Page 113 of Red

“Must’ve been the adrenaline,” I say.

“So powerful. It seemed so real.” He turns and skips out the door.

The second the truck pulls down the driveway, Stark’s hands are on me. He leans down and kisses my lips, my body melting into his. He lifts my legs up around his waist and walks us over to the couch, lowering me down, his lips glued to mine.

He breaks the kiss and stands.

I pout and look up at him. “What?”

You can hear my thoughts.

Yes.

Have you always been able to?

“I have . . .”

He runs his hand through his dark hair.

“I don’t always listen, and I swear you’re quiet most of the time.”

He scoffs. “That’s because I know how to block people out.”

“Oh yeah, Pratt could do that.” I look away.

“But you . . .” He leans down over me. “You talked to me and no one else heard you.”

“Um.” I sink further into the couch, digging my nails into my wrist. Guess he caught on to that.

“No more of this. Tell me. You talked to me all that time ago, when I was outside the Uprising, and you were missing. It was you, Aloka.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” I plead. My eyes water.

“How can you only talk to me? No one else hears you. I can’t do that. It’s the pack or no one.”

“I can pick who I communicate with. You’re the only one I’ve ever done it with other than my mom and Pratt . . . before . . .” Their photos, filled with smiling faces, sit on the bookshelf behind him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s no anger in his words, but simple confusion lines his face. Only, it’s not simple. None of this is.

“Trust,” I say.

“You trust me now?”

“I do.”

He kneels and rests his arms on my lap. The smile on his face fills me with butterflies. “Why don’t you tell them you can hear them?”

It’s a lot to understand all at once. I get why he doesn’t get my choices. He’s missing a lot of pieces to the truth.

“Everyone expects me to be useless. It’s easier than raising questions.” My one cheek rises with a small half-smile.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

I stare into the blue of his eyes. He saw me—the real me—when I scooped up Hudry after they both got shot. Maybe he didn’t think it was real either, but he heard my voice.

“Your leg.” I glance down.

“It’s fine. The bullet when right through and I bandaged it.” He taps it.