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"He's very young," I said, though it sounded unconvincing even to my ears.
"He's an adult who knows what he wants. You’re not doing anything wrong."
"And if he finds out about my vision and changes his mind?"
"Then he wouldn’t have been the right person," Monty said, voice hard. "But I don't think that’s going to happen. I think you know that too, or you wouldn't have been so scared tonight. You would have just been uninterested."
Well, shit. He could have smacked me in the head, and it would’ve hurt less than that truth.
"He's still down there?" I asked.
"He is. Bellamy has been talking to him. I don't think anyone has told him to leave or that he overstepped. If anything, the consensus seems to be that the man is exactly where he needs to be. You don't have to go back down if you're not ready. No one is going to think less of you for needing a few minutes. But if you are ready, I think seeing him might be less frightening than you're building it up to be in your head right now."
Monty stood from the bed and finally drank some of his own juice.
"I should apologize.”
"You can. Though I don't think he needs one as much as you think he does. He seems like the kind of person who already understood why you left. I bet he might even feel a bit guilty."
That was the part that was somehow the most difficult to sit with. The idea that Paxton had watched me run and had understood it anyway, without taking it as a rejection or a statement about him specifically. The generosity of that was foreign to me.
I unfolded myself from the chair, letting the throw blanket fall back over the arm where I had found it. My legs were steady, even if the rest of me was still a bit wobbly.
Monty led the way back down the stairs holding both of our cups since my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and he worried I’d drop mine. I followed at his pace while trying to do the thing he had asked—to actually hear what he had told me rather than spend the whole walk back building new arguments against it.
Easier said than done.
When we reached the doorway to the playroom, I paused. The energy inside had settled since I’d left. The Littles had moved back toward their various activities, and the Daddies were clustered in a few loose groups talking. Someone had put on a movie at low volume too.
I found Paxton without having to look very hard for him. That told me a lot about where my attention went when he was in the room.
He was standing with Bellamy near the far wall, listening to whatever the other man was saying with an intense focus. I bet he had that same look when he was gearing up for a game.
As if he felt my eyes on him, Paxton turned gradually, like he didn’t want to spook me or something. When his gaze found mine, he didn’t do anything dramatic. He didn’t rush over or smile too brightly or make any gesture that would have drawn attention from the others. He only looked at me for a moment, the expression on his face warm and patient.
I felt the tension in my shoulders ease. Dipping my head, I wiggled my fingers in a subtle wave. He returned the motion, the corners of his lips tipping into a gentle smile.
That was the whole of it, and somehow it was enough to make my insides feel like I’d just laid in my pile of stuffies back home. I was warm and mushy and happy.
Monty stepped close and said quietly, near my ear, "See?"
I didn’t answer him out loud, but I thought to myself,yes, I did see. I wasn’t sure yet what I was supposed to do with what I saw, or how to be the kind of person who could receive that kind of attention without finding a way to talk myself out of deserving it.
Those were problems for future me.
But standing there with Paxton's gaze carrying none of the judgment I had expected, I thought that maybe working through my issues was actually possible. That maybe running tonight hadn’t broken us before we’d truly gotten started, and that the man across the room was, in fact, willing to be patient while I figured things out.
"Trust him," Monty said softly. "Your instincts are good. His are too."
I let out a slow breath. We would see.
CHAPTER 9
Paxton
I woke up before my alarm, which was nothing new. My body had been running on an internal clock since I was about fourteen. My coach at the time decided that five-thirty morning practices were character building. He wasn't wrong. The character it built was a kid who could no longer sleep past six no matter how hard he tried.
Pops was knocked out cold, his body spread across the queen-size bed he’d claimed yesterday. I told myself to give him another hour and went about getting myself sorted. The hotel had a small gym I'd already investigated, so I got a decent workout in, came back, showered, and was dressed and ready before he even stirred. The man could sleep through a freight train some days. Others he’d pop up at the slightest sound.
