Page 83 of Rising

“I stay with you every night.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, brushing me off.

“That’s the thing,” I said. “I don’t believe you. I think you know exactly why.”

“Then why ask if you know I won’t tell the truth?”

I pondered his question for a moment. “Because I want to hear you say it. I want to know why you hate me? Why you treated me like some worthless drunk and now you’re not only saving my life but waiting at my bedside, promising my family you’ll look after me?”

The words bit out. Months of frustration flowing in a series of questions I knew he’d likely not answer.

“You hate me too. Does it really matter?”

Another moment passed as I decided on my next words. “I don’t hate you. You’re an ass, and you trigger the hell out of me, but you’re not a bad person, Alexi.”

His brows furrowed in response to my choice of name before breaking my stare, pretending to scan the perimeter for danger. My cheeks flushed, a warm feeling flowing through my body as I worked to push it away.

“I am,” he said plainly, insinuating it was fact. “And you shouldn’t act like I’m not.”

The way he’d said it, a definitive. I waited, letting him decide where the conversation would go.

“I came here to kill you Amaia.”

A chill passed over, but I scooted closer. Ignoring the words of warning echoing in my mind.He wouldn’t hurt me. The trusting innocent girl who’d disappeared the moment the world went to shit, rooted in my head, letting me know it was okay.

“But you didn’t,” I replied.

“I could. I’ve got nothing but time left and an open road to do it.”

“You could try,” I teased him, “but you won’t.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Probably not.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Odd thing, you know? You don’t seem the least bit phased.” He tossed back.

The answer was simple enough for me. So much of my world revolved around me single-handedly determining the fate of other people I didn’t even know. “Because I probably did something to deserve it.”

“You did.”

“Yet here we sit.”

“Because I don’t think you’re that person anymore,” he said. “Or the person I thought you were, or whatever. You’re not who I expected.”

“Oh yeah, and what did you expect?” My voice had grown wary, nervous that the next words would send me back down the hole I’d worked to pull myself out of.

He tensed up. “I should find a place to rinse off, too. I’ll be back.” He wiped his hands along his cargos, standing to walk away.

My fingers curled around his wrist, pulling him down.

“No. Please, stay.” I pleaded.

“Or what? You’ll pull me back with a ring of fire?”

I blushed at my behavior, guilt creeping forward in acknowledgement of how I’d treated him those first days.

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