“You asked me once what’s in it for you. Why should we do this . . .” He looks at the ceiling as his voice fades off. “No. Tell me, Callahan.” “There’s only one answer left I can think to give but I don’t think it’s close to what you deserve.” “What?” I ask, my pulse picking up. “Me.” He shrugs, his eyes serious but somber. “I’m a fuck-up who is wrong more than he’s right but will never admit it. I’m a spoiled rich kid who doesn’t have a clue about the life you lived but wants to know. I’m a guy who needs space after he tells too much of himself and doesn’t know how to face you the next day.
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