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“Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
Rowan’s eyes roll. “Briar. You’re doing that thing where you’re an annoyance on purpose again.”
Indeed I am.
Consider it a coping mechanism.
I wet my lips, tug down my skirt. “Don’t tell me you’re crying because you think I’m lonely. That would be very weird of you.”
“Would it?”
“Very.”
Rowan makes a low sound as he slips his hand around mine, causing my skirt to immediately ride back up. Shadows caress his fingers where our skin meets, and insurmountable heat floods my chest. “If your control preferences must know, I didn’t lie when you asked the first time.”
I balk.
He glares, tenderly. “What?”
“Your happy tears radiate just had to put my dog down.”
Planting his chin in his hand and his elbow on his knee, he watches me. “I’m sorry. How do you prefer your men to look when they’re crying?”
Guilt squeezes a fist around my heart. “I… I don’t have any preferences. I don’t want you to cry.”
His free hand lifts to my cheek and runs a knuckle below my eye. “Last night is still eating you alive, isn’t it?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.”
Squeezing his hand, I dare to scoot in a little closer, until our thighs brush. “I’ve told you before how much I like you. As a person.”
He curls his arm around my back and sighs. “You seem so fond of that detail. As though liking me as a person isn’t the best kind of way to like someone.”
I ignore that. “I feel terrible for everything I said. I’m not an explicitly honest person by any means, but you are someone very special, and I hate the idea that my own voice might be in the back of your head, contradicting that fact.”
Unlacing our fingers, Rowan grips the hem of his shirt. As the fabric rises, my stomach constricts. With every exposed inch, ice washes through my veins, and my mouth goes dry.
Knots upon knots of welted flesh mar his defined muscles. The darkness around us fits into every pit and valley, highlighting cruelty in striking ways. It’s not even a patchwork of abuse because I can’t tell what pieces of him have been sewn back together and what pieces were carved away completely. Mutilated only begins to describe what I’m looking at.
Apathetic, he removes the support of his arm from behind me and presents his entire chest. “It’s like this on my back, too. In case you were wondering why I’ve never so much as changed shirts in front of you.” His fingers skim down the center of his abs. “The nerve damage is a—” He curses. “—trip. Some odd mixture of numb and overly sensitive.” He digs a finger into his gut. “I swear it feels like I’m touching a spot on my back when I do this.”
“It doesn’t…still hurt, does it?”
“It used to. Not so much anymore. Sometimes, I’d get random sharp pains so violent I couldn’t breathe until they passed.”
My heart thumps in my ears.
“My parents beat emotions out of me, for my own good. They trained me not to compromise the family, no matter what. They taught me how to make someone else suffer, using my own body as the example.” Rowan’s gaze lifts, meeting mine. “Through it all, I trusted them and their reasons. I found sick validation in their pride when I learned to handle their abuse without screaming. I relied on them in my abnormal world and assumed it was normal, given the circumstances. I never doubted them, and I wasn’t taught to question them.”
Tears burn in my eyes until the heat overflows.
Rowan catches a droplet with a kiss as he lets his shirt fall back down. “Compared to what I’ve been through, sweetheart, your verbal tantrum was cute.” Threading his fingers in my hair, he murmurs, “I’m also better at lining up evidence and assessing the truth from it now than I once was.”
My voice cracks. “You shouldn’t have to endure any abuse, Rowan. Just because you’ve dealt with worse doesn’t mean last night was okay.”
