But I couldn’t find the words to admit that the blurred lines we’d danced along for three fuckingyearshurt me as much as they hurt him. That no comfort I ever sought from anyone else could stand beside what he gave me without even trying.
Shit, even when his mood was a hellfire, he was everything to me. “Mateo.”
“What?”
“I—”What if you’re wrong? Kiss him and see.
Flashbacks of every moment I’d had that misplaced confidence before invaded my brain. Other men. Women. The memories weren’t ours, but they drove us apart all the same.
I stumbled free of his hold and he let me go.
“Sit down,” he growled. “Before you fucking fall.”
Pretty sure he meant the bed, but my knees found the floor before I got there.
“Fuck’s sake.” Mateo crouched in front of me, arm looping under my shoulders. “What did that crazy fucking Russian give you?”
“Muscle relaxants. I can’t feel my legs, man.”
Didn’t need to. Mateo propelled me to the bed as if I weighed nothing and sat me down on the edge. “You want water? Something else?”
I wanted him. I let my head drop as the vice around my heart squeezed the life out of me.
“Em.” Mateo edged closer, hands on my knees, a rare intimacy I’d have enjoyed if his gaze hadn’t been molten with the kind of concern that made my skin itch. “I’m sorry, okay? That I was a cunt about Rubi. It ain’t my business.”
“I’m not with Rubi.”
“Wouldn’t matter if you were.”
“Wouldn’t it?”
“You give a fuck when I hook up with other people?”
Yes.But I lied because he needed me to. Because if I didn’t, he’d stay entangled in this mess between us forever. “No.”
Mateo dipped his chin. “Exactly. I’m just fucking tired, you know?”
“I know.” Without the holes in my belly, I’d be coaxing him to rest. Talking him down from whatever convolution was keeping him awake.
But I was an untethered certified wreck right now, and he knew it.
Everyone did.
I hate this bed. Ignoring Mateo’s hard stare, I stood and drifted to the window. Dizziness set in, but I ignored it and pressed my forehead to the glass.
Rubi was outside, pacing like Mateo had been, but for different reasons. Orla flitted out of the bar to join him, poking at his chest as he shook his head, her frustration as palpable as Mateo’s. She wanted to know Nash was safe. That her brother and Saint were too.
But Rubi couldn’t promise her that.
No one could, and guilt gnawed at my ruined guts. Pre-shanking, I’d have been downstairs before Rubi could tell his white lies. I’d have told them for him. I was better at it, and I didn’t owe Orla the lifetime of memories that he did.
I didn’t mean as much to her. A shitty reason to tell lies, but in times of war, it was all we had.
“Hey.” Mateo came up behind me, not touching, but hovering close enough that his body heat made me sway on my feet.
I tore my gaze from the window and turned to face him. I was a mess of contradiction. So fucked up and broken I could hardly stand, but as his amber eyes burned me alive, the energy I’d felt ten minutes ago returned.
The heat.
