“Do not be so quick to judge,” Tristan advises gently. “She might be telling the truth.”
Dawson shakes his head stubbornly. “She isn’t,” he refuses.
Tristan sighs sadly. “You might regret saying that,” he warns.
“I will not,” Dawson refuses firmly.
“Are you sure?” Tristan asks again.
“Yes,” Dawson answers. “She is a stupid slave and I do not believe anything she says.”
Tristan sighs again sadly. He knows Dawson will regret saying that. “Well, I am going to pack my things and say goodbye to your mother,” he says tiredly.
Dawson nods, still angry at Iris. “Have fun,” he sneers coldly.
Tristan sighs sadly one last time and then walks away.
Iris sits on the bed watching Dawson walk around his room, still pacing furiously. He still thinks she is lying and she knows she has to convince him otherwise. But how?
She takes a breath and then gets to her feet. She walks over to where he is pacing and stops in front of him, blocking his path. “Dawson,” she calls softly.
He stops pacing and glares down at her. “What do you want?” he demands coldly.
She smiles sadly up at him. “Can we talk?” she asks softly.
He glares back down at her. “There is nothing to talk about,” he says firmly.
“There is,” she argues weakly. “Please.”
He stares at her for a moment and then shakes his head. “You are lying,” he insists stubbornly.
“I am not,” she disagrees again firmly. “I would never lie to you.”
He snorts disdainfully. “Of course you would,” he scoffs. “You are a stupid slave.”
She sighs sadly but doesn’t give up. She knows he needs to know the truth. “I am not a stupid slave,” she corrects firmly. “I love you.”
He laughs coldly at her. “You don’t,” he denies firmly.
She looks down sadly. She knows she can’t convince him right now. But she will. “I do,” she insists softly.
He snorts again at her. “Of course not,” he says scornfully.
She sighs sadly again but then looks back up at him. She will try again later, when he is not so angry.
“I am sorry,” she apologizes softly.
He narrows his eyes suspiciously at her. “For what?”
“For what she did to you,” she answers quietly. “I know it wasn’t my fault but I still feel bad.”
Dawson softens, his wolf calming down a little. “It is not your fault,” he agrees sympathetically.
“Thank you for understanding,” she says gratefully.
“Do you want me to send one of the slaves to help you bathe?” he asks kindly. He is still mad at her but she seems genuinely upset about his mother attacking him.
She looks up at him surprised, having not expected him to be nice after all the things she told him. “No,” she declines weakly. “But thank you for offering.”
He nods back at her. “I will be downstairs if you change your mind.”
“Okay,” she thanks softly.
He walks around her and leaves the room.
She watches him go worriedly and then sits down on the edge of the bed. He has to believe her. Or he will never see his son again.
Dawson walks through the house, looking for his friend. He has been avoiding him all morning and he knows that Tristan is upset with him. But he doesn’t care. He believes what he wants.
He stops at the kitchen doorway and looks inside, spotting his friend sitting at the table. He frowns slightly at the look on his face.
He walks over and sits down next to his friend. “Tristan,” he greets weakly.
“Dawson,” his friend greets back, looking at him sadly.
“What?” he asks confused.
“You need to apologize to your mate,” his friend advises firmly.
“For what?” he asks angrily. She should be apologizing to him, for lying to him.
Not the other way around.
“For not believing her,” Tristan answers regretfully. “She was telling the truth.”
“She wasn’t,” Dawson refuses stubbornly.
“She was,” his friend insists again firmly.
“How do you know?” he demands stubbornly.
Tristan gestures to the front door. “Your mother was just here,” he explains. “She said she is sorry she didn’t do a better job of breaking you.”
Dawson glares at his friend, his wolf growling again. “She lies,” he denies again stubbornly.
“She does not,” Tristan disagrees firmly. “She told the truth.”
Dawson snorts scornfully again. “She wouldn’t,” he says coldly.
“You have to stop believing her,” his friend begs urgently. “She is lying to you. Your mate is telling the truth. You have to believe her.”
Dawson narrows his eyes angrily at his friend again, furious he would defend his mate. “Are you on her side?” he demands angrily.
Tristan shakes his head. “I am on no one’s side,” he disagrees. “I just want you to believe her so you can move on from this.”
Dawson sighs tiredly, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t know what to believe anymore.
His friend sighs regretfully at him, seeing he is tired. “Dawson...” he begins softly.
“What?” Dawson asks tiredly.
“Do you believe your mother loved your father?” Tristan asks gently.
“Yes,” he answers tiredly. He knows she didn’t love him but he knows she loved his father.
“How did you know?” Tristan presses.
Dawson thinks for a moment. He hadn’t actually ever seen her do anything that proved she loved him. But he had heard it from others. “Everyone told me,” he answers simply.