Jack wanted to cross the room, hold him close, swear up and down that he’d be decent and honest and good, all the things Oliver was and Jack never would be. “Oliver”—Jack’s voice held a pleading, desperate quality that he hated—”you must know by now that I’m not an outright villain, even if we don’t always agree.” But Oliver’s face remained impassive, and Jack’s heart felt like it was breaking. So much for sincerity.
