Out.
Again.
The pain behind my eye remained.
The tightness in my chest eased.
“I hate this,” I said into his skin.
“The headache?”
“Everything.”
His hand moved along my back.
“Tell me.”
“I hate being watched on stairs. I hate that Maeve asks whether I can shower alone as if I’m five. I hate that Owen has to stand beside me whenever we test anything, even when the entire system is dead.”
Reid did not interrupt.
“I hate that I know exactly how much I used to do.”
My throat tightened.
“I can remember enough about the work to know what’s missing. I know how to lead a refit. I know how to haul cable through a compartment. I know how to drive Mercy through rough water. But knowing isn’t the same as being allowed.”
“You’re allowed.”
“Not without someone ready to catch me.”
“That is temporary.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
The honest answer hurt less than reassurance would have.
I pulled back enough to see him.
“What happens when you get tired of it?”
His face changed.
“Of what?”
“Me.”
The word sounded ugly once spoken.
Reid stared as if I had struck him.
I tried to turn away.
He caught my face in both hands.
“Do not disappear after saying that.”
