Novel & Cerita I'll Let You Set The Pace

Seth pants. “I thought it was slow at first, but over that distance, fuck!” Levi pants. “You can’t challenge fitness if your pacing isn’t consistent,” I say, smirking at Holly as she staggers in. “You have to be able to read the terrain and factor for it. Catch your breath back. You’ve got my pace next.” I see the look Seth shoots to Levi and smile.

He was so certain of his words in the forest, but now he looks like a caged animal. "Look, we don't need to rush anything. I see where you're coming from and i understand you need to process some things. I feel our bond and i know how you feel about me. I can tell it's a lot for you, so i will let you set the pace, ok?"

"From here forward. Not the version that's calibrated for what you think I need or what serves the timing of your legal case or what maintains the positioning you've built. The actual version. Whatever I ask, whatever the situation requires." "Yes," he said immediately. "And I want to move slowly," she said. "I've been running very fast toward a wall that isn't there and I've been making decisions at the speed of someone who thought they were running out of time and I'm not, or I'm less so than I thought, and I need to adjust to that." She held his gaze. "Whatever this is, it goes at my pace." "Your pace," he said. "Yes." "And the board seat," she said. "Riverside Racing stays mine in every

When we finally wrapped up he went quiet for a moment. "Caden," he said. "Yes," I said. "I don't want to rush this," he said carefully. "I know it's all very new and I know three weeks is soon and I know there's—" He stopped. Started again. "I just want you to know that however long it takes, whatever pace is right for you, I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to have it figured out before I arrive." I looked out the study window at Minnesota doing its late afternoon thing.

I saunter after, purely to be unbearable. Jace doesn’t chase me off. He rarely does. He simply becomes more Jace until most people give up and go be noisy somewhere else. I am immune. He stands behind Hazel, palms hovering over her shoulders without touching. “Traction,” he says to her alone. “Open, not pull. Think length, not force.”

“You stop by building days that have their own measurements. Work. Friendship. Decisions that belong only to you. You’ve already started that. Therapy is another piece of it, deliberate instead of automatic. Something you choose rather than something that just happens to you.” I sat with that for a moment. “I don’t want to spend the next year rehashing the wedding night. I don’t want every session to be about him.” “We don’t have to. We can talk about what you need in order to feel like the ground is under you again. Some sessions might go back there. Some won’t. You’re allowed to set the pace. This isn’t a performance for me. It’s work for you.” The tension in my shoulders eased a fraction.

“Or someone intimidated. But you… you stood there like you were ready to meet fate head-on.” I laugh softly. “I don’t think I had a choice.” “You did.” His tone is absolute. “You always will with me.” Something loosens in my chest. A knot unraveling. We reach the edge of the moonlit clearing behind the pack house. The wind carries the faint sound of distant music from the party, but here it’s quiet. Safe. Raithe turns to me again. “I know this is a lot,” he says. “We don’t have to rush anything. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. We can take this at your pace.”

If I take a step, it must be without a shred of pressure. No deadlines. No demands. No claims. I will move closer—slowly—and only as far as she allows.

“Here.” He’s lost his mind. “It won’t work.” “It’ll work. Just go slow. Take as much or as little of me as you can. You set the pace. If you want to stop, we will. Just try, baby. Give this to me.” From the way he sounds, he’s fighting for control. I look into his face, stunned at what I find. Sweat beads his temples. He wants this something fierce. Strike that—he needs this something fierce.

I said as he hit the pad. He stopped. Instantly. Sweat darkened the neckline of his shirt, breath heavy but controlled. “Again,” he said. “Same intensity,” I replied, raising the pad. “Faster,” he challenged. “I control the pace,” I reminded him. A spark of challenge lit his eyes. Sharp, curious, testing. “Then keep up,” he whispered. We dove in again: hit. Stop. Reset. Thud. Stillness. Each strike landed deliberately.