“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that,” I murmur.
“With what? The fact that he cares about you more than his own safety?”
I sit back down, not quite looking at Ian.
“The fact that he’d rather be out there without his best friend watching his back than leave you here unprotected?”
My throat tightens until it hurts. “He left me here once, unprotected.”
“No, he didn’t.”
My eyes shoot up to meet his. “What do you mean?”
“I was here, Sophia. Not here, here. But here.” He glances up at the ceiling light. I can’t see it, but I immediately know.
“Of course. Cameras,” I say, pulling a hand through my hair.
“You still don’t believe it, do you?” Ian grits out. “That he cares about you?”
“How am I supposed to believe that the man who kidnapped me gives a damn about me? It doesn’t make sense.”
Ian leans back against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like he’s waiting for the punchline of a joke he already knows isn’t funny.
“You’re the therapist. Figure it out.”
My hands shake, so I slide them under my thighs as I stare at the floor. “Caring is… safe. It’s boundaries. It’s asking. It’s not taking without permission or keeping them locked in a house like it’s a prison.”
Ian doesn’t flinch. “So, what you’re saying,” he drawls, low and mocking, “is that if he really cared, he should’ve just… what? Sent fucking flowers? Left a polite little note saying ‘Hey, my psychotic handler wants you dead, but don’t worry, I’ll handle it from afar’? That’s the version of caring that fits in your neat little therapist box?”
“See, that’s exactly what I mean!” My voice cracks as I shove up off the couch. “He tells me he’s protecting me. You tell methe same shit. And now you’re throwing around some psychotic handler who wants me dead? I’m so fucking lost, Ian. All I’m getting are these vague answers, yet you expect me to just… what? Nod like a good little captive? Pretend I wasn’t dragged here by a man who admitted he stalked me for God knows how long?”
The air between us thickens. Ian steps closer, boots heavy on the floor, close enough I can see how hard his green eyes are now, no smile left.
“One thing about Reth,” he says, voice dropping into something gravel-rough and dangerous, “he doesn’t feel. That man is hollowed out, empty as a fucking grave. But he trusts me enough to turn his back in a fight because he knows I’ll take a fucking bullet for him. Always.”
My pulse hammers so hard I feel it in my teeth. “There you go again. Being vague. Giving me something that’s nothing.”
“He left me here,” Ian blurts, jaw tight. “Me. The only person alive he trusts with his life. To protectyou.”
“I didn’t ask?—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” he mocks. “Get over it, Crazy. None of us asked for this shit, and that includes Reth.” He spreads his arms wide. “Yet here we fucking are.”
My chest heaves, eyes stinging with tears I refuse to let fall. “Am I supposed to be grateful he kidnapped me?”
“I dunno what the fuck you’re supposed to be, Crazy. What I do know is, somewhere, somehow, you became a weakness to him. A goddamn Achilles’ heel with a heartbeat. And the second thepeople who hold his leash figure that out, they’ll use you to bend him back into shape—or they’ll cut you out of him like a tumor.”
The room is suddenly too small. The air too thick. My insides feel all wrong, and a tear slips onto my lips before I realize I’m crying. I don’t even know why I’m crying, and I swipe the tear away before Ian can see it. But of course, he does, and something in him crumples instantly, all the venom draining out of his face.
“Crazy, I’m sor?—”
“It’s okay.” I turn away from him, but he takes my elbow and spins me back.
“I know you didn’t ask for this. I know you’re confused, and I blame Reth for that because the motherfucker really needs to learn how to communicate, but he really is protecting you. Not because he’s noble. Because you’re the only fucking thing left that makes him want to do more than just existing.”
Headlights sweep across the wall, tires crunching into snow, and Ian pivots, running to the front door. It opens, and a blast of winter air cuts through the heat of the house, followed by chaos.
A man I don’t recognize fills the doorway. Broad, dark-haired, expression tight with something between anger and fear. And leaning against him, one arm slung across the stranger’s shoulders, barely upright —
