22. Chapter Twenty-Two
I’ve hurt him … but how? On my way to Fynn’s, I replay the conversation non-stop. He said that he wished the one-night stand had been longer, right? What else could he have possibly meant? Not a relationship … right?
No, that can’t be it. He’s pushed me away far too many times to even think that could be it. Plus, he never quit the Battle Gym. As far as I know, he’s never considered it. Neither have I. Clearly, that’s not the reason.
So what upset him?
The answer still hasn’t appeared by the time I land at Fynn’s. On the way here, I texted to make sure he was home so I could drop the leftovers off. Something Trinte was supposed to do, but since I’ve pissed him off …
Inhaling a fortifying breath, I knock on the door. Within a few seconds, Fynn answers, smiling. “Hey Kyri.” He eyes the bag in my hand. “How was it?”
I hand over the prize and grin. “Delicious. Definitely a good option.”
Fynn motions for me to come in. “Want to tell me about it? Orliana isn’t due home for another hour.”
I step inside, popping off my shoes. Fynn leads me to the kitchen and opens the bag, pulling out the containers.
“Do you think Orliana will like the menu?” he asks, opening the container with dessert options.
I sit on one of the chairs, ignoring the heaviness of my heart. Trinte’s right — neither Fynn nor Orliana deserve the weight of our drama. “Definitely. He veers into the world of garlic with enthusiasm, and she loves garlic.”
He chuckles, grabbing a plate and fork from a cabinet. “I’ve learned that. Never met anyone so enamored with it.”
I snort. “I swear she’d subsist on it for the rest of her life as long as noodles were the conduit.”
Grinning, he sits across from me and takes a bite of the cake. Humming with appreciation, he asks, “What did Trinte think?”
At the mention of his brother’s name, my insides deflate. “I think he liked it.”
Clearly, I’ve failed to school my features because Fynn frowns. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” It comes out too quickly.
Fynn’s frown deepens. There’s an edge to his voice as he repeats, “Kyri, what happened?”
Goddess fucking damnit; tears swell as my cheeks heat from embarrassment. Fynn drops the fork, rushing to grab a box of tissues. Placing it on the table, he sits next to me, scanning my face anxiously.
Is this why Orliana adores him so much?
“Hey,” he says gently, handing me a tissue. “What happened? Do I need to go kick my brother’s ass?”
I chuckle mirthlessly, dabbing at a tear. “No. It’s my fault. All of it’s my fault, Fynn.”
Orliana obviously kept my secret, our secret, because Fynn looks completely lost. “I don’t understand what’s going on between the two of you.”
It’s not fair for him to be the only one of us four with no clue, so I give him the highlights. When I’m done, Fynn’s expression is shuttered. Which makes the hurting in my heart worse. It confirms that I’ve caused more pain than I ever intended.
“See?” I sniffle. “It’s my fault. The moment we agreed that neither of us would quit the gym, we should’ve shaken hands and parted ways.”
Fynn sits back, not correcting me. Renewed tears well in my eyes.
“Trinte is a complicated man,” he starts, the words coming out slowly. Cautious. “I don’t know how much of himself he’s shared—”
“Nothing,” I say bitterly. “I know basically nothing.”
Fynn nods, unsurprised. “Trinte keeps things … close.” At my unimpressed look, he chuckles, but it’s grim. “If it makes you feel any better, he barely shares with me. He’s like a bottomless vault with no key. There’s so much of his life I know nothing about, and will probably never know about.”
Fynn looks away, misty-eyed. His voice cracks as he continues. “I’m not going to divulge my brother’s past, of the bits I’m aware of, but he’s been hurt, Kyrielle.” He looks back at me. “Badly.”
I rub a hand against my chest, trying to soothe the growing ache. “Was it the Weyr reunion? Orliana didn’t tell me what happened, but he just seems so different since.”
Fynn looks at the uneaten dessert. “Let’s just say that something happened and his reaction almost killed a lot of people.”
I sit back in the chair violently, shocked. Trinte? Almost killing people? I’m struggling to visualize it. “Was it a justified reaction?”
“Yes,” he says swiftly. “In any other situation, it would be righteous.”
The Weyr reunion was for family, so that means it has to do with a family member, right? “Did someone in the family hurt him?”
Fynn’s expression goes carefully blank, silently confirming my suspicion. I nod, more to myself than to him. It still isn’t enough clarity to truly understand, but it’s the first real crumb I’ve received so far.
He probably won’t answer, but I ask anyway. “Why has he never had any long-term relationships?”
The red Dragon shifts uncomfortably. “You should ask him that.”
“I did. He said he didn’t know.”
“Again, I’m not divulging my brother’s past. But I will say that I firmly believe we accept the love we think we deserve.”
“He doesn’t think he’s worthy of love?”
Fynn’s jaw clenches. He goes so long without speaking, I think he won’t answer.
Finally, he says, “I think it’s hard to believe you deserve something you don’t have a clear concept of.
” He stands, signalling that the conversation is done.
“Thank you for bringing the food. I’ll let you know my opinion. ”
I follow him back to the front door, distracted by my thoughts as I put my shoes on. Somehow, this conversation has caused more questions than answers, but it still offers insight. When he opens the door, I give Fynn a small smile, ready for the solitude of home.
“Kyrielle?”
I pause on the doorstep to look back at the towering Dragon. “Yes?”
Fynn’s gold eyes search my face for something as he says, “My brother is one of the kindest, strongest men I’ve ever met.
I owe him everything.” Pain twists his face, and he swallows hard before continuing.
“Please do not engage with him if you’re not willing to make it stick.
He deserves someone who will stay, no matter what.
Promise me you won’t try to dig deeper unless you’re willing to sit in a few graves. ”
There’s no right words appearing right now, so all I can do is walk away.
***
Trinte won’t speak to me. It’s been three days since the conversation at the caterer, and he’s ignored every text and the single phone call I allowed myself to indulge in. Any intelligent adult would tell me to leave him alone; he’s made it more than clear where we stand.
Yet, this drive to push him won’t disappear.
After Orliana, I’m unable to look away from people hurting. It’s why I help women escape dangerous situations — and it’s why I can’t leave Trinte alone.
It’s also why I’m watching him slam fists into a punching bag, frustration yanking his brows together.
It’s a busy night at the gym, with each station assigned and fighters waiting to jump into the ring.
Trinte has been abusing his punching bag for forty-five minutes. Sweat flies with each slamming fist.
I arrived an hour ago, intending to get some practice in the ring, but instead, I’m sitting on the bleachers, covering my hair with my light blue hoodie. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t noticed me yet.
Which is good, because I’m trying to collect the courage to go speak with him.
Yes, it makes me a hypocrite. My boundary around the battle gym has been clear from the start, and here I am about to violate it for selfish reasons.
I just want him to talk to me.
Trinte pauses, chest heaving, guzzling from his water bottle. His eyes track the fighters in the practice ring where two Orcs attempt to smash the other one into a pulp.
My gossamer wings twitch with irritation when Koral, a female Elf with fluorescent pink skin, stops to talk to Trinte. She’s tall, with toned limbs. Magenta hair swishing in a lush ponytail. I can’t see her expression, but I watch her hands brush against his forearm. They share a laugh.
He laughs with her. Dimples and fangs appear. He wipes sweat from his forehead, revealing a sliver of blue stomach. To my dismay, his tail curls toward her, a sign that a Dragon is interested.
Fuck.
The sense of possessiveness heating my skin right now is inappropriate, but when he grins at her, my legs act of their own accord, bolting me upright. My wings flare on instinct, casting an orange glow around me.
Mismatched eyes meet mine. The smile lighting up his face vanishes. The Elf turns to see where his glare is pointed, frowning with confusion when she sees it’s me. We’ve never fought, and it’s nearly impossible to resist the urge to challenge her in front of everyone.
With methodical steps, I make my way off the bleachers, my boots sounding like a hammer against an anvil. The Elf excuses herself, shooting me a worried look paired with a grimace.
That’s right; fuck off.
Trinte’s scowl deepens as the distance between us closes. When he crosses his arms, the pose serves to emphasize his biceps. Those stupidly glorious biceps. My heart sinks as his tail slinks away from me.
“I thought we had an agreement,” he drawls when I’m close enough.
“Yeah, well, you’ve been ignoring my texts,” I snipe. “It’s rude, you know.”
Trinte’s eyes flick over my head, his expression flattening into boredom. “A smarter person would take it as a hint.”
Is this man calling me dumb? Try as I might, I’m unable to match his expression. Instead, my face twists with anger. “You left me at the restaurant without explaining what happened. I thought we were actually on the same page.”
“Clearly not,” he says flatly, looking at me again. “I refuse to make things messy for my brother and Orliana. We — you — declared this a neutral zone. I expect you to respect that, Kyrielle.”
His admonishment almost makes me wilt, but instead, I lift my chin and ball my fists. “If we’re going to be spending a ton of time together, we can’t have this back and forth, Trinte.”
“Agreed. It bores me. You bore me.”
The words are blades. It takes every ounce of self control not to visibly wince. “Now you’re a liar?”
“Am I?” He raises an eyebrow. “Kyrielle, this is not on me.” He steps closer, bending over to whisper, “You are the one who said it was a one-time thing. You are the one who told me to keep my distance here. You are the one who has rejected me repeatedly.”
His words sting because they’re all true. At the root of it all, I’m the problem. It’s cruel, continuously engaging him like this, only to put distance between us when it becomes too much.
Please do not engage with him if you’re not willing to make it stick.
Fynn’s words echo in my mind as I stare at his brother. The dunghole is prickly, brash, and downright cruel at times.
Then again, so am I.
He turns to collect his belongings, effectively dismissing me. Except there’s not a man on this planet who can dismiss me without my consent.
I grab his elbow; Trinte flinches, yanking it away. Whirling, he glares. “What the fuck are you doing, Kyrielle?”
His reaction causes those around us to pause, watching with curious expressions. Heat blazes across my body, the embarrassment almost too much.
“Stop causing a scene,” I hiss. “I’m trying to talk to you. To apol—”
“I can’t take anymore of your games,” he snarls, tail thumping with anger. Lowering his voice, he says, “I’m not interested in another one-night stand, Kyrielle. I’m not some fuck doll you can pull out for a ride or two, then put on a shelf for another few months until your pussy craves it again.”
His crudeness makes me take a step back. Does Trinte truly think I view him as a plaything?
I hold out my hands, trying to placate him. “I just want to talk, okay? Let’s just—”
“Enough.” The command cracks like distant thunder as he brushes past me, shoulder checking me.
There’s at least a dozen people observing this altercation, but my anxiety won’t allow me to look any of them in the eye.
This conversation was a disaster, and now the gossip mill would activate over this.
Approaching him here was a severe error in judgment. I’ve pushed him away too many times. The only way he’s going to listen, to give me one more chance, is if I force his hand.
Spotting Coach in the crowd, I weave through the sweaty bodies, determined to set my plans in motion.
I’ll make Trinte talk to me, one way or another.