Page 113 of Heimlock

“Baby, I’m not trying to upset you,” she murmurs, her own eyes watering in empathy. “But you need to be careful. Trinte has told me some things; not a lot, but I’ve put enough together. The first day when I read him, it was … dark inside, Kyri. He deserves someone who will love him regardless of where he exists inside his trauma each day.”

I know she can sense everything storming through me; I’ve never cared if she reads my emotions. She’s a Siphon, just like Orliana, so she can read, remove, and share emotions, as well as read auras. So of course she knows more about Trinte than he’s probably shared.

He deserves someone to be protective of him like this.

The tears are free falling now. I duck my head, ashamed to be crying in a coffee shop. “I think that could be me. I’m trying to let it be me.”

“I think it could be you, too, baby,” she murmurs. “I really do. During that argument, I saw the way you balanced one another. And don’t think I missed the way you two looked at each other.” She laughs. “I’ve never seen such a heated argument about a chair.”

I snort, wiping away the tears and releasing a shaky chuckle. “This might be the most intense coffee talk of my life.”

“Moms are supposed to guide with some shoving involved.” Talia releases my hand after one final squeeze.

Talia sips her coffee as I collect myself. Space from Trinte is a good idea.

Is it?

Ignoring the stupid, annoying little voice of doubt, I smile at Talia. “Thank you for caring enough to say something. I’ll think about what you’re saying.”

After taking another sip of my tepid latte, I say, “I don’t want to hurt him. But I’m …” Looking away from her sharp gaze, I admit, “I’m afraid there’s not enough space inside me for all ‌the love he has to give.”

Talia hums. It stings that she doesn’t refute it. Does she agree? Am I so broken that Trinte could love me, and I’d only be able to accept a scrap of it?

When she still doesn’t answer after a minute, I lose my patiences. “Are you going to disagree? Tell me I’m unlovable or something?”

“Are you unlovable, Kyri?”

Now we’re back to the Siphon therapist-talk. “Can you please stop therapying me and answer the question?”

“I’ve loved you since you resembled a wet rat, Kyrielle,” she says patiently. “But we accept the love we think we deserve. Do you think you’re worthy of his love?”

Why does she sound like Fynn? Did he take that phrase from her or vice versa? This conversation is becoming unbearable because the answer is no, I don’t think I’m worthy. But do I have to feel worthy in order to accept it?

I make a show of checking my phone. “Oh, look at the time. I have to go.”

Talia watches me stand, amused. Not challenging the blatant lie. She comforts me with a deep hug. When I try to pull away, she gathers me closer.

In my ear, she murmurs, “I think you’re incredibly worthy of everything you want.”

Allowing myself to revel in her words, I tighten my hold. Without her, I’m not sure where I’d be. Even when she rescued me, it took years for me to work through some things. She never wavered or doubted me. This conversation has been painful, but she’s trying to help.

Emotional all over again, I say, “Thank you. I love you.”

Talia releases me, tears in her eyes again. “I love you, too.”

Her eyes bore a hole in my head as I rush out of the coffee shop, gulping fresh mouthfuls of air. I wish Orliana were available, but I don’t want to distract from her vacation. Not over something like this. A text conversation won’t begin to address these things.

But as I take off for the gym, ready to punch some things, my perspective on this complicated situation shifts.

I just need time and space to be sure.

44

After experiencing four days straight with Kyrielle, spending a week apart is killing me. It’s like living in winter when you’re used to endless sunshine. It’s beginning to mess with my head. Sleep is near impossible because I can still catch the faintest scent of her shampoo on my pillow.

After only one damn night, my hand reaches for her; the disappointment makes it impossible to fall back to sleep.

She’s not exactly ignoring me. We text every day, but it’s surface level. My mind and heart are wholly convinced she’s pulling away. Once again, I’ve fucked things up, despite my best effort.