The thought is so lonely it makes my chest hurt.
I want to fix it. I want to erase every bruise, every cut, every painful memory that put that look on his face. But I can’t. All I can do is sit here and watch him sleep, and be here when he wakes up.
So that’s what I do.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Nico
The bruises are fading, but my body still remembers.
When I catch myself in the mirror in the morning, the dark blooms on my ribs have turned to washed-out yellows and sickly greens. The scrape on my hip is a thin pink line now. The cut on my cheek is still visible if you look closely, but it’s faint, pale now.
It should make me feel better.
It doesn’t.
Because for the first time in nearly my entire life, I’m nervous.
Not before a job. Not before a meeting. Not before a fight.
Before dinner.
I pull up to my father’s street with both hands on the wheel and a tension in my gut I haven’t felt since I was a kid, and I didn’t know which version of the world I was about to experience that day. The houses here are spaced out, big lots, trees that have been standing for decades. Security is discreet. Cameras tucked where you wouldn’t see them unless you were looking for them.
I know exactly what’s waiting behind that gate.
I’ve driven through it a thousand times.
But tonight I’m bringing her.
Erica shifts in the passenger seat, smoothing her dress over her thighs again like she can iron her nerves into place with her palms. She’s wearing something simple—nothing flashy, nothing that screams for attention. Soft fabric, light color. Hair down. Makeup minimal, if any. She looks like herself.
Which means she looks gorgeous.
It’s not helping.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asks, trying to sound calm.
Her fingers give her away, twisting the strap of her small purse until the leather creaks.
“Yes,” I say.
She turns her head to look at me, eyes wide and bright in the dash light.
“It’s not too soon?” she asks.
I don’t answer right away. Not because I don’t know. Because I do.
It’s soon. It’s fast. It’s… me. Doing something I don’t do.
I take my right hand off the wheel and reach for hers. She hesitates for half a heartbeat, then gives it to me, warm and small against my palm.
I lift her knuckles to my mouth and kiss them.
Her breath catches.
I glance at her and keep my voice even.
