“What’d you think?” I ask. “Something selfish,” says Gale. “That you don’t have to be jealous of him anymore?” My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. “No. Just the opposite.” Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. “I thought . . . I’ll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I’m in.” He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t stand a chance if he doesn’t get better. You’ll never be able to let him go. You’ll always feel wrong about being with me.”
Can he like not say one of the millions of stupid thoughts that come to his head?
