She closed the distance between them, and hugged him. She pressed her cheek to his bare chest, let the hair there scratch her cheek. It took him about thirty seconds, but he returned the hug, his heat and his strength enveloping her. She had hugged Justice countless times. But not like this. Not with this sensual knowledge between them. This acknowledged desire. It was like she could feel their heartbeats melting into one, like it had done when they had raced over the edge of the cliff together, their hearts thundering.
Even in this still, painful moment, they were the same. Together. United.
“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” he said.
“If I can’t feel sorry for you then who can?”
“I don’t needanyoneto feel sorry for me.”
“Youfeel sorry for you,” Rue said. “You feel bad for that kid you were. And you should.”
“It’s not the same thing. I’m just trying to give back to him.”
“Why can’t I want that too?”
“Because I think our idea of what I need is different.”
“Can’t you accept that maybe I know you as well as you know yourself? Maybe even a little bit better?”
“No.”
That made her heart twist painfully. Why was he being so difficult? Or maybe she was being difficult.
“You can’t stop me from feeling sorry for you.” She kissed his chest. Then she stretched up on her toes and kissed his lips, just quickly. A little zip of desire raced through her.
“Let’s get dressed.”
He put his shirt on, and she was regretful.
But then, they went out together. She still felt raw and sore from the conversation, from the revelations. But she wasn’t going to let her own discomfort poison the day. Her desire to push, and to get everything in the little boxes, was only going to make it so he was more distant. She didn’t want that.
She wanted to spend this weekend being present.
So that was what she was going to do.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He did his best to banish the dark shadows this morning had built up inside his soul. He didn’t like talking about that shit. But there was a point wherenottelling her built it up into something bigger than it was.
He just didn’t like it. It made him feel like he had then. Young, stupid. Vulnerable. He’d thought that his dad loved him because he’d been doing things for him. He’d thought it made him important. It was foolish to be angry at a six-year-old who didn’t understand narcissism. But sometimes he was.
Over the years he realized his dad would never love anyone as much as he loved himself. He would never care about anyone else’s feelings, comfort or safety like he did his own. He also wanted admiration and loyalty and that meant manipulation was his stock-in-trade.
But Justice still hated it. Because it wasn’t like it was the end of his wishing his dad cared for him.
No, that had happened later.
Ishouldalet you die in that cave, boy. You’re no good to me at all.
That was how he found himself harnessed and standing up on a platform fifteen feet up a tree. At least, the two things seemed connected. Rue was croucheddown, like it was spreading out her center of gravity, her eyebrows locked together, her expression one of furious concentration.
“May I remind you,” he said, “that this was your idea.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m happy to be here.”
They were safely harnessed in, but it was clear to him that Rue didn’t entirely trust the harness. Of course, neither of them had a great reason to trust much of anything. He thought a network of cables, rope and steel clips was infinitely more dependable than people. But that was him.
“Do you want me to go first?” he asked.
