Page 75 of A Match Made in Error

I don’t look at him. I can’t.

Because I know exactly how that must have sounded.

I want you.

My fingers curl against the lounge chair, nails pressing into the grain as heat crawls up my neck. The words feel enormous now, hanging in the air between us like something fragile and terrible. Like something he could crush without even trying.

Riven is quiet, too quiet, and my mind starts filling the space for him.

He’s going to laugh.

Of course he is. That’s what Riven does when things get too real. He’ll flash that crooked grin and say something ridiculous and turn it into a joke so we can both pretend this didn’t just happen. Or worse⁠—

He’ll go still in that polite way people do when they’re trying not to embarrass you.

My stomach twists. I shouldn’t have said it. I shouldn’t have let it sound like that. Like I want him. Like I⁠—

My breath catches halfway when I realize something.

What if he thinks I meant it lightly? Or sexually? Would that be better or worse?

What if he thinks it’s just attraction? Just the island? Just the game everyone keeps pushing us into?

What if he thinks I mean it the way people always mean it with him? Something easy. Temporary. Forgettable. The thought makes something sharp pull in my chest, because that isn’t what I mean.

Not even remotely.

But explaining that would mean saying something even more dangerous. Something that can break the fragile threads holding our friendship in place.

Riven still hasn’t said a word. The silence stretches so long it starts to feel like standing at the edge of a cliff during an earthquake, waiting to find out if the ground will hold. I finally risk looking at him and immediately wish I hadn’t. Because he’s staring at me like the world just tilted under his feet.

Riven moves before I can brace and pulls me into him. His arms are tight, solid, and warm. He presses me into his chest like he’s anchoring himself, and his hand rubs slow circles against my back. Comforting me.

I close my eyes. This is just kindness. This is how he lets people down gently. He’s holding me because he feels sorry for me. I feel his tight jaw and racing heart, like his body is nervously revolting against this confession.

I let him silently lay us back, our bodies pressing tightly together on the chaise-like chair I’ve caught him sleeping on a few times. I should have seen that for what it was then, another attempt to get away from me.

I am so stupid. Couldn’t I have fought back the serum for one more second? The effects are ebbing now, almost completely gone. But it’s too late.

Fireflies flicker behind us in the trees as silence stretches into the never-ending sea.

I stare up at the sky, hoping a shooting star would burst across the horizon so I could wish for the last hour to never have happened. I know I’ve ruined everything, and the next time he speaks, it will confirm it.

“You think I’m holding you to let you down. I’m holding you because I don’t trust myself to do anything else.” What in coven’s name does that mean?

We’re still lying side by side. Not touching, but also not not touching. My thighs are pressed to his and his arm is around my shoulder, but our hands are now deliberately to ourselves. My body is hyper-aware of every pulse of his body. The heat from his arm. The way his breathing isn’t steady. The press of his body against mine.

Say something. Fix this before it’s irrevocably broken.

But he speaks first. “The darkness didn’t leave after the war. I thought it would, but…it didn’t.” My heart stutters. I turn my head, hoping to glean something from his eyes, but they’re fixed on the heavens. “It just got quieter.” He lets out a labored sigh. “And I keep waiting for the day someone sees it and decides I’m not worth the work.”

My throat tightens when he flexes his hand against the cushion like he’s grounding himself.

His jaw ticks, and then he continues, “People run when things get heavy. I saw that with my parents and several of the men in my unit while we were away at war.” He laughs darkly. “Love is the worst in those moments. Nothing worsens the sting of dead comrades like getting a letter from your wife that she is sick of you being away, so she’s leaving you.” My mind flashes, putting together hundreds of truths he’s let slip over the years. His parents. The way he talks about control. The way he performs perfection.

He swallows. “I’m terrified people will run away from me if they see everything. If I care too much.”

I turn my head to him, barely breathing. A joke. He’ll want a joke. “Truth serum is a bitch. Right?”