Ryke shakes his head repeatedly. “You can’t…” he trails off and his jaw hardens. Irritation festers in my core, and I grit my teeth. “I can’t handle it?” He stays quiet, basically admitting that’s what he was going to say. “Yeah? Maybe I can’t, Ryke.” My leg bounces more. “But maybe I can. I should at least be given the chance to try.” I want to be better. God, more than anything. I want to be like him.
