Page 115 of Shameless Royalty

He sighs, and I feel his fingers twitch against the sheets like he wants to reach for me but isn’t sure if he should. “I know I’ve been gone,” he says. “I should’ve come to see you sooner.”

I don’t react.

He shifts beside me, his body warm even through the space between us. “There was some family shit I had to deal with,” he continues, voice careful, as if he’s picking his words before he says them. “It got… complicated.”

A laugh tries to claw its way up my throat, but it dies before it makes it out. Family shit. Of course. It always comes first. I mean, he’s an heir to a fucking criminal empire; of course, that will matter more.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not enough.

I swallow against the tightness in my throat, my jaw clenching, but I still don’t look at him. I want to believe him. I want to let this go, let him pull me back in like he always does. But something inside me refuses to move.

“I should’ve checked in and let you know what was happenin’,” he says, softer now. “I didn’t mean to just… disappear. My days just bled into each other and the next thing I knew, I hadn’t seen you in days and—”

He hesitates again before breaking my heart once more. “Now I have to leave for a bit.” His fingers lightly graze my arm, likehe’s testing to see if I’ll pull away. “I don’t know how long. It’s important. But I’ll be back.”

My stomach twists, but I force myself to stay still. I should ask him where he’s going. I should demand answers. But what’s the fucking point? I already know I won’t get them.

So I say nothing.

His hand tightens slightly on my arm, the heat of his palm bleeding through my sleeve. “Malachi.”

Still nothing.

I can feel it now—his anxiety creeping in, the way his breathing shifts, the way his grip tenses like he’s waiting for me to snap, to argue, to react in any way at all. But I still don’t give him anything.

His breath hitches slightly, and he moves closer, his other hand reaching out, ghosting over my side like he wants to pull me into him, but doesn’t know if he should.

“Please,” he murmurs, voice raw now. “Say somethin’.”

I blink slowly, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Good luck,” I say finally, voice flat.

I feel him flinching as if I just struck him. “That’s it?”

I exhale, curling in on myself. “What else do you want me to say?”

He moves then, shifting onto his side so he’s hovering over me, close enough that I can feel his breath against my skin. “Anythin’,” he says, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Tell me you’re mad. Tell me to go fuck myself. Just—” He grits his teeth. “Don’t shut me out like this.”

I finally turn to look at him. His face is closer than I expected, green eyes searching mine, brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a tight line. He looks… lost.

Good.

I lift my chin slightly, holding his gaze. “Why?”

He exhales sharply. “Why what?”

“Why does it matter?”

His expression twists, and something flickers behind his eyes. “You really think I don’t give a shit?”

I stare at him for a long moment. Then I shrug. “You always leave, and I’m still stuck in this prison cell.”

His jaw clenches, his fingers tightening on my arm. “And I always come back.”

“For how long?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He stills, and I shake my head, moving away from his touch. “It doesn’t matter, Connor. You’re gonna do whatever you have to do, and I’m gonna be here. Waiting.” My chest aches, but I shove it down. “That’s how this works, right?”

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