Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“Ah, right. Sure.” Talia stands with a confused smile for Ariana. “Thank you so much for talking to us. I’m sorry for your loss, again.”
“Thank you.” Ariana’s eyes gleam briefly.
I turn and walk out.
I tell myself I’m giving Ariana space. No more people barging in and expecting shit from her or asking her to pretend she’s okay, running from her feelings.
Really, I feel like I’m the one running now.
Running from this expectation to be human with the harsh gravity of Talia’s hurt and confusion hot on my heels.
We barely make it to the parking lot before she stops me—reaching out for my hand, touching the back of my palm before I unlock my patrol car.
“Micah?” Talia asks. Her voice sounds so wounded it makes me want to drop everything and hold her until that wound stops bleeding. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t know.
Nothing and everything.
I shrug, glancing at her casually. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“That was not fine,” she says with a firmness that surprises me. Her mouth tightens and her hand remains on mine. “Please tell me the truth. What happened to you in there?”
“I felt a little awkward, given the situation. That’s all.”
“Because you called me your girlfriend?”
There it is—the fucking can of worms I opened when she asked me what we really are, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I’m going to hurt her.
When she finds out that’s all I can do and realizes she deserves better.
So here I am, deflecting again.
“No. I’m not good with people. Especially people in a fragile state.” I catch her hand, squeezing tight, but also free my keys so I can unlock my car and pull the door open. “I promise you I’m fine. I’m going to clock my time early and head home to see if I can get into his account. I’ll drop you at the shop on the way.”
Her fingers tangle with mine.
She’s holding on desperately now. I wish like hell she could see it.
I’m already corrupting her.
I’m no fucking good.
Why can’t she figure it out?
“Can I come with you?” she asks. “I guess I just need to see it with my own eyes. So I know.”
I hesitate, but if I say no, she’ll feel like I’m avoiding her.
“Sure,” I say.
Guess that’s not convincing enough. Her face falls and she pulls her hand away. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
“I mean it,” I promise, reaching for her hand again, pulling her in close and kissing her forehead. “C’mon. You went through all this trouble to steal that camera. Let’s go find out what was on it.”
For a moment, she leans into me, but the silence remains. It’s just as troubled when she pulls away and walks to the passenger side of the car. I feel like I should say something, but I don’t know where to begin.
Talia’s finally figuring out I’m not her perfect dirty fantasy.
Not this wise fairy-tale beast who always knows what to say, how to thrill her, how to guard her heart.
I’m a broken man—a fucking imposter—and there’s only one way this ends for anyone who gets too close.
It’s silent as a grave on the drive back to my house. In the past, we enjoyed our easy silences that we didn’t need to fill with mindless chatter, but now the quiet feels tense.
Empty.
It feels like the silence that falls over a forest when there’s an apex predator moving through, everything small and frightened, waiting for the threat to pass by.
I hate it.
I also don’t know what to do about it, so I hold my tongue.
When we pull up at my place, a loud bark echoes from inside. A second later, the curtains in the front windows bunch up as Rolf’s head pops up under them.
He stares eagerly out the window, his big tongue rolling.
Talia laughs, some of her tension easing. “That dog really loves you.”
“He’s just hoping I brought some treats,” I mutter.
It’s just an offhand comment, but it makes her go still anyway.
She looks at me strangely. What did I say now?
“You really do see love as transactional, don’t you?”
“I…” I freeze.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I mean. Fucking maybe?
I had a brother once. I thought I loved him.
It’s not like my father ever loved me, though there were times when if I was good enough, obedient enough, he’d give me little scraps of affection. Just enough to reel me in so I wouldn’t be on my guard when he turned dark and violent again.
So maybe she’s right.
Maybe I do think love involves keeping score, whatever people think they can take from each other. I think love is earned.
Even with Jet, it was always counting who took the most bruises, whose turn it was to hurt. Just as toxic and fucked up as it sounds.
Right on cue, I look up at the branch overhanging the corner of my roof. They’re back again, three overstuffed crows staring down.