Page 27 of The Rebel King

I stop, tilting her head up so I can look into her eyes.

“Nix?” I ask, fearing I’ve hurt her—that by not waiting I’ve ruined something that should always be pure between us.

“Don’t stop,” she says through her sobs. “Please. This is what I needed. Oh, God. Please don’t stop, Doc.”

She grabs my ass, pushes me back in deep again.

“Shit,” I hiss.

“I’m not hurt,” she says, but tears still clot her words. “I just love you so much. Nothing’s ever felt like this.”

God, hearing it this way strips any final defense I may have had. Yesterday she said “same” when I told her I loved her. To hear her say it outright with such an offering of emotion is more than I can take. My pace picks up, and I plunge in relentlessly.

“I love you.” She reaches until she finds my hand to link our fingers. “Don’t stop.”

Her love is a potion that makes me crazed—that makes me come harder than I ever have in my life. The world literally goes black for a moment as I empty myself into her body in the most elemental way a man can.

When I’ve spent everything, we fall onto the bed, and I pull her back into me, stroking her damp hair and kissing the curve of her shoulders, caressing the swell of her hip, tangling our legs together.

“I love you,” I whisper into her hair. I feel so reverent when I say it. We exchanged those words like sacred prayers. With our bodies, through our confession, we made our own religion. She is the temple, and I am the priest, worshipping.

“I love you, too,” she says, her voice still shaken with emotion, with tears.

“Are you okay?” I’m afraid of her answer but prepared to do whatever she needs if she says no.

“I will be okay,” she says, turning over to look at me after a few moments. “It may take some time, but you love me, and I will be okay.”

CHAPTER 11

LENNIX

“So how are you really?”

Mena’s question pokes the pat answers I’ve given everyone except Maxim since we returned from Costa Rica two days ago. I can’t hide anything from him. I don’t want to. Kimba, Vivienne, my dad—they’ve all asked how I am, but I don’t know if they’re ready to hear how this has affected me. Or maybe I’m just not ready to admit it to anyone. But ever since the Sunrise Dance, Mena and I have shared a unique bond no one else understands. She probes when others take me at my word.

“I’m getting there,” I settle on saying. “I talked to my therapist on the phone yesterday and told her some of what happened. She’s prepared to tailor some sessions to make sure I’m processing things the right way. We’re meeting next week.”

“I’m glad,” Mena says.

She takes a bite of the blue-corn pancakes she’s prepared for us. “These turned out pretty good.”

“They’re delicious. I need the recipe. I love that you’ve been cooking with so many original ingredients.” I wash down a mouthful of the pancakes with a sip of my tea. “I need to get back to that. I’m always so busy, I end up doing too much takeout.”

“We’ve been focusing on ancestral eating, just understanding values-based food choices before colonialism and industrialization.”She takes a small bite of her corn pancakes. “Revolutionary. Jim’s cholesterol was a little high at his last annual. The doctor wanted to put him on some meds, which we’ll do if we have to, but I wanted to try following a more ancestral eating lifestyle first. His numbers are already better.”

“That’s awesome.” I pull up one leg and rest my chin on my knee as we sit at the dining-room table. “I know my therapist will help me process everything, but I also think there are some basics I need to get back to that will help me heal.”

“Like what?” Mena asks, sipping her freshly squeezed juice.

“Running.” I drag my fork through the maple syrup on my plate. “I dreamt of Mama when I was there, Auntie.”

“You dream of her often, though, right?”

“Yes, but in this dream she told me to run. Remember when I was a water protector in high school? The marathons I organized and all the running I did to preserve our culture and fight for what I believed in.”

“You’re still fighting. Just in a different way. Politics is a complex path to get our people what they need. Not everyone can do what you and Jim do—can navigate this cutthroat world so well. You’re doing good work.”

“Thanks, Auntie, but I do think running may help me. Not just physically, but in other ways, too. It made me feel connected to the land, to our struggle in a way that nothing else does.”

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