"Not being afraid, right?"
"Uh, no." He swallows hard. "Everyone feels fear unless you're a sociopath or whatever."
"So, then?"
"Doing what has to be done even though you're afraid."
"And strength—being strong," I tap his chest, over his heart, "in here. If you're strong, mentally and emotionally, that means you don't feel weakness?"
A faint tilt at the corners of his mouth tells me he sees what I'm doing.
"I'm not making light of what you're feeling." I hold his face. "Logic always fails in the face of childhood trauma."
"When I looked at the fucking asshole in his casket before the burial, that was the first time I'd laid eyes on him since I was 15. But I still hear his fucking voice in my head."
"He said that shit to you?"
"Every goddamn day." He shakes his head. "I guess I was a sensitive kid. He'd lay into Sol, the oldest. Lay into Mom. Si. And I…I hated it. It scared me. I'd cry, and then he'd light into me."
"I think that's normal."
"Sure. But not to him. He wasn't raising sissy bitches, he was raising warriors."
"He succeeded at that," I tell him. "You are a warrior. But you have to silence that voice."
"I don't know how," he whispers.
"Why are you feeling panic?"
And there it goes—I see it roll over him. he shakes his head and tries to pull away.
I keep hold of him. "No, no. No way. Don't shut down now, Saxon. Don't shut me out. Help me understand."
"All that shit I said. I shouldn't have said it."
"Why not?"
"My job is to protect you. Take care of you."
"You are."
"I'm not. I'm being weak." He tilts his face up again.
"Nope, nope, nope. Look at me." I turn his face back down to mine. "Listen to me. Don't try to hide it from me."
Slowly, he opens his eyes—wet, angry, scared. "It's fucking pathetic."
"Do I seem threatened, Saxon? Am I looking at you in disgust? Have I gone anywhere?"
"No, but—"
"But nothing. I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, Saxon Cabot—I'm here, I see you having a panic attack, I see you struggling, I see you fighting the vile, awful, toxic shit your asshole father beat into you. And you know what I don't see? Weakness."
His eyes open a little more. He reaches up to drag his wrist across his face, and I catch his hand.
"Don't. Let them fall."
"Why?"
