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He’s a crutch I cannot afford to lean on.
But goddammit, it would be so easy to do exactly that. I’m scared and worn and battered, and falling into Beck’s arms and just crying my fucking eyes out is exactly what I need right now.
For a few minutes after he first pulled me out of there, I couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop wondering what would’ve happened if he hadn’t come for me. If he hadn’t found out where I was.
Hedidcome, though.
In some ways, that just makes it all worse.
“What do you want to talk about first, Beck?”
He breathes out slowly. Makes a production of it, if I’m honest. It’s loud because he wants it to be. He wants me to know he’s controlling himself. I concentrate on that because I need to control the chaos that’s happening inside of me, too.
“The notes. We can start there.”
That’s easy enough. I don’t even have to lie. “I don’t know where they’re coming from.”
“Do you remember when you started getting them?”
I shake my head. My grasp on time has been skewed since I moved into his place. “I… No, actually. I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“There’s nothing to tell. The letters come; I ignore them. End of story.”
“You saved them, though.”
I wish I knew how to explain that I only saved them because I was afraid to throw them away. Keeping them was a way to make them less important. Throwing them away, in my mind anyway, would’ve meant I was hiding them, afraid they meant something. If they were just moldering away in a drawersomewhere, it’d be easy to tell myself that I simply forgot about them.
“So?”
He sighs wearily. “So why did you save them?”
I close my eyes and give him my first piece of honest-to-God, actually-vulnerable truth. “Because I don’t need you to protect me.”
What I don’t add is,I can’t let myself need you. Because it will break me when you realize you don’t need me.
Half a dozen emotions pass over his face in rapid succession. Shock, recoil, disbelief, anger. More anger. Evenmoreanger. He settles on that last one.
“Really? That’s fucking fascinating. Did you want me to drop you back off at the warehouse then? Maybe see if you can figure your own fucking way out of there this time around?”
I shove him hard in the chest. “Don’t you fucking swear at me! For God’s sake, I’ve had enough of the men around me thinking they can say and do as they damned well please. Like I’ll just sit the hell back and take it. I’m sick of that. I’mdonewith that.”
He sighs again. “Fine. I won’t swear at you.”
My fingertip lingers in contact with his chest. He’s warm and pulsing beneath my touch. I wrench my hand away before the stupid part of my brain can blow that tingly feeling out of proportion.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to hire a private investigator.”
“No!” I shake my head. “That’s—I can’t ask you to do that.”
I don’t want that kind of help. What if he gets inquisitive about me, my father, my family life? I don’t want Beck to know any of that.
“You’re not asking, Sloan. Come to think of it, while we’re on the topic, it’s almost offensive how little you actually ask of me.”
“I didn’t ask you to be my superhero, Beck.” I roll my eyes, hating myself for this too-tough bitch act even as I’m in the middle of performing it. It’s obvious to everyone—me, Beck, the nearby crows on the power lines—that I’m just using it as a defense mechanism.
But I can’t stop.
