Page 80 of So Close

“Well, I love every bit of you.” Your hand strokes down the curve of my spine, soothing, when it’s you who should be comforted. “I’ll say it as often as you need to hear it: Nothing can change how I feel about you. You empower people, too. It’s your gift.”

I take a deep breath, then let it go. My pliant body sinks into your embrace.

“So,” you begin, “our friend Val … Big guy, tall, bald and has a thing for flashy cars?”

Apprehension grips me. “Yes, that’s Val.”

“He sent the flowers – personally.” You tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Does he want you? The money? Both?”

“No. He wantsyou– dead.”

Your entire body stiffens.

“You have to understand the way they think, Kane. On the surface, I appeared to achieve everything my mother wanted for me. I was independent, men were entertainment, and I was accountable to no one. Then I fell in love with you, and everything changed. You were the catalyst, so you have to go. And while my mother didn’t have the first clue about love, she knew that killing you would be the final stage of my development. I would be truly ruthless then.” Closing my eyes, I let my forehead rest against your chest. “If something ever happened to you, I would become the thing she always hoped I would be –her.”

Your lips press hard to the crown of my head. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“Val will follow my mother’s wishes. That’s the message of the flowers: he’s gunning for you. Because if he lets me have you, he fails her, and he won’t fail.”

Shifting a little, I gauge whether you’ll let me pull away. Your grip tightens, holding me in place.

“Don’t regret falling in love with me,Setareh. I’d rather have five minutes with you than fifty years with someone else.”

Furious, I push you away. “Damn it, Kane. You have to put yourself first! You have to love yourself first. Don’t justacceptthis. You should be furious that my selfishness has put you in mortal danger.”

You look at me with an arched brow. “Cut the shit. I’m not in the mood.”

My temper flares. “I’m just a moving target, something you’re perpetually trying to earn because you don’t think you deserve love. Thanks to your parents, you don’t believe it’s possible for someone to love you, not really. Who are you if you’re not the man trying to deserve Lily?”

You throw up one hand and turn away.“Don’t start with the fucking psychobabble.”

But I can’t stop. You’re not reacting the way I need you to. Where’s the disgust? The anger? The fear? Where’s therage?“We’re codependent. Everything about us reinforces negative behaviors in the other, don’t you see?”

“Is this when you give me a summary of one of your psych classes?”

“You think earning my love will complete you, but it’s become an obsession that undermines you.”

“Okay, fine. You want to fight?” You pivot to face me. “You’re on. I’m pissed enough about those fucking flowers.” You grab me by the arms and give me a firm shake. “Every person on this planet is a little nuts. You’ve never been happier than when you’re with me. I would never have become the man I am without you. Who gives a shit if your disorder does something with my disorder and reinforces whatever-the-fuck? It’s not crazy if it works.”

Night has descended like a shroud. The house is still and quiet, a dark sentinel protecting us from the world outside. You’re a shadow, your eyes glittering stars.

“Stop,” you say gruffly, releasing my arms to cup my face in both hands. “Stop that now.”

I don’t realize I’m crying until you brush the tears away with your thumbs. You press soft, gentle kisses all over my face, murmuring loving words and words of understanding I don’t deserve or even want. I hold you by the wrists, soaking up your torrential love like scorched earth because you’re right; we work. We make each other happy. But this isn’t what I wanted for you. In that perfect world we fantasized about days ago, we’d never hurt anyone, especially not each other.

In the deceptively coaxing murmur of a lover, you ask, “How much of what you’ve told me is the truth? A rough percentage will suffice.”

I push at your chest, but it’s like pushing a brick wall. “How can you ask me that?”

Wry amusement curves your lips. “You lie like you breathe – without thinking twice.”

That’s not true; I think about it a great deal. Piqued, I taunt you. “Maybe everything I’ve told you is a lie.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s truth in there somewhere.” Your thumb strokes over my cheekbone. Your gaze is on my mouth, the part of me that voices deceit. But the look in your eyes is still hotly sexual.

We must have been irredeemable people in our past lives. There must be some reason karma should see fit to lock us together in a boundless love that comes at a dreadful cost to so many.

“How can you love me if you don’t trust me?” I challenge.

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