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He’s finally come to the realization that I’m not kidding. He stands, looming over me with his jaw set. “I have a heart.”
“You do a shitty job of convincing me you do,” I point out, steeling myself to glare up at him. I won’t back down. “Can’t you see that it’s killing Archer to watch his father waste away? He can’t do anything to save him, but he can make Malcolm’s last months comfortable.”
“He could be comfortable laid up without his alpha responsibilities,” Trystan barks. “Archer’s duty is to keep his pack together. To make them strong enough to ward of
f any outside threats. This show of weakness is dangerous to everyone, and it throws the whole pack hierarchy into confusion.”
“You don’t know that!” My voice has gotten louder, as if it can help me get through his thick skull. “I haven’t met a single member of this pack who doesn’t love and respect Malcolm—and Archer too. No one here seems to have a problem with the way they’ve decided to hand off power. The only one who has an issue is you, and this isn’t even your pack!”
Trystan blinks as I finish my vehement tirade. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but he doesn’t immediately answer me.
I scoff. “See? Exactly what I mean. You live in this little bubble where your outlook on life is the only perspective worth having. You’re so sure that you’re always in the right, and you run over everyone in your path to prove it.”
His jaw clenches. His expression is tight, and I can’t tell if he’s pissed or hurt by my words. “You think I run over people?”
“Yes.”
I step closer to him, jutting my chin out. Everything I’m saying has been building up inside me for a long time, and it feels damn good to let it out. I like Trystan. I might even be falling in love with him. But I can’t stand by and let him hurt people just because he’s too stubborn and confident to see things from another perspective.
“I don’t run over you,” he argues, a hint of steel in his voice. “You’re still standing. Standing up to me, actually, like I’m not a foot taller and twice your size.”
“Well, somebody has to,” I snap.
I open my mouth, about to say more, when the true weight of his words hits me. I realize with a start that Trystan’s right. I can stand up to him.
Me. The girl who lived with an abusive uncle for far too long because I was terrified of what running might mean.
Even though my limbs are shaking with adrenaline at the confrontation with Trystan, I haven’t backed down. It was more important to me to confront him about what he said to Archer, to show him how he’s hurting both himself and the people around him with his attitude.
Whether he means to or not, Trystan brings out a strength in me none of the other men do. Even Dare doesn’t quite manage to access that part of me, even when he’s being cold and distant and I want to throttle him.
While Archer and Ridge are usually gentle with me, careful of my old wounds and fragile emotions, Trystan’s unrelenting confidence and perfectionism pushes me outside my comfort zone. Dare is forceful in a different way, and maybe it’s because I know his emotions are driven by the pain he carries deep inside him that I cut him a little slack.
Trystan’s just a cocky, confident asshole sometimes. A man who thinks he knows better than everyone.
But maybe… maybe I need him to challenge me the way he does.
I call on that strength now—the strength he brings out in me.
“Trystan, I care about you,” I tell him, my voice still hard. “So much. I know what a good man you are. How much you care about your pack, and how loyal you are to the people you love. But every single day, I watch you push people away. I see you hold them at arm’s length because they’re not perfect, because their choices don’t match what you would do. You’re more closed off than any of the men sleeping in this house. You can never see a side to things that isn’t your own.”
His nostrils flare. He looks almost like I’ve slapped him, and I wonder if anyone has ever called him out like this.
My heart is beating so hard that it feels like it’s rattling my entire rib cage. Adrenaline pours through my veins as if my body is primed for an actual fight. Trystan and I face off against each other silently, our faces just inches apart. Tension hovers between us like a taut string pulled to its limit.
I’m angry.
He’s angry.
We’re both waiting for the other to back down, but we both know that will never happen.
Suddenly, that tension snaps.
I don’t know who moves first, him or me. But suddenly, I’m in his arms, his mouth on mine, his hands gripping me tightly as he consumes me with his kiss.
18
Sable
