Page 144

My lungs expand on a rapid inhalation.

You don’t have to do that here.

“Ace,” I whisper, pulse picking up, speeding through my veins.

“Now I know me saying that isn’t going to magically make all the heavy shit that’s pulling at you go away.” He cups my cheek. “But I’ve been hearing your words in my head ever since you said them.”

“What words?”

“‘Have you ever thought that maybe it isn’t all your fault your past relationships didn’t work out?’” he quotes and my pulse speeds further, until my lungs convulse and I feel dizzy. “I’ve heard you saying that in my head over and over again ever since you said it.”

“You have?”

He nods.

You don’t have to do that here.

I don’t have to be strong.

I can panic and cry and act completely unlike myself.

And Ace will still come after me. Ace will still be patient. Ace will still be kind.

And, maybe even more importantly, he won’t let the armor I throw on stand in his way.

You don’t have to do that here.

I don’t have to hold it in.

I don’t have to be strong.

I can let Ace have this.

“It’s heavy, honey,” I whisper.

His expression goes even more gentle. “I’m strong. You can give that weight to me.”

My eyes burn, vision going blurry, but for once, it’s not because I’m scared. It’s because I feel like I can finally breathe. “They hurt me,” I whisper. “And not just emotionally.”

Something crosses his face, there and gone before I can process it, but his voice when it comes, is even, more gentle. “How did they hurt you?”

I feel a tear escape, slide down my cheek, but my words are steady. “With words and neglect and anger and disgust. With fists and feet.” I take a breath, release it slowly. “Sometimes with hockey sticks. And sometimes when my stepmother was really upset, it’d be with a brush or a wooden spoon. I ran, but I wasn’t fast enough. Not at first. And when I got faster—” My throat goes tight. “—they’d come into my room at night and hold me down.”

His eyes close.

“Nothing sexual. Nothing violent in that way. But they wanted each breath I took in the days following to be a reminder—I was a pain in the ass, unwanted, not worthy of anything except for hurt.”

I reach up, trace my thumb over his eyebrows, and his lids peel open, his deep brown gaze full of regret and rage.

For me.

“I got out,” I remind him. “And I don’t look back. They don’t exist to me. They’re not my family, and they won’t ever be.”

“Weekly DoorDash nights.”

I frown because his eyes aren’t on mine any longer. They’ve drifted over my shoulder and he seems a thousand miles away. “What?”

“The tight bun. The perfectly packed suitcase. The ice and the fire.”