Page 204 of The Clinch
I nod. Pause. Because this feels absurdly important. “The Kenyan roast is better.”
That catches him off guard.
The corner of his mouth moves. “It totally is.”
A breath escapes me that feels dangerously close to a sob, and I turn away fast enough that my hair swings across my cheek.
This is ridiculous.
Coffee.
We are about to emotionally combust in his kitchen over coffee.
And yet, that’s exactly the point.
It isn’t only about the fight. Maybe it never was. It’s about the shape of him, and the shape of care, and all the small things I kept half-seeing because I was too scared to look directly at them.
I stare out the window, then the shape of it finally locks into place. “He used protection to chain me.” I turn back to face him. “You used it to free me.”
Leo doesn’t move. I don’t think he’s breathing.
I keep going, because if I stop now I may never get the rest out.
“He called control love. He made every act of care into a way to shrink my world until there was only him in it.” I have to work to get air past the words, but I push through. “You made a call without me. You hit every wrong wire I had. You should’ve told me. But then you ended the threat and stepped away.”
He lowers his eyes for a second, then lifts them again. “I wanted to come after you.” His voice stays low. “I wanted to call. I wanted to know if you got home, if you slept, if you cried, if—” He cuts himself off and drags a hand over the back of his neck. “I wanted a lot of things.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
He looks at me for a long moment. Of course he doesn’t waste this answer.
“Because if you came back,” he says, “it had to be because you wanted to. Not because of what I did. Not because you felt cornered into forgiving me. Not because I was useful.”
The force of it makes me catch myself on the chair beside me.
His voice drops quieter, like the words cost him.
“I don’t want anything from you that isn’t freely given.” He pauses, his eyes locked on mine. “But I want everything.”
That is the line that gets through me.
Not the fight. Not the blood. Not the cameras. Not even the coffee.
That.
Because it’s the exact opposite of everything Travis ever was.
My eyes burn. I laugh once through the sting because apparently that’s how my body handles collapse now.
“This is unbelievably inconvenient,” I mutter.
The smallest, most wrecked smile touches his mouth and disappears.
I look at him. Really look at him. At the restraint holding every line of his body in place. At the careful distance. At the fact that he has not once tried to close it for me. At the patience I mistook for control because I was too hurt to see the difference clearly.
“I’m still angry,” I say.
“I know.”
