“You don’t have to shut it off to do that.”
I exhale slowly.
Because he’s right.
Again.
“I’m not shutting it off,” I reply.
“I’m containing it.”
His gaze holds mine.
“I know the difference.”
Of course he does.
That’s what makes this harder.
I turn slightly, bracing my hands on the edge of the table for just a second.
Just one.
That’s all I give myself.
“Tessa doesn’t handle pressure well,” I say quietly.
Logan doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t move.
Just listens.
“She never has,” I continue. “She feels everything. Too much. Too fast.”
A pause.
“My mother hated that.”
The words come out flat.
Controlled.
But they carry weight.
History.
“She used to say Tessa was too loud,” I add.
“I stood between them so many times.”
My throat tightens slightly.
Not enough to stop me.
Just enough to remind me it’s there.
“She’d look at her like… like she was a problem that needed to be corrected.”
