Chapter 18
Luke
Her eyes widen, and her jaw falls open.
Clearly, she didn’t realize I’d noticed her staring at my wrists and forearms—but when you’re sensitive about something, you pick up on that kind of thing.
I don’t usually talk about it, and to be honest, I’m as surprised as she is to hear myself offering to discuss it. But now that I’ve started, I don’t stop.
“The first time was when I was just a kid—maybe fifteen or sixteen. I was in Paris, in a hotel with my parents.”
“In a hotel?”
“Yeah. I know, it sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?
Anyway, my parents had gone out to some swanky evening event or other—God knows what—and left me in the family suite on my own.
I’d ordered pizza from room service and was trying to decide whether to watch a movie when I got a text from my girlfriend back home.
She said she was dumping me. Said she’d found someone else and was very sorry, that it wasn’t anything I’d done, but she hoped we could still be friends.
But actually, that wasn’t really why I did it. ”
“It wasn’t?” she asks, pulling her pretty knees up to her chin.
“No, not really. Not if I’m honest with myself.
” I’m not sure why I’m revealing this. I’ve never told this story to anyone else.
Maybe it’s because I can tell part of her wants to share her own burdens, but another part is holding her back because she’s scared of being judged, of being seen as crazy.
I know what that feels like, and I want her to know she’s not alone.
“Yeah, I think it was just an excuse,” I say.
“But the thought had always been there, even when I was younger. Intrusive. Constant. There was this pain in me I could never get out, no matter how much I partied or drank or did a bunch of shit I shouldn’t have been doing at that age.
I’d always wondered what it would feel like to turn that mental pain outward into something physical…
if it would make it stop. That night, alone in my parents’ hotel suite, it felt like the perfect time to find out. ”
I chuckle, even though the memory still carries a dull edge of shame.
“But what about your parents? Couldn’t you have talked to them?”
“God, no.” I shrug. “They never showed any interest. Too busy making money and showing up at events. I rarely saw them. Not even when I was younger. I was mostly raised by a rotating carousel of nannies. Some of them were nice enough. I still keep in touch with a few of them.”
“Still,” she says, her shrewd eyes cutting straight through my attempt at levity. “They’re not supposed to be substitutes for parents.”
I shrug. “A lot of people grow up not seeing their parents. Sometimes they work too much, sometimes they’re abusive, sometimes they’re dead.
At least mine didn’t beat me. They just…
weren’t there for me.” I pause, thinking it over.
“I don’t think it was a lack of affection.
More like learned behavior. Their parents probably did the same to them.
They were just following the script. But that whole poor little rich boy thing isn’t enough to explain what I did.
I think something was genuinely off in my head, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.
Probably didn’t help that I kept everything bottled up. ”
She nods, and I can see it in her eyes—she understands.
“So anyway,” I continue, “that night there I was, alone in the hotel suite, and my girlfriend’s message came in.
Right there on the table next to the remains of the pizza was the knife they’d brought up for me to cut it with.
Just sitting there, shiny, the edge looking sharp as hell.
I… picked it up and went into the bathroom.
” I pause, deciding she doesn’t need the details.
“I bled. A lot. More than I expected. I wasn’t trying to kill myself—not then—but I cut too deep and hit a vein.
I was terrified, but too embarrassed to call anyone, so I just held pressure on it until it stopped. ”
“When the panic settled, my head went quiet. For the first time in my life. No noise, no thoughts I didn’t want. It felt… good.”
I let out a breath. “That’s where it started.
I told myself I’d never do it again, but…
yeah. That didn’t stick.” I turn my wrist so she can see.
“Whenever things built up too much, I used it as an outlet. Trust me, I get what it’s like when everything piles up and has nowhere to go.
Eventually it comes out. Panic attacks, whatever. ”
Her mouth opens slightly, her voice rough with emotion. “How did you stop?”
“Uh-uh. That’s cheating.” I wink. “I’m not giving you everything for free. Now it’s your turn—you have to tell me your scar story.”
She shuts down a little, pulling back from the vulnerability she’d been leaning into.
But I wait.
“It’s really not that big of a deal.” She shakes her head, picking at the barely visible hairs on her legs. “My parents hated it when I made noise. Or fussed. Or complained. I learned to make myself small. Quiet.”
“Were they always around?”
“Yeah. Even when I didn’t want them to be.
They hated each other, but they stayed married anyway.
My dad worked construction, and he was every bad stereotype you can imagine.
Catcalling underage girls, yelling obscene shit, getting into fights on a Friday night…
just a complete asshole. You have no idea how embarrassing that is.
” She sighs. “He couldn’t stand me. I looked just like my mother, who he hated, so I think he hated me because I reminded him of her.
Funny thing is, my mom saw me as a constant reminder of her marriage to him, and kind of a millstone around her neck, so she couldn’t stand me either. ”
“They hated each other, but stayed together?”
“Funny, isn’t it?” She gives a humorless laugh. “They were both deeply Catholic, so divorce wasn’t an option. Just hating each other until death did them part.”
“Oh. That type.”
“Yeah. Whenever they were home, I tried to disappear. If I had a bad day or got bullied, I learned to keep it to myself. If I said anything, they’d only make it worse.
” She rubs her palms over her leggings, staring out at the parking lot.
“If I needed money, I had to work for it or beg for it. Even basic stuff. I didn’t get a phone until I was sixteen.
Started working at fifteen because I was sick of asking for things like shoes, and sometimes…
if I mouthed off too much, I’d get smacked. ”
My hands clench into fists. Rage flares in my chest, hot and immediate.
I expected her story to be dark. I didn’t expect it to be like this.
“No one helped you?” I ask, my voice lower, harder than before.
She shakes her head. “No. A few neighbors knew what was going on, but none of them cared enough to do anything. Or maybe they thought I’d be worse off if they did, which…
I don’t blame them for. I thought the same thing.
” She twists her lips in a sad smile. “When I was seventeen, I left. Packed a bag and moved to a different town. Dropped out, got my GED. I wanted to save for college, so I worked nonstop. Places I probably shouldn’t have been—dive bars, stuff like that. ”
She pauses, staring out at the forest. I wonder what she’s thinking, but mostly I just watch her.
The sunlight catches in her hair, turning it gold. Her gaze glints, and there’s the faintest hint of a dimple at the corner of her mouth.
She’s been through hell and still looks like something untouched by it.
How can someone so soft-looking be this strong?
I wait, giving her space.
“And?” I prompt after a moment. “Where’d you go just now?”
She blinks, shaking her head. “Sorry. Anyway, I didn’t see my parents again for a while. Not until I started my physical therapy program. Then my dad showed up. Said my mom was sick and wanted me to come home and take care of her. Tried to guilt me into it.”
“But it didn’t work, right?” I don’t want her anywhere near those people again.
“It almost did,” she admits. “That Catholic guilt sticks with you. You’d be surprised how hard it is to break that sense of family loyalty, even when your parents were…
like mine.” She exhales. “I’d been away long enough that the worst of it had faded.
It’s easier to remember the good when you’re not living in it anymore.
Hearing your parent is dying… I didn’t like her, but I didn’t want her to die. I felt like I owed her something.”
“So you went back?”
“No. A friend talked me out of it.” A soft smile touches her lips. “Knocked some sense into me. Sent my dad packing. It got a little… heated.”
A guy, then. Has to be. The way she smiles—there’s history there. Something that still matters.
“Was it Reid?”
Her eyes widen, confirming it instantly.
She doesn’t deny it. Just shakes her head. “How did you—”
“Lucky guess.” But there’s a tightness in my chest I don’t like. The way she smiled just now… that wasn’t nothing.
Does she still love him?
Even if she doesn’t, they’ve got history. Real history. Hard to compete with that.
Not that I want to.
At least… I didn’t think I did.
I push the thought aside and smile, keeping it easy.
“I can’t lie, I’ve been curious,” I say. “Reid’s never mentioned you. Not once.”
“How long have you known him?” she asks. “And how did you meet? No offense, but you two don’t exactly seem like you run in the same circles.”
“Ooh, that’s a story.” I grin. “You want to trade? You tell me your side, and I’ll tell you mine.”
She leans in slightly, lashes lowering. “I can think of something else we could trade.”
My brain blanks. Heat surges through me, sharp and immediate.
But I see it, too.
Part of it is real. Desire.
The other part is avoidance.
She just opened up, and now she wants to pull us back to something easier. Something she knows how to handle.
“You’re not getting out of it that easy,” I tell her. My voice drops despite myself, but I lean back, putting space between us. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. You’re coming to advanced yoga with me. Nadia runs it in the morning.”
“And when exactly did I agree to that?”
“Just now.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, really.” I hold her gaze, not backing down. Being around her is going to be a challenge in more ways than one. She’s beautiful, magnetic… but she doesn’t need another guy losing his mind over her.
What she needs—what I think she needs—is someone steady. Someone she can trust not to judge her.
If that’s all I get to be for her, then fine.
I’ll be that.
Even if it wrecks me.