Chapter 21

No influencing Justin’s choices. No wanting to scream or kick the sand or turn his own splintering heart into a tune, a line, a melody. His fingers wanted to move, to write, to pour it all out; he wanted to pull Justin close and beg his husband to come home with him, to stay with him, to keep the life they loved exactly as it was—

And that, in Justin’s own words of days ago, wasn’t fair.

If Justin could do more, could be more—could swing from broken sobbing in a heap on their floor to dazzling coruscating young firelit prince—

If Justin could have this, could be this—

Kris swallowed anguish. Felt fire in his bones, in his stomach, along his tongue.

Justin looked over at him. “You’re being quiet.”

“It’s your decision.”

“It is, but that doesn’t mean you’re not involved.”

“I want you to be happy,” Kris said. He meant the answer, with everything in him.

Justin ran a hand through burning hair. Shook fire-flecks from fingers. “Kris…”