“I couldn’t stay there,” he continues, swallowing like it might make the words come out easier. “Not like that, and not in those conditions.”
His vulnerable tone makes me go still. “You think I don’t get that?”
“I don’t know what you get anymore,” he admits, but not with harsh intentions.
Crossing my arms loosely, I lean back against the couch, wondering just how far he’ll allow this to go. “Try me.”
He exhales slowly, and for as guarded as he is, I still manage to see the gears practically turn in his head. He’s still calculating like usual, but at least he isn’t so cut off from his emotions.
“I didn’t leave because of you.”
The words reach me in a softer tone than I expect, and it makes something twist in me. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
“I do,” I return gently, holding his gaze while my heart squeezes more than I care to admit as the old, familiar stitches of hurt settle in again. “I wasn’t the center of your world, Zane.”
His eyes shift to meet mine again, and he looks more conflicted than before. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He hesitates. “I needed a different perspective. To meet different people who didn’t think like Wraith Peak wolves. I needed to know that others thought as I did, and to know I wasn’t losing my mind.”
I tilt my head slightly. “And that was enough to walk away?”
“In a way, yes. But that doesn’t mean it was easy. I had a lot of growing pains, even if it was what I wanted.”
Before I can stop it, the dull ache shifts in me, feeling even more uncomfortable now. Even if I knew that would be true, it hurts to hear it directly from him, even if it shouldn’t.
“I didn’t realize…” he begins before trailing off, then shakes his head slightly like it isn’t worth getting into.
“Realize what?”
When Zane looks at me, I notice the subtle shift in his expression. It’s the kind of softening he would undergo on rare occasions when I told him about especially difficult topics, but it was reserved for certain people. Rarely did he ever let his aloof mask slip in front of the others.
“It’s nothing.”
Narrowing my eyes, I bristle. “Stop evading questions and give me a real answer.”
But of course, he refuses with a shake of his head. “It’s the only one you’re getting.”
Instinctively, I want to snap back and to force it out of him somehow. Something in his expression stops me, and for a beat, I watch in my mind as that would inevitably play out, ending in a fight none of us can win.
So instead, I sigh and look away.
“You were easy to talk to,” I admit, the words slipping out unbidden.
The moment they do, I start to regret it, given how quiet he goes again. I feel his attention sharpen on me immediately, but I force myself not to crumble beneath the weight of it.
“You used to listen,” I continue, quieter now as those old memories and feelings rise to the surface. “When I complained and vented. It didn’t matter what it was. You just listened, and you never used it against me.” I let out a short breath and absently rub my arm. “I didn’t realize how much I relied on that until it was gone.”
The admission feels like something that could make or break whatever exists between us, and yet, Zane doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t make a joke out of it or brush it off like my thoughts don’t matter.
Instead, he just listens like he used to.
“I missed that,” I add finally, words feeling heavier than they should. It’s far more honest than I’m comfortable with, and more honest than I’ve been with anyone in a while.
The quiet hesitation in the apartment is something I don’t quite know how to deal with yet, so I look away again, flexing my fingers and chasing the feeling of magic instead.
