His face was a furious storm, a terrifying mix of dangerous jealousy and raw anger. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed, and a deep flush spread across his cheeks. I braced myself, ready for the explosion, ready for anything but this. But then, to my total surprise, his shoulders dropped. The anger seemed to drain out of him, leaving a strange, quiet desperation.
"Please," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "Can we just talk?"
I felt a weary sigh escape me. "I'm tired of talking, Astor," I told him, my voice flat. Because that's all we ever did. We talked, we argued and we always, always end up in the same place. No closer to understanding where we stand, or where we were going.
He shook his head slowly. "No, I don't want to apologize or make promises," he said, his gaze fixed on so
