Power Play - Lauren Landish Page 0,140

of me as judge, jury, and executioner, a look in her eyes that tells me I need to get my shit together, and do it quickly, because she’s right. She deserves nothing less than what she was willing to give.

But in all my years on this planet, I’ve never had to really do what she’s asking. Even when I was in the military or a merc, if a superior chewed my ass, they would tell me why and how I fucked up and rarely demanded an apology beyond another set of push-ups.

This is going to be hard.

“I shouldn’t have left you,” I start slowly, chewing over every word in my mind before I say it, “but I thought I was doing the right thing. Thought I was protecting you, and when I saw you being held at gunpoint, a small part of me said, ‘I told you so,’ because that was exactly what I’d been trying to prevent. My heart literally stopped because I knew I couldn’t get to you in time. If I’d moved toward you, that asshole would’ve pulled the trigger and I would’ve lost you. I died a little in that moment too, just from the thought that you could be hurt.”

Emma’s posture relaxes a little, but her eyes are still so intense, so demanding, that I know she needs more. She needs it all.

“But I wasn’t. I’m fine. I’m here. Now what?”

She asks the question like I have some say-so in our next steps, but I know my answer is a test.

I’m answering the question, but she has all the power.

If I can find the strength, the courage, to open up to her fully, to go all in and return her love, she’ll stay. We’ll go home, and life will be messy, it’ll be weird, but it’ll be wonderful with her by my side.

If I can’t . . . she’ll get off the plane in New York, and that’s the last I’ll likely ever see or hear from her.

And I can’t imagine that.

My life would become a cold, meaningless nightmare, and I can’t live like that anymore. Not now that I know what it could be.

So I swallow every single drop of pride I have and tell her the truth. It’s not pretty, and I don’t know if it’ll be enough, but it’s all I have. I stand, feeling like I’m facing a firing squad as I lay myself bare.

“I’m not really sure what love is. I don’t think what my dad felt for us was love, more like obligation. And my mom died when I was young, so a lot of the memories are hazy, like happy fuzzies in my mind. I’d say I love Caleb, but that’s different, like a responsibility and hope that he’s eventually happy. I’ve never . . .”

I sigh, searching for the words that won’t form into coherent thoughts when I need them most. “I don’t have a name for what I feel, but I don’t want to lose it. Lose you. Songs and books say love is supposed to be like butterflies and sunshine and pink hearts, you know? But that’s not what I feel, not at all.”

I lean into her, running my thick fingers into her messy bun and grabbing a handful of her blonde hair as I rumble, first to her lips, then against the satin skin of her neck, and finally into her ear.

“What I feel is deep and scarily obsessive. Emma, you’re working your way into every crevice, every cranny of my soul, and I want the same. I want to own you, to be owned by you. I want your breath to carry my name and my name only for the rest of your life. Because from the moment I saw that gun to your head, it’s all I can think of, and I can’t live without you. I want to live, Emma. I want to live inside you like the way you’ve wiggled into my soul.”

It’s more dark poetry than what I think love is supposed to be, but maybe my perception of bubblegum love is wrong?

And isn’t that the point? I don’t fucking know.

I have no idea how love is supposed to feel.

The cold reality is a slap to my soul, and Emma’s silence is another hit. I sink to the bed once again, defeated and broken. More broken than I ever have been before.

Slowly, I feel her fingers start to stroke my hair, and she bends over me, wrapping her arms