“I don’t need any shades, thank you.” He was guarded.
“It’s like being cooked under a microscope in your bedroom.”
“Sunlight is good for you.” His knife scraped against his plate.
“No wonder you have problems sleeping.”
Grayson carefully set down the utensils.
Darn it, Lexi.
“I guess you probably have other reasons you can’t sleep beside the lack of curtains, so never mind. Let’s just drop it.”
We had only been a thing for a few days, and I already couldn’t keep myself from bringing up his past trauma. The problem was that it touched everything. Nothing was safe.
“How’s your bacon?” I asked.
“Lexi,” he said.
“Too crispy? Your oven gets really hot. I made a mental note for next time.”
“Lexi,” he said loudly, “I told you that you shouldn’t have to guard yourself.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I protested.
“You can never.”
“You looked hurt.”
“It was unexpected,” he said carefully, searching for the word. “I’m not used to sharing myself so much with someone.” His whole body seemed to sag under the weight of memories.
“It was dark all the time in the cellar, not pitch-dark, just dim. Everything was shadowy; you could never quite make out what was in the corners. The only light was a couple of flickering light bulbs and those fluorescent lights that buzzed annoyingly. I didn’t realize how loud they were until I was out away from them. My father kept them on all the time; you couldn’t turn it off. They had cages on them, prison grade. Dad used to joke that it was because my mom had destroyed one of them once and tried to kill him to escape. My brothers and I just thought it was normal, though as I got older I more and more couldn’t stand it—the cramped quarters, the constant noise, the crush of people,the sound of breathing. Aaron and I would fight all the time; Graham was literally climbing the walls. My youngest brother, Connor, he was glued to the TV like that little puppy from the movie.”
“Probably should have picked a different one,” I said, the food a rock in my stomach.
“Maybe I needed to see it.” He sighed. “I’m glad all the dogs got rescued and went to go live with their new dog parents.”
“Do you still talk to your brothers?” I asked carefully.
He shook his head sadly. “They hate me. Especially Aaron. It’s—it’s complicated,” he said to my questioning look.
“You’re family. Maybe give them another chance. I wish I had siblings.”
“They’re my brothers, but I don’t know if we’re really family.” He returned to his food. “Sorry. This isn’t a Mickey Mouse breakfast conversation.”
“You can tell me,” I said, wishing I could do something, could have done something.
“You left me a note once, reminding to enjoy the sunrise.” He gave me a crooked smile. “I don’t think most people remember their first sunrise, but I do. The sky was dark, which I understood, then it was as if the horizon began to bruise—first purple, then turning a lovely shade of blush pink, then tangerine, and finally there was the sun, huge and yellow and bright. It was like magic, the first time I saw a sunrise.”
My throat was closed up.
“And then, somewhere in the years after, I just sort of took that magic for granted.” He shrugged sadly. “Until you left me a note and told me to greet the sunrise. It was I think the first note of yours I found. I normally was in my office before the sun rose, taking calls with Europe. But that day, I watched the sunrise from the observation deck of my office tower. It was just as beautiful as the first time I saw it.”
“I knew you liked my notes.”
“I love your notes,” he said softly.
I wanted him to say he loved me.
