"Words are just fucking words, Sarah. They don't mean shit." Laced with profanity as much of what Cook says is, these words aren't angry. They're hard and weighed with a kind of bitterness someone as young as Cook shouldn't know, but they're not an attack on Sarah.

"I don't care what you fucking say." And yet, now that he knows, the abandonment doesn't hurt so much. She still did it. She still fucked around when she should have come to him. She'll do it again, most like. But people walk away from Cook. He hasn't learned how to walk away from them.

He stares down at his glass again, then pushes it forward and throws a signal to the bartender to refill him. "Don't ever pull that shit again," Cook says, his voice softening but not soft, the closest thing to forgiving her that she's gonna get.