“You’ve had me so worried,” he murmured. “I met Mom at her hotel this morning, and your message kinda took the wind out of my sails.”
I couldn’t get my throat to work. I had spent the entire journey here trying not to think about what this would do to him.
Seeing the evidence written plainly across his face was worse.
Dean stroked my nape.“Hey, what is it?”
I couldn’t do this, not with his hands on me. Not while every instinct I possessed was still leaning toward him instead of away. He stood close enough that I could feel his warmth, smell his hair, his scent… I extricated myself from his embrace and went over to the window, my arms folded tightly.
The loss of contact was immediate.
I hated myself for noticing.
“We should slow this down.”
My voice came out steady, and that was the worst part. It sounded like I meant it.
I could see his reflection in the glass. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching me with an attentiveness that had become dangerous all on its own.
“Slow what down?” His voice was so quiet. The absence of anger hurt more than anger would have.
I swallowed. “This.” I made a vague, useless gesture, encompassing the room, the air between us, the unbearable awareness that still surged through me every time he looked at me.
Dean stayed very still. “You want space?” His voice held no hint of accusation or anger.
If he’d been angry, I could have hidden behind it.
If he’d been hurt, I could have blamed myself and moved forward.
He was giving me exactly what I’d asked for.
That made it infinitely harder.
“Maybe.”
The lie left my mouth effortlessly. My chest disagreed in an instant.
I kept my gaze fixed on the window because I could not bear to see his expression change. Because if I saw pain there, I would stop.
And if I stopped, I would never finish.
I forced myself to continue before my courage escaped me.
“When I say slow this down,” I began carefully, “I do not mean I want you less.”
Dean said nothing, but waited.
That was what he always did, made room for the truth and then stood there until I found the courage to reach for it.
I draggeda hand through my hair, exhausted by the sheer effort of holding myself upright.
“I’ve been thinking about what happens after the Games.”
“Okay.” Dean’s voice was steady.
“There are two versions.”
The words sounded absurd, as though I were discussing possible training schedules instead of dismantling my own future.
