“I mean, what would I feel? What do you feel?”
His gaze crawls over my face, and with anyone else, I’d expect him to mock, but because he’s Aiden, steadfast and loyal and thoughtful, he simply drops to the floor and tipshis head back against a barrel. I mirror his pose, my arms draped over my knees. We’re in the darkest corner of the stillhouse, where we keep the old barrels. It’s cool and hushed. I used to be terrified of this part of it as a kid. I’d tempt myself to go alone, get five steps in and then run for the light and not look back.
“I feel…whole,” he says finally. “Like I found a piece I didn’t know was missing. Things will happen and I’ll immediately want to tell Emory. I want to do things for her just to see her smile. I spend every morning wishing I had five more minutes with her. When I think about dy-dying, my greatest regret will be leaving her alone.”
His voice is thick when he finishes.
I frown, turning over his words in my head. “I don’t worry about dying. I just imagined that as long as she was there, I’d be there too. It’s inconceivable to me that we’d be separated. And I’m not missing any pieces, because she’s already filling those gaps. So how will Iknow?”
“Tristan.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
“What?” I scowl at him, because he’s being soAiden, all literary and thoughtful when I need action.
He leans over and grabs my knee, gives it a good shake. “Tristan. How long have you felt that way?”
“I don’t know. I mean, pretty much since I met—her. Oh no.”
I blink. Pieces rearrange inside me, like some sick version of Tetris where my heart gets too big and my lungs expand and my chest is too tight.
“What’s wrong?”
“She saidno, Aiden.”
“You said that.”
My stomach feels like it’s crumpling in on itself. This is why I’d prefer not to have feelings. I can’t think past them. Ican’t scheme. I just exist—awash in this awful, potent cocktail of longing.
“I love her and she doesn’t want me. Of course she doesn’t.” I press my head to the barrel. “She told me all the things she was looking for in a man. Someone who will go for the things that make him cry, not someone who actively avoids feeling anything deeper than a teaspoon’s worth of emotion. God, I am a fool.”
“She wants you.”
I shake my head. “She was pretty damn clear about not wanting me.”
“Tristan, it’s a huge risk for her. Can’t you see that?”
I nod, but I don’t have any scheming left in me. I’m just one gaping wound. I want to howl at the frustration of it all, at my inability to just grow this useless, stunted part of myself. I’ve never nurtured it before. I’ve done my best to kill it off, and now I suddenly need a heart when I always prided myself on not having one.
“She spends like 90 percent of her free time with you. You employ her. You’re her best friend.”
“She said I was everything to her.”
His expression is grave. “I think you might be, Tristan. She’s probably terrified.”
“Still.” I swallow, my old fears rising to the surface. “Still, Aiden. Assume I confess my love to her. Why would she say yes? No one I’ve ever loved has wanted me as much as I want them.”
His eyes go wide. “You really think that?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “Mom. Dad. Every girlfriend I’ve ever had.”
“You didn’t really try with those girlfriends,” he chides.
“Because I was terrified.” The words burst out of me, and his head jerks back. “I was so scared to fuck things up. Toruin things. To want things and be out of control, just like I was back then.”
He looks confused. “Back then when?”
“Oh come on. All those times when we were kids, when I broke things just to get attention. When Whit broke his arm during that dumb prank. The car I crashed.” The bitterness of my voice seems to burn my throat. “The divorce.”
“The divorce?” Aiden’s eyes widen. “No, Tristan. That wasn’t—”
