Page 91 of Splitting Secrets
“You don't have to be perfect,” he tries to gently assure.
But I’m not having it. “Sure. Except that if I’m not, my life and the lives of everyone I love are on the line.” I throw my hands into the air in a loss.
“What is actually frustrating you right now? Because I know it’s not the shields. You were doing great.”
“No one wants to be forthcoming about their actions. You’re all treating me with kid gloves and simultaneously expecting the world from me,” I spout off angrily. Ever since I went into a panicked psychosis, they act like I can’t handle any conversations heavier than what’s for dinner. And while I understand their hesitancy to send me off into another episode and bring them along with me, there’s no time for niceties. I’m either going to fly or fall, but they have to let me out of the nest to try.
I don’t know what it is about him that makes me comfortable enough to complain like this. I’ll tip toe around everyone else, too afraid to offend or worry them. Too afraid to distract from what actually matters. But Raze makes me feel like I can scream all my frustrations at him, and he’ll absorb each to take them off my hands.
“Don’t allow them to make you feel like a puppet for them to control,” he rumbles. “They know that the success of their entire operation hinges on you at this point. If you want something, you’ll damn well get it. And if you don’t, they won’t get to use your gifts.”
“I mean, they aren’t wrong. I had an entire mental episode over Poppy weeks after it happened,” I dismiss sheepishly.
He stares at me, his eyes so intense it’s like being an ant under a microscope in the sun. I know he wants to say more about what happened—we haven’t had a chance to talk about it alone. Thankfully, he keeps his thoughts to himself for now.
“If you have a question, ask me. I’ll tell you the truth,” he vows, his expression earnest.
Feeling silly for the outburst, I swat my hand in the air and step toward the door. “This wasn’t supposed to be a complaint session. You’ve obviously got a lot on your plate.”
“This will be over soon,” he promises. “And then you’ll get your life back.”
Hating how heavy my heart weighs at that, I step into the hallway and leave him alone with the promise of seeing him tomorrow.
47
Sonny
I’m washing vegetables for a salad when Raze walks into the kitchen behind me. I don’t know how I know it’s him, aside from the instant reaction my body has to his presence. He sets my entire being on fire the moment he comes within a certain distance.
Neither of us has mentioned the temper tantrum I had in his room a week ago. As promised, he hasn’t been an imposition to any of us. In fact, once he and my parents got past their awkwardness from their standoff when I had my breakdown, they started working together every day. They’ve been obsessive over fine tuning the rebellion’s plans for every possible scenario where the Syndicate retaliates for his treason. All of their discussions are made right at the dining room table, instead of being hidden away and whispered in secret the way they always had before.
Part of me thinks that was his doing as a subtle attempt to let me be more involved. It’s certainly allowed me to hear someconversations I’m sure they would have rather had without me present.
Even living here, he’s too busy to offer more than a few heated looks from across the house or some random infiltrating thoughts before I find a way to make myself scarce.
Truthfully, it’s hard to fight my feelings for him when he’s so close. It’s like I’m falling for a completely different man than I knew last semester. Matilda was definitely onto something when she separated him into two sides. The current one who has been overly respectful of our boundaries and protective over me makes it hard to resent the one who tossed me into that cell. But I owe it to my friends to not sleep with the man who had a part in imprisoning us again. It’s the least I could do—even if it feels next to impossible as time wears on.
Beatrix and Ava are watching TV on the couch, and Jonah crawled back up to his room as soon as our training session with Griffin was through. For some reason, he has the hardest recovery periods.
I ran upstairs for a shower and then snuck down here for a quick snack.
Which leaves us all alone for the first time since he’s moved in.
He’s traded the stiff dress shirts and slacks every day for loose t-shirts and joggers, somehow making the casual clothing look classy and polished. I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time debating which look was hotter, and concluded that the way his muscles flex beneath the cotton of his t-shirt and the slight outline of his cock in the joggers far surpass anything else.
I’ve managed to keep my back to him, paying special attention to drying the cucumber in my hands as he moves around behind my back. It works for a few minutes until two enormous hands grip the counter on either side of me and I startle.
“You smell delicious,” he hums against my ear, making a show of running his nose along my neck and inhaling the scent.
His erection presses against my back, and my hips sway against it on their own accord.
No. We can’t do this again.
I still my body, straightening my spine until he has no choice but to back away from me before I spin around in my spot and offer an apologetic smile. “I shouldn’t do this with you after everything that’s happened,” I inform, my tone cold and detached.
“Hmm. That’s not what you said before,” he purrs against my ear.
Before. When he fell to his knees and worshipped me at my feet. We’ve managed to avoid the subject so well, I forgot how embarrassed I am over it.
