“You didn’t have to,” he replies. “Youactedlike she needed managing.”
I swallow.
“She chose you,” Drew adds. “And every time you override her, you’re telling her that choice was a mistake.”
That lands harder than it should.
I cross my arms, my chest tight. “I don’t know how to love someone without guarding them.”
Drew studies me. “Then maybe start by asking her what she needs before you swing.”
I scoff weakly. “I didn’t swing.”
“You metaphorically tackled a guy outside a vet,” he says.
“I’m bad at this,” I admit.
Drew nods. “Yeah. But you’re self-aware bad. That’s upgradeable.”
I glance toward the hallway again. “She won’t talk to me.”
“She will,” Drew says. “Just not tonight.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugs. “She didn’t leave. She just changed rooms.”
That… helps. A little.
“And for the record,” Drew adds, pushing off the counter, “next time you feel the urge to declare lifelong protection vows on the sidewalk—maybe try breathing first.”
I huff out a humorless laugh.
“Also,” he says, heading for the stairs, “you’re cooking dinner. Or better yet, order something for delivery.” He shoots me a warning look over his shoulder. “And you’re not allowed to knock on that door.”
“I wasn’t going to?—”
“You absolutely were.”
He disappears upstairs, leaving me alone with the quiet.
The house feels different now. Tense. Shifted.
I stare at the guest room door, knowing better than to approach it.
Control has always been my armor.
But armor is heavy.
And tonight, it cost me more than I expected.
48
IVY
I stare at the locked guest room door for several beats, holding Mr. Pickles like an emotional support cat. Or feline armor.
I’m still pissed at Sebastian, and I don’t think he gets why.
