Lila

A moment before, no matter how upset she'd been, he'd been coming for her, that wicked gleam in his eye making her stomach flip. She was angry, but she hadn't wanted him to stop.

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Lila saw the moment the light went out in his eyes and he stumbled to a halt. He blinked and stopped walking and she could see his mind turning over, his fear returning.

Then he took a step back, murmured, "I have to go," and started for the door.

"Oh no you don't!" she snapped. His long legs meant she had to run to get ahead of him, but she did. She put herself between him and the door, grabbing the front of his sweater. His mouth fell open and he stared at where she touched him. "You're not going anywhere, Dane. This is a conversation between adults. This is what happens. We disagree. We tell each other what we're thinking and what we're feeling, and we sort it out. You don't get to only talk to yourself, and tell yourself how I'm going to die or whatever, then leave. Again. That is not what is happening right now! So do it!"

"Do what?" he croaked.

"Talk to me. You're here. You cared when you thought I was gone. You kissed me this afternoon like you wanted to. So, if it wasn't embarrassment or-or whatever," her cheeks got hotter, "you can damn well tell me why you just got shadows in your eyes and started walking away from me again."

They'd made it to the space near the entry to her apartment. She'd pushed right up into his space. Her head was craned back and she gripped his sweater with both hands now. She could feel his warmth seeping into her chest, her stomach, even her thighs. He closed his eyes and dropped his chin—his chin that was now covered in the shadow that somehow made his green eyes brighter when they opened and peered at her from between the tines of his hair.

He stepped back again, but she came with him. Like they were dancing. And a moment later he came up against the wall next to the kitchen. But she didn't move. She'd demanded that he speak, and now she waited. But what was he going to say?

"I…I don't know what to say," he muttered, reaching for her hands and gently taking them from his shirt. He lowered them to her sides, squeezing before he let go. Then he dropped his head back against the wall. He looked miserable.

"Dane," she breathed.

He shook his head. "This life is fucked. It's impossible."

She opened her mouth to say something—she wasn't sure what—when there was a soft squeaking meow at their feet.

Lila looked down and smiled. Rupert was rubbing against Dane's leg, staring up at him. When Dane looked down, the cat meowed again, his tail high and curved over his back.

"Rupert?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Lila said, still tense. She opened her mouth, but Dane took a breath, then met her gaze.

"Rupert." he said firmly, and she blinked. Okay. She was pushing too hard.

Lila swallowed her question and nodded, afraid he would leave. But he didn't move. Instead Dane turned his attention to the cat.

"Hey, little guy," Dane breathed, and to Lila's shock, he knelt down to scratch her cat under the chin. Rupert began to purr immediately and press his face into Dane's hand. "Does he like to be held?"

"Uh, yeah." Not usually by strangers, but then he didn't normally rub on strangers either. And Dane's face had softened as soon as he'd seen the cat so she hoped…she just hoped.

Dane slowly reached down and picked the cat up. Rupert's lithe body looked tiny in Dane's huge hands. When Dane put the cat to his neck and snuggled. Lila fought the urge to take a picture, knowing it would go viral.

Rupert sagged into Dane's chest, rubbed on his jaw, and purred like a motorboat.

Dane sighed let himself slide down the wall until he sat on the floor, his knees up, and Rupert cradled between his thighs and chest.

Lila couldn't believe it. If she'd known all it would take to disarm Dane was her cat, she'd have had him in here weeks ago.

"I'm sorry," he muttered a minute later as Rupert rolled onto his back and curled up in the impossible way only cats could. "I'm a mess."

"Yes, you are." Lila sighed, then sank to the floor next to him. "But so am I. So maybe we make a good pair?"

Dane snorted. "Or a terrible one."

Lila swallowed and looked away. He wasn't going to—then Dane's hand landed on her arm.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, then went back to scratching the cat. She watched as the tension slowly leached from his face until he was almost smiling. He kept murmuring at Rupert, who was loving the attention, until the cat's eyes began to droop.

Lila swallowed again, wishing it was her in the lap of Dane Daniels being stroked and cuddled.

I'm pathetic, she thought.

Dane had obviously been through more than one kind of hell today. Now that she was closer she could see the shadows under his eyes, the way his brow was lined. Then, as Rupert dozed off, Dane dropped his hands to the floor and his head back against the wall and sighed so heavily she felt his shoulders move next to her.

Unable to resist, she put a hand over his—his fingers were so much longer than hers she was really only patting the back of his hand. But he slumped more at her touch.

"Dane, talk to me. When you're ready. Please."

He didn't respond immediately, but one of his fingers lifted to brush hers and he gripped the ends of her fingers between his own so their fingers were laced.

"I don't know how to start," he rumbled.

Lila looked at him. "What could possibly be worse that telling me your father is a murderer?" she asked intensely.

He turned his head and met her eyes. "Telling you that I am," he croaked.