Page 137 of Where the Snakes Sleep

“That seems like the same thing.”

I continue, “The estate security code is written on the card beneath the keys. You can arm or disarm the system yourself. I have added your fingerprint to the side entrance reader because you have used that door several times.”

“You added my fingerprint?”

“From the reader registration you completed yesterday.”

“Oh.” I wait. Ryan stares at all of the keys, his brows scrunched together. “What if I take the car and don’t come back?”

My chest tightens so painfully that I am grateful I am sitting. “Then you do not come back,” I make myself say. “If that is what you choose.”

He stares at me for a long time.

I can almost see the fight taking place behind his expression, the part of him searching for a hidden condition, some unspoken tether attached to the apparent freedom.

“There’s no tracker?”

“The vehicle itself contains standard manufacturer location services.”

His eyebrows rise.

“I can disable my access to them if you prefer.”

That surprises him. “You would?”

“Yes.”

“What about security cameras?”

“Exterior and common areas only. None in bedrooms or bathrooms. I can show you the system.”

He says nothing.

I add, “If you want separate login credentials so you can access the cameras without me, I can create them.”

“Why are you doing all this?”

There are several answers.

Because I’ve determined I love you and now need to attempt to prove that without vocalizing it.

Because I am afraid every accommodation will look like strategy.

Because I spent weeks trying to make you comfortable enough to lower your guard, and now I would rather dismantle my entire home than give you one more reason to believe you are trapped inside it.

I choose the simplest. “Because I took choices from you.”

Ryan’s gaze drops.

“I’m trying not to do that again.”

He runs one finger over the edge of the key ring but does not pick it up. “You know this doesn’t fix anything.”

“I know.”

That afternoon, Ryan leaves. He doesn’t tell me where he’s going, or what time to expect him back, and while my instinct is to collect that information from him, I stay quiet.

For the next two hours and nineteen minutes, I discover that granting someone freedom and emotionally tolerating their exercise of it are entirely separate skills.