Chapter Twenty-Two
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Yeah, well, communication lasts a long time in real life, too. Don’t complain. Or I’ll give you a miscommunication instead.
Fox
By the time I’m finished telling Poem about how I’m still in the lousy person portion of my journey to redemption after my time flitting about the country doing whatever I wanted to do, I feel not only bad, but stupid.
Next to what she said about her parents and what sort of people they are… I’m practically a saint. I might as well be memorialized forever in stained-glass windows compared to what she grew up with.
In no uncertain terms, she tells me as much.
“I mean, seriously?” she grumbles, nose scrunched between rapidly drying trails of wetness.
“The fact that you even want to be better puts you above ninety percent of the population, Fox. Then, you’ve taken clear steps to show your intent to be the sort of man that you say you want to be.
And, by the way, when you’ve been taking those steps for years?
That makes you the sort of man you want to be.
You don’t want to be reliable, you are reliable, and you have been for years.
You don’t want to be hard-working and trustworthy.
You are hardworking and trustworthy—and have been for years.
Honestly, the worst thing about you at this point is how unbelievably dense you are.
I thought you were just jealous of me for taking your spot at family dinner, which is idiotic enough, but you’re out here thinking you’re a bad person?
You?” She squirms in my lap, taking my already rapidly beating heart from mach twenty straight into hyperdrive.
“You’re a jerk, obviously, but you’re not bad.
My goodness, Fox, you help old ladies, and you prioritize your sweet little niece.
And we all heard about how you donated all that money to the animal shelter so they could build another kennel room and not have to put anyone down.
The worst thing you’ve done in recent years is refuse to promote me, and you’ve just told me that that was due to your insane desire to prove that you could do it all—be all the good and responsible anyone could ever want—all on your own.
Was that a sucky choice? Sure, but it doesn’t negate all of the other choices, and your reasons weren’t nefarious, just desperate. ”
She stands, depriving me of the sweet pain her nails marking my skin provided and leaving me feeling more than a little bereft. She paces to the kitchen and back, rambling off more of the “upstanding citizen” behavior that I’ve done in my time as a Good and Decent person, according to her.
“Seriously,” she repeats, “at what point do you stop, take a look in the mirror, and realize that you aren’t just striving to be the person you want to be, but you are him?
” Agitated, she addresses Wolfe. “You knew about this nonsense?” she asks, clinging fully to her anger with him.
“And you let him walk around thinking it?”
“Of course not!” Wolfe protests. “We knew he was trying to improve, but we didn’t know how deeply it was affecting him, I swear.” He crosses his heart, then raises three fingers.
Poem is not appeased. “Whatever,” she says, dismissing him.
Hurt flashes across his face, quickly covered by acceptance.
“Wolfe didn’t do anything wrong,” I assert. Again.
Poem dismisses that, too. She comes to a stop, hands landing on her hips as she glares at me. “Are you over this stupidity yet?” she asks. “This absolute freaking nonsense about you not being a good person? Have I made my point?”
I sigh. As pleased as I am… as gorgeous as her praise feels in my chest… “I think it’s amazing that you guys think I’m so great,” I reply. “I can’t describe how much your opinions mean to me, or how grateful I am that they aren’t nearly as lowly as I think they probably should be.”
“What’s the ‘but’?” Poem cuts in, thick lashes nearly grazing as she squints at me.
“But,” I continue, “not everyone agrees with you, even beyond just me. I think it’s important to stay realistic about what I am and what I’m not.
Maybe I needed this to show me that I’m not quite as bad as I thought, but I’m not quite as good as you two think, either.
There’s a middle ground, and we need to consider that I’m living in it. ”
“Who?” Poem asks. “Who thinks poorly of you?”
I shrug, unwilling to tell her that it’s the parents she’s desperate to adopt.
“It doesn’t really matter,” I say instead.
“What matters is that I still have work to do.” My head tilts as I study her frown.
“Although…” Maybe… if I’m brave enough… if I believe enough of what she’s saying she believes…
She crosses her arms, and one of her legs peeks out from the slit in her skirt, presenting five fingertip bruises along her thigh.
I swallow, my entire being zeroing in on those bruises as if they are my meaning for life.
They just might be.
“What?” she snaps.
I blink.
Right. Train of thought. Find it. Finish it.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You said that it’s up to you what I deserve when it comes to you.”
She nods. “Right.”
“And… it’s up to me what I take from your offerings?”
“Correct.”
“Please let’s not talk about Poem’s offerings anymore,” Wolfe mumbles. “She may not want to be your sister, but she is still mine.”
“You’re not talking,” Poem barks at him. “You’re taking your punishment for being a dunce. Quietly.”
There is seriously something wrong with me, and it’s not just that I have a ways to go before I’m actually the man they think I already am. It is also the way that Poem’s livid authority heats my skin and sends my stomach swooping.
Her cool gray eyes come back to me, and the plans that felt so clear in my head a moment ago scatter like leaves in the wind.
“Am I going to have to drag every thought out of you?” she asks. “I was joking when I said you could borrow mine. You are going to occasionally have your own.”
Right. “I’m not yet the man I wish to be,” I start, forging on despite her beautifully irritated scowl. “However. You take me one step closer every time I’m with you, and you took me quite a few steps closer today in forcing me to confront things I’d rather have left unsaid and unexamined.”
Blonde brows squish together. “Okay?”
I stand and smooth out her confusion with my thumb. “What I’m saying, kit, is that you make me a better person.”
Her lip curls. “Are you going to stop saying dumb things at any point today? Pretty much the only time that you’re a jerk is when you’re around me. I quite literally bring out your worst every single time we interact.”
“No,” I disagree. “In the past, I’ve brought out my own worst in trying to resist you. Today, though? When I left that behind? I became better.” I tuck a strand of butterscotch-blonde behind her ear, allowing my fingers to linger over the delicate skin behind it.
She shivers, and a zing of satisfaction runs through me. Praise, in another form.
“What are you getting at?” she asks, pretending like her breathing hasn’t gone shallow.
“Please can I leave?” Wolfe asks. “I swear, I’ve been punished enough.”
Poem’s no is drowned out by my emphatic yes.
Wolfe wastes no time. He’s out the door and slamming the one across the hall within fifteen seconds.
“I wasn’t done with him,” Poem grumbles.
“You were,” I disagree. “Because I want to say things to you now that are only for you. I share a lot with Wolfe, but not this. Not when it matters.”
Confusion muddles her pretty gray eyes.
I sigh, reach out my arms, and pull her into my chest, pressing her head against my racing heart. I kiss her hair, then rest my chin on it.
She hugs me back, zero hesitation, tucking herself into me with a quickness that has my stomach flurrying.
I permit myself the comfort of sliding my hand down her hair, letting the sweet locks glide through my fingers as I breathe in Poem’s gentle, lilac scent.
Always the same. Steady and reliable. I could probably learn something from her in that department if I were willing to rid myself of any of my treasured scents.
Alas. Surely the only steady scent I need is Poem’s hair beneath my nose, blessing me with every breath I take.
I take many breaths now, coming down from the big emotions of my afternoon to find the softer side of them.
When she starts to get antsy, I speak. “I love you,” I declare, brushing through her hair. “I’m in love with you.”
She tries to pull away, but I don’t let her.
It’s my turn to lead this conversation, and I want it to happen with her body against mine, my hand in her hair, and her ear to my heart.
I trust that if she truly wants me to let her go, she’ll let me know with her words or with her elbow jammed in my unprotected organs.
She settles, huffing.
I smile.
My Poem. My kit. So contrary, even when she’s being sweet. So angry, even when she’s teaching me how to let go of the anger I hold for myself. So beautiful and vicious, piercing me with her nails as she forces me to stop hurting myself.
Don’t hurt yourself, she seemed to say. Let me do it for you.
And then, the pain she gave me led to healing.
She’s so freaking magical. A witch. A princess. An angel.
“I love you,” I say again, kissing her hair. “And you make me a better person, and I think that with you, I could become the man I want to be.”
“I’m not responsible for your character growth,” she grunts.
“No,” I agree. “But the way that you believe in me even after being at my throat for so long is a gift that I find precious. I treasure it. I treasure you, though it hasn’t always seemed like it.
And now, I wonder if I should stop waiting for the day when I feel I deserve you.
You know who you are. You know what you want.
You know how you feel about me.” Queasy with what I’m about to say, I take a breath to calm myself.
Then, I gather my resolve to declare, “I’m going to do what you asked.
I’m going to stop making the choice for you.
I’m going to stop holding back when I want to move forward.
I’m going to let you decide if you want me or if you don’t.
If we’re together or if we’re not. If we kiss.
If the goodness that you see within my character aligns with what you want for your life.
I’m going to lay myself at your feet every day, letting you pick what parts of me you wish to nurture, or play with, or hold close, or push away. ”
I release her to drop at her feet, my hands sliding to her calves as my cheek rests against the dip of her hip. I gaze up at her, reverent. “I’m yours, Poem, and I have been for a while. From now on, I’m going to let you see that, and I’m going to let you decide how much of me you wish to take.”
Stormy gray glares down at me, irritation marred only slightly by a lingering spark of curiosity. “What does any of that mean?” she asks. “Practically speaking, what are you saying to me?”
I answer immediately. “I’m saying that when I want to kiss you, I’m going to kiss you, and it will be your choice to slap me or kiss me back.
When I want a hug, I’ll fold my arms around you and hope that you don’t push me away.
When I want to tell you how beautiful you are, I’ll speak it, giving you the opportunity to laugh in my face or not.
I’m going to act on my thoughts unless you tell me to act otherwise.
I’m going to show you my feelings until you decide if I’m worthy or not, or if I ever could be. ”
She hums thoughtfully. “This sounds like you’re inviting me to not only decide your fate, but to torment you while I do it.”
I shrug. “Is that not what was already happening? All I’m doing is taking away the illusion that I ever had any power at all.”
Her head tilts, soft strands of blonde falling above me like golden sun rays. “And this will make you feel better?” she asks. “This will help?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But you’ve done more work on me in one afternoon than I’ve been able to do on myself in half a decade, so I think so. I hope so.”
Gently, she pushes my hair back before cupping my face in her palm.
“Then we can try that,” she agrees. “To improve your quality of life and mine, we can try that.”
And so starts my journey to forever, maybe, with me on my knees before a woman who deserves nothing less than total devotion, and her deigning to give my unworthy heart a chance.
I couldn’t dream of a better beginning.