"So, do you not do anything civilized?"
I leaned against the wall and raised my eyebrows. "Are you complaining about Cade chasing off the same people you were just terrified of not ten minutes ago?"
"No. I'm trying to figure out if you're a total psycho who's going to run around threatening anyone who dares to get near me."
I walked up to her, pulled her toward me, and felt her inhale sharply. "I will fucking promise I'll do more than just threaten anyone who hurts you."
"You can't do that, Elias," she said, but her voice was breathy, her eyes large.
"Why?" I asked. "Because it's not civilized?"
"It's not..." Her voice trailed off.
"Well, I've got news for you," I said. "I'm not fucking civilized. Cade's protecting what's his, and I'll do the same damn thing."
"You think I'm yours?" she asked.
"You're mine whether you know it now or not," I said, interrupting her when she opened her mouth to protest. "Don't even say it. I know I don't own you and shit. I'm not a caveman. But nobody fucks with you. You're mine, and I'm not going to fucking apologize for it, so you can just deal."
River's mouth opened again, but she didn't say anything. So I kissed her, hard on the mouth, and felt her melt against me. "Now," I said. "Before we got so rudely interrupted this morning, I was having a little dream about you."
"About what exactly?" she asked. She ran her tongue along the top of her lip, and it made me instantly hard.
"Come upstairs and I'll show you," I said.
***
River slid into bed beside me.
"I don't know why you're sneaking up to that window, all stealth-like and shit," I said.
"I just wanted to see if they'd left."
"I'd just assume they didn't."
She slipped into the bed beside me. "It's frustrating."
"I would guess so," I said. "But maybe stop taking it so damn seriously."
She rolled onto her side, propped her head up on her hand. "It is serious."
"No," I said. "It's not. Getting shot at is serious. Getting blown up, that's serious. Missing your kid's first steps because you're deployed, that's serious. Photographers following you around because they want to talk about your breakup? It's not fucking serious."
River exhaled, averted her eyes. "I'm one of those spoiled Hollywood brats, something I never thought I'd be. I'm like, a total dick."
"Nah," I said. "You're not a total dick. More like half a dick."
"I've been really selfish," she said.
I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Happens to the best of us."
She was quiet, her forehead wrinkled in the middle. "It's weird, all of this, you know? The whole fame thing. I never thought I would be famous. It just happened. And it was amazing, back then, you know? Going from not knowing where my next meal was coming from to having more money than I knew what to do with."
She scrunched her forehead, was quiet for a minute.
"But then, it didn't actually change anything, with my mother and my sister, you know? Like, it didn't change who my mother was, the kind of person she was. It just gave her more funding."
I didn't say anything, just waited for River to talk.
"The magazines, they sell this story about me - it's this fairytale version of me, you know? Rags to riches, it sells. But it leaves out all the shit parts, the parts about what it was like growing up in a hick town, with a mom who brings home pretty much anyone, who doesn't give a shit what asshole guys get near her kids."
I realized the implications of what River was saying, the kind of hell she was raised in, and felt a surge of empathy for her. I just didn't know what to say, especially after I'd basically called her spoiled.
"Then, somewhere along the line, the fame thing just started spiraling out of control," she said. "I went from being just another actress making a lot of money to being a brand, you know? It was all of a sudden. You become this commodity, and then there are people pushing and pulling you in different directions, calculating how much everything you do is worth. Every decision you make is based on that-the net worth of your next move. And everyone is watching."
"It's just a job," I said. "Not who you are. It doesn't have to define you."
"Did you feel that way about your job?"
I exhaled. "No," I admitted. "EOD was who I was. I joined when I was seventeen. Been fucking working around explosives even before that."
"Why?"
"My father," I said. "Mined the side of the mountain back behind my house for years when we were kids. Blasted away at that shit little by little."
"So then you went into diffusing bombs," she said.
I nodded. "I knew how to do it. I was comfortable with it."
"Do you ever regret it?"
"EOD?" I asked. "Fuck no."
"But you lost your leg doing it."
"So?" I asked. "I meant what I said before. It's just a fucking leg. Not the end of the world. Most of the guys out there, the grunts and shit, they go into it figuring something will happen. Better you lose a limb than die, you know?"