Page 98 of Crashing Tides

He snaps to attention. “What? No, no. That’s—Wait, is that what you want?”

“I’m asking what you want,” I say, maybe a little too sharply.

“You’re what I want,” he says. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I’m just scared I’ll fuck it up somehow.”

“OK,” I say. “OK, well, we could just take it slow. One day at a time.” This is the opposite of how my relationships usually go, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. In fact, it’s probably good, I tell the rebellious anxiety in my gut.

He groans. “I don’t want to take things slow. I want to make you mine and then do it all over again just in case.”

I will be replaying those words in my head later, when I’m alone in my room with no one to know exactly how much that sentence affects me. “You can’t just say stuff like that,” I mumble, grateful that I wore jeans instead of my traitorous sweatpants.

“You don’t even know what that means,” he groans.

“I’m pretty sure it means you’re gonna fuck me through the mattress and be really gross about it.” I waggle my eyebrows.

He groans. “You’re not supposed to be into this.”

“You’re telling me you found your fated mate and you’re surprised he likes you?”

“I—Fine, you’re right.” His hand lands on my shin again. He looks away. “I have to ask. Did you dump me?”

The bottom drops out of my stomach. “I—Maybe.” At his expression, I add, “I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “Do you want to be broken up?”

I shake my head. “No. That was… stupid. I’m really sorry. I should’ve let you finish.”

“OK.” He nods. “I’m not gonna leave you and I’m definitely not going to cheat on you. Um, it would be really, really hard for me to do that, just so you know.”

Something nasty twists in my stomach. “Wait a minute. Am I the only one with free will? Are you stuck with me?”

“What?” He stops tracing circles on my shin. “No, no, that’s not how this works. It’s just… It would be harder for me to leave, I guess. Instincts and all that.”

I don’t like this. “So if I were a total piece of shit, you’d have trouble leaving me?”

“I mean, that’s statistically really unlikely,” he begins.

“But I’d want you to leave me⁠—”

“I could leave. I wouldn’t tolerate abuse⁠—”

“But you just said⁠—”

“Please stop worrying,” he insists, reaching to squeeze my ankle. “Look, we can talk about this later. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just… let me help you, OK?”

I don’t want him to help me. I want him to lay here with me until my head stops pounding. “Just… Just lie with me a minute, will you?”

Surprise shoots across his face like fireworks, but he’s quick to comply, squeezing between me and the wall, careful not to bump my ribs.

“I missed you,” I say, relishing the press of his body against mine, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his arm winds around me. “I’m really sorry.”

Burying his face in my shoulder, he says, “I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything from the start.”

“It’s OK.” His hair is still sweaty, but I don’t mind the way he burrows into me, even if it pulls on my stitches. “I’m glad you told me.”

I fall asleep like that, and when I wake, he’s right there beside me, breathing deep and even, one leg hooked over mine. I trace my fingers over the fading scar on his neck and fall back asleep.

I dream of red eyes and endless tunnels.