Page 28 of Foxed Up

I hadn't expected him to sound this heartbroken.

"Why not? It's the truth, isn't it?" I spoke indistinctly. Why did that come out tentatively? Itwasthe truth...wasn't it?

"I don't want us to be over. I didn't think we were. Avery, I've apologized and said I'll try to make it up to you. Can't you just suck it up and try again? I'm not perfect, but I'll do better. I'll be a boyfriend you can be proud of. You just need to not give up on me every time I fuck something up. I really am trying. You know I am."

I studied his haggard features, really weighing them and him. I chewed slowly. His eyes implored me, but he was also indignant, angry. He didn't think he "deserved" this.

Well, maybe he didn't.

"You should date a non-shifter," I explained. "Maybe they don't have such exacting and impossible standards." I crumpled up the paper and threw it on the floor of his car.

Something sparked in his gaze — anger, outrage — and he reached for me. "Listen, you." He'd caught my wrist and leaned closer, breathing in my face, intensity in his eyes. "There's high standards and then there's just being a prick. What kind of fucking high standards demand you break up with me over saying something you know I didn't mean, and I'm sorry I said at all? Huh? How is that a fuckingshifterthing?"

Wetness prickled threateningly, humiliatingly, at the edges of my eyes. "Don't," I said, tugging at my wrist halfheartedly, not really ready to fight him to be free. I wanted to talk, to say how it really was. "It's — it's different, okay?"

I wanted him to understand, not just think I was being a jerk and give himself a pass. I swallowed hard, hoping I wouldn't cry. I couldn't, not now, when I'd been feeling so much nothing inside just a few moments ago. The food was filling some of the empty space in me, but there was still so much left — a vacuum of love, or something.

He let go of my arm and leaned back, staring at me, waiting for me to explain, to make sense to him. Would that ever happen?

"I trusted you," I said, my voice soft and broken-sounding. "I l-loved you. And you didn't love me." I hung my head, rubbing my wrist distractedly. "That hurts so much. Because I felt like — like we were meant to be. Like we might be mates. I trusted you witheverything, Connery. All of me. And now I don't have anything left." I looked up at him, tears blurring my vision despite my wishes that they not interfere in this moment. "It's no good saying it wasn't that serious to you, because obviously I know that now. But I can't help it; I felt like we might be m-mates...and I l-loved you."

"I love you too," said Jon automatically. "It's not...nothing's changed on my side. Yes, I'm frustrated with you — and myself — but if you love someone you don't give up on them right away, you hear me? So if it meant that much to you, then you owe it to both of us not to walk away and take your heart with you."

I stared at him, panting a little, breathing through my open mouth. He didn't understand. It was like a wall between us, his not understanding. "This isn't something I chose."

"You're choosing not to try to fix it. Even if I broke something by fucking up, you can choose to help me fix it by working with me, giving me a chance. If you don't, then you'rechoosingto walk away. You can't let your fox side decide everything. Either you're a human and have a choice in your relationships, or you're not."

We stared at each other. I was breathing fast and shallowly, my eyes brimming. It hurt. It hurt so much...but I could feel again. And...hope. I didn't want to hope; that would just make it hurt more later. But he was looking at me with those most sincere eyes, and he meant what he said, I could tell. He really meant this.

"Wallace," said Jon, his voice growing both gruffer and more tender. He reached for me, for my face, and somehow or other, I didn't jerk away. He cupped my face with a callused, tender hand and rubbed his thumb gently along my cheek.

He took me in with his eyes, so much emotion in them: regret, tenderness, wistfulness, heartache, and affection. Possibly even...love? "Wallace," he said, each word distinct. "I still love you, okay? Don't walk out on me before we can fix this."

Then he leaned closer and pressed his lips to mine in a gentle kiss. It held a pureness and a passion that I didn't expect. He caught me breathless with a simple, short kiss. His face was cold, and his breath was warm. I kissed him back chastely, and then it was over and he drew back, giving me my space, reaching for his seatbelt to buckle up again.

"Think about it. Okay?"

I could only nod.

He started the engine, and off we drove, the car smelling of McDonalds and my lips tingling with his kiss.

Jon Connery

It was a long drive to a rundown and seedy area in the next precinct. I took it slowly, but we didn't talk. Wallace seemed distant and engaged with his thoughts. I let him have them. I couldn't try any harder than I'd just tried.

The good thing was I thought he'd actually heard me this time, believed me, and was now thinking about how he was acting instead of just blaming me for all of this fucked-up mess.

It was strange seeing him like this. I'd seen him uncertain before, yes, and I'd experienced his distance from me, but this morning it all seemed so much more intense. Perhaps it was the clothes he was wearing. They were so tattered, out of style, and old. I couldn't help seeing him as younger than he was. The lack of sleep and hunger really showed on his face, too. He looked wretched.

(Perhaps I was picking up some of his speech patterns.Wretchedwasn't normally a word I associated with anyone.)

He looked like he could live down by the river in those clothes, next-door neighbor to the desperate and angry rabbit shifter. He was usually so pulled together, projecting an air of nerdish style and taste. It would not be difficult at all for him to pull off the undercover look he was going for. But it made me want to let him go undercover less than ever.

I wanted to wrap my arms around him and protect him from the world. I wanted to never let him out of my sight. He was too vulnerable. If even I could hurt him so much, how could he possibly stand the worst the world could throw at him? And this assignment was bound to be less than pretty…

Rather than argue about it, I bit my tongue, going over my silently raging arguments in my head. I could tell the captain, but I couldn't put anything more on Wallace right now. He had enough shit to carry.

The kiss had meant something to him, though. That had been right. I always was better at kissing than talking. And I'm not even a very skilled kisser.