But he sure said it like it was.
“My memoir, the research, the work I do now—that’show I coped with it.”
I frowned. “You make it sound very… contained.”
“It is.”
Contained.
The word was dressed up in a shadow, like maybe it meant more than he was willing to explain.
Ever so slightly, the hand around my neck squeezed. “I don't like leaving things unfinished.”
What the fuck didthatmean?
Questions built on my tongue but all that slipped past my lips was a bratty… “must be nice.”
As if I were jealous.
Jealousof my trauma-riddled Professor daddy boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.
“And that’s the difference, isn’t it, sweetheart?”
I blinked at him. “What is?”
“I had answers.” His thumb shifted once at my throat. “I know what happened. You don’t. You’re still trying to fill in gaps that don’t stay still.”
I hooked my fingers in his belt loops, pulling him closer.
“That kind of thing pulls at you. Keeps you moving. It’s tearing a hole through you, baby.Of courseyou’re going to try to get ahead of it. That’s not a flaw.”
“I just don’t want to ruin this,” I admitted.
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He swore, and I rolled my eyes.
“Your confidence is infuriating.”
His mouth twitched. “What you’re feeling is not selfishness. It’s a response to a fifteen year-old question that’s shredding you to pieces.”
I made a wounded sound.
“But don’t you worry.” He hummed. “I’m going to take what’s left. Any piece that pulls loose, I’ll take care of it.”
My heart did a cartwheel.
“Mine, Rabbit.”
A nervous laugh slipped out of me. “So I don’t get a say in this?”
“No.” His hand slid higher at the back of my neck. “But something tells me you don’t actually want one.”
I opened my mouth to argue.