Chapter 68
Sixty-Eight
ANDREA
The footage is grainy— definitely filmed on an older device. It jerks and jostles, then comes to a stop on the ceiling while the arguing escalates into shouts of pain. Acid sloshes in my empty stomach as wet thuds, whimpered groans and panted insults coalesce into a vivid ballad of violence.
Hell. That’s where these fuckers belong.
I close the video and reread the message attached.
Seba:
Terrance named his attackers. Two football players blew some powder in his face then assaulted him. I think you can guess who did it and where they got the drugs…
Four hours have passed since receiving that text.
Three hours since updating my evidence log and map.
Two hours since Remy called demanding to know why the police were raiding the athletes’ dorm.
Two hours since he insinuated the worst possible thing was done to Win.
I should’ve said something back then. Why didn’t I fucking say something?
The burn in my core spikes. I wince, massaging the cramp in my abdomen. I just had my period last week. I shouldn’t be cramping like this. I need the ibuprofen I took to do its thing and actually work for once.
Rain pelts the window.
Storms are God’s tears. He’s mourning your choices.
“You think Dad was right about the rain?” I ask, picking lint off the arm of the pink velvet couch I thrifted a few years ago.
My sister’s sigh crackles through the phone speaker.
Now that she’s out of the house, we’ve been trying to reconnect.
It’s… not as easy as I’d hoped. She’s cautious and I’m evasive.
Love still runs between us— that will never disappear— but it’s trapped behind walls of grief and distance.
I don’t blame her for resenting me; I left her to fend for herself.
Like Seba did to me. But rather than do it in the name of protection, I did it for self-preservation.
The guilt weighs the same.
Burning. Cramping. Burning.
“No,” Lilly murmurs. “I like to think… It’s washing everything clean.”
It’s always difficult to breathe when she speaks.
Her feather-soft voice triggers too many memories.
It’s sheer curtains dancing in a rare summer breeze, piano hymns tinkling, and counting dead flies on the windowsill.
It’s dust and mom’s perfume choking us as we huddle in the back of the closet, hiding from the crash of glasses and booming lectures.
It’s inside jokes whispered under blanket forts and dancing barefoot in the wet grass.
It’s racing up and down the stairs in a blissfully empty house.
It’s all the good of my childhood alongside all of the darkness.
“I hope you’re right,” I whisper.
Knocking startles me upright.
I’m not expecting anyone.
Creeping toward the door, I peek through the peephole—
My heart flutters.
Droplets splotch the worn white t-shirt stretched over Seba’s muscular shoulders, damp chestnut hair sneaking out from under a faded backwards hat. He wipes his wrist across his forehead and knocks again.
“I’m gonna have to call you back,” I tell Lilly, then disconnect before she can ask questions.
The earthy scent of rain layered over fresh citrus smacks me in the face as soon as I open the door.
A sheepish smile. “Hey, sweetheart. You busy?”
“Do I look busy?”
Warm brown eyes sweep me from the top of my space buns to my black toenail polish, then back to my nipples poking through the thin ribbed tank.
“Eyes up here, big guy.”
I can’t tell if he’s blushing or sunburnt.
“Bra’s exist.”
“Umbrellas exist.”
He laughs. Helium fills my head. Leaning in the doorframe, I flick my tongue ring and give him a once-over, too. “Take those boots off before you track dirt everywhere.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I smirk. “He’s got manners, huh?”
“I use ‘em on occasion.” He grins, closing the door behind him and heeling out of his work boots on the woven welcome mat. My single suddenly seems claustrophobic with him in it. And… It’s a disaster area.
Half-drunk mugs of tea litter the counters.
A pile of clothes prevents the laundry closet door from closing.
My last three candles compete to see who can burn out first, which reminds me, I haven’t changed the air filter in ages…
“You kept them.”
I blink Seba back into focus.
“Kept what?”
“The flowers.” Either I’m imagining things, or his chin wobbles. He nods. “They reminded me of you.”
Twisting, I follow his gaze to the dried orange blossoms scattered around the living room. The newest one— still green– happily perches beside the window in my bedroom.
He clears his throat. “Anyway, I thought I’d stop by while Cade’s at therapy.”
“Did you now?”
“Unless you don’t want me to give you the inside scoop,” he drawls.
I arch a brow. “Be so for real."
He chuckles. It’s hot wax poured down my spine. He’s incomprehensible. An anomaly beneath the surface. Surprising and sexy and sincere. So fucking sincere, which is the last thing I’d expect to find attractive.
I sink into my preferred corner of the couch—
Lightning bolts crack through my groin. Needle sharp. White hot.
Inhale. Hold. Don’t scream. It’s not that bad. You’re fine. It could be worse. It’s going away. Don’t move.
“Andrea.”
Breathe out. Slow. Steady your voice so he doesn’t freak out. Because you’re fine. It’s tolerable. Nothing more than you’re used to.
Spasms— not like a climax. Like a charley horse. Violent. Stabbing. Uncontrollable.
Hold your breath and move. Move. Move. MOVE.
I tuck my foot under myself, my heel digging into my crotch. My body sags in relief… but it’s short-lived.
This hurts. Really fucking hurts.
Do something. Take something. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop—
Firm hands grasp my shoulders.
Seba’s concerned eyes search mine.
“What’s going on, baby girl?”
It takes my brain a second to come back online. Saliva turns to sand in my mouth.
“Nothing… I’m just… flaring up a little.”
“A little?”
Yeah, he’s not buying it.
“I’ll be fine.”
I’m not even remotely close to fine.
He glares at me. “Be so for real.”
I momentarily forget the firestorm raging through my lower half as a surprised laugh escapes. “Please never say that again.”
He struggles to maintain his stern glare. “I won’t as long as you don’t lie to my face again.”
My nature demands me to push him away— to lick my wounds alone in my depressing apartment. But for some reason… I ignore it. His touch is too soothing, his presence so grounding. I’m drawn forward…
“I wasn’t lying.”
Brown eyes dip to my mouth. “Stubborn woman,” he whispers, breath tickling my lips. “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to watch you suffer and not be able to do anything about it?”
I fight through the agony, my voice raw as I rasp, “If you could… do something about it… what would you do?”
“I’ve got a few ideas,” he murmurs. Mint and faint cigarette smoke. “But all of them require you to trust me.”
He’s asking me to jump off a cliff with no safety net.
I’ve been alone— so completely and utterly alone in this battle.
I’m beaten down, bruised and bitter. Fear and doubt have their claws in my mind.
They’ve pitted me against my body and convinced me I deserve the pain.
That I caused it and I’ll never escape it.
But here is this man— this quiet, immovable force— begging to scoop up my rotting corpse like I don’t reek of despair.
My trembling fingers skim the stubble on his cheek.
“I think I can do that.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, breath ragged. Then his lips slot over mine. This kiss, loaded with equal parts aching sadness and blissful relief, is a balm, soothing and healing aged wounds. One kiss and I unfurl like a flower blooming.
In a smooth movement, he eases me onto my back beneath him. On instinct, I brace for lightning bolts.
“Cade told me… you’re hurting here.” His knuckle skims between my thighs. “But the doctors didn’t find anything.”
I nod. He goes back to nipping and sucking my bottom lip as his thumb wanders… away from where I expect him to go.
“If I’m making it worse, you have to tell me.”
“You’re in the wrong spot—”
He pushes into the pocket of my groin. I suck in a gasp at the deep ache. He doesn’t let up and soon a new sensation spreads from his touch. Not flames or acid… it’s… like a warm cup of tea.
A miracle.
“How’s that feel?”
My eyes sting. “Like you pressed pause on the burning.”
He hums. “Good. Breathe with your diaphragm. Real deep for me.”
I’m melting into it— this bruising yet calming wave rolling through me. Ice packs or heating pads don’t compare to whatever he’s doing, massaging and mimicking the movement on the other side too.
I blow out a long breath as he instructed. “What kind of voodoo is this?”
His chuckle adds to the syrupy heat. “Not voodoo, baby girl. Just releasing the tension in your pelvic floor.”
My… pelvic floor?
“How do you know how to do that?”
“I overheard you talking to Cade— and before you get after me for eavesdropping, I can’t stop him from using speaker phone— so I did a little digging.
Fun fact: we store suppressed anxiety and trauma here.
It’s crazy how our bodies adapt to try and protect us.
But over time, the prolonged stress and tension can cause issues…
like painful sex, abdominal cramping, lower back pain— a whole bunch of shit.
Not to mention, there are tons of nerve endings down here, so when the muscles stop stretching and moving correctly, they’re more prone to strain and inflammation, which would explain the burning. ”
Everything he’s saying makes sense, and yet I can’t accept that the answer is so simple. Right there. In front of my face. In front of my doctor’s faces. A tidal wave of anger threatens to drown out any relief he’s giving me.
“Years,” I growl. “Years of my life, I’ve been dealing with this and not one of those expensive doctors could figure it out. Not one!”
He doesn’t stop his ministrations as he kisses my shoulder. “I’m sorry everyone has failed you for so long.”
A strangled sob lodges in my throat. He kisses there too and whispers, “You gotta let it out, sweetheart.”
So I do. It’s a torrential, emotional downpour. Crying, screaming, cursing— a purge of everything I’ve bottled up. And Seba holds me through it, his steady hands drawing out the poison. And even though the result isn’t permanent, there’s a glimmer of light shining through the clouds.
It’s in reach— a pain-free life.
Framing his face, I gaze up at him through blurred vision. My lips skim his forehead. Down to his lips. Then each of his eyelids. A silent blessing.
Something drops on my cheek.
A tear.
He just shakes his head the way he always does and kisses me. Softly. Reverently. But his tears don’t stop. They blend with mine, seeping into each slow meeting of our mouths.
Trembling, he breaks for a breath and whispers, “Thank you,” over and over.
“I should be the one thanking you,” I choke.
“Anyone can take away your pain, but what you’ve given me— your trust— is sacred.
It’s a gift I don’t deserve, but I’ll take it anyway because, my god, Andrea, I’ve been in love with you since the day I saw you sitting in your bedroom window.
You’re a force to be reckoned with, but you’re way too fucking hard on yourself.
You wear your heart on your sleeve and love with every fiber of your being.
And as much as it’s killed me to live on the sidelines of your life, I’m just grateful for the chance to be near you. To witness the woman you’ve become.”
He’s prying apart the steel bars caging my heart. They crack like ribs, crumbling into ash.
“Thank you,” I mouth against his salty lips. “For staying close.” Fuck, this hurts more than the burning ever has. “I’m not easy to love.”
A wet smile.
“Loving you is effortless.”
“Loving you is hell.”
He chokes on a sob–laugh.
“You love me?”
I press our smiles together. “Yes, you buffoon, I love you. I’ve loved you for a very long time.”
His teeth sink into my bottom lip. “How long?”
I punch his side— lightly. “Long enough. Now stop making me emotional and get back to voodooing my pelvic floor.”
He grunts. Laughs. Kisses me. Murmurs, “Yes, ma’am.” And works his magic some more.