35. Chapter Thirty-Five
Iwas born.
Trinte’s words are on repeat in my mind while I wait for him to return. His father blamed him for killing his mother in childbirth? What kind of monster does that? What kind of monster starves his son?
The more I learn about Trinte, the more I ache for what he’s lost and experienced.
When Fynn told me I’d have to sit in graves, he wasn’t kidding.
I look around this pathetic excuse for an apartment and realize I already sit in a grave.
This entire space is a shrine to my trauma.
Why? I’m not only physically capable, but magyckly as well.
What can this baseball bat do that my spears of fire can’t?
But it’s all a hold-over from being younger; a skin yet fully shed.
While I wait for him to return, I text Orliana. She’s already sent two texts.
Orliana: Did you get home safely?
Orliana: I know Trinte is trustworthy, but are you sure you're comfortable? I know things have been weird with you two.
Kyrielle: I’m home. Showering was an ordeal.
Orliana: I’ve been so worried. Are you okay? How did you shower with one hand?
Kyrielle: I’m fine. In pain, but it’ll heal soon enough. And I didn’t … Trinte helped me.
Orliana: Trinte helped you shower????????????
Kyrielle: Yeah, but he was REALLY respectful about it.
Orliana: I have no doubt. Can I call?
Instead of responding, I call her. She answers on the first ring. “Hey, you.”
I grab an unopened bottle of water from the fridge. “Hey. What did you not want to text?”
“Well, you know how I had my meltdown at the Weyr reunion?”
Ah, the Weyr reunion. Where it sounded like everyone had fallen apart. Orliana, Fynn, and Trinte went to the equivalent of a Dragon family reunion. Fynn and Orliana pretended to date, but of course, they felt so much more for one another by then.
But when they tried to have sex for the first time, she had a horrible trigger. Fynn was there to comfort her, and it changed their entire relationship for the better.
Trying to open the water bottle with one hand, I say, “Yeah, I remember.”
“Well … Trinte was there.”
I stop fiddling with the bottle. I knew Trinte had attended the Weyr reunion, and that he had his own issues that no one seems to want to talk about. But she’s making it sound like he was there during the worst. “He was?”
“Yeah. When it was truly bad for me, he was there.”
Refocusing on the stubborn bottle cap, I try to twist off the top, but the stupid thing is too slippery. “What did he do?”
“He allowed me to siphon some of myself into him.”
I freeze. Everything I’m learning about him … and he let her add to that? “You … gave him some of those emotions?”
She sighs. “Yeah. I know, I know, but I wasn’t exactly in my right mind. I took some of it back later … but he had a lot of his own.”
“I bet,” I mutter, bringing the water to the chair by my window. Shoving it between my thighs, I try to untwist the cap. “He’s been through a lot of shit, I’m gathering.”
“Um, yes.”
Her tone says a lot more than her words. I pause again, narrowing my eyes. “What do you know?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly.
“Orliana …”
“I can’t break Fynn’s confidence,” she pleads. “Or Trinte’s. But what I do know is that Trinte’s probably the most qualified to help you.” She pauses, then adds, “I mean, if I’m not available.”
I laugh, then crow with delight when the water bottle’s cap comes off. “Ah ha! Got you, you fucker.”
“Huh?”
After taking a long swig, I say, “Nothing, sorry. Was fighting with a water bottle.”
“Where’s Trinte now?”
“He went to grab things. I think he plans on staying here for a few days.” The thought warms my belly.
“Are you dating?” She sounds both confused and curious.
“No,” I say firmly. “I don’t know what we are, but it’s not dating.” Then I add, “Yet.”
She laughs. “We’re gone for the next four days. Am I going to return to a pregnant best friend?”
“Fuck no,” I snarl. “You’re the babies person — not me.”
Orliana laughs harder. “Okay, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
“Uncross them right now,” I demand. “I do not want kids. Ever.”
“Okay, okay. Uncrossed.”
“Liar,” I mutter, knowing damn well she wants me to have kids so we can discuss diapers, sleep schedules, and the colors of puke. After taking another sip of water, I say, “But a lot of progress can be made in four days.”
“Indeed,” she says quietly. “Just … tread carefully, okay?”
“Are you saying that for me or for him?”
“Both.”
***
Trinte’s back in less than two hours, arms full of bags. I look at him like he’s sprouted six hydra heads.
“Did you pack up your whole house?”
He grins, that one dimple deepening. “Listen up, Firefly. I’m willing to sleep on the floor, but I need some pillows. And that cheap coffee won’t cut it. I also ran to the store to get you some things.”
Curious, I watch him unload onto the kitchen counters. He holds up a package of something clear. I scrunch my nose, trying to figure it out.
When it dawns, I laugh. “You got me a clear shower curtain?”
He lifts another package. Strapless bras. My eyes water with gratitude. “You got me bras?”
Trinte smiles softly. “I figured it might help you be more comfortable. Hope I got the right size.”
The crush I’m developing on this man is far more than a crush at this point. “Tell me why in the Hells you haven’t been snatched up by someone?”
It was the wrong thing to say. A darkness enters his eyes; I immediately regret saying anything. “Sorry, I meant that nicely. I swear.”
He sighs and continues unpacking the bags. “Unless that is your third question, I will not be answering.”
Suddenly insecure, I fake interest in the floor. “Okay.”
It’s so confusing, thinking we’re making progress … and then he shuts me down. The back and forth of it all is a bit too much tonight. Am I really only allowed to ask five questions? Ever? Then what? Never another conversation?
The unpacking stops, replaced by the sound of him walking over. Two brown boots stop toe-to-toe with my slippers.
Trinte’s voice is incredibly soft as he says, “Hey.”
When I refuse to look at him, he brings a thumb to my chin and coaxes my head up. His expression is as sad as I feel. Gaze searching my face, he says, “I’m sorry. I know you were kidding; it’s just a question that has haunted me for literal decades.”
Voice barely above a whisper, I ask, “Am I really only allowed three more questions?”
Trinte’s smile is small, yet amused. His thumb gives my chin the smallest of strokes. “No. You can ask questions. I just can’t guarantee the ability to answer them at the moment.”
“But you can guarantee it with three other questions?” I tease. Without thinking, I lick my lips. It immediately draws his attention. His thumb rubs the bottom of my lip ever so slightly. My brain turns fuzzy, and it's not because of the pain meds. What would he do if I bit his thumb?
The rasp of his deep voice sends shivers down my spine as he says, “A deal’s a deal, Firefly.”
My eyes flick to his mouth. It feels like a taut string yanking between our faces. I’m afraid to move; to spook him. To say anything that might remind him of awful things.
He must see some of that fear in my expression because he says, “I don’t know why no one wants to stick around.
All I can come up with is that there is …
” His words stall and his throat works repeatedly, as if wrestling with the rest of the sentence.
Finally, with a pained look, he says, “… something inherently wrong with me. That women somehow know not to get too close.”
The words are like a blade twisting between my ribs. Because I was one of those women who rejected him. “You know that’s not why I said we shouldn’t date, right?”
Trinte’s mouth flattens into a grim line. The beloved thumb playing with my lip disappears. “I fear this conversation is turning deeper and neither of us have eaten. It’s almost midnight — maybe we should save this chat for after sleep?”
“Yeah.” I put distance between us, inhaling a fortifying breath. Meanwhile, my knees feel like warmed jelly.
When he’s satisfied that I’m not upset anymore, he continues unpacking most of the bags. His mentioning the time flips a switch; now, all I can think of is sleep. The healing tonic has dulled my pain, but I’ll still be forced to sleep on my belly. Not my favorite.
“Um, so … where do you plan on sleeping?” I ask, eyeing the pillow in his hand.
He lifts it with a shrug. “Where would you like me to sleep?”
I look around my mostly empty apartment. “I don’t know.”
“Would you like to know my thoughts?”
“Sure?”
Trinte grabs a blanket from a backpack. “I think it would be wise for me to sleep in your room in case you need help in the middle of the night. But I can also sleep in the kitchen if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
The thought of making him sleep near the refrigerator almost makes me laugh. Making him sleep in the miniscule hallway or bathroom would be cruel. At least the bedroom offers enough space, and he would be close enough to help.
“Okay, you can sleep in my room.”
His neutral expression doesn’t break. “Are you sure? You can change your mind at any time.”
“I’m positive.”
“Then it’s settled.” He motions to my lone chair. “Go sit. I’ll make you something quick to eat.”