Page 66 of Starborn Husbands
“No. I don’t think you can love anyone, Treyu.”
That’s … that’s worse than the other thing. A lightning bolt to my heart. “I do so. I love my family. I fell in love with Trinket just looking at him.”
“You allow yourself to love your family a lot, but you still keep a little piece away from them too. You’ll never let yourself love anyone outside of your family enough for what most consider romance.”
My blood boils, but I asked the question, and I would have been angrier if he were dishonest. In fact, I’m angrier because I know he’s right. Mostly right. I mostly loved someone once and that got me an eyeful of betrayal. It’s frustrating and saying I don’t know how to love someone properly doesn’t seem like a real thing.
But even a love-resistant particle like me knows that love requires vulnerability and there’s only so much vulnerability I can handle.
“I’m pathetic and broken.” At least now I have no desire to seduce him. I roll onto my side, away from him.
His hook-like arm captures me and secures me to his body. I let the warmth sink into me. I won’t cry.
“I know why,” he says. “Because your mo?—”
“Don’tsay it. For the love of the Gods, don’t say it.”
“Okay.”
He lets me be, but he doesn’t let me go. His strong energy holds me as steadily as his massive arms. I’m in a cave of comfort. “I can’t get her screams out of my head,” I admit.
“The brain of a child—especially an infant—is an interesting thing. It creates a story based on perception at that age. The way we perceive things as children is seldom productive. All you have to do is create a new story and tell it to yourself until you believe it.”
“Did you read that in a human self-help book? Clearly, it’s by someone who has never murdered their own mother just by being born.”
He flinches at my caustic tone. “I’m sorry. I thought it might help, but … you’re right. I don’t know what that’s like, and I still miss my mother as fiercely as if she had died yesterday. I can only imagine your pain.”
My heart hurts. It hurts so bad. I put up more walls. “I’m going to sleep now. I don’t want to talk about this anymore or ever again.”
Even Dad is careful about bringing this topic up.
Zhang sighs. “I just don’t want you to think you’re pathetic or broken, Starfleet. I know that you will so long as you believe … well, I won’t keep this going anymore tonight, but I will always be honest with you, and I don’t agree that never dealing with it is a good idea. It’s tied directly to your worthiness and has a ripple effect through your life.”
“Good thing we’re not getting married then. Your opinions about my life are irrelevant.” I know it’s nasty when I say it. I’m going for nasty. Were I him, I’d roll away and ignore him as punishment for saying something so awful and even if he apologized, I’d continue to make him regret it.
Zhang takes the hit. He runs a hand through my hair. He holds me tighter. He doesn’t say another word.
I think about moving away, but I don’t want to. I want this for one more night even though I don’t deserve it.
Tomorrow will come. We’ll clear my name. This will be over.
The sooner the better for both of us.
* * *
Zhang’s side of the bed is empty. I guess no good-morning fun time for us. I don’t want to leave this room. When I do, it all ends and … things will be fine. Nothing will change. We’re not going to return to being enemies. We weren’t very good enemies to begin with. It was all just me being a child.
Our families have had their differences, and they hate each other, but we don’t have to. I’m going to say that when he returns.
The bedroom door slides open as I’m contemplating what I should wear. A surge of that glow flickers from deep within me. The boots clatter to the floor and I patter barefoot to meet his energy, barreling toward me. How long have I been able to sense that?
Zhang’s not glowing at all. He’s got something heavy on his mountain-sized shoulders.
“Everything okay?”
He shakes his head. “I left early to talk to the Guild—I didn’t want you to have to stay longer than you had to—but I … I don’t have good news.”
I grab the lapels of his jacket. “Spit it out.”
