“I don’t know,” I admit. “Somewhere between him spreading his father’s ashes and him telling me I never had to be scared again.”
That one hits him.
He swallows hard.
“You really believe that?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He looks at me for a long time.
“You’re not a kid anymore,” he says finally.
“No,” I reply softly. “I’m not.”
Silence settles between us, but it’s different now. Less explosive. More uncertain.
“I’m pissed,” he says honestly.
“I know.”
“And I don’t trust him.”
“I know that too.”
“But…” He hesitates. “I don’t want to lose you over this.”
My chest cracks open a little at that.
“You won’t,” I whisper.
He stands, pulling me into a hug before I can stop him.
It’s tight. Protective. Familiar.
“I need time,” he says into my hair.
“Take it.”
“And if he hurts you?—”
“He won’t.”
“And if he does,” he continues, ignoring me, “I will end him.”
A small, broken laugh escapes me.
“That sounds about right.”
He pulls back, studying my face one more time.
“Don’t make me regret trusting you,” he says quietly.
“I won’t.”
He nods once and heads for the door.
When it closes behind him, I lean back against it, heart still aching but steadier.
