Clare gazed at me for a moment. “Were any of those decisions to stop you from getting hurt?”
I groaned and leaned my head back, staring up at the ceiling like it was going to give me answers. “Yes.”
“And could it possibly be because Dion is a Marine who had already gotten you out of a trafficking situation where a lot of evil people were out to hurt you, and he hadn’t recovered from that?”
I stared at her. It made sense. Horrible, awful sense. “All I’ve thought about is me,” I confessed, shame curling around me. “I never thought once about how Dion felt after it all.” I’d been expecting him to make the change. Change who he was when he didn’t expect the same from me.
“I don’t deserve him,” I whispered, my words catching. “He won't talk to me. What if it's too late?"
Abby sat beside me, taking my hand. "Then at least you'll know you tried. But Emily, if Dion loves you—and I think he does—he's probably just as scared as you are."
"They take on the world,” Clare said. “Military men do that all the time. It’s in their DNA, but add being a Daddy to the mix, and it’s a very protective combination."
“I want that,” I said. “I'm just insecure enough to worry he feels I’m incapable of looking after myself.” But even as I said it I knew it wasn't true.
"I imagine he’s frightened of not being enough for you," Clare said quietly. "Of being too much. I was frightened about getting lost in this dynamic, but I feel freer than ever."
“How about we meet upstairs at Salvation to get ready for the open night?” Abby suggested, and I nodded.
The open Little night was still two weeks away. Two weeks to prepare, to figure out exactly what I wanted to say, to gather the courage to face the possibility of rejection.
But for the first time since the warehouse, I felt something other than despair.
I felt hope.
Chapter Nineteen
Dion
I checked my watch for the third time in ten minutes, counting down until I could reasonably disappear from Salvation's open Little night. The main floor was packed with Daddies, Mommies, and their Littles—some in full regalia, others dressed more casually but still clearly in their headspace. Laughter and conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional squeal of delight from the Little room.
Even the thought that we were finally free of Rice and his machinations didn't bring me the relief it should.
"You look like you'd rather be anywhere else," Walker observed, appearing beside me with two bottles of water. "Which is saying something, considering you've been a ghost for four weeks."
I accepted the water but didn't respond. He wasn't wrong. Being here, surrounded by happy couples living the dynamic I knew I couldn't have, felt like torture. Every time I saw a Daddy feeding his Little, or heard someone use the title I'd grown to love hearing from Emily's lips, something twisted in my chest.
"Maddox said Emily's been asking about you," Walker continued, his tone carefully neutral.
"Maddox needs to mind his own business," I replied, scanning the crowd with professional detachment. Security was my excuse for being here, and I intended to stick to it.
Walker studied me with the persistence of a man who'd spent years reading people for a living. "You know, for someone who claims to want her to be happy, you're doing a pretty good job of making sure she isn't."
"She's better off—"
"Without you. Yeah, you've mentioned that." Walker's voice carried an edge of irritation. "What you haven't mentioned is why you get to make that decision for her."
But Walker didn't seem like he needed a reply because a Little girl who deserved a spanking for running when she should have walked tripped over the corner of a chair and went flying. We both took a step forward, as she seemed to be on her own, but funnily enough it was Walker who beat me to her, scooping her up and sitting her on the errant chair, immediately checking her over for potential life-threatening injuries while her tear-laden blue eyes stared at him in wonder.
I would have smiled had I any feeling in me other than despair that our partner often had to be dragged to any Little eventskicking and screaming seemed just as enamored. I scoffed. Must be catching.
Before I could respond, Gideon's voice crackled through my earpiece. "Dion, we need you upstairs. There's been an issue with one of the private rooms."
I welcomed the distraction, grateful for an excuse to escape Walker's interrogation. "On my way."
The elevator ride to the upper level felt endless. These floors housed the more exclusive spaces—private playrooms, intimate theme areas, and tonight, the overflow areas for the open night since the main Little room had reached capacity.
I stepped out to find Gideon waiting, but something in his expression made me pause. He looked... guilty.
