Page 60 of Citadel

“Tell me.”

“I guess I’d… I’d want something deeper. Deeper than I have. Breanna is the only person I truly love, and that doesn’t feel… big enough. Not for an entire life. I like the folks in Monument, but I’m not all that close to them. I want real friendships. A deeper community. Maybe a future with a… a partner. Children. Something bigger that feels like I’m pouring all my work and hopes into. I’ve had hints of that but not the real thing. If I dreamed anymore, that’s what I would dream of.”

He doesn’t reply in words, but he’s listening. I know he’s listening. His warm palm cups my cheek for a minute before it slides down to stroke my neck.

We remain in silence for a long stretch of time. It’s late into the night now. I should be sleeping, but I can’t.

But I also can’t move away from Cole’s lap.

Eventually he says softly, “Tell me about your life in Monument.”

“What?”

“Tell me about your life. I want to know about it. What you’ve been doing these past two years. You know what I’ve been doing—on this endless, miserable quest—so I want to know about you.”

I swallow hard, not sure what to tell him. “I’ve… I’ve just been… making do. Living with Breanna in Monument. Working in the garden or fishing at the river. I talk to folks and help out where I can, and I’ve been… I’ve been safe.”

“You don’t have any close friends.”

“I’ve got people I would call friends. I’m not sure any of them are really close. I don’t… I don’t open up easily.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you would.” He pauses. “Any boyfriends?”

I bite my lower lip and then realize he’ll easily be able to interpret the nervous gesture, so I let it go.

“You can tell me.”

“Y-yeah. I’ve had boyfriends. One that lasted almost a year.”

“What happened?” His voice is gruff but otherwise uninflected. It feels like he’s purposefully holding back what he’s feeling.

“He died.”

“You loved him?”

I hesitate. Then shake my head slightly. Tell him the truth. “No. I don’t think I did. I was fond of him. He was good to me. We were… pretty good together. But I didn’t really open up to him either. I wasn’t in love with him.”

“You fucked him?”

“Yes. I fucked him.” I give him a sharp, upward glance. “Is that a problem for you?”

“Of course it’s a problem. The idea of it makes me want to…” He clenches his fists and then loosens them again. “But it’smyproblem. Not yours. I left you. You’re allowed to fuck anyone you want.”

“I know I am.”

He works his jaw for a few seconds before he asks matter-of-factly, “So just the one guy?”

“There was one other guy. I tried to have a casual thing with him, but it didn’t really work for me. We only lasted a few weeks, and then I ended it.”

“Okay.” He’s breathing heavily but clearly trying to rein in whatever possessive response has arisen in him.

Ridiculously, the instinctive possessiveness thrills me just as much as the way he’s controlling it.

“What about you?” I ask, deciding this shouldn’t be only one-sided. “How many people have you fucked in the past two years?” I meet his gaze and hold it.

His eyes narrow slightly. “None.”

“What?”

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