Page 117 of The Next Lie

“Guilt,” he says. “Need. Possessiveness, though I know you hate the word. Anger, sometimes. At you. At myself. At the fact that you walked into my city with revenge in your mouth and made every choice I made for fifteen years feel both justified and unforgivable.”

I cannot breathe right.

Homer attacks a leaf with ferocious incompetence beside my shoe. Deacon takes one more step toward me.

“And then there is the part I cannot explain.”

“That’s convenient.”

“No. It’s inconvenient beyond measure.” His voice is quieter now.

“I know what protection feels like. Duty. Debt. I know what it is to keep someone alive because the alternative is unacceptable.” His eyes move over my face. “This is not that.”

My pulse beats too hard.

“What is it?”

“If I knew, I would use the right word.”

I hate the ache that opens in my chest.

“Maybe you should figure it out before you go around telling me I’m yours.”

“Maybe you should accept that I can be certain before I am articulate.”

“That is the most asinine thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“It is also true.”

Homer pounces on the leash and falls over.

I should pick him up. I should go inside. I should remember that Deacon Cross is made of secrets, blood, and bad decisions.

Instead, I stand there while he reaches for me.

His hand comes to the side of my face, slowly enough that I can refuse it, and slides into the fall of hair near my ear.

His thumb brushes along my jaw. “My feelings for Delia are protective. My feelings for you are complicated enough to make a smarter man leave the country.”

“You’re not smart?”

“Well, I stayed.”

That’s almost funny. I look at his mouth.

His eyes darken.

“Reva.”

“What?”

“If you keep looking at me like that, I am going to kiss you.”

I lift my chin. “Sounds like you’ve already decided.”

“No. You decide.”

My heart does something stupid.