Fresh enough that I could still see faint redness.
“When?”
He knew exactly what I meant.
“Six months ago.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightened.
“I should’ve told you.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Marcus looked down.
“Because I felt ashamed.”
“Of what?”
He sat at the kitchen table.
I stayed standing.
“Daniel was your best friend.”
“I know.”
“You’re allowed to miss him.”
“That’s what I told myself.”
Something in his answer made me sit.
“What does that mean?”
Marcus pressed both palms against the table.
“When we were nineteen, Daniel wanted us to get matching tattoos.”
“You refused.”
“I was scared of needles.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“He never let you forget it.”
“No.”
Marcus looked toward the window.
“After he died, I kept thinking about it.”
“The stupid tattoo?”
“The promise behind it.”
His voice cracked.
“He asked me to do something with him, and I said no.”
