Page 30 of She is the Darke
He stopped talking, and dropped his attention to the gravel near their shoes. “Feels like a bad idea.”
It felt like a rejection, but she wanted clear communication, so she pushed. She did better with closure. She did better with understanding her exact place in people’s lives. “Why is it a bad idea?”
He ran his hand down the short scruff on his jaw again, like it was a habit he’d picked up in his adult years. His gaze was so raw, so vulnerable. He parted his lips like he wanted to answer, then dropped his head and shook it. “I’m tired tonight, Darke.”
She took a step back, feeling the weight of his rejection more now.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked back toward the bar. “If it means that much, I can do one beer with you before I go.”
Felt like a slap. “I’m no better than Trollop trying to get you to take her home then. I can tell you don’t want to.”
“It’s not you.”
“It’s me,” she finished for him. “Heard that line before. Tyler,” she said, and huffed a breath, lifted her chin up higher. “You’re great. You’re obnoxious, and I want to throat-punch you fifty-nine percent of the time, but you are a hard worker and you are here for good reasons. Your sister told me about your dad.There’s no pressure from me, and I’ll do better about the messy stuff.”
“What messy stuff?” he asked softly.
“The way you make my head…” She searched for the right words, but none came. “It’s on me. You’re just playing. You’ve always played. I don’t understand it and I get confused, and that’s my bad. Any uneven ground we are navigating right now is mine to steady out, so here we go.” She stuck her hand out for a shake. “It’s good to meet you again, Tyler. As adults. I’m Demi.”
His hands were still shoved deep in his pockets. He looked from her hand to her eyes, and back to her hand, before he slid his warm palm against hers.
A handshake wasn’t supposed to feel like intimacy, but his grip slowly tightened, and his eyes bore straight into her soul as he pulled her forward. With their hands clasped between them, he uttered, “You make me messy, too.”
“Can I ask you something?” she said, trying to keep the tremors from her voice at being this close to him.
“Sure.”
“The phone call today. Are you okay?”
He searched her eyes for the span of three breaths, and then shocked her when he pulled her hand up to his lips and laid a kiss there, right on her knuckles. “I’m a match,” he said against her skin, and then released her hand.
“A match for transplant?”
He nodded. “It’s a good thing, it’s just a lot.”
She couldn’t imagine. Coming back here after the turmoil between him and his father. Being the one to come up as a match for the man he had such a love-hate relationship with. Leaving behind his company, his friends, his life, to step back into a flood of old memories and uncertainty. And he was still doing it. He would go through with it and donate a kidney to keep the patriarch of the Durock family going. He would probably be theone to carry the family business while his dad was healing up, and he wasn’t complaining to anyone, or wanting attention for it. If she hadn’t asked, he wouldn’t have ever talked about it. She just knew he wouldn’t.
“You’re very tough, and very good,” she told him.
“Truth,” he said softly. “I can tell you mean that.” He nodded, and shoved his hands back into his pockets.
“It’s good to hear positive reinforcement sometimes,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Honestly, I don’t even know what to do with a compliment.”
“I’ll teach you. Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
“You absorb it. Really let yourself hear it, and feel the good in the compliment. Don’t argue it or say the complimentor is wrong. Never do that. Just hear it, and then say thank you. Later, when you overthink it, remind yourself that it was said with good intentions. Repeat it to yourself until you believe it as much as the complimentor believes it.”
A slow smile curved his masculine lips. He straightened his spine and lifted his chin higher. “Thank you.” He looked back at the bar. “You better get back to all your boyfriends in there.”
“Yeah, your sister has a goal of getting boys to pay for our meals and drinks tonight.”
“It’s a solid goal,” he teased. “You won’t have any problem charming the shit out of them.”
“Yeah, because I’m a crow shifter. Goodie. I’m so happy that’s the most appealing thing about me. I’m a freak-show, and boys do love a freak-show.”