“Yes.” I need him to be wrong. Need this to be about trauma and adrenaline and not about me running from or to something I can’t name. “You’re talking like I’m some wild thing that needs to run free, but that’s not who I am. I like structure. Rules. Knowing what comes next.”
“You like feeling safe,” he corrects quietly.
“What’s wrong with wanting to feel safe?”
“Nothing.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture so familiar it hurts. “Except you’re not running toward safe, swan. You’re running from yourself. And we both know it.”
His words lodge like stones in my chest and I struggle to breathe around them.
“I don’t—” Air catches in my throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing my cheekbone.
“Yeah, you do.”
I swallow hard, my words refusing to work their way up my throat because somewhere underneath the panic and denial, there’s a whisper that sounds suspiciously like truth.
“So what?” I finally manage, shifting back because I can’t think when he’s this close. “Say you’re right. Say I am running. What am I supposed to do about it? Throw away a ten-year career that’s the envy of every dancer out there? Give up everything I’ve built? Come back to Stoneheart and do what exactly? Be the club princess forever? Take up residence at the clubhouse? Become your?—”
I cut myself off, but the word hangs there anyway.
Old lady.
Bones’s expression doesn’t change. “Is that what you want?”
“I asked you first.”
“No, you didn’t. You asked me what you’re supposed to do. That’s different.” He sits back against the headboard, utterly calm. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Emma. I stoppedtrying to control you the minute I realized you’d just do the opposite out of spite.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. “Smart man.”
“Sometimes.” His mouth quirks. “Point is, this isn’t about what I want or what you’re supposed to do. It’s about what you’re gonna figure out when you stop running long enough to look at what’s chasing you.”
My throat tightens. “And what if I don’t want to look?”
“Then everything stays exactly the same.” He says it so simply, like it’s that easy. “I’ll take you back to New York, back to your ballet career. I’ll go back to Stoneheart, take my punishment from Stone. We go on like this never happened.”
“But?”
“No but.” His eyes meet mine, dark and certain. “You know where to find me when you’re ready.”
His certainty makes my chest ache.
“What if I’m never ready?” I whisper.
For the first time, something flickers in his expression—not doubt, but something gentler. “Then I wait anyway.”
“That’s—” I shake my head. “That’s not fair to you.”
“Swans mate for life, Emma.” His voice is quiet. “I picked you thirteen years ago. That’s not changing.”
The force of his honesty steals my breath, wiping every coherent thought clean. I can’t do anything but stare at this man who’s been circling me for almost half my life.
“You can’t just—” I stop, searching for words that won’t come. “You can’t just say things like that and expect me to?—”
“I’m not expecting anything.” He leans forward, his hand cupping my face again. “I’m just telling you the truth. What you do with it is up to you.”
His thumb traces my bottom lip and I’m drowning in his eyes, in the certainty of him, in the terrifying recognition that he sees me in ways I’ve spent most of my life trying not to see myself.
