Page 52 of Heat Lightning

He nodded. That part was obvious.

“I talked to my doctor, and she said it might be a full heat, or it might fizzle out, but I shouldn’t spend it alone.”

Another nod. “How do you feel?”

I shrugged. “I’m not usually like this. I’ve never—I mean, before everything happened, my heats were normal. I didn’t react this way to anyone. But that night with the stimulants, everything happened so fast, and they were so strong. I had no control over what my body was doing. It feels like that’s happening again. You show up, and all of a sudden I’m…” I shook my head. “I think they broke me,” I finished with a whisper.

I blamed my heat emotions for the brutal honesty. Or maybe there was something about being in this together that made me feel at ease.

He stiffened. “You’re not broken. You’re…” he shook his head and didn’t finish his sentence. Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward and stared at the floor. “If I could make this easier for you, I would. We don’t—” his breath hitched. “We don’t have to do this. It’s not obligatory. I’ll drive you to the clinic right now if you ask me to.”

“And your rut? What would you do about that?”

He was silent for a few moments. “I’d figure it out. How you spend your heat is your choice, Max.”

My choice.

Sincerity coated his words. He really meant that. Whatever he was suffering from the suppressed rut, he’d endure it if I decided to say no.

Something he’d said gnawed at me. “You said before this isn’t my fault, but it’s not yours either, you know. I’ve never blamed you.”

His mask shifted like he opened and closed his mouth. “I would’ve killed him by now.” His words were hushed, like he didn’t want to taint the moment with the name that made me flinch. “I keep tabs on him. Make sure he’s nowhere near you. I’ll never let him hurt you again. And when I’m able, I’ll end him for what he did to you.”

That dark, hungry part of me flared to life. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, and asked for something I’d wanted far longer than I was willing to admit. “Can I be there?”

He looked at me sharply. “What?”

I could’ve blamed it on the heat emotions or shock from seeing the Masked Man again, but that would be a lie.

I’d wanted this, dreamed of this, for a very long time.

With more confidence than I felt, I sat up straight. “Can I be there when you kill him? I want to watch. I want to see his fear. I want him to know it’s because of what he did to me.”

Finally saying it out loud felt like plucking an infected splinter out of my finger. Maybe it made me a terrible person, but he deserved it for what he did.

Plus, squeezed in alongside the shame that came with remembering how stupid I’d been was a mountain of guilt that he could be doing it again, especially since finding out he’d done it before me, too. What if he befriended someone else, only to lead them to the same fate?

The Masked Man’s eyes flashed in surprise, but he seemed wary. “Max, getting involved like that is⁠—”

“I know,” I cut in. “I know it makes me complicit. I don’t care.”

I was fully aware that being glad the others were killed before they could hurt me was entirely different from taking an active role in making it happen, but I still wanted to.

He was shaking his head, though. “Seeing a person die changes you, even if they are your abuser. It’s not meant for someone like you.”

Embarrassment burned the tips of my ears. He kept saying that—someone like me. I hated it. “And what’s that? Stupid? Naive? I’m not a silly kid.”

The way he stared, like he saw all of me and wouldn’t let me go, made me want to hide and never be parted from him at the same time. “No. You’re not stupid, silly, or a child.”

I looked away. “But you don’t think I can handle it.”

Slowly, so as not to startle me, he reached over and swept the hair off my face with the gentlest brush of his fingers. “It’s not a question of what you can handle. I know what you’ve survived. But you shouldn’t have to anymore.”

I grabbed his hand, intent on batting it away, but he held on.

“You’re not meant for all this darkness,” he continued with a squeeze. “That’s what people like me are for.”

I couldn’t help but hear the deep loneliness in that statement. Was that all he thought he was?