Page 99 of Kneel with the King
“He’s an observer,” she says, then bumps my shoulder with hers. “So am I. And from my vantage point, your whole fake relationship is starting to look real.”
My chest tightens and my hands won’t stop flexing around the cup, and I need to say… something.Anything.
“It’s not real.” I pick at the edge of the lid. “We’re still pretending for Walter. For different reasons now, because of the acquisition, but yeah.”
“And when you’re not pretending? Like the way you paced the doctor’s room when he got hurt? Or the way your eyes never left his, never stopped asking questions like an attentive and caring partner?”
I picture his arm heavy across my waist earlier. The way he said“Good boy”like a confession. The way my body answered to his voice before my brain could come up with a reason why.
I swallow. “I don’t know what we are when we’re not pretending.”
“Do you need to know right now?”
Yes. No. Maybe. “I need to not—” My hands make a useless shape in the air. “—feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like if I let go, I’ll fall and never stop.”
She’s quiet for a beat. The fire snaps behind us, making it sound and smell like Christmastime. Somewhere in the restaurant, someone begins stacking plates.
“Sometimes, safety can feel like falling when you’re used to living on the edge. Sometimes, safety feels scary and unpredictable. Especially when you’ve trained your body to live on ledges,” she says. “Stillness can be scarier than chaos.”
I stare at her. “Did they teach you that in yoga school?”
She grins. “No. In life. But also, yes. You’d be surprised at the amount of people who are downright terrified of yoga and meditation, because it causes them to be still.”
I snort despite myself. The coffee is starting to work through my veins, and the edges of my awareness don’t feel as dull.
The words from therapy a few days ago float through my mind. Marina had made a good point:“You don’t have to be completely unarmed to be vulnerable. You can still carry the sword. You just have to choose connection over being right—over raising your sword first.”
“It’s not just… the feelings aspect,” I say. “He’s acquiring my firm. My whole life’s work. I can’t—this can’t—” I break off, suddenly aware of how close I am to saying something I can’t take back. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is, with the good ones,” she says lightly. “I know it’s painful to bring it up, but look at Ari and Maddox. Look at how they found each other, and the ruin they left in their wake.”
“It’s not painful,” I tell her quickly. “Hearing about them or remembering how it all happened. I do get angry sometimes, but it doesn’t necessarily hurt. Truth be told, I’m not sure I can feeldeepenough to hurt.”
She gives me a pitying look. “That’s so sad, Asher.”
I shrug. “It’s true.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” she replies quickly. “I’ve watched you with Ambrose this week. Whatever label you wantto give yourselves can wait, but the effect of the two of you connecting—the way you both look rested and satisfied—your nervous system doesn't lie. You look…safe.Even if your head isn’t there yet.”
The word safe lands in my chest with a thud.Safe. I don’t know what to do with that. I’m usually the safety. I’m the steady paycheck and the plan and the contingency. I’m not the one people wrap themselves around at five a.m. like a human weighted blanket.
I’m the one people leave, in order to find someone more exciting.
“I should prep for… something,” I say, standing too fast. “I can’t remember. The… uh, schedule.”
“Therapy at ten,” she reminds me gently.
My mouth flattens. “Maybe.”
Her head tilts. “Avoidance works… until it doesn’t.”
I force a smile that feels like it cracks somewhere deep. “Thanks, Dr. Ava.”
She squeezes my forearm as I pass. Warm palm, light pressure.
