Page 85 of Aryn

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t step away, just stands between my knees, staring down at me with that patient, knowing look that always makes me feel exposed.

“Do you want to talk about last night?” he asks softly.

My heart riots against my ribs, and panic surges through me so fast my hands start to shake. “No,” I say, too quickly. “I don’t.”

Aryn’s ears flick back. Something pained flashes across his face, gone almost as fast as it appeared, but I still catch it. The hurt in his eyes makes my chest ache like someone punched me.

I hate it.

I hate that I’m the one who put it there.

“I just—” I start, then stop, unsure how to explain what’s happening inside my head.

I want you.

I’m terrified of you.

I don’t know if I can be what you need.

I don’t know if I’m even capable.

I don’t know if I have that much inside me.

Aryn stays quiet, waiting. He always waits for me, and that patience only makes the guilt worse. I drag a hand through my hair, eyes fixed on the floor. Part of me wants to bolt. The other part—the louder part right now—wants to crawl back into his lap and let him take care of it. It wants to pour every decision into his hands and have him just tell me what to do.

The contradiction is exhausting.

Aryn deserves someone steady, not someone still figuring out how not to run when things get real. He isn’t casual. He’s all or nothing, and I’ve spent a lifetime making sure I never have to be anyone’s all.

But when I think about walking away from him, something inside me recoils so violently it scares me.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, voice rough. “I just… I can’t talk about it right now. I’m not ready.”

He nods once, but the hurt look in his eyes stays with me after he turns away. “We need to pack,” he says, voice so fucking clinical as he turns his head just enough for me to see his profile, then nods toward my nearly naked body. “Get dressed. Our clothes should be dry.”

I climb out of the chair to chase after him. “Aryn…”

“We’ll eat in the pub downstairs before we go,” he continues. “Get one last hot meal before we’re on the road again.”

I shove my legs into a pair of boxer briefs and step closer. “Aryn, come on.”

He whirls around to face me, his composure cracking. “What, Cato? What more could you possibly demand from me right now?”

My eyes go wide and my mouth drops open, but I can’t find anything to say.

“I haven’t pushed you,” he continues, tail snapping behind him. “I’ve given you all the space you’ve asked for, and I only ask for one thing in return. Over and over again, I’ve told you I won’t take you in fractions, but you keep trying to give them to me.”

My temper flares as my defensive walls slam back up. “You said we didn’t have to talk unless I was ready.”

He goes so quiet for a moment that I think he won’t answer. “So you remember what you said?” he finally asks. “Everything you said?”

“My head wasn’t clear, and you know that.”

He shakes his head, more agitated than I’ve ever seen him, as he shoves a hand through his hair. “You keep doing this. You give me these pieces of yourself, then take them back, and that isn’t fair. Not to either of us.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” I snap, but as soon as the argument leaves my mouth, I realize how weak it sounds.