Something about having it clutched in my hand pisses me off to an irrational level.
“This is taurnshit,” I shout, raising it above my head, ready to slam it into the ground and stomp it to confetti.
A strong hand wraps around my wrist and another grips my hip. My soul hums in my chest, forcing my breathing to steady. Creed lowers my arms, expertly slipping the book from my fingers, and I let my limbs drop to my sides.
I swear he senses my blood simmering down because he doesn’t speak until I’ve got the crazy under control.
“Why don’t you get out of this room for a little while?”
“And do what? Go help Yemi babysit Sevryn? Distract Lambrit while he and Rose study up on gods we might run across? Watch over the Veilatara with Havar? What do you suppose I do that’s helpful, Creed?”
“Go do whatever you want and whatever will get you out of this mood you’re in. The closer we’ve gotten to leaving, the more on edge you’ve become. We all sense it, but if you’re not going to say what it is that’s causing it, then spend some time by yourself to figure it out.”
His tone isn’t harsh or rude. It’s simply matter-of-fact. I still want to call him an asshole for calling me out, though.
My shoulders slump and it takes great restraint not to fall into him as his soul caresses mine. The muscles in his cheeks twitch as he clenches his jaw and I start to step away.
With a quick, sure jerk of his wrist, though, I stumble forward.
Right into his chest.
My body molds to his as I place my ear to his heart. The steady thud picks up speed the longer I rest here, and mine races to catch up.
His fingers flinch against my hip, then he slowly steps back from me. There are literally a hundred things I want to say and ask when my gaze meets the strain in his.
I don’t, though. His actions the past few days have shown me enough to know we’re still moving in the direction he declared in my bathroom. He just hasn’t worked out the words to match yet.
“I guess I’ll go check on Yemi. It’s been weird without her around anyway.”
“I’ll come get you in a little while.”
I nod and spare Amick a small glance. I figured I’d find him still completely enthralled in his book. Not staring at me with worry written across his face.
“I’m almost there, Thayla. I promise.”
My mouth parts. I don’t know where there is, but wherever it is, he’s throwing his all into reaching it.
“I know. I’m very proud of you.”
His face flinches and the pen falls from his fingers. The intensity surrounding him now is breathtaking.
Literally.
I gather myself and leave his office with my heart thundering in my chest.
I swore the other night when I told Kyzen I was proud of him, I was going to start telling all of them that. Everyone around me, actually.
My parents used to tell me they were proud of me for any little thing I did. The words never became meaningless. My stomach would swirl with giddiness and a self-confidence I miss fiercely these days.
I’m chasing that feeling.
As a teenager, I’d tell Mellcom I was proud of him, but he didn’t receive it very well. Nor would he reciprocate the sentiment. He told me it made him feel like I was undermining him and to cut it out.
I never uttered those words to him or anyone else again.
Until Lambrit.
I’d watch him tell his parents about something he achieved or accomplished, and they’d brush him off with a “That’s great, honey” or “You’ve already told us about that, son.”
