She must have fallen asleep after taking care of my wounds.
It’s nice.
I got taken care of by someone, and I didn’t wake up alone.
A big part of me wants to give a bone and a half just to keep feeling like this. Like I’m worth something for someone. But another part, the one that thinks rationally even under all the lust and greed, knows exactly what I’m doing.
I’m using her.
Here, right now, lying on her couch.
Iamusing her.
Rey’s people have as much claim to that shitty, mildew-perfumed bar she drags herself through every night as Fisher has to me. Which is to say: absolute ownership. They have the power to crush her without blinking. They would, too. For sport.
And I’m letting it happen by staying.
If I gave even half a real damn about her, I’d get up right now—walk out, slam the door, and make it look like she was never tied to me in the first place. I’d spin some rumor about Rey’s boys being high as hell and dragging some poor girl into a fight she never meant to be part of. It would stick long enough to protect her. It would get them off her back.
Eventually, it would smooth over.
But I don’t get up.
I stay.
Because the truth is—how much would I give to keep Rhea by my side?
Not the right things.
I slide an arm under her shoulders and draw her closer. She shifts in her sleep and makes that soft, half-formed sound, somewhere between a sigh and a tiny wound opening, and fuck… she’s warm. Too warm. Warmer than any girl I’ve ever touched.
“Rhea,” I whisper into her hair. “Wake up.”
It’s still half-dark outside, that pre-dawn gray space where people either vanish forever or get found. If she were to leave town, this—right now—would be her window.
“Talon?” Her lashes lift. She sees me, really sees me, and concern is the first thing that rises in her eyes. “You need water? More meds?”
Just concern. And care. And trust.
And it hits me so hard in the chest I almost flinch.
She’s so good to me.
I crave it. I fucking hate it.
Your grandmother would be disgusted with you, Talon. She’d fucking despise you right now.
The thought tunnels straight through me. Shame slams into the same ribcage-space where the longing lives, and the two grind against each other until it hurts.
For one second, I actually want to change course.
And that’s enough.
“No,” I say. “We need to, uh… we need to talk.”
Concern shifts into alertness. She pulls herself up, peeling her body from mine, taking the warmth with her. Cold settles in its place immediately. Her hair falls forward in this messy curtain and she looks… soft. So soft it’s almost obscene.
My resolve shudders.
