“The guitars pick up, the drums kick in, and I’m away. I can’t help grinning like a madman as the dancefloor goes wild – the good feeling is catching, and it spreads fast. She grabs me by the hand, dragging me toward the floor. I protest that I don’t dance, shaking my head and smiling, but we both know my heart’s not in it. She wins. She always wins.
We throw ourselves around in the heart of it for a while, loose track of time. When we stumble away, we’re both soaked with sweat, but her eyes are still bright.
Then I wake up, and I remember that she didn’t always win. That there are some things that can’t be overcome with enthusiasm and an infectious grin. Things like bullets and knives and explosions. And I remember that she might never have found that out if it weren’t for me. And for a moment, for just a moment, I think about calling her and telling her that I’m sorry all over again.
But what would be the point?”