“No. For blood, you dingdong.”
His mouth drops open, and then a loud laugh flies from his lips. God, I’m losing. How long will I be able to fight this? It only ends in one of two ways. I let them in. All the way in. Or I make them leave and close them out entirely.
One option is fucking terrifying, and the other is heartbreaking.
Landon chuckles like he just got the joke. “Somehow, I think you’d make art out of even that.”
“True that,” Ben says, reaching around to fist bump Landon.
“Ugh. You two are a nightmare.”
Ben hums. “Maybe. But we’reyournightmare.”
The words land hard between us. Fear ratchets up inside my heart. “You guys don’t even know me,” I whisper, glancing down at my lap.
Gentle fingers grip my chin, and my head is being tilted up by Ben. “Let us,” he whispers, searching my eyes. He looks so fucking hopeful. But letting them know me is only going to hurt. Me. Them. I can’t risk it. No matter how badly I want to, and God, do I fucking want to.
Ben’s thumb brushes my jaw, and my body betrays me, leaning into him before I come to my senses and pull away.
“You don’t have to,” Landon says softly, so I turn to look at him. “If you’re not ready. You don’t have to.”
I nod slowly.
“But,” he says, bringing a hand up. I stare at it, watch as it hovers close to my face. Is he going to touch me? Do I want him to? Yes. I do. I so do. I’m almost aching for it. Can he feel it? “Can I?” he whispers, and he has to be talking about touching me, right? So I nod almost frantically.
His hand is huge, and when he cups my face, his thumb resting against my cheekbone and his fingers slipping into my hair, I have to resist the urge to sigh out loud.
He takes a deep breath. “Remember our talk about fears?”
I do, so I nod because I don’t trust my voice.
“You don’t have to let us in if you’re not ready,” he says slowly, each word deliberate. “But I think you want to, and I think your fear is stopping you.”
I don’t know how he sees that. I don’t, and I don’t know how to make him stop. I don’t even know if I want him to.
He drags his thumb over my cheek, then pulls his hand away. Cold, icy blue washes over me, replacing the warmth his hand left.
“I am afraid,” I say softly, looking anywhere but at the two of them. “I don’t even know what this would mean or how it would work. Anything? Nothing? Everything? History has shown me things like this end in disaster.”
“History has shown me that my family will disown me, but I’m still here,” Landon says softly, and my heart lurches.
Fuck. I hate that. For all the faults and failings of my parents—and really there aren’t that many—they have never once made me question my worth. I never worried that their love was conditional or that there was someone I could be or someone I could love that would make them turn their backs on me. But… “History has shownmethat people who claim to care about you can change up the second you don’t look the way they’re used to.”
“And what way is that?” Ben questions.
Picking at the dried paint on my thigh, I take a deep breath. “Lincoln and I were childhood sweethearts. I’m aware that sounds stupid. But we were. We did everything together, and we fell in love before we really even knew what it meant.”
Neither Ben nor Landon speaks, and my heart thumps wildly in my chest. Not even Darcy knows about Lincoln. Not like this.
“Lincoln fell in love with a boy.”
I let those words hang between us for a second, then close my eyes. “And when I turned out to not be that…”
Landon inhales a sharp breath but doesn’t speakotherwise.
Ben isn’t the type to stay quiet, and that’s proven when he taps my thigh. “Can you look at me for a second?”
Forcing my gaze to his, I stare into his eyes. I feel exposed. Open. Too vulnerable. More vulnerable than talking about my colors. More vulnerable than waking up sandwiched in their warmth. More vulnerable even than being pinned to the wall by Ben while he dominated my mouth with his tongue.
