He’s breathing too fast, his hands still shaking. I’m close enough to touch him, but I don’t. It’s not out of fear. Sure, he might be unstable, and I don’t know what that electricity will do if I decide to reach out. But that’s not what holds me back. It’s the way he looks like he’s not here, like he’s somewhere else entirely. I don’t want to frighten him more than he already is.
“Cason,” I say again, lower this time. “Look at me.”
His gaze doesn’t lift. It stays locked on his hands. But he finally speaks, his voice small and trembling.
“Blood. They’re covered in blood. Get it off. Please.”
There’s no blood. I can see that, but he can’t. I’m not sure where the blood is coming from in his mind, but the only assumption I can make is that it was once mine.
That almost makes me feel like I’m dying all over again.
Not for me, but for him.
Fuck. I amsodone trying to deny the pull this man has on me.
I hesitate for only a second before I move, grabbing his hands and holding them in mine. There’s no shock, no current, just the warmth of his skin in my palms.
“There’s no blood,” I tell him, firm and steady. “Cason, look at me. There’s nothing there.”
His fingers twitch in mine, like he’s trying to shake something off that doesn’t exist. I tighten my grip slightly. Slowly, his gaze lifts, and when it meets mine, there are tears already falling from his eyes. That hits harder than the electricity did.
I have no idea how we went from him trying to kill me to me standing here holding his hands to comfort him so quickly, but it feels very…us.
“I’m sorry.” His voice breaks. “I wanted to hurt you.”
I hold his gaze because I don’t care. I’d let him hurt me as much as he needs to.
“I don’t blame you for that. I hurt you first.”
“It’s not that. It’s…” He shakes his head, a sob ripping out of him before he can stop it. “Seven years, Reese. Seven fucking years.”
Those words, the way they come out broken while tears slide down his cheeks, all of it lands heavy. Because I knew. I knew there was something there, but I thought it was a crush or Stockholm syndrome or something only physical. I didn’t know it went this deep, not for him.
I swallow hard and say, “I couldn’t come to you. I was tryingto keep you safe.”
It’s the truth, but the bigger truth is…
“I should’ve tried harder to keep you safe from me.”
Again, he shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. It didn’t hurt any worse than watching you die.”
Air comes rushing out of my lungs without my permission, like it was punched out of me.
Fuck.
How did I not know?
His gaze remains locked on mine, even as his expression twists with something else he wants to say. I don’t have to ask him to share it because he blurts it out.
“I didn’t do it for the Institute.”
My brows draw together. “What?”
“What I did,” he says, voice a little steadier now but still fragile. “I didn’t do it for the Institute or for Malcolm. I…” Another sob, this one not quite as violent as the last. “I did it for you.”
I did it for you.
That does it. That right there nearly kills me all over again.
