“Don’t you dare,” Neal hisses, still on the ground. “Don’t you dare talk like warning him justifies any of this.”

He rolls away from Raylan, onto his hands and knees, then climbs to his feet. Neal walks to the other side of the room, lacing his fingers together against the back of his neck. Not looking at Raylan. If he does he’s just going to go after him again.

“He loves you. He trusts you. He trusts you!” It’s a shout again, and this time he turns, barely keeping himself in check. Malcolm wouldn’t want him to hurt Raylan, not more. That’s the only reason he doesn’t try. “You know what the worst part of this is? He’s not even going to be mad at you. He’ll be hurt, maybe even shattered, but he won’t be mad.”

Neal works his jaw for a moment, fury rolling through him in waves that alternate cold and hot. “You don’t deserve him.”