CHAPTER THIRTY #3
Deckard forced himself to calm down, relaxing his shoulders. “It’s all right if you don’t,” he promised. “We’re going to live up to two centuries. Children will just add to the list of those we’ll lose. I don’t mind giving that up.”
With a cold look across her face, Evylin stared at him. “What else are you willing to give up for me?” she asked. “Everything?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not fair.”
Deckard smiled gently. “I don’t mind making sacrifices for you.”
“No,” she returned sharply. “It’s not fair to me.”
He blinked, confused.
“Why are you the only one who gets to prove their love through sacrifice?” she demanded.
Deckard gaped at her, unsure of what to say.
“I love you too,” she continued. “And I’d like the chance to show you that.
Yet, not only do you refuse to let me make a choice for your betterment over mine, but you’re also so busy loving me well that you won’t let me know who you truly are.
You withhold yourself to let me be happy. That isn’t fair.”
Deckard stared at her. Emotions churned through the room like the sea, heightening the tension in his chest. He couldn’t even tell whose feelings were whose as frustration, resentment, admiration, impatience, anxiety, and desire spun through the room.
The feelings were potent and intense. And he couldn’t keep his head above their swelling depths.
“What do you want me to do?” he whispered weakly.
“Tell me about yourself,” she pleaded. “That is what I want. That’s what will make me happy.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me what you want.”
He shook his head, unable to find the answer. “I don’t like talking about myself, Evylin.”
“But I like knowing about you,” she pressed.
He fell silent, staring at the rug beneath their feet.
Evylin took a single step toward him. “Why does it bother you so much?” she whispered gently.
Despite the soothing emotion she emitted, Deckard’s frustration couldn’t be calmed. “Because it’s not worth discussing,” he said flatly.
Her nose scrunched. “It’s you we’re discussing.”
With no reply inside him, he simply turned away with a sigh.
“Why do you think it’s not worth it?” she asked, a deep sympathy drifting through the air. “That you’re not worth it?”
The comment struck Deckard, its truth unadorned. A nervous laugh slipped out of him. “It’s not like that,” he lied. “I just don’t want people paying attention to me.”
Evylin stared at him for a single heartbeat before scoffing.
“You do remember the job you had when we met, don’t you?
” He frowned, but she kept on. “You spoke in front of hundreds of people, over and over again, giving a bloody fantastic speech. In each settlement in the Shire, you stood before every last citizen, and they all paid attention to you. And do you remember what you told them?”
“Evie—”
“You said you wanted to be the man who made the difference.” She smiled widely as though the answer should be blatant to him. “How much more attention could you ask for, Jonn?”
Deckard ground his teeth. He’d heard this argument; he’d been charged with this delusion of grandeur before.
“Did Hewitt tell you this?” he asked coldly.
“Has he convinced you that I want to be Euon Sergus? Or perhaps a living legend like he was? He’s wrong.
I have no interest in being so important. ”
Evylin’s brow tipped up knowingly. “What’s so wrong with being important? Why can’t you admit that you like admiration?”
Her blatant disregard for his denial grated against his scruples.
His hands trembled at his sides, and the Night Relic weighed heavily around his neck.
Certain that it was affecting his unruly emotions, Deckard quickly removed it from beneath his collar and pulled it over his head.
He thrust it onto the nightstand, yet his irritation did not settle.
With his back to Evylin, he squeezed his eyes shut. Why couldn’t she let it go? His wants, his dreams, his desires—they were meaningless. They were wrong. He would happily let her have the future she’d promised to Ryen and ignore the selfish urges of his heart.
“Jonn,” her voice was loving but adamant, “you’re worth admiring.”
The sentiment pierced his gut like a blade. He clenched his jaw, trying to control his anger and the fear that her statement had awakened.
“Do you know what that would mean?” he asked, his voice low and rough. He turned slowly to face her, settling a demanding glare on her. “Do you realize what that sort of life would look like? I wouldn’t belong to you, Evylin. I would belong to everyone else. The entire nation would rely on me.”
Her expression slackened as he took a step closer.
“Do you understand the sort of weight that entails?” he demanded, his voice rising uncontrollably.
“The kind of work and sacrifice that takes from a person. Life stops for you. It isn’t about what you want or what you desire; it’s about what’s best for everyone else.
I don’t want that responsibility. I can’t carry it! ”
Deckard’s throat was raw from the fury of those last words ripping out of him.
Evylin stared at him, wide-eyed and jaw slack. He didn’t need the Bond to reveal her shock. However, the magical link sent a cold wave of fear crashing into him. Her fear.
Evylin was afraid of him.
“Oh, Allore,” Deckard muttered, guilt instantly rising in his gut.
He never yelled, not at anyone, not even his soldiers.
She stood frozen, staring up at him. Desperately, anxiously, he raised his trembling hands to her arms, deeply grateful that she didn’t flinch away but rather leaned into his touch.
“Evylin,” her name rushed out of him, “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean . . .”
“No,” she whispered fiercely, her amber eyes glassy with unshed tears.
“It’s all right. I didn’t realize . . .” An air of heavy compassion pressed through the air around them.
“Do you always feel this way?” she asked tenderly, her hands coming to rest on his arms too.
“That everything comes down to your perfection, to your actions.”
He had no answer.
Evylin sighed somberly. “We don’t have to talk about this,” she promised. “I understand now.”
“Evie—”
She shushed him, pressing into his chest as her arms went around him. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered against him. “I understand.”
Deckard closed his eyes, resting his cheek on top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he said again, holding her close. “I’m so sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated. “I love you. I won’t push you like this again.”