That I mean something to him. That’s—well, that’s a lot. It’s as close as either of us have come since high school to admitting something like that. I want to ask for more—“What do I mean, exactly?”—but it’s not the time. And the bloody, decapitated bodies still swimming through my head do not set a romantic kind of mood.
It’s all too much. I need space. Time to sort out how being here with him makes me feel.
I need what I’ve always needed when the world gets overwhelming: to work. To be useful. Right now, that means I need to figure out how Sentinel is involved in this Flash Bomb fiasco that’s terrorizing the Russian businesses in town.
I take a deep breath. Most of all, I need Tomas to see why I need those things. He might not be my boss or my boyfriend. But I want him to understand.
