Page 67 of The Garnet Daughter
I felt horrible for leaving him behind to go into the birthlands, but my reasons were correct. He could get hurt and I would never forgive myself, and if we cross this line, I know his judgment will be even more clouded and he will do too much to protect me. He deserves better.
It’s not complicated. I’m too complicated.
“I’m sorry, August. I—” My hand slides off his face. “I can’t.”
Chapter
Twenty-One
Iclimb out of his lap before my mind can even register it. His hands linger on me loosely, but he allows me the space I need to stand on regretful feet.
His brow furrows above his still darkened green eyes and the longing expression I was just lost in sobers, replaced with painful confusion.
“I’m sorry.” I stumble over his long legs, trying my best to make this less embarrassing than it already is. My panic may be unnecessary, but I knew what was going to happen if I stayed there for even a moment longer.
I avert my eyes like a fool as he adjusts the front of his pants. My cheeks flush hot from the realization I was not the only one of us affected.
“It’s fine, Calliape.” He scrubs both hands down his face, an attempt to adapt to the sudden change in the air.
“Are you . . . angry?” I ask, knowing how some men handle rejection. And even though I know he isn’t, I need to hear him say it.
“Of course not.” He reaches for me, sincerity written all over his face. “Never about that.”
“Well, I am sorry, August.” I can feel the water lining my eyes because I’m the one who is mad at myself. In another life, I would have kissed him, given in to what was building between us. But in this one, we cannot be. “I wish it were different. I wishIwas different.”
It comes out sounding like a poor excuse but it’s true.
“I don’t.” He smiles just a little, making sure to meet my eyes, and First Mother damn me, I want to climb back in his lap and forget what I just said.
I take a few steps away because I don’t trust myself. “Thank you for the flying lesson.”
“My pleasure.” He busies himself with some of the controls the way he does when he is trying to act natural and his muscle memory takes over. “Maybe after the conjunction, we can speak on such things once you have found what you are looking for out here. Or we can just pick up where we left off . . . with the lessons.”
Something about the way he phrases it twists my insides, the hopeful tone in his voice sending a bolt right to my heart.
“Maybe.” I worry my lip, unsure what else to say without making this worse. “I’m headed to the mess hall. Can I grab you anything?”
This is as upsetting as it is awkward.
“All set.” He shifts in his seat and focuses his attention on something on the command station.
I turn on my heels, and I want to sprint off to get my thoughts straight. But my body is met with such resistance that leaving the cockpit makes my pace slower than natural.
The urge to fold somewhere far away is like fern rash across my skin, itching and irritating. I try not to think about the look on his face when I said I couldn’t. My words so abrupt and clearly targeted at what is between us that he didn’t even need to ask for more information.
I didn’t say I don’t want to. I said I can’t.
To me, the difference is as clear as the air in each world, but I wonder if it is to him as well. I care about him more than most, possibly more than care. My attraction to him is becoming harder and harder to deny. I wanted to kiss him. I want to do more.
But I can’t.
I turn into the stark mess hall and approach the food dispensers like they have wronged me, huffing so hard my breath fogs the shiny metal of the one nearest.
I type in the code for tea and wait for it to brew.
I need to focus.
If I did not leave the spell book in the cockpit, I could be going over the chapter on binding like I desperately need to. But going back up there so soon is not an option right now, not for a while. Not until I can face him without thinking of how it felt being against him, the way his hips adjusted when I leaned in closer, the way his breathing pushed his chest against me with each inhale, and the smell of him. Like the saffron spice Ruth uses for special occasions, mixed with the scent of leather and something masculinely sweet.
