“I think you’ve been through hell,” he said. “I think you lost everyone you cared about, and I think you’re still bleeding . . . still hurting. You look at me and see someone who’ll keep you safe, but that’s not the same thing aswantingme.”
She stared at him, stunned.
He continued, softer—almost bitter. “I’m not saying I blame you for anything. I just . . . I’m tired, Luna. Tired of being needed more than I’m wanted.”
The silence between them stretched.
When Luna finally spoke, her voice was small. “You think I’m using you.”
“I think you haven’t decided if you want me . . . or what you think I can give you, and I can’t afford to take that risk,” he said, not unkindly.
She looked away. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”
Her chest tightened. “I reached for you because I wanted to.”
He didn’t respond further.
And for a moment, Luna thought he wouldn’t.
Then, without looking at her, he said, “I’ve spent my whole life fixing things.” He ran his hand over Barley’s reins, straightening an invisible twist in the leathers. “Cleaning up after my brothers. Risking my neck for mysisters. Managing every mess behind the curtain so the kingdom doesn’t fall apart. It’s what I do; it’s what I’ve always done.”
“It sounds like you take responsibility for everyone.”
“Everyone seems to see me as a saviour.” His eyes lifted to hers. “It’s how you look at me—even though I’ve asked you not to—like I’m holding the whole world up for you. Like I’ll always have the answer. Or that I’ll always catch you . . . but what if . . .”
Her stomach dropped. “I didn’t—”
He shook his head. “I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to be someone’s saviour, Luna. I can’t be needed like that.”
Her throat tightened. “You think that’s all I see you as?”
“I think it’s easier to fall for the person who pulls you from the fire than face what’s still burning.”
“So I’m a burden.” The words tasted vile on her tongue. “That’s how you see me—as afuckingburden.”
“No—”
“Why save me to begin with then?” she hissed. “Why bother?”
“Because,” he said roughly, “believe it or not, I’m not a monster—I wasn’t going to ignore someone clearly in distress.”
The words cut her. He’d said them before . . . that he’d saved her out of moral obligation. Apparently, he’d meant it.
“You think I want to be weak?” she asked quietly but not meekly, bitterness edging each word. “You think I want to be a damsel in need of a strong man rescuing me? Because I don’t.”
He stared at her, weighing her words.
Releasing a ragged breath, she said, resigned, “I’m not in distress anymore.”
“I’d sure hope not,” he replied dryly, “considering I haven’t left your side.”
The pain swelling in her chest nearly swallowed his words entirely. Shaking her head, she turned away as much as the saddle would allow, her gaze falling to the ground. “I have no desire to burden you or anyone else. You’re free to go. I’m more than capable of finding my own way.”
“Yeah, I’m not doing that.”
Her gaze snapped back to him, brows scrunched, but he was already turning away, guiding his horse forward again like the conversation had ended . . . as if that was all there was to say.
