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“I need to see you in my quarters,” I say to Riden.
“Is something wrong?” he asks.
I don’t answer him. I turn for the stairs leading above, expecting him to follow. I relax slightly when I hear his steps behind me. But I’m still worried over the conversation ahead. I don’t know how it will go. If it will only make things worse.
Riden shuts the door behind himself as he steps into my rooms. Natural light pours in from the portholes, illuminating his even features.
He leans against a wall, crossing his arms lazily over his chest. “What have I done?”
“I’m ready for your apology,” I tell him.
He blinks, stands up straighter. “What am I sorry for?”
I make sure my words are clear and do my best not to raise my voice. “You don’t get to decide how to treat me based on what your mood is. I don’t care about your gratitude; I don’t need it. You’re a member of my crew, and I would try to save anyone who fell overboard during a storm. But your reaction was completely unwarranted. Yes, I broke a promise, but I saved you and everything was okay.”
His crossed arms rise as his muscles tighten, but I press on. “You pouted in your self-righteous anger until our lives werein danger. ‘It doesn’t seem all that important when we’re fighting for our lives’?” I quote back at him as a question.
“Alosa—”
“I’m not finished.”
He snaps his mouth shut.
“You’re not allowed to turn me away when I’m at the height of vulnerability, then be furious at me for rescuing you, then touch and kiss me and spout off your feelings when it suits you. I want answers for why you behaved the way you did. And I want my damned apology, and I want it now!”
He uncrosses his arms. “May I speak now?”
I nod at him so I don’t plunge into another tirade.
“I’ve been selfish,” he says, “but so have you.”
Through bared teeth: “That’s not how an apology sounds.”
“You had your chance to talk. Now it’s my turn. Throwing yourself at me when your world comes crashing down around you? Selfish. You were trying to use me. I wanted more from you than that.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that he saidwanted. Past tense.
“I meant what I said on the cannibal island. When we were fighting for our lives, I realized I didn’t want to be angry with you. You might say my response to that realization was… hasty.”
The memory of his lips on the back of my neck surfaces.
“But before,” he says, “after you rescued me from the sea, you might sayIwas at the height of vulnerability. I needed time to sort out my own past and come to terms with it.”
I’m silent, hoping he’ll offer me an explanation without my prompting. When he doesn’t, I ask, “What happened?” as gently as I can so as not to scare him off.
“I spent much of my early years not having control over anything.” He closes his eyes, perhaps trying to block out the memories. When he opens them again, he says, “My father dictated when I could eat, when I could sleep, when I could piss—it didn’t matter how hard I begged or pleaded. He hated me and did whatever he could to show it, preferring to make me suffer than kill me. There were times—few though they were—when I would do something that pleased him. He’d promise never to strike me again. Of course, those were lies.
“I won’t get into the details of everything he did to me. Suffice it to say, Jeskor was a bastard. I still carry those scars. The fears of a little boy trying to trust his own father not to hurt him. When you used your abilities on me, when I specifically asked you not to, I was reminded of that time. Those scars came to the surface. I remembered broken promises. Beatings, lashings, starvation. I remembered it all, felt manipulated all over again. I’m sorry for what I said and how I behaved. I just needed time to remember you’re not him. You didn’t save me to be cruel.”
“Of course not,” I say.
“Then why did you save me?” he asks.
The question is so bizarre, I almost don’t answer him. “Because you’re part of my crew. I watch after my own.”
He’s quiet, staring me down. “Is that all?”
There are words he wants me to say. Words I should say. ButI can’t allow myself to think them, let alone say them. My mind is as blank as my mouth is dry.
