***
The kids eat their omelets and smear it on their faces, hands, arms, the table and the floor. In the end it’d be a miracle if any of it ends up in their stomachs.
Dylan eats slowly, looking down at his plate. So quiet. I wonder what’s going through his mind.
He shivers suddenly, a full-body shudder that has me narrowing my eyes. He’s still dressed in his sweat-drenched T-shirt, but it’s very warm inside the kitchen now, with the heater at full blast.
I shoo the boys away, and Dylan looks up.
“I’ll clean up,” he says and stands—then he makes a grab for the table, grips the edge and sinks back in his chair, his face white.
“Dylan!” I reach for him, my heart in my throat, but he turns away.
“I’m okay.”
“Really.” He looks about to pass out—like the other day in my apartment. What’s up with that? He’s always been so strong.
He sucks in a deep breath. “I’m okay, Tess.” He nods at something behind me and lifts a brow.
I turn and see his brothers watching us with round eyes, full of fear. Crap. They’re terrified.
“Come on, boys.” I take their limp little hands and drag them away.
“Is Dylan okay?” Teo asks in a small voice.
“Yes, he’s fine.”
“He’s just tired,” Miles says but doesn’t sound convinced. “He never rests.”
“Why don’t you too watch some TV while Dylan and I talk?”
They seem reluctant to let me go, also reluctant to stay in the living room, but once I find them some cartoons and settle them on the sofa, they let me go.
I rub my arms, feeling cold all of a sudden, as I return to the kitchen. I’m so worried for Dylan I can hardly breathe.
Yet when I enter, I find him putting the dirty dishes into the sink, his imposing frame looking too big for the small room.
“Let me do that,” I say, but he doesn’t budge or turn. “What happened back there?”
“Got light-headed. Happens when you get up quickly.”
“Not to you. Never seen it happen before.”
“You don’t see me so often.”
That’s true.
“What did you do that exhausted you so much?”
He shoots me a bright sideways glance, and a corner of his mouth lifts, the hoop in his lower lip glinting. “Watching you, having you here and not being allowed to touch you.”
“I thought you were touching me earlier.”
“But then you told me you can’t do this.”
“Not like this, no.”
He turns back to the sink.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. “For what I said earlier. I didn’t know. I always thought…” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I shouldn’t have said it.”
Yeah. His words did sting. Then again, I wanted him to believe I slept with all those boys, wanted him to be jealous. “Forget it.”
“It’s that simple, huh?” he says softly.
“Nothing is simple.” I wish it were.
“You’re right. Tess…” He turns to face me fully. “I can’t give you what you need.”
I swallow hard. “And what’s that?”
“This isn’t a fairytale, princess. And I’m not a prince.” His eyes are earnest. “I can’t offer you much. In fact, things are pretty rough around here, if it escaped your notice, and it doesn’t look like they’ll be improving any time soon.”
His look is challenging, like he expects me to deny it, say I won’t run. Say I’m not a princess.
But I say nothing. What are words worth?
“You have interests,” he goes on. “Archaeology. Ecology. You have dreams.”
“And you don’t?”
“I’ve had to give up most of mine.”
It makes me sad to hear him say so. “You can get them back.”
“Not sure how. You’re so strong, Tess. I saw how you defended yourself the other night when that fucker got you. How you stood up to your parents. I wanted to tell you…”
I wait, my heart in my throat. “What?”
“That you deserve the best.”
I shale my head. “So do you.”
“I had the best. I had you.” There is wariness in his eyes and something that looks like regret and sorrow. “And I walked away.”
“Dyl…” I don’t know what to say. Because what else is there to say, when he speaks of me as if I belong to the past?
Silence stretches.
“You should get going,” he says hoarsely. “Audrey and Ash will worry.”
I nod and turn around. I pause. “You think I’ll run away because things are tough,” I whisper. “Because you’re no prince. What you don’t realize…” I glance at him over my shoulder, and I see it plainly, the pain in his gaze. “I’m only leaving because you won’t let me in.”