Chapter 13 Hektor #2
He hated that she had to assemble the truth from fragments, from overheard context and pointed glances.
He hated even more that he had been the one to leave those gaps.
It hadn’t been malice or manipulation. It had been avoidance.
He told himself it hadn’t mattered because Eleonora was firmly in the past, because his feelings for Zara were real and immediate and consuming.
But standing there, watching Zara’s expression tighten as she tried to reconcile what she was seeing with what she’d been told, he realized intent didn’t erase impact.
There was also fear threaded through it, low and sharp.
Not fear of losing face or of gossip or of Nyxion’s shadow.
Fear of naming things too soon. Fear that if he said the wrong thing, or said too much, he would tip something fragile and new into a shape it wasn’t ready to hold.
Loving Zara felt inevitable to him in a way that was deeply unsettling.
It made him want to protect her, yes, but it also made him want to protect himself.
To keep certain doors closed until he was absolutely sure he wouldn’t fail her by opening them.
So he shut down instead. Defaulted to silence. Control. Distance.
And as he stood there, watching her wait for him to meet her halfway, he knew that instinct might cost him far more than any careless word ever could.
He also didn’t know where to begin.
All the versions of the explanation tangled in his head the moment he tried to shape it.
If he started with Eleonora, it sounded like history that carried more weight than it deserved.
If he started with Nyxion, it felt political, strategic, like he was justifying alliances instead of acknowledging feelings.
And if he started with Zara, with what she meant to him, the words pressed too close to truths he hadn’t fully spoken aloud even to himself.
How did he explain a past that he now knew hadn’t been about love?
A relationship built on what was supposed to happen rather than what he chose?
How did he tell her that Eleonora had never occupied his heart the way people assumed, that what lingered was not emotion but obligation, habit, and the echo of a path he’d assumed he had to walk?
He feared that any attempt would sound like minimization, like he was dismissing something that, to Zara, clearly mattered now.
Worse, he didn’t know how to explain himself.
His silence. His instinct to compartmentalize.
The way Drakkon culture had taught him to endure, to carry weight alone, to speak only when words were final and unchangeable.
He was used to handling conflict with action, not confession.
With control, not vulnerability. Zara asked questions that required him to open his chest and let someone see the mechanisms inside, and he wasn’t practiced at that.
Not with someone who could actually be hurt by what she found there.
So he stalled. He let the moment slip because he didn’t trust himself to say it right.
He finally looked at her, really looked, and the emotion hit him all at once.
Not the sharp heat of jealousy or the tight coil of anger, but something heavier and more dangerous.
Care. The kind that loosened his grip on himself.
For once, he let his mental blocks drop. Not all the way, but enough that the noise quieted and the truth pressed close. He was still confused, still sorting through years of instincts and unspoken rules, but he knew one thing with aching clarity. He didn’t want to lose her by hiding.
“I need some time,” he said quietly. Not an excuse. A request. “Just…a little time to get my head straight. To say this right.”
She searched his face, reading more than his words, and then she nodded. No dramatics. No accusations. Just that soft, steady understanding that made his chest tighten.
“Okay,” she said simply.
And somehow, that single word carried more trust than he felt he deserved.
A Drakkon stumbled up to them with a drink sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his glass. His scales were flushed, his smile a little too loose to be polite. He squinted at Hektor, then broke into a wide grin.
“Hektor,” he said loudly, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Didn’t think I’d see you back so soon. Last time you skipped one of these, it was because of Eleonora.”
Hektor froze.
The Drakkon kept going, oblivious. “She used to hate these races, you know. Said the dust got everywhere. Funny how things change.” He laughed at his own joke, then finally noticed Zara. His gaze lingered a beat too long. “Oh. New company?”
Zara smiled, polite and distant. Hektor felt it immediately, the way her body shifted just slightly away from him. “This is Zara,” he said, voice controlled. “You’ve had enough.”
The Drakkon blinked, then chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Right.” He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Still, seeing Nyxion here with Eleonora and all…brings back memories, doesn’t it?”
Hektor stepped forward, effectively blocking Zara from view. “Go find some water.”
The Drakkon raised his hands in surrender and wandered off, muttering to himself.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The roar of the crowd swelled again as another heat began, but it felt far away.
“I think I’m ready to go home,” Zara said quietly.
Hektor didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
They left without looking back, and the walk through the grounds felt longer than before, the excitement replaced by the scrape of gravel and distant cheers. Zara was silent, her gaze fixed ahead. Not angry. Just closed off in a way that unsettled him far more.
The drive back through his neighborhood passed in near silence. The mountains rose dark and familiar; the roads winding gently, but none of it eased the tightness in his chest.
When he pulled into the garage, Zara unbuckled immediately. The engine barely stopped before she opened the door and stepped out, moving away from the car with quiet urgency. She didn’t slam the door. She didn’t sigh. She just put space between them as quickly as she could.
He found her in the kitchen with a glass of water pressed to her lips. She didn’t turn when he came in.
“Things are weird,” he said quietly.
“Yeah.”
The simple agreement felt heavier than an argument would have.
Then she finally looked at him, and the hurt in her eyes hit him like a physical blow. Not anger. Not an accusation. Hurt. Clean and sharp and unmistakable.
“You lied to me,” she said.
His heart dropped hard into his chest. Instinct made him reach for denial, for space. “About what?” he asked, too carefully.
“No,” she said, voice tightening. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like that.” She set the glass down, the sound sharp against the stone. “You didn’t tell me about Eleonora ending up with Nyxion.”
“There’s nothing there,” he said immediately. “There hasn’t been for a long time.”
“There is something,” she shot back, “because you didn’t say anything.
“Standing there today, watching people look at me like I was the last one to arrive at a story everyone else already knew. I felt stupid, Hektor. Like a fool.”
“That wasn’t my intention,” he said. “It didn’t even occur to me to bring it up because it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” she said. “All you had to do was tell me. Just tell me. And there wouldn’t have been a problem.”
He exhaled, frustration creeping in despite himself. “Why are you being like this?” he asked. “We’re having fun, aren’t we? We’re good. We’ve been good.”
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. She shook her head once, small but decisive.
“That’s the problem,” she said softly. “You think this is just fun.”
The words landed between them, heavier than anything she’d said before.
He stared at her, suddenly unsure of the ground he was standing on, realizing too late that what he had dismissed as unimportant had already cracked something fragile and real.
“Do you love me?” she asked, the words coming out in a rush. “Because I love you.”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he crossed the space between them, slow and deliberate, like he was afraid one wrong move would shatter her. The silence stretched, thick and painful.
“What,” she said, voice breaking, “you’re really not going to say anything?”
Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping her upright. “I can’t feel it,” she whispered. “I don’t feel that you do. And I can’t accept it like this.”
He looked down at her, at the shine in her eyes, she refused to let fall, at the stubborn lift of her chin that had nothing to do with confidence anymore and everything to do with self-preservation.
“Do you love me?” she asked again, quieter this time.
“Zara,” he said, and her name sounded like an apology.
He lifted his hands and cradled her face, thumbs warm against her cheeks, grounding himself in the reality of her.
He felt too much. That was the cruel irony of it.
The pull, the protectiveness, the way his world had quietly rearranged itself around her presence.
It was all there, crowding his chest, demanding space he didn’t know how to give.
But the words she needed, the certainty she was asking for, lodged somewhere he couldn’t reach.
He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed, breathing her in. “I care about you,” he said softly, and hated how small it sounded compared to what burned inside him.
Her grip loosened.
That hurt more than if she’d pushed him away.
She didn’t pull back, didn’t cry, didn’t accuse him again. She just stood there, letting the truth settle between them, heavy and unresolved, while he held her face like he might lose her if he didn’t.
Hektor realized that wanting her wasn’t the same thing as being ready for her.
“I’m sorry.”