Chapter Twenty-Seven Blue #2
Jay makes another note. “This is progress, Blue. Real progress.”
“It doesn’t feel like progress. It feels like weakness.”
“Caring about someone isn’t weakness.”
“It is when caring about them makes you vulnerable. When it makes you hesitate or second-guess or—” I stop, running my hands
through my hair. “I’ve never cared about anyone the way I care about her. It’s terrifying.”
“Why terrifying?”
“Because I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to care about someone without destroying them.”
Jay sets down his pen and looks at me directly. “Tell me about your parents.”
The subject change is whiplash. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Humor me. What were they like?”
“Dead. They’ve been dead for twenty-five years.”
“Before they died. What kind of parents were they?”
“My father was a drunk who thought discipline meant breaking whatever was closest when he got angry. My mother was so afraid of him that she never spoke above a whisper.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. “They died in a car accident when I was fourteen, and I felt nothing but relief.”
“That’s a lot of trauma to carry.”
“Everyone has trauma, Jay. Not everyone becomes what I became.”
“No, but it explains why you don’t trust love. Why you think caring about someone means hurting them.”
“Because it does. Look at what I’ve done to Saylor already—kidnapped her, put her in danger, turned her into someone who stabs
people at dinner parties.”
“Did you force her to stab Leroy?”
“No, but—”
“Did you make her ask you to teach her violence?”
“She asked for that, but I could have said no.”
“Could you have?” Jay leans back in his chair. “If Saylor had asked you for something she needed, could you actually have
denied her?”
The answer is immediate and certain. “No.”
“Then you understand the difference between what your father did and what you’re doing.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Your father hurt people because he wanted to. You’re trying to protect someone because you love her.”
The word love makes me want to leave the room. “I never said anything about love.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face every time you say her name.”
“I don’t fall in love, Jay. I help people. I protect them when necessary. But I don’t fall in love.”
“Why not?”
“Because love makes you weak. It makes you careless. It makes you—”
“Human?”
The question stops me cold. Human. Like that’s something desirable instead of something to be avoided.
“I’ve spent my entire adult life learning not to be human,” I say quietly. “Being human gets people killed.”
“Being inhuman gets people killed too. Just different people.”
“At least when I’m inhuman, the people who die deserve it.”
Jay is quiet for a long moment, studying my face. “Blue, can I ask you something?”
“You’re going to whether I say yes or not.”
“When you think about Saylor, what scares you more—that she might get hurt, or that she might leave?”
The question cuts straight through every defense I’ve built. Because the truth is, I can handle the thought of fighting off
the Crow, of protecting her from external threats. But the idea of waking up one morning to find her gone, having decided
that I’m not worth the complications I bring to her life?
That terrifies me in ways I don’t have words for.
“Both,” I admit. “But if I’m honest . . . losing her scares me more than anything else.”
“And there it is.” Jay’s smile is gentle, almost proud. “You love her, Blue. For the first time in your life, you’re in love.”
“That’s not—”
“It is. And the sooner you accept it, the sooner we can figure out how to help you not screw it up.”
I stare at the chaos of his office, at the certificates on his wall, at anything that isn’t his knowing look. Love. Such a
small word for something that’s rewiring my entire nervous system.
“Assuming you’re right,” I say carefully, “what exactly am I supposed to do with that information?”
“You need to stop pretending this is just about teaching her self-defense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re in love with her, and you’re acting like her personal violence tutor instead of telling her how you feel.”
Jay leans forward. “Blue, she stabbed someone at your dinner party. That’s not normal girlfriend behavior.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Exactly my point. What is she? Your student? Your protégé? Your revenge partner?” Jay takes on that patient tone again. “Or
is she the woman you’re in love with who happens to want to learn how to kill people?”
I don’t have an answer for that, which apparently is answer enough.
“So what do I do?”
“Tell her you love her. Stop hiding behind murder lessons and start having actual conversations about what you both want.”
Jay picks up his stress ball, squeezing it thoughtfully. “And maybe stop acting like a serial killer with a teaching certificate.”
“Serial killer with a teaching certificate,” I repeat. “That’s going on my business cards.”
“I’m being serious, Blue.”
“So am I. It has a nice ring to it.”
Jay hurls his stress ball at the wall with more force than usual. “You’re impossible.”
“But I’m your favorite impossible patient.”
“You’re my only patient who brings dinner guests in body bags, so the bar is pretty low.”
My phone buzzes with a text before I can respond. Wren’s name appears on the screen, and I swipe to read her message.
Had to come to town for supplies. Need to head back. Can you give Saylor a ride home? She’s at Toil & Trouble.
The woman has a restless soul and can’t stay put, I think, already standing.
“Problem?” Jay asks.
“Wren needs me to pick up Saylor.” I pocket my phone. “She’s at Toil & Trouble.”
“Blue?” Jay calls as I reach the door. “When you see her, try using words as your love language instead of murder.”
“Right,” I say, already heading for the door.