I have no idea what I’m walking into. No idea what injuries he’s going to have. Will he be bruised? He was rough as a kid, wanting to prove that he could keep up with me. He did, but not without hurting himself a lot. When we were young, he’d scrape and bruise himself all the time by climbing—and falling—out of trees, but that’s not the same thing as having bruises because of someone else.
“You still there, Austin?”
“I’m still here.” Fuck. I can’t wait to get him out of there. “Areyou okay?”
He lets out a long sigh. “Yeah, just tired. I, uh—I didn’t sleep well. I—” He pauses, his breath a little shaky. “I was too worried to fall asleep.”
My heart constricts painfully in my chest. God, I hate this. I hate everything about it. “I think I’m getting close. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”
He hums but doesn’t speak, and I comfort myself by continuing to listen to his deep breathing.
It’s not long before we’re coming to a stop. I open my eyes and am truly shocked by the sight before me. This house is… fucking insane. “I’m here, Luc.”
“I’ll come to the door. Damien locks it on his way out.”
I hand the driver a twenty-dollar bill and climb out of the car, eyes scanning the house. It’s massive, first off. With a porch and large white columns—kind of like the old farmhouses at home, but also nothing like them at the same time. The front door has to be at least ten feet tall. I’ve never seen such a huge door in my entire life. Everything is dying back from the chilly fall air, but it’s landscaped to perfection. I bet in the spring and summer it’s bright and colorful with blooming flowers and plants.
How much money does Damien actually make to afford something like this? I know logically that lawyers make a lot of money, but this seems excessive.
I make my way up the steps, my heart in my throat when the door swings open and I set eyes on Luca in person for the first time since we were eighteen. I let my phone fall away from my ear as I rush the rest of the way to him.
The second I’m close enough, he steps toward me and buries his face against my shoulder. I’m practically dying to assess his injuries.The first responder in me won’t be happy until I do, but for now, this is enough.
I wrap my arms around him but drop them when he hisses in pain. I get the brief thought that maybe I should murder Damien, but Luca is my current priority. “Can I come in?”
“You really came,” Luca croaks out.
“Of course I really came.”
He steps back, eyes downcast. His dark hair is falling in a curtain over his face, and I’m about to burst at the seams when he finally looks up at me. My breath catches in my throat as I scan his face.
There’s a split in his lip. It’s swollen too. His eyes… fuck. “Luca,” I breathe, staring at blood-red where there should be white. I don’t even need to see the bruises around his throat to know Damien choked him. The petechiae around his eyes is a dead giveaway.
He tried to strangle him.
“Did you lose consciousness?” I ask, reaching up to grab Luca’s face in my hands. He lets out a strangled little sound and flinches. I freeze midair, my hands hanging uselessly between us.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, dropping his eyes again.
God, it’s not his fault at all. I know protocol. I know better than to touch a survivor of domestic violence without their permission. But this is… Luca. Luca’s never flinched away from me before.
He’s also never been standing in front of me, covered in bruises and in obvious pain before, either.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. Can I come in?” I ask again.
He nods, then steps into the house. I don’t miss the way he looks around the front yard beforehand, like he’s checking that we’re alone.
I follow him inside. Holy shit, this house is unreal. But it doesn’t look homey at all. It feels cold and sterile. A magazine house, not alived-in home. “I apologize for the mess,” Luca mumbles. “I… well, I was sore yesterday, and then last night was—well, last night, and I just…” He trails off, waving his hand around the pristine living room. “I didn’t clean.”
I shake my head. “Luca, it’s spotless in here, and even if it wasn’t, I don’t give a shit.”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “I did, by the way.”
“Did what?”
He looks at the ground in front of him. “Lose consciousness.”
Fuck. “Do you know how long?”
