Page 110 of Wicked Heat

Three more days. Three more times.

Then on the next day, instead of asking if we can talk, he slips an index card to me. I turn it over. Can we pass notes?

I can’t help it. I laugh. And, damn me, I nod.

He passes me a note: Why?

I read the note, then close my eyes and take a deep breath. I tug the note toward myself, then write: Because I’m not strong enough.

What does that mean?

I start to write an answer, then just shake my head. “Rory,” I say. “The bastard broke me.”

“Broken things can be fixed. Think about who you’re talking to. I’ve got more cracks in me than cheap pottery.”

As he speaks, he reaches for my hand. I don’t tug it away. I want him—I do. But I’d wanted Rory, too.

“I talked to Aria,” he says. “You don’t trust me?”

I grimace, wishing I could kick Aria’s ass for not only talking to him, but for getting it wrong. “I don’t trust me.”

His brow furrows. “She told me about the nightmare. She told me that I turn into Rory.”

I nod.

He meets my eyes, his voice soft as he says, “You do understand that dreams aren’t reality.”

I yank my hand back. “Don’t,” I snap. “Do not patronize me.”

“I’m not. But it’s the truth. I’m not Rory. I’m not a monster. And I’m not going to hurt you.”

I blink, and a single tear snakes down my cheek. “I want to believe that,” I say, so softly I doubt he can hear me. “I do believe it. Except...”

I trail off because how do I explain that my reality is as distorted as my father’s. I believe in the Ash I touched and felt and kissed and fucked. And at the same time, I’m terrified that all of that will be ripped away to reveal something I never suspected. Never saw coming.

Except that I did see it coming in my dreams. And the only sane thing to do is stay away.

But I miss him. With every day that passes, I miss him more and more, and I have to remind myself of the dreams. Of Rory and Kari.

“Hey,” he says, his voice gentle. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t trust myself.” The words are barely a whisper, but I know he hears them.

He leans back in his chair, his brow forming a V over his nose as he studies me the same way I’ve seen him look at technical documents. Finally, he leans forward again, his elbows on the table and his eyes locked on mine. “You haven’t pushed Aria away.”

“What?”

“You’ve had this epiphany. This realization that you can’t trust your own judgment. And yet Aria is right there. Hearing all your fears. Protecting all your secrets.”

“What the hell?” I snap. “Are you trying to fuck with my friendship?”

“I’m just pointing out that she’s still at your right hand.”

“I’ve known her all my life.”

He nods slowly. “So that’s it? Aria and her parents and your parents? Those are your people now? Your only people?”

“Ash, I—” I cut myself off, not sure how to respond. He’s messing with my head.