Page 147 of A Sweet Destruction

He avoided eye contact, then insisted on carrying me right out of the hospital wing. He only let me down when the doctor told him that she needed to see me physically walk out of there to officially discharge me, even though I’d spent the better part of the morning pacing around my cage of a room.

He grumbled at her, then trailed me all the way to the cabin that had been cleared out for me to recover in, refusing to engage with any of the conversations I tried to start.

When we crossed the threshold to the cabin, the room warm and freshly laundered, I debated physically locking him in there with me.

A smart choice, seeing as when I turned around, Ford was hovering in the doorway, hand on the doorknob.

His eyes were on the floor—or rather, my feet I realized, when he began a slow, nearly painful, climb up my body. He paid each inch special attention, as if the bony curve of my ankle and slightly crooked bend of my knee were as fascinating to him as a master’s painting.

By the time he made it to my chest, staring so intently I was nearly convinced he was counting my freckles, I was about to jump out of my skin from the nerves.

Then he reached my neck and looked away before his eyes could make it to my face. If he had, he would have seen that I was letting every ounce of love for him pour through into my expression.

It nearly wrecked me, just to let that depth of emotion through.

Ford cleared his throat, staring down at his boots as he kicked a non-existent speck of dust off the right one.

“Are you alright?” he asked the floor, more than me. I debating making a joke about that, something not-quite-witty about the floorboards needing a sweep.

I decided against it, from sheer fact that there was something in his tone that made me want to cry.

“Yes,” I said, careful and measured.

“Okay.” He nodded at the floor again, his knuckles going white over the doorknob. “You should get some rest. I’m going to be outside…for a while.”

Well, that was the very last thing I wanted. “Why?” I sounded like a petulant child, but I just didn’t care.

My tone was enough to make Ford look up from the floor. Whatever he saw on my face had his entire facing pinching with a wince, which he cleared with a shake of his head.

“Esme,” he said with a heavy breath. “It’s okay. They made me stay in the room to help you heal, but I don’t have to be around you every second. Especially if that’s not what you want.”

What a ridiculous thing to say. “That’s exactly what I want.”

The look on Ford’s face shattered my heart like a vase crashing to the floor. “What you want,” he pressed. “Not the Bond.”

Oh, God, I hated Elijah. I hated this situation, I hated this war. I hated every single thing that got us to a place where Ford believed that I didn’t love him. I even hated the Bond a little bit at that moment, for giving Ford a reason to believe that there was any reason other than him that made me want him.

“I meant me. The Bond doesn’t make me think anything I wouldn’t already feel.” It would expand on it, yes. That fact was quite cruelly evidenced by the panic searing through my veins at the mere prospect of Ford leaving me alone in this cabin.

“Maybe in some respects.” The dismissal in his voice only made me even more afraid. I took a step towards him and he put his hand up, halting my progress.

That one movement broke my heart, right before he gave me the most hope I’d had in years. “But I know that the Bond didn’t make me love you. That’s all me. And I’m sorry to throw this on you, especially when you kept your feelings—” Ford cut himself off with a shake of his head and I had a sudden flashback to the first honest conversation we’d had about the Bond, when I’d told him I didn’t have feelings for him. How I regretted those words now. “That you kept the Bond quiet for so long. I’m really glad you’re physically okay, but, God, Esme, I had to watch you nearly die while I was tied to that fucking chair. It’s going to take me a long time to come back from that and act normal around you. And I’m too fucking tired to pretend right now.”

He was looking at me, but was clearly not seeing me, otherwise he would have noticed that I was crying. Or maybe he did, and just thought my tears weren’t filled with near-painful joy.

Ford pushed on. “The Bond might have helped me break out of those binds, but I would have sawed off my own arms to get to you before he could—” He cut himself off, covering his mouth with his hand to trap a sob. I would have sprinted towards him if I wasn’t rooted to the spot in astonishment.

It was a little hard to believe this was finally happening.

“I don’t begrudge you for not returning the feeling.” No! I wanted to shout. “If all we have between us is the Bond, I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever you can give me, but I can’t pretend like I’m not in love with you. Not right now.”

Then he tried to leave me.

He took a step out the door and I was running towards him with a broken, “Oh, Ford.”

He caught me before I could slam fully into him, grabbing my wrists and holding me an inch away from his chest. I understood that. Before, I could hardly stand the feeling of his hands on me, knowing it was everything it to me and casual to him.

His eyes bounced around a bit, trying to find some safe place for them to land, before they finally closed.