Page 87 of Chasing Hope

A muscle feathers in his jaw.

“Too far?” I probe.

Shaking his head, he lays his hand on my knee, squeezing. The touch shoots a spark of heat down my leg. “Not far enough, Dove. Not far enough.”

He doesn’t remove his hand from my leg.

My heart is pounding.

It’s just a hand, I remind myself.Just a hand.

But it’s not just a hand, is it? It’s Matteo. My Matteo.

I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Well, if that’s the case, I hope the bastards burn in hell for what they did to you.”

“They didn’t do anything.”

“Precisely.”

A thought occurs, one that I desperately want to share, but it takes a while for the courage to build within me. Matteo must sense it because he squeezes my knee. “Just spit it out.”

“You read me too well.”

“Not enough.”

“Trust me, you read me plenty,” I tease. Huffing out a sigh, I decide to just go for it. “How did you let go of them? How did you just…stop talking to them and stop trying to have a relationship?”

“It’s easy to let go of something you never had.”

My heart cracks, splitting into two before disintegrating into nothing but dust at his startling confession.

“If this is about your mom…it’s going to be hard, I imagine, really hard, because you had what I dreamed of. You had a mom that loved you, that spent time with you and cared for you. I had to beg my mom not to forget to feed me.”

The back of my eyes begin to burn.

“If you want to let go, it’s going to be hard, V. I won’t sugarcoat it for you. Even I find it hard when I have the urge to call my mom or dad, but that’s all it is—an urge, a natural instinct to be close to the people that birthed you. But sometimes, the people that birthed you are monsters.”

Taking a steadying breath, I slide my hand on top of his and squeeze, not caring if I’m crossing lines by threading my fingers through his.

“You deserved so much more,” I confess on a wobbly exhale.

Matteo shrugs as if it’s no big deal, as if having parents that made it obvious that they never wanted you is nothing. “I had your family. They’re pretty great.”

“They can be.”

His green eyes flick between mine and the highway. “Are you ready to tell me what’s been going on yet?”

“No.”

“Will you ever?”

Laying my head back on the headrest, I watch him, my eyes trailing along his strong features. His defined jawline, the slight curve on his nose from when he broke it, the wild curly hair from the water.

Could I ever tell him?I ask myself.

“Maybe,” I whisper honestly. “Although with my track record, anyone I tell doesn’t believe me or disappears from my life.”

I wish I could, and a part of me wants to, but the other part, the majority of my heart, is terrified.