“Your parents enrolled you in ballet for you to try it, not because it was their dream for you to become a famous ballerina.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s what Livewire thinks, too.”
She bites her lip again, then lowers her head. “I miss them.”
“I know.” I shift so I’m sitting beside her again and wrap my arm around her.
She relaxes into me with her head on my shoulder. “Thank you for being my friend, Hayes.”
Friend.
Right.
Friend.
Because I harshly and rapidly, almost brutally, friend-zoned us when we were fourteen.
And I’ve regretted every second since.
However, I know it was the right move because Leeva is too young to make a decision about being involved with someone whose life is wrapped up in a criminal organization.
And yet, she’s now entertaining Guerilla’s attention.
Fuck you, brain.
It feels like shrapnel is piercing my gut. Jagged, sharp pieces piercing my flesh, embedding and ravaging my insides.
Tell her how you feel, my brain urges.
But the thoughts of the filthy things I want to do to her stop me. I need to get a handle on those and squash any deviant thoughts before I come clean about how I love her so goddamn much I can hardly breathe.
“I’ll always have your back,” I say, hiding my feelings. “You’ll always have me.”
“Will I?”
“Of course.”
“But you’re planning to leave for the military soon.”
“Maybe I won’t.”
Her breath sucks in, and her head snaps up off my shoulder, almost jarring my nose because I had my head bent down to inhale her soft vanilla scent. “Why wouldn’t you go?”
“Maybe I’ll delay enlisting.”
Or, if I have a chance with her, maybe I won’t even go. The thought of being away from her, of not being by her side to live life with her and protect her makes me feel dead inside.
“It’s your dream.”
“Dreams change, little dove.”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you trying to prove a point about the ballet thing and my parents’ dream?”
“Or lack thereof?”
She swats my chest, huffing. “Save the warfare—psychological or any other—for when you enlist or when you return to become a brother.”
