He just studies my face with those dark, calculating eyes. "I'm not ready to share," he says finally. "Not... not emotionally. Not yet. This is new for me—the vulnerability, the admitting feelings part. I need time."
"I understand," I say quickly. "I'm not asking you to?—"
"Let me finish." His thumb brushes my lower lip. "I'm not ready. But I also don't want to lose you. And I'm not stupid enough to think I can be everything you need, especially like this." He gestures vaguely at his legs.
"Your injuries have nothing to do with?—"
"I know. That's not what I meant." He pulls me back down against him. "I meant that you need things I can't give you right now. Stability. Safety. Someone who can actually protect you instead of needing to be protected."
"That's not?—"
"Val." He kisses me to stop the protest. "I'm trying to say that I understand. And I'm trying to tell you that I'm not going to make you choose. Not right now. Maybe not ever."
I pull back to look at him, not quite believing what I'm hearing. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I love you. And part of loving someone is wanting them to be happy, even if that means—" He stops, jaw clenching. "Even if that means sharing them with people who can give them things I can't."
"Xavier—"
"I'm not saying I like it," he continues. "I'm not saying it doesn't make me want to punch something. But I'm saying I'm willing to try. For you. Because losing you completely is worse than sharing you."
Tears prick my eyes. "You're not going to lose me. Any of you. I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," he says quietly.
The words hit harder than they should because he's right. I'm keeping secrets that could destroy everything. Secrets about Marcus, about what I might have done, about the memories that won't stop haunting me.
But I can't tell him. Not yet. Not when we're finally getting to something real.
"I'm trying," I whisper instead. "I'm trying to be honest. To let you in."
"I know." He pulls me closer, kisses my forehead. "And I appreciate it. More than you know."
A knock on the door interrupts us. "Breakfast in ten," Zay's voice calls through the wood. "And it's actually edible for once, so get down here before Asher eats everything."
I laugh despite the emotional heaviness. "We should go down."
"In a minute." Xavier holds me tighter. "Just one more minute like this."
I settle against him, breathing in his scent—leather and smoke and something uniquely him. "Okay. One more minute."
But the minute stretches into five, into ten, neither of us wanting to break the bubble we've created. Finally, I force myself to sit up.
"Come on. Let's go before they send a search party."
Getting Xavier into his chair is a careful process we've perfected over the past weeks. I help him transfer, making sure not to jar his back too much. He's moving better than he was—stronger, more confident in his movements—but it's still slow.
By the time we make it to the front of the house, Zay and Asher are already at the kitchen table. There's actually food—real food, not just coffee and toast. Scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, fruit. Zay's gone all out.
"Look who finally decided to join us," Asher observes dryly. "Thought we'd have to eat everything ourselves."
"You wish," I reply, sliding into a chair. Xavier wheels up beside me, and I automatically reach over to squeeze his hand under the table.
Zay notices. Of course he notices. He sees everything. But he just smiles slightly and passes me a plate. "Eat. You barely touched anything yesterday."
"Yes, dad," I tease, but I take the plate and start loading it with food.
The atmosphere is surprisingly light considering yesterday's drama. Zay tells a story about one of the prospects doing something monumentally stupid at the compound. Asher adds dry commentary that makes us all laugh. Xavier relaxes incrementally, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
