Page 66

Eden

A problem shared

is a problem lessened.

I clutch my notepad to my stomach, staring at the door looming larger and larger. It’s getting closer. I’m getting closer to it , more precisely, and maybe this is a mistake.

Closer still, and now I can make out the detail on the door handle.

Nope, no, okay. This is definitely a mistake. I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. I should find something more useful to do.

I turn on my heel and walk three steps in the opposite direction before I stop. As it has every day this week, sweat beads under my arms. Under my hair. At this point, it could be the heat or the nerves.

Coward , I berate myself.

It’s been a week since our raid, and the sad truth is there isn’t anything else to do.

I have enough slop for days already made, and it’s too hot to work in the garden.

I can’t help more with the Reapers, or do anything else for the civilians—not unless they actually start doing more than sipping at my food.

And this is the first moment I’ve had where Jayk or any of the civilians he’s set to spy on me aren’t on my tail.

So I should do this now.

I turn back around, just as Jennifer limps out of Jasper’s room, her eyes red-rimmed and unseeing. I touch her arm as she passes me, and she startles like I slapped her.

“Are you okay?”

It takes her a moment, but she forces a smile. “I’m fine, it’s just...” She adjusts the journal under her arm, and understanding fills me.

I nod, squeezing her arm. “Me too.”

Her eyes gloss, and she nods at me in silent understanding before she shuffles on. My chest aches as she leaves.

There’s been more than a few tears and silent stares recently. The Reapers are bringing up a lot for everyone—even Dom and Beau have been in here frequently, together and separate. Whether it’s for friendship or sessions I’m not sure, but I’m happy for them either way.

I wish I could be spending half as much time with any of them, but at least Dom’s word held true.

When I’d slipped out of bed at dawn after Jayk’s kidnapping, Jayk didn’t say a word—just stared at the ceiling as I left.

Admittedly, I hadn’t thought our next “getting ready” ritual would involve Dom and me cutting poor Beau out of an apple tree, but it was a unique kind of bonding experience.

Better yet, the civilians didn’t try to stop us, on behalf of Jayk or their own bets, and that was another plus.

It’s progress.

Now, if there’s a chance of making even half that progress with Jasper...

He’s the next piece on my board to take.

His door is still ajar, and I step toward it more quickly now, needing to see him. I inch it open... and then pause at the sight.

Jasper is discomposed. His silken hair is mussed, like he’s been running his hands through it.

His buttons are loose, his shirt crumpled, and he’s massaging his forehead as he writes in the book on his lap, his reading glasses low on his nose and tension bracketing his mouth.

He looks exhausted, and vulnerable, and much, much older than he did even a week ago.

My nerves liquefy into an aching, worried puddle.

“Oh, Jasper.”

At my voice, he looks up sharply. “Eden.”

His book claps shut as he stands hurriedly, staring at me like I’m a ghost made flesh and not the same woman he kissed senseless just weeks ago.

“May I...?” I ask, flustered, and he just nods, still staring.

Nodding, I tentatively step inside, remembering chess and the first time I joined him in here, and all my apprehensive worries about who and what he was.

I shut the door firmly behind me, and his brows twitch up, an assessing question.

“Jaykob,” I explain in a single word, and his expression darkens.

“Ah.”

Hopefully, this slows him down at least. I gave Kasey the slip ten minutes ago.

I feel him watching me as I wander through the room, lingering over paintings and pictures that I was too nervous to look at my first time in here.

Or the drunken time after that, which I barely remember, since I spent most of it with my head in a toilet.

Similar nerves to my first visit still flutter through my stomach, but they’re edged with something softer now. Sweeter.

When I finally look back at him, I take in the empty teacups beside him. The reference books sprawled on his side table.

He follows my gaze down to the disarray, and color singes his high cheekbones. “Apologies for the mess.” He touches his hair, then grimaces, sighing, and his tiredness peeks through again. “It’s been... a long week in here.”

He begins collecting the teacups, and I walk over, laying a staying hand on his bare forearm, right under where he’s folded his silk sleeves back. He pauses, studying the touch.

“It’s okay, Jasper,” I tell him softly. “Please. Don’t worry on my account.”

Starless, unfathomable eyes lift to examine my face.

My stomach does a low, hard flip, and my nerves catch in my throat again.

Am I overstepping? I’m never sure of the line with him.

Yes, we had one of the most beautiful moments of my life in the woods together, where he laid all my fears to rest. But then Jaykob laid his challenge, and I’ve only seen Jasper in passing since.

There have been moments, but... they’ve been polite. Reserved. He’s been polite with Jaykob too—kind and generous, letting him sweep me away without a word of complaint. So kind, I just can’t help but wonder... does he even want this anymore? Or is he giving way to Jayk?

I remove my hand, and a tiny line appears between his brows.

Stepping back, I clutch my notepad closer and glance at the door. “I just saw Jennifer leaving.”

Tension threads between us, taut and invisible as he keeps staring at me, and I circle around the armchair, needing to get some distance.

It wasn’t a question, but he replies anyway. “I’ve had an influx of patients these last few days.” He sighs softly. “It’s good that they’re seeking help.”

I nod, my lips pursing politely around my opinions, but he seems to see through my silence.

Jasper’s brow lifts in cool demand, and I color at how quickly he reads me. Still, I stop on the other side of the chair, debating how to phrase my concern.

“Are you okay?” When he stiffens in surprise, I quaver but hold my ground. “It’s a lot to take on.”

Jasper takes in my expression—the careful distance between us—and his tone softens. “I’m used to it, Eden. You don’t need to worry about me.”

I do, though.

But I don’t say it.

Instead, I let the silence stretch, and his eyes narrow, before the tension line of his lips softens too.

He shakes his head ruefully, then he begins moving around the room as well—only this time, he’s not chasing me.

He pauses by the chessboard, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s our game, still in its final freeze frame.

“It is different,” he finally concedes. “I’m used to soldiers.

They experienced heavy things, of course, but I was used to the kinds of problems they faced.

” A long, elegant fingertip lingers over a defeated pawn.

“These women have so much trauma, in so many forms. You’re right.

It is difficult to hear.” But then his finger lifts off the pawn, and he looks at me directly.

“It’s not as difficult as knowing they’ve been bearing their burdens alone.

I might not be able to build a throne or scale a building, but I believe in my work.

In my way, I can help. That’s worth any number of nightmares. ”

He’s softly hazed by the low, warm lights, sincere and sure, and Ineed to draw in a long breath. My heart was lost somewhere in his quiet speech. I need a moment to work out how to function without it.

“What you do takes just as much courage,” I whisper, then flush at how foolish I sound, but to my surprise, Jasper flushes too, shaking his head in an immediate denial that I wonder at. Swallowing my nerves, I offer, “Do you need to talk? Is there something ... How do you decompress?”

“I have Lucien.” His affectionate reply is instant and shockingly warm, and I feel like a fool as soon as he answers it. Of course he has Lucky, and of course Lucky helps ease his burdens. He eases mine, too.

I bite my lip, tucking my notepad behind my back.

Who am I to worry about Jasper? What could I possibly offer him that Lucky doesn’t already?

“I’m glad,” I murmur, meaning it, and his return smile is just a bare brush over his lips.

This time, he doesn’t reply, just traces my face with his eyes.

My body. He lingers on my hidden hands and the fringe of his lashes dusts his cheeks.

His full mouth is soft and inviting, such a stern contrast to the bladed angles of his face, and I realize the tension between us is curling tighter, stretching beyond politeness.

I need to stop staring at him. I need to leave. If he wanted to work around Jaykob, he would have done it—or said something , surely, beyond all this civility. Even his kiss before the raid was only sweetly affectionate.

And on my forehead.

We’ve been managing so many silent conversations. I know he understands me in so many ways. But I fear, in this, we’re forever walking backward.

I clear my throat, backing up. “Well, I’ll just. ..”

Jasper’s breath leaves him in a gust of pent-up frustration, and for a moment, his manners slip.

“What do you have in your hands?” he demands, so impatiently that I stop, startled.

“My hands?”

My grip tightens, and the paper crunches between my fingers.

A dark, precarious light flares in his eyes, and he steps forward. “Yes, sweet girl, your hands. The appendages currently burrowing into your spine?”

Nervously, I laugh and the golden lamps find all the highlights and hollows of his face as he advances on me. The dip of his throat. The pale gleam of his chest.