rush of heat. “Why?” I fling the question back at him. He holds my gaze for a second. Two. Three. I count each one as it passes, the way I count my own staggered breaths. The silence stretches out like a string—then he sets down the half-filled plastic bag in his hand, the crushed cans and containers rattling inside, and the silence snaps. “I don’t know.”
