Chapter 8
Austin
Luca’s been asleep for over an hour. I really wanted to convince him to take my bedroom, but I also don’t want to wake him up. It’s a little unsettling that he could even sleep at all. I know the medication he took before our flight has to have worn off by now.
How many times has this happened? Where he’s covered in bruises like this, where Damien has assaulted him, for him to just sleep like it’s nothing? Like he’s not in pain. Like he doesn’t feel it.
I pick up our plates and bowls, then carry them into the kitchen to put them in the sink. Luca used to be able to sleep like the dead. Nothing would wake him up once he’d fallen asleep, but now? Now I don’t know. Will doing the dishes disturb him? I’m not willing to risk it.
I need to get him a phone and probably a winter jacket. It likely won’t be long before we have the first snow of the season. I wasn’t watching intently when he was packing his things, but I was watching closely enough to know that he doesn’t have a coat or anything heavy-duty for winter.
Anything I own would swallow him whole.
We have time, though. At least a few more weeks, so I can get it taken care of soon. Hopefully, he’ll have healed from most of his physical injuries, and he’ll be able to go with me. I’m just hoping he’ll want to go with me.
That’s a problem for the future. For tonight, I need to get some sleep. I shut off the lights, then make sure the blanket I placed over Luca is still covering him well before I go into my room.
I don’t shut the door like I usually do. The firefighter in me can’t sleep knowing how much safer it is for your bedroom door to be closed, but for tonight, and maybe even the foreseeable future, I want my door open in case Luca needs me.
When I wake, it’s to the sound of pans in the kitchen and the smell of bacon. Confused, I sit up, rubbing a hand down my face as I look around the room.
Luca must be making breakfast. Why would he be doing that? He needs to be resting.
I jump out of bed, shivering at the slight chill in the air. Maybe I’ll need to get Luca warmer clothes sooner rather than later. I toss a hoodie on and step into the living room.
Luca’s standing at the stove, carefully frying bacon. I watch him for a second, but when he stops and cradles his head with the hand not holding the handle of the pan, I know I need to step in. “Luca,” I say, trying to keep my voice down.
It doesn’t matter. He jumps so hard the pan he’s gripping flies into the air, raining half-cooked bacon and grease down on the floor. The pan clatters loudly to the ground, and Luca drops right alongside it.
“Luca!” Fuck. I rush around the counter, dropping to my knees in front of Luca, where he’s curled into the fetal position on the floor. “Are you hurt? Did you burn yourself?”
He’s mumbling, and it takes me a second to realize what he’s saying; when I do, my heart sinks straight into my feet.
I’m sorry. He’s mumbling, “I’m sorry.” Over and over and over.
Weak and broken, like it’s self-preservation.
Like saying it enough will absolve him of the guilt he feels he’s carrying.
“Luca,” I whisper. “I won’t touch you, but can you please tell me if you’re hurt?
I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong. ”
His gray eyes land on mine, and they’re filled to the brim with terror and confusion. “Luca?” I whisper, holding a hand out in front of me. “Let me help you up, please?”
“The mess,” he croaks out.
“I don’t care about the mess. I care about you. Come on. Let’s get you to the couch.”
He eyes me warily, and the distrust in his gaze makes me sad.
I know it’s not that he doesn’t trust me; I do.
I know this is the result of him being systematically torn apart and stripped of himself through abuse.
Doesn’t make it any easier, though. It doesn’t make it hurt less for him to look at me like this.
Like he’s afraid I’m going to hurt him. Like he’s waiting for my hand to close into a fist…
“Please?” I ask again, softer this time.
He gives an almost imperceptible nod, then he’s placing his hand in mine. I help him to his feet slowly, careful to avoid the lingering bacon grease and bacon on the floor.
I lead him to the couch, worried when his knees buckle and he almost goes down again. I pull him a little closer to me, and by the time I make it to the couch with him, I’m almost fully supporting his weight.
Once I ease him down onto the couch, he starts shaking. I’m sure it’s more from the adrenaline crash than anything else, but I still grab the perfectly folded blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it around his shoulders anyway.
I turn to walk away so I can shut the stove off and clean the floor, but Luca catches my hand in his. “Please stay with me.”
I glance back at him, giving his fingers a little squeeze. “Let me turn the burner off, and I’ll be right back.”
He studies me, then finally drops his hand with a slight nod.
Ignoring the mess on the floor, I shut off the burner and hurry back to Luca. When I sit down beside him, his eyes snap to mine. He swallows hard. “Tell me your favorite memory of us,” he whispers, glancing away. “I need a little good right now.”
A million memories flash through my mind. Running through fields, fishing, building tree houses—or trying to—hiding out in the woods, a million sleepovers and campouts.
I smile. “Stargazing.”
Luca cocks his head. “Stargazing?”
I nod. “Yeah, it was the summer before we turned thirteen, and that tornado had just come through.”
“Right,” Luca says, recognition lighting up his face. “The whole town lost power for almost two weeks.”
“Yeah. It was awful, and we were so bored. We begged to have a sleepover.”
Luca smiles. It’s the ghost of one, really, but it’s still there. It’s fond and real and him. “I don’t think either of them wanted to deal with both of us being bored together. It took me hours to convince my mom.”
I can’t help but laugh. “We finally wore them down, though. I think they actually flipped a coin to see which one of them would end up hosting. Anyway, we snuck out that night and lay in the field across from the fire tower.”
“You got that old telescope. You swore you could see Pluto.” Luca gives me a side-eye, much like he did that night.
“It was Pluto,” I defend, just like I did back then, working hard to fight a smile.
Luca rolls his eyes. “No. It was the moon.”
“That’s what you always say.”
He sits up, wincing a bit at the movement, and then he claps once. “It was the moon. That’s why I always say it.”
I chuckle, and before I know it, Luca is joining me. It transforms him and the room. We’re not twenty-six; we’re twelve, arguing about the moon in an overgrown field. Laughing and giggling and playing tag. Staying out until the only light was from the moon and the stars.
“That’s your favorite memory?” Luca asks, sobering. “Really?”
I shrug. “I mean, it’s up there.” I turn sideways on the couch, bracing my elbow against the back and propping my head up. “Hell, Luc, we were inseparable. I don’t think I have any childhood memories that aren’t filled with you. It’d be impossible to pick a favorite.”
Luca lets out a soft sigh. “I really missed you.”
“I really missed you too. I’m gonna go clean up the kitchen, I think.”
I stand, but Luca shakes his head, so I sit back down. “No, I should. I made the mess.”
“Nah.” I pat his knee. “You should be resting. You shouldn’t have been making breakfast at all.”
His eyes dart away. “It’s what I do, though.
I don’t know how to be anyone else but… this.
” He waves a hand over his body. “I make breakfast and get groceries and make dinner and pick up dry cleaning and clean the house and try like hell to make sure it’s enough to keep Damien happy. That’s who I am.”
I stare at his profile for a second, trying to gather my thoughts. “That’s not who you are.”
“I don’t expect you to get it,” Luca says, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “Damien always tells me I’m nothing without him. That I’m lucky to have someone like him to take care of me.”
There’s a beat of silence while I process that statement, anger rising in my chest. I scoff. “Fuck him.”
Luca flinches at my tone, so I soften my voice, but I don’t back down.
“I was there when you were potty trained. I was there when you won first place in the state fair with your creative writing piece in sixth grade. I was there when you failed your driving test three times. I was there for your first kiss. Matter of fact, I was your first kiss. I was there when you broke your first bone falling out of the tree house we built at eight. I was there when you got stitches for the first time. If anyone gets to be the expert on who Luca fucking Pierce is, it’s me. Not that jackass.”
Luca’s eyes snap to mine. They’re full of tears, but they’re also full of hope. It’s small, but it’s there. Fuck Damien for all the things he made Luca believe about himself. “You have never been nothing.”
A tear drips from his eye. He doesn’t bother wiping it away. “Okay,” he whispers. “I hope you’re right.”
I’m definitely right, but I also know the only thing that will prove it to him is time and healing. “My parents will be happy you’re back in town.”
That gets a small smile out of him. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Okay.” He finally reaches up to brush the tears off his face. “Can I wait until I’m not…” He points to his throat.
I figured he wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this anyway, so that’s not really a surprise. “Of course. I’ll wait to tell them you’re here until then.”
He nods, then falls silent, so I stand to get the kitchen cleaned up. I’m rounding the back of the couch when his voice stops me. “Austin?”
When I turn around, he’s facing me. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”