Lost Creek Hollow una tortura perderte

He couldn’t help but watch her—grace in her movement, and now, he understood, endurance in her demeanor. He knew she suspected something was amiss—but to look at her, it would be hard to tell if she cared one way or another.

And wasn’t that the thing of it all?

“I…” What to even begin with? He was going to try to seriously see someone? An actual relationship? Or that he knew possibly the biggest, darkest secret of hers?

He wanted to start with Eshe—for Silvertongue, that would be by far the least worse of the two. In a selfish moment, though, he did not know if he could handle her reaction to such news—how indifferent he believed she would be that their little interludes would be no more.

After all, she had multiple lovers. Who was he but one who helped fill in the time and emptiness?

“Germanicus told me.” A band aid, ripped suddenly. His eyes were aflame then, recalling the man and how he had spoke of it, as if ticking off a checklist of his failures. “I don’t believe you’d want others to know… But I wish to bar him passage to the creek. Gunnar will have questions if I do.”

His gaze swept over her then, searching. The ball was in her court. The rules were entirely up to her to lay out. “I will respect whatever it is you want to do.”