Page 115 of My Unfinished Heart

“Helen told me I was getting too complacent. She’d say this was good for me.”

“It’s true. I don’t tolerate complacency. Especially not from you.”

I smile, running my hand up the outside of his leg. “I hadn’t noticed. We’re together though, right? You’re not having second thoughts about me?”

He grins. “Never.”

“Okay, I know that’s a lie, but I’m telling the truth when I say I want this to be real.”

“Archer,” he sighs, his eyes shining.

“I don’t mean to overwhelm you,” I say quickly, wishing I had more experience with feelings like this. There has to be a better way to beg for someone’s guaranteed time.

“Are you worried I’m gonna disappear again?” he asks.

I nod, staring back at him intently. That’s exactly what I’m worried about.

Whispering as he moves in closer, he says, “Hang onto me then, and don’t let go.”

Tristan’s getting dressed to leave, pulling up his running shorts.

“What’s got your face all scrunched up?” I ask.

“It’s not.” He picks his shirt up off the floor and shakes it out.

“All right. Have it your way.” I close my eyes and make a show of arranging myself to sleep.

“I want to tell you something,” he finally says.

“You’re kidding.”

“My face wasn’t scrunched up.”

The set of his mouth tightens as he sits down on the edge of the bed next to me. “What’s up?” I ask.

“I’m worried about Connor.”

There are a lot of uncomfortable physical sensations to feel. Sleep deprivation, broken kneecaps—but fear? Fear is physical, too. “Why?” I ask, iced barbed wire wrapping around my heart.

That’s what fear feels like. It’s cold. It’s sharp, and it centers itself in the chest.

“Well, there’s a reason I haven’t gotten to see you in five days, and it has nothing to do with how big of a disaster you are.”

I rub his back. He gives me a weak smile. “You can talk to me,” I say.

His smile as he gazes back at me shrinks, but at the same time, it’s grateful. “He’s been different. Since the anniversary of the accident.”

“That was over a month ago.”

“I know. That’s why I'm worried about him.” Tristan’s eyes get blurry, and he blows out a shaky breath. “I think he’s really depressed. Like worse than before.”

The fear snakes its way into my stomach, constricting my insides. “Does he see anybody about it?”

“He never has. He says I’m all the therapy he needs.”

I frown at that. It doesn’t quite fit. If Connor’s supposed to be the exoskeleton, then that makes Tristan the softer one, right? “How are you doing with all of it?” I ask.

“I’m…” He squirms and shrugs. “Hanging in there? But honestly it’s a lot like he was after the accident. Just in that really dark place, you know?”