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“Okay.” I blew out a breath. There was no easy way to say what came next. I could couch it in euphemisms or dance around it, but in the end, it all came back to one ugly, incontrovertible reality that I couldn’t hide from him. I blew out another breath, slower this time. “Okay,” I began again, my voice shaking. “So, after I said it, he punched me in the head. Total sucker punch. Then he kept hitting me until I passed out.”

I shuddered, recalling the sudden, terrifying pain, the way I’d tried to protect myself from Devin’s angry fists until my vision went black and I lost consciousness.

Mikey’s mouth dropped open again—this time in horror—his hands jerking toward me but freezing in mid-air. I watched as hesitation warred with his instinct to comfort me until hesitation won out. He lowered them back down to rest atop his thighs.

Fuck that.

I needed those hands on me.

I took hold of them, raising them up to my shoulders and settling them there. His fingers curled into my traps.

“I didn’t hear you when you said those words to me, Mikey. I heard me three years ago, and it dragged me right back to that hotel room … to … to the worst night of my life.”

“Fucking hell, Cal.” Mikey let out a long, quivering breath and slid his hands from my shoulders to drag them down his face. “Please tell me you called the cops.”

I curled forward, pressing my forehead against his chest, shaking my head. “No,” I whispered. “I would have had to explain what happened. They couldn’t know. No one could know.”

“So what—your boyfriend commits an act of domestic violence against you, and he just gets away with it? Fuck. It probably qualifies as a hate crime, too.” His voice was harsh, but the hands petting my hair were gentle.

I knew he had a point, and if my life was different, I might have gone to the cops. But my life was what it was, and that was never going to be an option for me.

I leaned away, sitting back on my heels, and let out a long, sad sigh. “I’m in the closet, Mikey. Given who my dad is, it would’ve gotten out. Harvard would’ve benched me, and if I wasn’t playing, who knows what the Marauders would have done—probably washed their hands of me, traded my rights for nothing, and walked away. No one would have blamed them. My life would have been ruined. And for what—revenge?”

He dropped his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” he breathed out. “I’m just so fucking angry right now.”

My heart lodged in my throat. “At me?” I asked, my voice small.

“Fuck no.” He surged forward, wrapping me in his arms and pulling me back into him. “Never you, Cal,” he said, peppering the side of my head with kisses.

“Okay,” I murmured into his skin.

“I do have one question though.”

“What?” I asked, sitting back to look at him.

“Do you have any more exes I need to add to my list?”

I felt my eyebrows dip and my lips purse. “What list?”

“The people I’m going to kill if I ever cross paths with them list. You know, like Arya Stark? Joffrey, Cersei, Walder Frey, Tywin Lannister, the Red Woman.”

Despite the heaviness of our conversation, I let out a small huff of laughter. I knew what Mikey was doing, and I appreciated it.

“No. You’re good.”

I rocked onto my feet, a sharp tug on my stomach making me wince. I looked down at myself, then at Mikey, white, flaking patches of cum had dried into knots in his chest hair, while the patch of cum on my abs had glued the hairs near my belly button together. But it was the tacky lube between my cheeks and down my thighs that was really gross.

“I need to shower now.”

Mikey looked down, scratching at the mess on his belly. “Yeah. Come on.”

I put my hand in his, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. Tonight had been a shit show of epic fucking proportions, but it felt like we might be able to get through it.

Just outside the door to the bathroom, Mike turned to me suddenly. “Can I kiss you?”

I didn’t … I couldn’t … All the breath went out of my lungs as I realized how badly I needed that.

“Please,” I said, tears filling my eyes.