Chapter 61 Rae
RAE
VOICE MEMO — Rae Everett
"I love you, Lukas.” [Pause.] "See? I can say it. I can say it to a fucking phone. I just can't say it to his face."
It felt so fucking good to watch her go.
The Rae from a month ago would be horrified to see what I do when I hear those words.
Because I don’t run screaming to alert the neighbors, the cops, or the media. I don’t slap him across the face and call him a devil.
I reach up and take his face in my hands.
Lukas’s beard is rough against my palms. His jaw is clenched so tight that I can feel the bone creaking beneath my fingertips. Those gray eyes are wet and wild, braced for the revulsion he’s clearly expecting. Surprising tears streak down his rough-hewn cheeks. Two thin, sparkling trickles.
I rise up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his left eyelid, kissing the tears away. Then his right. Soft touches of my lips, barely there. A mirage of them, a dream.
Lukas shudders.
It’s not a small thing. It might start that way, but after a moment or two passes, it becomes a full-body tremor that rolls through him, originating somewhere deep in his chest and radiating outward until I can feel it in my own bones.
A sound escapes him—neither a sob nor a groan, but something ten times more heartbreaking than either.
His forehead drops to my shoulder and his arms wrap around me so tightly I can scarcely breathe.
But I don’t need air right now.
I just need to hold him while he breaks.
Moving on some unspoken signal, we sink down onto the stairs together. The wood is hard beneath my back, the edge of a step digging into my spine, but I don’t care. I couldn’t care less if I tried.
Lukas’s mouth finds mine. We kiss, but that’s not enough. My hand steals underneath the hem of his shirt to touch his warm skin, and he shudders again.
I peel his shirt off over his head. He tears at my sleep shorts, and eventually, though it’s messy and uncoordinated, we find a way to rid ourselves of everything. After that, there’s nothing between us but skin and heat and the thundering of our hearts.
“Rae.” My name breaks apart in his throat. “Rae, Rae, Rae…”
“I know.” I twist into him. “I know. Take it. Take whatever you need.”
He enters me.
I cry out. It’s not from pain, though there’s still a ghost of that lingering from yesterday and the day before. This is something else. It feels like coming home to a place I didn’t know existed until this man carved it out of me with his bare hands.
Lukas holds himself there for a minute, buried deep, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath sawing in and out. A tear falls from his cheek onto my face, warm and salt-sweet.
Soon, though, he starts to shift. We make love on the staircase. It’s not our best. His thrusts are uneven, almost clumsy, and his hands shake where they grip my hips. My hands shake, too.
I wrap both arms around his neck and pull him closer until there’s no space left between us. “I’ve got you,” I whisper against his ear, stealing his words. “I’ve got you, Lukas. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sooner than any of the times before, he finishes. But that doesn’t feel like the end of it. Even when the physical act of it is over, he’s still holding onto me like he hasn’t yet gotten whatever it is that he needs so badly.
I wish I knew what to do. I can’t give him absolution. I’m no priest and I don’t play one on TV. Lukas always talks about how young I am compared to him, how “pure,” but even if I did agree with him—which, for the record, I don’t—that’s not the kind of thing that I can share.
He’s done bad things; that much is obvious. I can’t take that away from him and I can’t make it okay.
But I can do this, can’t I? Hold him while the pain has its way with him?
After a while, once his breathing slows, Lukas lifts his head from my shoulder. His eyes are red-rimmed and his lashes clumped with tears, but he’s looking at me like I hung the sun and moon and every star besides.
He’s softening inside of me when he says the last thing I expected him to say:
“I love you, Rae Everett.”
And I say…
Nothing.
I freeze. My mouth opens and my lips move and I try to say it, because the syllables are right there, queued up and ready to go—I love you, too—but they won’t come out. It’s like my throat has seized shut. Someone must have poured concrete down my esophagus while I wasn’t looking.
Say it! Say it, you idiot. He just cracked himself open for you. He told you his darkest secret. He’s crying on a staircase with his dick still inside you, and he just said he loves you. JUST SAY THE WORDS BACK.
But I can’t.
I don’t know why. Or rather, I do, but I can’t let myself think the thoughts consciously and I sure as fuck can’t confess them out loud. I’m not as brave as Lukas just was. I’m a coward through and through.
And it’s going to ruin everything.
The longer I sit silently, the more his face changes. It’s like watching a bank vault close. The vulnerability pulls back. Gears grind. Latches are thrown. Steel—icy, thick, cold steel—intrudes between us and seals itself into place with an irreversible thunk.
Lukas pulls out of me. The loss is sudden and cold. “You don’t have to say it back.”
His voice is perfectly even and calm. You’d think it was a total nothingburger of a moment, not a confession of love. As if he’d offered me dessert and I’d said, No thanks, I’m full.
He rises to his feet and dresses quickly. I scramble upright, too, yanking my sleep shirt over my head, suddenly needing to cover myself.
“Lukas, wait—”
“I said you don’t have to say it.” He pulls on his pants without looking at me. “I meant that.”
But he didn’t mean it. I know he didn’t. I know him well enough now to read all those tiny tells.
I know something else about him, too:
When Lukas Lazarev doesn’t get what he wants…
… he takes it.
He finishes dressing and heads down the stairs without another word. I’m left standing alone on the stairs, knowing with absolute certainty that I just fucked something up.
I just don’t know how badly.