“Why do you think that? Why do you believe you’re so bad and broken? Who have youtrulyhurt just by being you? And don’t bring up Cosette again.” I say the last part with a snarl.
His eyes turn down at the corners, and when he speaks, his voice quavers. “I treated my…my mother like a fucking pet.”
I can only imagine how much that pains him. How all those happy memories of playing with the creature he thought was his fox friend—who he only later found out had been fae all along—were tainted the minute he learned who his birth mother was. I brush a damp curl off his forehead. “She wouldn’t have come back again and again if she didn’t like the time she spent with you. She knew you couldn’t know who she was. She just wanted to see you.”
“Then why did she leave?”
“I don’t know.”
He closes his eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t know. I’d rather know I’m at fault than to be stuck with uncertainty.”
And that right there explains everything. The conflict in his heart, constantly at war between pushing people away and keeping them within arm’s reach. The way he acts, positioning himself as the reason why his relationships crumble. “You’re scared. That’s why you act the way you do in relationships.”
“Yes,” he says, opening his eyes. “I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you. I’m no good. I’m involved in fixed fucking boxing matches. I’m drowning in debt.”
I exhale a heavy sigh. “No, that’s not it at all. You’ve never been worried you’re going to hurt me. You’re worriedI’mgoing to hurtyou. You’re worried I’m going to leave you and you won’t know the cause.”
His eyes widen, and all that’s left of his protective mask shatters.
I speak again. “You reject people before they can reject you. I know what that’s like. We may do it in different ways, but we’re just rejecting ourselves.”
He makes a strangled sound and lowers his head to my shoulder. I wrap one arm behind him, caressing his sodden back while the other smooths his hair. “How do you see so deep inside me?” he mutters against my shoulder. “All my flaws? How can you look at me so tenderly when you know how broken I am?”
“I like imperfect things. I like messes and rain and mud. I like eating with my hands. I like my steak rare. I like watching boxing matches and salivating when they get extra violent. I like climbing on furniture and taking off my clothes when I feel like it. I like the taste of small rodents’ blood in my mouth and the feel of their tiny bones cracking between my teeth.” I stop myself from saying more, afraid that the last bit was a little too intense. Then I swallow hard and relay the most raw and dangerous confession of all. “And I like…I love you.”
He stiffens in my arms. Silence stretches between us, save for the pound of rain on cobblestones outside the mouth of the alley. Panic laces through my throat but I resist the urge to change the subject. To take his silence as rejection. Finally, he lifts his face and meets my eyes. “I can’t marry you.”
“I never asked you to.”
“But your handfasting…”
“My career is enough. My life here is enough.”
And if it isn’t, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it so. Even if I must destroy every connection I made in my hometown. Even if I must break hearts and hurt the people I love. Understanding Monty has made me realize I’m not the only one who led others on. I’m not the only one who ran away from relationships or let them remain ambiguous instead of severing them completely. But I need to sever the ties in Cypress Hollow that no longer serve me.
I take a bracing breath, gathering my resolve to finish my confession. “You’re enough, Monty. Even if you don’t love me back, you’re enough as my friend, and I want to keep you in any form.”
His lips quirk at the corner, the first sign of a smile I’ve seen all evening.
I encourage it to grow. “I may want to fuck your brains out, but we’ll get through that, won’t we?”
He snorts a laugh, and all the tension leaves his body. Slowly, he stands taller and wraps his arms around me. “What have you done to me, Daffy Dear?” He leans down, and my heart leaps. I try not to get my hopes up. Try not to expect too much, even as his lips inch closer?—
“Isn’t this fucking sweet,” drawls a male voice.
Monty and I startle, whirling to face the mouth of the alley as two figures saunter toward us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
MONTY
Of all the inconvenient and unwelcome distractions. The woman I love just confessed her affection for me. The last faces I want to see interrupting our moment are those of Cane and Meathands. Yet here they are, gracing us with their unwanted presence.
Meathands smirks, his face illuminated by the green glow of the mushrooms nearest the mouth of the alley. I can’t make out the pattern on today’s scarf, but I’m a bit envious of how snug and dry he must be between that and his bowler hat.
Already I can feel the cold seeping into my bones while the cloudy feeling that precedes a fever is settling in. As a fire fae, heat can stave off my opposing element’s ill effects, and not just physical heat. It can be the heat of anger or passion. The latter of which I was just starting to tap into when these blokes ruined everything.
Cane scrunches his nose, eying me with what he probably thinks is a threatening glare. “Almost lost your scent in the rain, you slimy prick.”
