Page 96 of Teach Me to Fly

Except…

My gaze snaps to the candle flickering on my nightstand. I lunge for it and snatch the silver lighter from beside it. It shakes in my grip as I click it a couple times, then hold the small flame up to my bare ribs. The heat makes me flinch, but I keep it there, right against my skin, because I need the burn. I need something that hurts worse than this.

But my hands shake too hard, and I can’t hold it steady, the flame lighting out.

“God fucking damnit,” I say through clenched teeth as I try again, desperate now.

The bedroom door swings open and the lighter slips from my fingers, clattering to the floor, as my eyes fly up to find Reign standing in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes wide and frantic. There’s mud on his boots like he just ran across the whole property. His eyes land on the lighter, then my bare ribs—pink and reddened—and his whole face drains of colour.

“Fuck,” he breathes, storming into the room.

He grabs the lighter and slips it into his pocket without a word, then turns to me. His hands tremble as he gently cups my waist, eyes scanning the spot where I tried to burn myself.

“You didn’t…” His voice is barely audible.

I shake my head, chest tight. “But I tried.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours, and wraps both arms around me, pulling me into his chest. I sink into him, letting him hold me there, a comforting calm taking over. Heavy footsteps echo down the hallway as Lando appears in the doorway, the phone still in his hand.

“Is she—” He freezes when he sees the scene.

“I called you at least thirty times,” Reign growls.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I—I didn’t hear anything. I thought she was napping. I was on the phone with Terry and?—”

Reign doesn’t look up. “Get out.”

Lando goes still. “Reign?—”

“I said get out!” he roars, voice ragged, breaking on the edges.

Lando flinches but doesn’t argue as he backs out of the doorway, eyes wide, and disappears down the hall without another word. I hear the front door shut, leaving just me and Reign together again.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers. “Not again. Not like this.”

And something about those words—so soft and so gutted—makes me want to crumble. His arms tighten around me, holding me so close that I feel the tremor in his chest, and that’s when I realize he’s scared. Not just angry, or furious. He’s fucking terrified.

His lips graze the tops of my head. “You need to talk to someone,” he says, his voice cautious.

My chest tightens. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“A therapist,” he murmurs. “Just someone you can talk to. Someone who knows how to help. Someone that’s not… me.”

That last part feels like a slap, and I feel my throat tighten.

Someone that’s not me.

That’s what he really means. I’m too much and he’s tired because loving me is a burden he never signed up for. I pull away from him like I’ve been burned—worse than I almost burned myself. His hands falling from my body like dead weight.

I take a step back, heart pounding now for a different reason entirely. “Wow,” I breathe. “Okay.”

He frowns, like he’s confused by the shift. “Angel?—”

“No, I get it,” I cut in, voice shaky. “You’ve been doing damage control ever since the gala. You beat Alec to a pulp, you take care of me, you carry me to bed every night, and now you’re over it. I’m too broken, right? Too much to hold on to.”

His jaw tightens. “That’s not what I said?—”

“But it’s what you meant.” My voice breaks. “You want someone else to deal with this version of me because you can’t keep cleaning up after me.”

---