Page 27

He leans against the wide bathroom door, starkly naked and unashamed.

He’s almost too beautiful to look at. Not like the patterned wallpaper beside him, or the expensive, gold-rimmed urn on the cabinet that Jayk seems to have used as a holder for a shabby water bottle.

. . but like his throne outside. Jayk is battered and bruised, covered in old scars and new, tatted and rough and broken in by life.

“You’re not quiet, Eden. People made you that way,” Jayk says in a low, gruff voice. “You’re a bottle rocket—and the second we’re alone, you go off. You’re kidding yourself if you say you don’t need that. Two weeks away with them and you were ready to blow.”

I lower the next pillow, deciding against throwing this one at him.

For now.

“I love how we are,” I tell him, just as seriously. “I love this and you. But this isn’t all of me. Just like it isn’t all of you. Kasey and the civilians, and Dom, Lucky, Beau, Jasper, all of them, they all pull different things from you as well.”

Jayk’s brows lift mockingly. “Difference is, I don’t need to fuck them.”

My hands twitch on the pillow.

“I love them all,” I say again, and he scowls, looking away.

“Jasper’s calm matters to me. Lucky’s joy and empathy.

Dom’s friendship and strength. Beau’s—” My voice breaks, and I clear it, looking at the ceiling for a minute.

“Beau matters to me, even when he’s being stubborn.

I would think you could empathize with him on that.

You’re as aggravating as he is, sometimes.

And you should know, while you’re being so quick to sneer at him, that when the situations were reversed—when he was here, and you weren’t.

.. Beau fought for you. He helped me find the courage to go after you and tell you how I felt. ”

Jayk’s lips press into a thin line, but his eyes slip away, a tiny crease forming between his brows.

“I’m not giving them up,” I repeat again, more softly.

He takes a moment, glaring at the floorboards, then he looks up at me. He starts walking back over until he’s at the edge of the bed. “You don’t need them. We don’t need anyone else.”

I open my mouth, then close it, thinking. Putting my glasses back on, I reach up to hold his arm, then I tug him down for a kiss.

When we break, I sigh softly, searching his face. “You’re wrong, Jayk. They’re family. You know better than to turn family away.”

His hand spans over the back of my neck, and his fingers stir my hair, almost tentative.

He touches me slowly, and so, so softly over the livid marks on my neck, and I blow out a long, exhausted breath.

I rest my forehead against his chest, leaning into him.

He still smells like engines and fresh wind.

He doesn’t reply immediately, and when he does, his voice takes on a bitter tinge. “I’m not the one with the problem. It’s them who have a problem with me.”

The slow, hesitant touches don’t stop. He rubs strands of my hair between his fingers. “You heard them, Eden. They think I’m dumb as shit. They keep me around to fix what they break and then hang out together for the feel-goods.”

The loneliness under that statement bites, and I think of how many years he spent out in the barn—not so very different from my cave.

“Is that what they think?” I murmur. “Or is that what you think?”

His hand drops away, and he steps back. I’m about to sigh when he yanks the water bottle out of the urn.

“I already have a shrink, sugar. Don’t knock yourself out.” He slaps the bottle into my hand. “Drink this.”

I give the dented bottle a brief look, then take a sip, deciding the insistence on hydration is definitely a dominant thing.

When I’ve had about half the bottle, I hand it back to him. “You too.”

He gives me a dry look.

“What, water is only for women? It’s a hot day, and you didn’t even have a sip of your tea earlier,” I say snippily, and he rolls his eyes, taking the bottle, so I continue more gently.

“You heard what Dom said earlier. Look at what you’ve done here, Jayk.

He’s right. You should be proud of it.” Twining our fingers together, I squeeze his hand. “He respects you. They all do.”

Jayk looks away, but not before I see the flush of color in his cheeks. He wipes his mouth and tosses the bottle down, avoiding my eyes, and I drag him back to sit on the bed beside me.

“I respect you, too. I hope you know that,” I add. His shoulders roll, uncomfortably hunched, and I smile as he struggles to take the compliment. “And this, too.”

I look around the room, all of it neat and in order, and free of bloodstains. The curtains that had been soaked in it have been replaced with white bedsheets, horribly hemmed at the bottom in a way that makes me question if he actually did the hemming himself.

My eyes sting at the sweetness of it. “You did all of this for me. And don’t get me wrong, it was horribly rude to throw Beau out, but.. . I appreciate the rest of it. So, so much.” I swallow. “I love you, Jayk.”

His breath rushes out of his nose, and his jaw works. It takes a moment of struggle, before he finally clears his throat, glancing at me. “Me too. I love you, or whatever.”

I bite down so hard on my lip, I’m sure it’s going to split. I can’t laugh at him now. Not when my heart is thrilling into a kaleidoscope of joy, and he looks ready to crawl under a rock.

But how does the same man who declares mine with his whole chest and who stares down a room of men while daring them to try and take me also look like he’d rather lick the inside of a toilet bowl rather than say those three words.

When I’m sure I’m not going to burst into a fit of elated giggles, I squeeze his hand and decide to let him off the hook. “Just let yourself be proud of it, too, Jayk. These civilians love you. They listen to you. You’ve done so much for them.”

Jayk scoffs, throwing me a confused look, his brows knitted. “It’s not me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. It’s them. They’re the ones picking up all the slack.”

My chest warms at how easily he gives them credit—and sighs over how little he takes for himself.

“I’m no expert in leading people.. . but maybe you don’t need to have the answer. You just need to be open to hearing it.” I nudge his shoulder. “And you acted on it. The Reapers, the defenses here, God, don’t you see how incredible this is.” I smile at him. “You’re incredible, Jayk.”

This time, the red takes over his ears too, and he starts to look so uncomfortable, I’m sure that if he hadn’t walled us up inside, he’d be flying out that door already.

So I let out a little laugh, teasing, “I admit, the whole king thing might be a little...” Arrogant. Obnoxious. Entitled. “A little much , but they clearly admire you enough to humor it. The others see that, too.”

Orthey will. Dom sees it, at least. I’m sure of that.

“It’s my name,” he mutters, glancing at me warily, and I tilt my head, puzzled.

“King?” He shrugs, and it starts falling into place. “Jaykob King.”

How did I not know that? I frown at the tangle of our fingers where his hand engulfs mine on his thick thigh.

“I never went by it.” He pauses, and his voice is low when he rushes the next words out. “It was a stupid name for how I grew up. It was a joke.”

I search the side of his face. “But you’re going by it now.”

His head lifts, and he looks me in the eye.

“I’m not a joke anymore, Eden.” His shoulders straighten, and there’s a new pride there.

A silent confidence that wasn’t there even two weeks ago.

“You said I need to believe in myself or whatever. So I’m doing it.

I can do this. I’m stepping up for the civilians—and for you.

” His hand squeezes mine hard, and his face is deadly serious.

“It’s going to be me in the end, Eden. Just me. I’m going to prove it to all of you.”

Emotion rises in my throat, making it rough and rocky.

I meet his new confidence with my own. “I’m open to you trying, Jayk.

” My voice firms. “As long as you’re open to me proving to you that maybe I’m right, and that maybe instead of neither of us needing the others. . . maybe all of us need each other.”

For what’s coming, I know it’s true.

At the moment, Jayk thinks starvation is our only problem. I still need to tell him about Alastair’s empire and that we’re now expected to live under the Sinners’ boots. About Red Zone, which will need our help with food and medicine and all the things we can’t afford to help with.

We’re not going to be able to deal with any of it if we’re not on the same side.

He appraises me, his midnight eyes swirling with stars. A cocky smile begins to return to his face, and his hand shifts in mine.

Then he shakes it.

“Good luck, sugar. You’re going to need it.”