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Shut up, logical Tris.

Just saying—you want Henry for more than one night. You’re just too chicken-shit to admit it and do something about it.

I scrubbed my hand over my face. It was too early for the proverbial angel and devil on my shoulders to be arguing like this.

Unsure of what to say, I took a couple of steps toward the stairs to give myself a few extra seconds to figure out how to soften the blow. But soon, I was at the top of the staircase, my back to Henry, and nothing had come to me. So I turned halfway, face still hidden from his view, and offered, “I’m sorry, Henry. I need to go.”

At least that was honest.

I willed my feet to take the first step down the stairs, but when I heard the bedsheets rustling, my boots felt like they were glued to the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut as Henry came up behind me, his presence altering my brain chemistry.

To his credit, he didn’t reach out and touch me, but I still felt like he had. His hands ghosted over my upper arms, and I wished it was real while knowing it couldn’t happen. I couldn’t want this man to touch me again.

But he’d imprinted his body on mine. Our very souls had fused together when we made love last night. And that’s what it was, though I was loathe to admit it. Whatever this was between us, though not love this soon, would certainly head that way if given a chance. And god, I wanted that chance.

Then again, I didn’t. I couldn’t. Relationships—love—meant being vulnerable, and I couldn’t open up like that. He wouldn’t want me if he saw all of me, because he’d figure out I didn’t have anything to offer a man like him.

“Tris, please stay.”

His quiet, pleading words nearly broke me. I needed him to understand this wasn’t about him, this wasn’t personal, this wasn’t because I didn’t want him. It was because I couldn’t give him what he needed.

So I blinked my eyes open, ignoring how they burned with unshed tears, and slowly spun to face him.

As soon as I took in the pain, the earnestness on his face, I nearly gave in. I nearly told him I’d stay. I nearly told him I’d try with him. But that wouldn’t have been fair to either of us, because . . .

Shit! I was so sick of this. I. Was. Not. Made. For. Love. Or relationships, for that matter. And Henry needed to know that.

Just . . . not right now. I couldn’t say the words. I couldn’t match his openness in this moment. Maybe that made me a shitty person, but I just fucking couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Henry.” Again, it was the truth. “But I really can’t stay.”

A fire flashed in his eyes, and he crossed his arms across his naked chest. Actually, all of him was naked, but somehow I was the one exposed. “Why?”

That was the question I didn’t want him to ask. “Why?” I crossed my arms, matching his stance as I echoed his question. “Last night was fun, but now it’s morning. It’s time to leave.”

I didn’t know why or how I knew, but I could feel Henry’s heart breaking. We had one night together—why was he hurting? And how was I already so connected to him that I could tell? “I disagree,” he said, his voice hard, brooking no argument. His Daddy voice. “With the last part, anyway. And I’d say it was more than fun.”

My lips twitched at his insistence despite my efforts to stay cool and detached, because he was right. Last night was way more than fun. Taking Behemoth during a live stream was fun. Henry fucking me was so far beyond that, they weren’t in the same universe. “It was more than fun, Henry. It was amazing. You were amazing.”

He scoffed, taking a step backward. “Don’t patronize me, Tris.”

I reached for him involuntarily. “I mean it, Henry. I really enjoyed last night. I just . . . I can’t do this.”

His eyes flashed again. “Do what?”

My hand waved between us. “This. Us. I don’t do relationships.” He opened his mouth to respond, but I kept going. “And don’t bother saying that’s not what you want. I know that’s where you’d like this to go.”

He was silent for a moment before he tilted his head and asked quietly, “Don’t you?”

I squeezed my eyes shut again, wishing I could admit to him that I really did. Henry was my dream man, my ideal Daddy, but we would never work. I would drive him away, because I couldn’t let him in.

Fortunately, he saved me from having to figure out a reply. “Don’t answer that, Tris. I don’t want to know.”

I just stared, longing to confess all the things I really wanted—love, feelings, affection, a real chance with Henry—that were buried beneath a million layers of pain. Of my high school boyfriend on board for quick fucks in his basement when his parents were out of town or blow jobs under the bleachers but unwilling to come out of the closet to date me in the open. Of the blatant homophobia spewed from my parents and their friends that hit a little too close to home when I couldn’t manage to tune it out. Of the sheer indifference my parents held for me, seemingly from the day I was born, like they never wanted a kid in the first place, like I was a waste of space. Until I made them look bad, of course.

“Tristan, I . . . Why are you pushing me away? Don’t you want this?” My heart stuttered in my chest because I heard what he didn’t say: Don’t you want me?

My thoughts ran unbidden through my mind, and I barely held myself back from speaking the truth aloud. I want you, Daddy. I do. And I wish I could tell you that. I wish I knew how to love you and let myself be loved by you. But I will ruin us before we even get started. I can’t show you who I really am without you walking away, because no one ever chooses me.