No. It’s too much. My head shook slowly. It was hard enough being the almost-constant focus of Marc’s attention. I couldn’t be fully half of Jace’s world, too. That was too much attention. Too much pressure. Too much…trouble.
“Jace, this can’t happen.” I closed my eyes, thinking it would be easier to say without him looking back at me. But it wasn’t. “This isn’t just about us. I can’t leave Marc.” I opened my eyes again, hoping he’d believe me if he saw the truth in them. “I love Marc.”“I’m not asking…”
“I know.” I let my hands uncurl uselessly in my lap. “You’re not asking me to leave him. But he won’t share. And I can’t ask him to.”
“Do you want him to?” Jace tried to don his blank face, but it didn’t work. Maybe I was too close to him now, and could see past it. Or maybe he could no longer defend against me. Either way, I saw what it cost him to ask me that, and it broke my heart.
“I don’t know.” Frustrated, I let my head fall back against my footboard. “I don’t know what I want, but I can’t lose Marc, and I will if you…if we…”
“Fine.” He frowned, and his suddenly hard gaze searched mine. “Tell me you want me to go, and I’ll walk away. I swear.”
“Jace…” But I couldn’t say it. And he knew it.
“You can’t, because you don’t want me to go.” I tried to argue, but he cut me off. “You feel something for me, and it’s not brotherly, and it’s not sympathy. It’s not even curiosity. Not anymore.” The suggestive spark in his eye sent flashbacks racing through me.
Me and Jace, on the floor of the guesthouse.
Intertwined in mutual pain and need.
Easing fresh grief the only way we knew how.
“Jace, this isn’t right. It’ll mess everything up.” It would tear the entire Pride apart.
He shook his head and held my good hand when I tried to pull away. “It’s not wrong just because it isn’t easy, Faythe. The only thing we’ve done wrong is keep it from Marc. We should tell him.”
I nodded. That was only fair. “But not yet. It’s not a good time.” And I have no idea what I’m going to say…
Someone knocked on my door, and we both jumped, then flushed. “Faythe?”
Dr. Carver.
My door opened before I could respond and he slipped inside, then closed the door at his back. We both leaped to our feet and the doc took us in with a sad, cautious look. But he didn’t seem surprised in the least. “Your dad’s looking for you. Both of you.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. Carver had caught me and Jace in the guesthouse the day Ethan died, and he’d promised to keep our secret, on the condition that I figure out what I was doing. Unfortunately, I hadn’t made much progress in that regard.
“Does he…?” I couldn’t finish my question.
“No. I told him I’d get you, but I didn’t know Jace was in here until I got to the door and heard you both.”
Good thing we were whispering…
“Thank—” I started, but he cut me off with a look that was part anger—probably over being put in such a position—and part aching sympathy.
Carver strode closer, and his voice dropped almost beyond my range of hearing. “If you’re not ready to tell people about this yet, then you better learn to stay the hell away from each other, because if anyone else had passed by this door with an ear to listen, you’d be having an entirely different conversation right now. And that doesn’t seem fair to either Marc or your father, considering everything else that’s going on.”
Jace bristled under the verbal censure, and I felt him go stiff at my side. I laid a warning hand on his arm and heard his pulse slow as he made himself relax.
Surprise flickered behind the doctor’s eyes as he took in both the gesture and the response, but I spoke before he could ask questions or make assumptions. “It just happened. But it won’t happen again. Right?” I glanced up at Jace, and he nodded stiffly. “Go out with the doc, please.” Because the two of them seen leaving my room together would raise much less suspicion than Jace leaving alone. “I’ll be there in just a minute.” After I washed my face and brushed my teeth, to keep Marc from smelling my indiscretion. At least until I was ready to tell him.
Jace blinked at me, pain shining in his eyes like tears. He wanted to touch me, or say something private, but wouldn’t in front of Carver. I could almost taste his frustration; it mirrored my own. Then he turned abruptly and followed the doctor out of my room.
Hot water poured over my head and down my back, washing away Jace’s scent and my sweat, and blending with the tears I could no longer hold back. I cried quietly, hoping the running water would hide the evidence of my weakness from the house full of cats, most of whom needed to see me as Jace had described me. Strong. Determined. Someone who knew how to harness pain, and anger, and heartache, and use them to her advantage. To hone her leadership skills, sharpen her wits and senses, and fuel her drive for justice.
But I didn’t feel much like that person at the moment. I felt…fractured. Fragmented. Like I was under fire from all sides, and each impact left a tiny crack in me. Soon, those cracks would spread and touch, and I would just fall apart.
Because I wasn’t good enough.
I wasn’t good enough to save Brett. To avenge Ethan. To raise Kaci. To protect Manx. To be…whatever Jace needed. To keep Marc.
To lead the Pride someday.
They needed better than me. They deserved better than me.
My shoulders shook and I threw my head back into the spray, shoving wet hair from my face with my right hand, grateful for the clear plastic cast protector.
“Faythe?”
I jumped and nearly slipped on the wet tiles.
“Whoaaa.” Marc pulled open the shower door and steadied me, careful to grab my arm above the cast. “What’s wrong?”
I blubbered something even I couldn’t understand and threw my arms around him, heedless of his clothes. He stroked wet hair down my back and ignored the water soaking into his shirt and jeans. I didn’t have to be strong with Marc. With him, I could just be me. I could say whatever I was thinking, do whatever felt right, cry if I was upset, and he thought no worse of me.
He picked me up.
I wasn’t good enough for Marc.
When the worst of my sobs had eased, he gently peeled me away, then stripped while I stood beneath the spray. Then he stepped into the shower with me and closed the door.
“What happened?”
But I hardly knew where to start. “Ethan’s dead. Jake’s dead. Charlie’s dead. Brett’s dead. We have no evidence, and those damned birds aren’t going to stop coming. There are more of them now.” Ten, at my last count. And until we learned how to fight them, our only options were to hide in our own home or to flee it.Neither was acceptable.
I sniffled and wiped my face with my good hand. “I thought I could fix it. I thought I could get the proof, and protect Brett from his dad, and prove to the council that Malone’s behind this. But I can’t. I can’t do anything right. I can barely even wash my own hair.” I sobbed again, gesturing to my shampoo bottle with my broken arm.
Marc leaned forward to kiss my wet forehead. “Then let me do it.” He turned me around by my shoulders and gently tugged my head back by my hair to rewet it. Then he nudged me forward and squirted shampoo on top of my head.
He used too much and started at the top, rather than at the ends, but I barely noticed, because he was washing my hair. Massaging my scalp with strong, confident fingers as he fulfilled my need, in the most literal sense. Once again, he was there for me when I needed him, and I was…
Not good enough for him.
“You deserve better than me,” I whispered, and the selfish part of me hoped he wouldn’t hear.
He heard.
Marc spun me around so fast I would have slipped again if he weren’t holding me up. We were so close drops of water from his chin fell onto my chest, and I had to crane my neck to see him. “You are perfect for me, Faythe, just like you are, because you’re not perfect. You’re headstrong, and impulsive, and outspoken, and I’m possessive, and overprotective, and too easy to piss off. We’re both wrong for a lot of things, but we’re right for each other. Do you understand?”
I nodded. I didn’t know what else to do.
“There’s nothing you could have done for Ethan or for any of the others, but we all know that you would have given anything to save them. Hell, look what you went through for me.” He held up my broken arm and brushed the fingers of his free hand over the fading bruises on my ribs and stomach.
It was just pain. I deserved pain, if only for what I’d done to Marc.
“You’re too good for me.” I shook my head, digging deep for the courage to tell him the truth. It was the very least he deserved, though he didn’t deserve the fallout. “You don’t understand.…”
Marc’s mouth crushed against mine, and he kissed me so hard, so thoroughly, that I couldn’t breathe. And didn’t give a damn.
I kissed him back, tasting him, breathing him, hating the plastic encasing my arm because it kept me from properly feeling him. His chest was slick. The muscles shifted beneath my good hand as he moved. I let my lips trail over the harsh stubble on his chin, and he tilted his head back, giving me full access to his throat—the most vulnerable part of his body.