Page 88 of The Beast

“But here’s the thing.” Harper’s voice drops. “He didn’t lose control with you during the nightmare. Not really. He stopped. Some part of him heard your voice and pulled back. That’s not a man who’s lost control—that’s a man whose control runs deeper than he realizes.”

I consider this. She’s right—he did stop. Even in the grip of that horrible dream, something in him recognized me and let go. “You may be on to something, but he won’t think so. He didn’t stop right away. And he was close to truly hurting me. I’m not scared of him—I’m really not. But a few seconds longer…”

I look up at her. “That’s what he’s scared of.”

“Except he did stop. That’s what you have to focus on. And what he has to focus on, too.”

She’s probably right. And god knows I don’t have a better idea. “So what do I do?”

“Make him see it.” She shrugs. “I don’t know how. That’s your territory, not mine. But if anyone can reach him, it’s you.”

“Great. You’re a big help.”

“Yeah, well, you get what you pay for.”

The door to the break room opens, and we both turn. David stands in the doorway, looking apologetic.

“Sorry—Chris said you were back here. I wanted to check in.” He looks between the two of us, then frowns. “Bad time?”

I exchange a glance with Harper. There was a time when David’s presence would have made this conversation impossible. When the awkwardness of discussing my love life with a guy—even one who is top of the friend zone—would have shut me down completely.

But things are different now. We’re different.

“Actually,” I hear myself say, “I could use a guy’s perspective.”

David’s eyebrows rise. “On what?”

“Sex. And Gabriel.”

He chortles—that’s really the only word for it—then takes a seat. “This should be interesting.”

“And how to convince a stubborn man that he’s not as broken as he thinks,” I add.

He leans back in the chair, his expression somewhere between amused and wary. “You really want me to be part of this pow-wow?

“Sure,” I say. “That’s what friends do, right?” I hold his gaze. “Share perspectives?”

A beat passes, then he nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “That’s what friends do.”

Harper looks between us with barely concealed amusement, but she doesn’t comment. Smart woman.

“So,” David says, leaning the chair back onto two legs. “Gabriel won’t touch you because he’s afraid of losing control. And you want to show him he won’t. Am I tracking?”

“Wow. Psychic much?”

He tilts his head toward the door. “Here’s not the best place to discuss anything gossip-worthy. Just fyi.”

I exchange an amused glance with Harper. “Noted.”

David leans forward, bringing the chair back down. He clears his throat, starts to say something, then stops again.

“Close your eyes,” Harper says. “Then picture yourself naked and spit it out. Or picture Bella naked. Whatever works.”

“Harper!” She looks at me and shrugs, utterly unrepentant. “Just lightening the moment. Nobody thinks clearly when they’re stressed.

She’s right. My newly arrived stress headache is definitely clouding my judgment.

“Look,” David says, the word bursting out as if he’s trying to shut us up. Which, frankly, he probably is. “This is weird for me, but—have you considered taking control yourself? Not giving him the option to retreat?”