Chapter Sixteen
Emily
Back at Dion's house, I felt the familiar walls closing in around me. The meeting with Susan and Kline had left me raw, exposed, like a nerve-ending that had been scraped bare. Every sound seemed too loud, every thought too sharp. Anubis nuzzled my fingers and gave them a gentle lick, and I bent and kissed his nose, then Hades pushed in for the same treatment.
"I need a few minutes," I told Dion as we walked through the entryway. "To process everything."
He studied my face, his expression concerned. "Of course. I need to call the team anyway, so we can regroup." He pressed agentle kiss to my forehead. "The playroom might help. Take all the time you need."
I pulled back slightly, frustration bubbling up. "I'm not a child, Dion. I don't need to be sent to the playroom like I'm some kid who needs a time-out."
"Emily, I just thought—"
"I know what you thought," I interrupted, crossing my arms. "But I can handle this without being coddled."
Dion's expression shifted, a cool mask sliding down. "Whatever you need."
Of course, because I was clearly spoiling for a fight and he wasn't taking the bait, I pushed. "Don't patronize me," I shot back, my voice rising. "Every time things get difficult, you want to wrap me in cotton wool and tuck me away somewhere safe. I'm not fragile, Dion. I just survived a meeting with people who are literally trafficking children, and you're suggesting I go play with coloring books?"
"That's not—" He stopped, clearly biting back words. "Emily, I'm trying to take care of you."
"By treating me like I can't handle what I get paid to do?" I paced away from him, my heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor. "I'm a grown woman with a master's degree and five years of experience dealing with traumatized children. I think I can manage my own stress without being infantilized."
Dion's jaw clenched, his voice dropping to that dangerous tone I'd heard him use with subordinates. "You want to know what I think? I think you're so goddamn afraid of being vulnerable that you'd rather pick a fight than accept comfort."
"Vulnerable?" I whirled to face him. "I've been nothing but vulnerable with you! I've let you see sides of me that no one else has ever seen, and the moment I try to maintain some shred of dignity, you act like I'm being unreasonable."
It was like being in a tunnel. I could hear the words coming out of my mouth like they were being spoken by someone else. I didn't mean them. I knew I didn't, but I couldn't stop.
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I didn't mean it that way."
"Then what did you mean?" I demanded. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like you only want the parts of me that fit into your dynamic—the parts that need rescuing, that need your control."
His eyes flashed. "That's bullshit and you know it. I want all of you, Emily—the stubborn, brilliant social warrior who fights for kids no one else cares about, and the woman who sometimes needs to let someone else carry the weight for a while."
"Well maybe I don't want to let someone else carry the weight right now!" I snapped. "Maybe I need to be angry and scared and frustrated without being sent to color or cuddle a stuffed animal!"
Dion took a step toward me, his voice dropping dangerously low. "You think I don't understand anger? Fear? Frustration? I've spent my entire adult life dealing with situations that would break most people. I'm not trying to shut down your emotions—I'm trying to give you a safe place to have them."
"I don't need—"
"Yes, you do," he interrupted, closing the distance between us. "We all do. And it's not weakness to admit that."
We stood there, both breathing hard, the tension between us crackling like electricity.
"I need some time to myself," I said finally, my voice tight. "Without you ordering me about or telling me how I should feel."
Something like hurt flashed across his face before he masked it.
With a sigh, I turned and headed to the bedrooms while Dion disappeared into his study. Despite my irritation, the playroom'ssoft pastels and gentle lighting began to soothe me. I sank into the oversized armchair, pulling one of the throw pillows against my chest.
The familiar comfort of the space began to work its magic. My breathing slowed, the tight knot in my chest loosening incrementally. I tossed the pillow and reached for Barnaby. The bear that had become my anchor, and held him close.
From what seemed far away, I could hear the low murmur of Dion's voice as he spoke with his team. The sound was oddly comforting—knowing he was there, knowing he was working to keep Zoe and other children safe.
Why was I being such a bitch?
Why did I have to constantly push him away?
