With as muddied as my thoughts are, I take extra time to formulate a response, not wanting to unwittingly cause any more damage than there already is. “Didn’t wake up this bad. Just a hard morning.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and I drag my head away from the glass to face him.
“For what? Not your fault.”
Pursing his lips, he apologizes again. “I should have known though; seen the signs.” He sighs, shoulders slumping with defeat. “If I hadn’t been avoiding you, I would have. I’ve just-“ he rakes a hand through his hair, drawing my eyes to how honestly exhausted he looks.
With as awkward as things have been, I haven’t been looking too closely, only brief glances since they seemed to hurt my heart every time I met his eye just for him to look away. While I might have been sulking in my, well, not rejection, but not being received with as much enthusiasm as I anticipated, he’s clearly not been fairing much better.
“You know, talking about things would eliminate, like, ninety-nine percent of the issues we’re having,” I point out, eyes falling shut again as the world tips on its axis. “I’m as much of a masochist as the best of ‘em, but this just seems like a lot of unnecessary awkwardness and hurt feelings all around.”
The car finally comes to a stop as we pull into the driveway. Shutting off the engine, I can hear him turn in his seat to face me, but I’m honestly struggling to stay awake, my eyes staying shut. It’s a fight to focus on his words, exhaustion riding me hard.
“I’m worried that you’ll regret it,” he whispers, and I have to strain to hear until his voice rises with his speech. “I’m a mess, Rel. Might hide it pretty well, but with the bond in place, it’d be impossible to keep to myself. I don’t want to drag you down with me. You’re so easy going, what if…what if it’s too much to handle? How could I live with myself if you became depressed because of constantly being bombarded by my emotions, or fates forbid, killed yourself?”
My eyes fly open at that, not realizing how much he was genuinely spiraling, just assuming he was nervous about the mate thing like any sane person would be by the revelation. Turning to face him, I lean my head against my seat, finally feeling the heat in my cheeks.
“What if I become depressed because my mate refuses the bond?” I counter, and his eyes widen a fraction, like he hadn’t considered it from that angle yet. He’d of gotten there at some point I’m sure, but better to hash this out now. “What if I’m completely irrational during my ladies’ days and you hate me for putting you through the emotional whiplash for the rest of our lives, trapping you in your own version of a period so we suffer together?”
Sighing, I admit the one thing that’s really been weighing on me. “What if the people looking for me kill you while I manage to escape, and I’m forced to live with knowing it was my fault you were killed?”
His cool hand falls on my cheek and I groan, knowing if I don’t get some meds soon, my brain is going to melt. “How come I die while you escape?”
I manage a small, tired smile. “You’re too soft; you’ve got ‘city boy’ that never had a parking ticket written all over your face, and the flawless skin to match. While I, on the other hand, am happy to sacrifice several children to Satan for the WIFI password and a biscuit. And I don’t even really like biscuits.”
Closing the distance between us, he kisses my forehead. “You couldn’t even let hypothetical me be all heroic and stay behind fighting to give you the opportunity to escape?”
“Nope, hypothetical Ian is a pacifist magician. Best he could manage is a distraction.” My eyes close again as I continue to ramble. “How am I supposed to sneak him away when he’s so good at calling attention to himself?”
Suddenly, my seatbelt is undone and I’m being lifted from my seat, not realizing I dozed off for a second. “Come on, criminal Barbie, let’s get you into bed.”
All I really manage is a huff, wrapping an arm around his neck and leaning into him. By some miracle he manages to open the door without dropping me, gently easing me onto the bed. I shed my coat and kick my shoes off, struggling to shuck off my jeans, and he ends up helping before disappearing long enough to grab some medicine and a bottle of water.
“Here, let’s get something in you before you pass out, okay?” He offers me the pills that I toss back happily, followed by draining nearly the entire bottle. “I’ll set a couple more on the nightstand before I head out. Where’s your phone?”
“Coat pocket,” I mumble sleepily, half-heartedly gesturing to the floor, but it’s more a flop of the arm. Burrowing into my pillow, I hear him rustling around before laying it on the nightstand.
“Call if you need something?” he asks, smoothing my hair back from my face. “Seriously. I’ll pick up some more stuff on my way home from work, but if you get worse or need help, please call instead of trying to handle things yourself? I know you’re used to being on your own, but I promise, I don’t mind.”
My voice is groggy, already half asleep. “Oh, the poetic irony. Pot, meet kettle.”
Continuing to stroke my head, he releases a harsh breath. “Right for the kill shot. You’re merciless when you’re sick; noted.”
“No, that’s just Thursdays.”
“It’s Tuesday,” he counters, a smile in his voice.
“Even worse.”
Hiking the comforter over my shoulder, I sink into the softness surrounding me, getting spoiled far too quickly. If I’m not careful, it’d be so easy to lose my edge, to fall into the false sense of security that domestic life offers. I’ve already been noticing my guard start to drop as I fall into a routine, not looking over my shoulder as much. Mistakes like that get people killed.
“When you’re feeling better, want to have dinner and a well overdue conversation?” he asks, getting up to head back to work.
“That sounds an awful lot like you’re asking me on a date,” I mumble into the pillow, not even sure if half of the words were intelligible.
“Of course I want to date you, who wouldn’t? You being my mate is just a convenient perk. Get some sleep, Crackles.”
Twelve
