Sheltered

Chapter 4

Austin

I’m damn near running through the Cincinnati airport toward the exit. Turning off my phone on the plane was literally the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But now it’s back on, and I’m just waiting for a message or call from Luca.

I should have known something was going on. I should have fucking known.

Sure, when Luca moved, we were dumb kids.

We didn’t know what the world had in store for us.

We didn’t know his parents would die. I didn’t know their funeral was the last time I would see him.

I didn’t know when I sat down across from Damien, holding Luca’s hand as he went over the details of Marjorie and Ronald’s estate, that Luca would end up dating the guy.

He apparently had a lot going for him. Fancy job as a lawyer, fancy car, probably a fancy house too. Not that I thought Luca ever cared about that shit. Not with the way we grew up. It was likely novel for him, sure, but not something he even would have thought about wanting for himself.

He just wanted to write his stories and live with his head in the clouds.

I should have known.

My stomach turns with nerves and anger. Mostly at Damien.

What a fucking prick. But also at myself.

I should have known. All the hallmarks were there.

Luca pulling away, telling me not to contact him unless he reached out first. Always being too busy for me to come visit.

Brushing me off anytime I mentioned him coming to visit.

Not to mention the strange conversation yesterday.

Luca almost never texts me. It’s always phone calls.

If I didn’t pick up on the other clues, I should have picked up on that.

I should have read more into it. I should have dug deeper.

I shouldn’t have shoved down the strange sensation in my stomach when that message came through, but I did.

And now he’s hurt. He has to be. Why else would he call me to come get him?

Why else would he have sent that message specifically?

None of that matters right now, though. All that matters is that my best friend in the entire world called me and needed help. Help that I have every intention of giving.

My phone buzzes, and Luca’s name flashes across the screen just as I’m stepping out of the airport and into the bright sun. “Hello?”

“He’s gone,” Luca whispers.

“I just walked out of the airport. I’ll get a ride. Hang on while I order one, okay?”

I don’t wait for a response. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I order an Uber. Thankfully, there’s one close, and I don’t have to wait long. “You still there, Luc?” I ask when I’ve pressed the phone back to my ear.

“Yeah. How long will you be?”

“The Uber should be here any second, and then it’s just drive time. I think the app said twenty minutes.”

Luca blows out a long breath. “Okay.”

“Can you stay on the phone with me this time?” I ask. The anxiety spiral I had when he hung up on me earlier is lingering.

“Yeah, but my head hurts pretty bad, so I don’t really want to talk.”

What the fuck did this asshole do to him? “Okay, no problem. Here’s my car.”

When the black sedan comes to a stop, I climb into the back seat. “Thanks, man,” I murmur to the driver as we’re pulling away from the curb. I let my head rest against the back of the seat as we drive away from the airport.

I’m exhausted. I had worked a twenty-four-hour shift and had only been asleep for a couple of hours when Luca called me, so between that and my adrenaline crashing, it’s catching up to me. I let my eyes fall closed as I listen to Luca’s quiet but steady breathing.

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. “Are you 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 a lived-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?”

He starts to shake his head, then stops with a pained wince. “No, but a while, I think. Long enough for him to… Long enough. My head is killing me. It just keeps getting worse.”

“Sit down, please,” I whisper.

He takes a seat on the white leather couch, and I sit down beside him. “I think you need to go to the emergency room.”

“No. It’s not that bad.”

I almost scoff. Not that bad? “Luc, have you seen yourself?”

He doesn’t move his gaze from the floor. “Well, no.”

Fuck. I hold a hand out, palm up. Luca’s eyes snap to it, then he slowly laces his fingers through mine.

“It’s bad, Luca. The whites of your eyes aren’t even white.

They’re blood-red. That motherfucker caused subconjunctival hemorrhaging.

Between that, the bruising around your throat, the busted blood vessels around your eyes, losing consciousness, and your headache?

You need medical attention. Can you please look at me? ”

He takes a deep breath, then lifts his gray eyes to mine. I remember thinking his eyes were so cool when we were kids, and I think I’d do just about anything to be seeing them in their usual bright and happy state instead of… this. “Please let me take you to the hospital, okay?”

He hesitates so long I’m sure he’s going to tell me no, but then he sighs. “Okay. Then you’ll take me home?”

Relief floods me. I didn’t feel comfortable at all taking him on a plane until he got checked out. “Yes, and then I’ll take you home. You know that’s my home, right?”

“I know. I… I don’t think I can afford a plane ticket, though. Everything is Damien’s.” There’s so much shame in his voice that it makes my heart stutter in my chest.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of the plane ticket, okay? I’ll order another ride. Do you have a bag or something you can pack your things in?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, then he’s standing and leaving the living room. I’m not sure what I should be doing, but I’m not too keen to leave him alone, so I follow him.

The bedroom is more of the same cold, sterile bullshit as the rest of the house. While Luca pulls out a small duffel bag and starts tossing random clothes into it, I get the car ordered. “Ride will be here in ten minutes. Do you have everything you need?”

Luca’s eyes snap to mine. “I’m not sure.

I’m not even sure I should be going with you.

If I think about it too hard, I’ll tell you to leave me here, so I’m trying not to think.

” Well, fuck. That’s not happening if I have anything to say about it.

Luca grabs a phone charger, shoving it into his bag. “I’m ready.”

“I’m not sure that you should take your phone, Luc,” I say gently. “What if he can track you with it?”

His face goes pale. “I—I didn’t think about that…” He frowns, his eyes falling to the unmade bed in front of him. “This is stupid. I’m stupid. This is my home. This is my future. I can’t leave. I can’t—”

“Luca.” I cut him off. “Look at me.” Wide gray eyes find mine. “Come here, please.”

He makes his way slowly across the room, a hint of distrust shining in his gaze. That breaks my heart. I need to be more careful in how I interact with him; that much is clear. “I won’t hurt you, Luc. Never. I know you maybe don’t trust that right now, but I never would.”

He doesn’t respond, and that’s okay. I don’t need him to.

I’ll remind him as many times as it takes, but more than that, I’ll show him.

I hold my hand out to him and wait for him to take it.

It takes him even less time than it did in the living room, and once he’s tucked his hand into mine, I lead him across the room to the mirror hanging on the wall.

I carefully turn him until he’s facing the mirror.

He knows what I want without me even saying anything, but it takes a second for him to lift his eyes. When he finally does, he stares at himself like he’s seeing a stranger.

It’s heartbreaking.

Watching him lean closer, watching the way he touches the delicate skin around his eyes that’s red and purple from his busted blood vessels.

The way he turns his head back and forth, focusing on his eyes where there is only red where there should be white.

“Fuck,” he breathes. He touches his lower lip carefully, then turns his head, ghosting his fingertips over his throat.

The dark, ugly, finger-shaped bruises on his throat have anger and heartache swelling inside me.

“I thought he was going to kill me,” Luca whispers.

“Luca.” He drags his gaze from his reflection to look at me.

“I’m not sure that you’ll have a future if you stay here.

It’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to cry or rage or scream, but I can’t leave you here.

You can’t stay here, and I think you know that.

You wouldn’t have called me if some part of you didn’t already know that. ”

He hangs his head in shame. “I know.”

“Let’s get you out of here, okay? Please. I’ll get you a new phone, I promise.”

“Okay,” he whispers. He reaches for his bag, but I pick it up before he can. He leaves his phone on his pillow, takes a single look around the room, inhales a deep breath, and leads me outside.