Page 82 of Cherish

Just the idea is devastating.

“The Vampire Court is your legacy. If you want it—”

“That abomination is not my legacy,” he snaps back.

It’s the first real emotion he’s shown since I discovered Cyrus’s destroyed office, and it has me rearing back in surprise.

He notices—of course he does—and ends up taking a deep breath of his own and blowing it out slowly. When he starts again, his voice is perfectly pleasant, even if the look in his eyes is still a little hot.

“What you and I are building together is my legacy, Grace. The Gargoyle Court will be my legacy. Our life, our children, will be my legacy—our legacy. And if I want to tell the Vampire Court to go fuck itself, then that’s exactly what I’ll do. But the rest?” He shakes his head, lets out a quiet sigh. “Letting you see the shit going on in my head right now as I try to unravel everything that is and was? I’m not ready to unfold for you like that. Not yet. And maybe not ever. Can you be okay with that?”

I want to tell him that I can—that I will—but the truth is, I just don’t know. I don’t need him to tell me everything inside him, but the big stuff? The remodeling the Vampire Court/taking a sledgehammer to your father’s office/coming up with a plan that you think will somehow offset our duties to the Circle? Yeah, that’s the stuff I want to hear about.

But then I think about everything Hudson’s gone through to get right here, to this moment. The pain and the trauma that will live inside him forever—and that he may never unfold for me to deal with alongside him. And the truth is, I have to be okay with what he’s asking. He went through hell in that Court—at the hands of his father, yes, but also at the hands of everyone else who knew about it and never tried to stop it, either.

It’s only natural that dealing with all of this—the Court, the abdication, the lack of leadership in the Court trying to pull him back—is stirring up the hellish trauma of his life there. He’s spent a long time burying it, ignoring it, making himself and his life the way he wants it to be. But trauma never stays buried, and I can only imagine what all that pain is doing to him now that he can’t ignore it. Now that he can’t control it on his own terms.

And instead of helping him deal with it, instead of accepting the parts he’s willing to share, I keep pushing for more. Keep pushing to understand what I don’t think he himself can understand yet.

Which pretty much makes me the arsehole in this situation and not him.

Because it’s never anyone’s right to tell someone else how, when, or even if they should deal with their trauma. Even their mate.

“Hey.” I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. He’s stiff against me, his whole body braced as if for another attack, and I hate that he feels like that. Hate even more that I’m now one more thing in his life he has to brace himself against.

“I’m in no hurry,” I tell him as I rub soothing circles on his back.

He stiffens slightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I’m willing to wait as little or as long as it takes for you to unfold this part of your life for me. And if you never can, then that’s okay, too. I just want you to know that whatever you do, whatever you say, whatever you decide about the Vampire Court, I’m here for you, Hudson. Nothing is going to change that.”

He nods, but he doesn’t relax, and for a second I’m afraid it’s too little, too late. That I’ve already pushed too hard and doubted too much and his trauma won’t let him find his way back from that. But then he shudders against me, his arms wrapping tight around me, and I know that when it comes to us, everything is going to be okay.

The rest of the world may burn, but we’ll be at the center of it all. Fireproof. And for now, that’s all that matters.

I start to tell him so, but before I can, Tiola stands at the open door and calls, “Can I come in?”

“Of course!” Hudson answers, so desperate to escape this conversation that he nearly stumbles in his effort to get away from me.

“Mama made breakfast, Grace,” she says. “So you need to hurry up or it’s going to get cold.”

“Well, then, I’d better get a move on.”

He glances back at me as we exit the bathroom, and I give him a sharp look, letting him know that I might be willing to wait for him to talk to me, but that doesn’t mean we run in the middle of a conversation—no matter how uncomfortable.

Breakfast is the last thing I want right now, but it would be rude to say so when Maroly obviously went out of her way to make it for us. Plus, who knows the next time we’ll actually get a chance to eat?

“Come on, Tiola,” I say, holding out a hand to her. “Let’s go see if your mom made any homemade parmallow rolls.”

“She did, she did, she did!” Tiola answers, clapping her hands. “And they should be cool enough to eat now.”

“Well, let’s go get some. My mouth is watering already.”

“That’s because my mom makes the best parmallow rolls in the whole world.”

I start to say that she really does—and I had plenty of the sweet breakfast rolls when I lived in Adarie, so I should know—but then realize I wouldn’t know that if this was my first time here. I wouldn’t even know what parmallow rolls are.

The thought has a weight settling in my stomach, but I ignore it as I follow Tiola toward the kitchen. And say instead, “Well, I can’t wait to try them!”

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