Page 63 of Wicked Devotions: Part 2

“I know.” He takes it from me as I hand it back over to him, setting it carefully back in place. He takes a deep breath and turns to me. “Harper told me she loves me last night.”

My smile is immediate, that’s a big step for her. I remember how uncomfortable she used to be telling me. “That’s great. I’m happy for you guys.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re not upset? Or jealous?”

“No.” I don’t think I need to be.

“Not threatened?”

“Again, no.” I lean against his desk and stretch my legs out. “You love her, so why should I be worried about her loving you? Are you jealous of me?”

“I have been, but not really anymore.”

“Threatened?”

“Yes.”

“Are you looking for me to ease your mind?”

“Fuck.” He drops to his bed and runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just can’t stop worrying about you changing your mind eventually. What if you wake up someday and want her to yourself?”

“Change my mind about being asexual and being in polyamorous relationship with the four of you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never had any desire to have sex, and I honestly don’t see it happening for me. I just don’t, and I wish I could explain it better so you’d be more at peace with it, but I can’t. As for changing my mind, I don’t want anything except Harper’s happiness, and hopefully that includes me in her life forever. Hell, I want to marry her. I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what worries me. You have so much history with her.”

“So? You’re creating your own history and memories, which I know mean as much to her as the ones we share.”

It hits me that what he’s actually feeling is insecurity, I can see it in the way his shoulders roll forward and how difficult it is for him to look me in the eye. My eyes are drawn back to the photo of his mother. I want to help him understand and feel at ease, but I’m not sure how far to push. Then again, he’s never shied away from being blunt nearly to the point of rudeness with me.

“What are you the most worried about?” I ask him. “What keeps you up at night about this situation?”

“That I’ll wake up one day, and she’ll be gone.”

“With me?”

He pauses to think. “I mean in general, but you’re the most obvious reason.”

I walk over and take a seat beside him. It’s probably not wise to put myself within punching distance considering what I’m about to say but fuck it. Someone needs to say it.

“Have you been to therapy?” I grab the photo and hand it to him. “To deal with the grief and loss of your mom?”

He snatches it from my hand and sets it back on the table. “Are you saying I have mommy issues?”

“Yes.” I brace for what I believe to be an inevitable strike. When one never comes, I turn my head to find him staring at his knees.

“I haven’t been. Dad wanted me to go when I was younger, but I refused.”

“I’m shocked,” I say dryly.

“Fuck off,” he says with no heat.

“Hard pass.”

He snorts a laugh. “I wish you weren’t likable. No one’s ever told me I have mommy issues before.”

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