Derry and I take a stroll on my jogging route while Barry finishes a dinner he’s convinced will get me back on the meat wagon. It won’t. I like fruits and vegetables too much. And cake. Unfortunately, upon arrival at Halfway Hill, I realize this is no leisurely, love-struck teenager rendezvous.

Derry’s become an aficionado at distracting me from the subject of energy transfer. His, specifically. Oh, everyone else is fair game. We discuss augmentation with Mom, who I haven’t seen since that last botched attempt, thanks to Ryan placing her in quarantine…for her own good, supposedly. We discuss supplementation with Brody, who I’d like to add threatened to hold Derry down while I funneled my fire fuel down his throat if I wanted him to. Point to Brody. You know who we don’t discuss? Yeah, it’s him.

Any time I broach him accepting my energy, he redirects the conversation to my fire-bringing ability, encouraging me to play with that instead. Ryan supports the exercises. Under Derry’s supervision, I won’t wind up burning anything to a crisp, especially Derry, but I’m aware of something Ryan isn’t. Derry’s abstaining, and I’m not naïve enough to believe actively training me on control is for my advantage. He’s straight up set on distracting me by any means necessary. What I can’t figure out is why.

This little jaunt was for one purpose. More distraction. Literal heat wasn’t what I had in mind for alone time with Derry today. I prefer station seduction to our field exercise in futility. After a few hours, I’m so frustrated I can hardly focus. Do I do the right thing and communicate my feelings like an adult? Nope. I haven’t had to, crutching his mind-reading to speak for me. Problem is, his energy abstinence mission is affecting his telepathy. Diminished energy reduces abilities. He’s sitting on the heavy side of empty yet continues to refuse augmentation. It’s beyond annoying. Bright side: I’m not the only one annoyed. He’s pretty sick of my attitude, too. Heh, solidarity.

He groans. “Concentrate.”

Finger fireworks are an oldie but a goodie. Sort of tough to master, though. I keep losing sight of the released sparks. Any loss of concentration causes them to fizzle out before they properly ignite or connect with the designated target. This bothers him more than it bothers me. Bullseye or not, I view the deliberate release as satisfying progress. He’s a bit meh about my benchmark. Rude.

“I said concentrate,” he repeats through gritted teeth after another misfire.

Not hot news, Buddy. I heard him loud and clear the last forty-two times he said it. That’s it. I’m going on strike. My eye twitches supportively as I sit down on the ground with a disgruntled thud. “I don’t want to produce fire. My goal isn’t release. It’s suppression.”

“This will be an important countermeasure if your restraint fails you.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“If people wouldn’t be so resistant to receiving my energy, I wouldn’t have to agonize over my restraint failing me.”

“Brody accepted what you offered him.”

“I nearly became a permanent fixture in the hardwood.”

“It wouldn’t have come to that,” he assures me.

I lift a doubtful brow.

“He had no intention of hurting you.”

“Sure, you read his logical mind, but when adrenaline kicks in, we rarely react rationally.”

“You’re picking a fight,” he accuses. “Why?”

“Because I’m annoyed.”

He frowns as he joins me on the ground, folding his legs to mirror my position. He takes my hands in his. “Let’s talk.”

“Now you want to talk it out?”

He squeezes my hands before releasing them to cup my cheeks. “I love you,” he whispers.

I shake my face free. “You barely know me.”

He could handle my response in several ways. What does he do? He pouts. He actually sticks his lip out. Adding to the effect of his response, he flutters his lashes. “You don’t believe me?”

How can I not? I feel everything he feels for me. He plucks out a beautiful melody on my heartstrings with every exhaled breath.

“So, you’re annoyed because you do believe me, but you don’t feel the same?”

I scoff. “Of course I feel the same.”

That’s a big problem. We barely know each other yet are full of impossibly powerful feelings. Neither of us has any idea what to do with them. I want to express them. He wants to suppress them, at least the physical aspect. Short-term, those are both manageable, but that isn’t even our biggest problem.

“Okay, why are you annoyed if you feel the same?”

“I’m annoyed because I need to burn energy, and you need the energy. You supported me with Brody, but you’ve spent the entire day, and this entire week, if we’re being honest, doing everything in your power to keep me from offering the same to you. Why?”

While his nose scrunch is absolutely adorable, I refuse to smile. “Not entirely,” he amends.

“Why?” I repeat, annoyance falling way to exasperation.

“Why does it matter?” His golden gaze grows distant. He isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s looking past me. “Why can’t we just take it one day at a time and see where it goes?”

What’s the biggest problem? Easy choice. Time. He doesn’t age. I do. To prevent global catastrophe, aging is a prerequisite for me. It’s a huge roadblock.

“Time is a luxury we’re presently living without.”

He reclaims my hands, holding them in his lap. His distress ignites a fresh wave of sparks. “You’re always in such a rush.”

I try, unsuccessfully, to pull my hands from his. The heat in his palms is unsettling my mind, which is working against my body. Getting my brain to sync with my body is as tricky as putting my mother back together. Epically problematic.

“Stopping to smell the roses isn’t an option for us right now.”

Pressing his forehead to mine, he distracts me with Morning Glories and Sunshine.

“I used to think of time differently.”

“I guess you would. Endless supply and all that.”

He smiles. “I don’t feel that way anymore.”

It hits me, the reason for all his distractions. He’s trying to fix our biggest problem. He’s risking his life for me. Because he loves me. “No,” I refuse, jerking my hands away before he can restrain them again. “You might not survive the withdrawal. Forget it.”

My hero complex boyfriend plans to give up forever to be with me. I did not expect anyone else to make personal sacrifices to align with my efforts. I should’ve left well enough alone. Good job picking that scab, me.