Page 42 of Axe Marks the Spot

Fuck. Why did I tell her that? I’ve never told anyone that before, not even Fox and Morgan. I rub my hand over my jaw and know I need to get this conversation back on track.

“I do. I may be busy, Lindsey, and I may have people depending on me, but I’ll reiterate: When you do something for yourself, you’re not taking away from others. You’re making sure you have something to give. If giving is important to you, you must make time to give to yourself. Taking a bit of time in the morning and evening is not something to feel guilty for.”

“Easier said than done, Sir.”

“But you did it tonight, did you not? Even though it was hard?”

She exhales. “I did.”

“If you take away the guilt, how did it feel?”

“I suppose it felt good.”

“You suppose?”

“It felt good, Sir. Especially when you said it made you happy.”

“It did make me happy. You know what else would make me happy?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“If you learn to put yourself first.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible. It feels wrong to do that, at least in my life.”

“It doesn’t feel wrong because it is wrong. It feels wrong because you’ve been taught to put yourself last. But let me be clear: In this dynamic, I won’t allow that.”

“Sir—”

“I was not done speaking yet. May I finish?”

“I’m sorry. Please finish, Sir.”

I hum a warm sound and hear her smile over the phone. “When you’re with me, you put yourself first. Is that understood?”

“I can try, Sir.”

“No, Lindsey. You will.”

“And if I can’t?”

“You will because you want to. You will because I ask you to do it and you want to please not only yourself but also me, don’t you?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and I have no doubt she’s crying. If she were here, I’d pull her into my lap and play with her hair until her tears dried, but that will never be possible.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice reaches my ears, thick with emotion.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t want to cry.”

“You can cry, Lindsey. Feeling your emotions is important. I don’t think you’ve let yourself feel them in a long time.”

“No, I haven’t,” she admits through a gasp.

“Cry, then. I’m here for you. Let me take care of you.”

I hear sniffles and what sounds like a muffled sob. “That’s it, such a good girl. Lean on me.”