Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(79)

Please, please, can the ceiling collapse and the floor swallow me whole?

When I can’t stand the new silence any longer, I say, “Please say something. I need you to take the lead right now. I know you want me to step it up and initiate things. And I’ve been trying so very hard. Please tell me you’ve noticed?” Before he can answer, as though my mouth has a tidal wave pressing against it and the words must come out, I continue. “I’ve been touching you. Initiating kisses. Striking up conversations. You said you wanted an equal partner, and I’ve been trying, Kellyn, but it’s so hard. And I don’t know if I can do it all the time anymore. Can we say I’ve learned my lesson? Can we please initiate things equally now? Can you please meet me halfway?”

I gulp down air after the words are out, as though I just ran a race instead of speaking so many words in one go.

“What!” Kellyn says, his voice incredulous.

“Please don’t make me repeat all of that. I’m certain I’ve already forgotten half of it.”

In fact, all I can focus on now is the tight bunching under my skin. The discomfort. Always discomfort. I try to focus on the good. On being near Kellyn. I just need to push through the agitation. It will fade eventually. It always does where he’s concerned.

“I heard you,” he clarifies. “But I don’t understand. Whenever did I say you needed to initiate things?”

“After you hit your head in the woods. When you were shot. You said you were sick of pursuing me. You said you were backing off because you wanted an equal partner, and you wanted me to make an effort for once.”

“I really said that?”

I nod, daring to look at him. “Did you not mean it? Was that your concussion talking?”

“Yes, I mean no. I mean, I was feeling that at the time, but I had no idea I said it aloud. And I can’t believe I said it so bluntly. I’m so sorry. It shouldn’t have happened that way.”

“I’m glad you said something! I thought you didn’t want me anymore. You were pulling back. Not talking. Not touching me. I didn’t know what to think!”

“But I told you! In the inn, I told you I still wanted you!”

“But then you pulled away. You didn’t bring it up. You stopped acting like yourself. I thought you might have changed your mind.”

“Changed my mind,” he deadpans.

“Yes!”

“In just a matter of hours?”

“Yes! Why should I listen to your words when your actions speak something different? I’m glad, because you dared me to be braver. To go after what I want. And what I want is you.”

The full force of his gaze hits me like a lightning strike. I continue, “But please don’t make me take charge all the time. Can we please take turns now?”

His gaze softens into something endearing. “Yes, of course we can.”

“You won’t make me initiate every conversation?” I ask.

“I won’t.”

“And you’ll start kissing me again?”

“I will.”

“Good.”

Kellyn’s gaze turns inward. He’s thinking very seriously about something, and I want to know what it is. But he’s clearly not done, so I’m silent. He needs time to process everything I’ve said. I’ve been stewing over it for weeks. He’s just now hearing about it.

When he refocuses on me, he says, “I have noticed your efforts. I loved it. But it was also mean of me. I was being spiteful. I wanted you to have a sense of what I was feeling while we were running from Kymora. It was unfair. And I’m so, so sorry. Let’s just be ourselves.”

“I’d like that.”

And then I’m hit with another wave of exhaustion. The reminder of the bloody battle. Fleeing for our lives. Killing. I close my eyes against it.

I say, “I need you to take charge tonight,” reminding him of my words from earlier.

He finally closes the distance between us and wraps me in his arms. “Sweetheart,” he says, and the word is so loving and delicious it makes my toes curl. “I’m happy to, but I don’t know what you need right now. You have to tell me. Do you want to talk about today? Do you want me to hold you? Do you want me to pull Petrik off your sister and lock him in my room tonight so he can’t touch her? Say what you need and it’s yours.”

I laugh at the last option, and he squeezes me tighter.

“I don’t hear that sound enough,” he says.

Sometimes I forget that just because I never know what to say doesn’t mean everyone else does all the time. Kellyn isn’t a mind reader. If I need something, I need to ask for it.

“Today was rough,” I say. “I would like to be held, please.”

“Would you like to move somewhere more comfortable?” he asks. “We can stand here for a while. We could sit on the couch. On the floor. Wherever you want.”

“Could we lie down on the bed? Could we sleep side by side like we did in the tent?”

“Definitely,” he says, his voice so deep, it’s almost impossible to make out the word.

I’m very aware of many things. The fact that we’re both wearing so little. The fact that we’re alone in this room together. The fact that we have a bed to share.