"If I never lied then maybe you'd be the truth."
She has that look on her face again, the one where it's as if she's thinking hard about something. But he doesn't want her to have to think, not about something like this.
"Cammie," he says, catching a strand of her hair as it blows in the wind. He tucks it behind her ear, but his hand stays there, hovering.
"Zach." Somehow she makes his name sound like a statement, a question, and an answer, all at once.
"I'm sorry." She hasn't yet shoved his hand away, which is a good sign.
Her hand comes up to grab his. "For what?" she asks. She has a hard look in her eyes, and Zach knows she doesn't expect an answer. "For lying to me? For letting me believe that all this time you were… good?"
"I was trying to protect you," he says, but the argument sounds weak even to his ears. Of all the words he knows, in all the languages he knows – Spanish, French – he can't find the right ones to express all the regret he feels right now.
I love her. The words surface, plain and simple, in his mind, but his mouth can't muster the courage to say them. The truth has always been there, lurking underneath, but he can't – he won't – admit it. He's been a spy for too long now. When you're a spy, Zach muses, you find out that lying is easy. Telling the truth is what's hard.
Telling the truth means you have to believe in it. And believing makes it real. Too real. So instead, Zach shoves down the feeling and lets go. He takes a step back.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, softly. "I guess I should have known you'd figure it out eventually. You always do, Gallagher Girl," he continues with a half-smile, the last one he'll ever give her. She doesn't say anything, and in the silence Zach almost reconsiders. I could stay here, and fix everything. But fixing things isn't Zach's forte.
He turns away and forces himself to walk. Inwardly he prays that if he sees her again she won't hate him. Of course, there's the problem: if he ever sees her again.