Page 139 of Zeus

"My car?" he asks. "I didn't drive."

I turn to look at him.

He waves his free hand in front of his face as if he thinks I could've forgotten about his injuries.

"I can hardly see," he says with a smile that highlights the cut on his upper lip. "I did Uber."

"Even better," I say.

He's walking better, but there's still a hitch in his steps that I can tell he's trying to hide.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," I say.

I stop when he plants his feet and stares at me.

"I'm good," he says.

"And I don't want to be the one to cause you any more pain. I've done enough of that over the years."

He frowns, and it triples the guilt inside of me.

"We're moving forward. There's no sense in living in the past," he says with a small shake of his head that makes me wonder if the man truly means it or if he's also struggling to let go of the way I treated him. "The only thing I need from you is a promise that you won't do it again."

"I swear," I tell him, turning to fully face him so he can read the sincerity in my eyes. "Hurting you is the last thing I'll ever do. That's why I think we should wait."

He shakes his head again, but there's a softness of understanding in his eyes.

"I'm not going to coerce you into making love to me, Frankie. I'm not on board because I think it's just what you want. I've wanted to share that experience with you for as long as I can remember."

I run my hand over my head before scraping it down my red beard. I still don't know what my choice is going to be. It's a stall tactic at best.

"We started with pain," I mutter, my throat threatening to seize. "I don't want to continue that trend."

"It won't be painful for either of us. I assure you."

He tugs my hand, urging me out of the house.

"If you keep looking at me like you love me, then things are going to get really awkward right here in the foyer, considering you said you didn't want to get laid in your parents' house."

I laugh, loving that he has a way of lightening the mood.

"We'll need... umm... supplies, right?"

"We will," he says as we pause on the front porch so I can lock the door.

I don't take an extra moment to take the place in, despite knowing I'll never step foot on this property again.

There are no good memories here, nothing I want to look back on.

If anything, a trip a few streets down would be better. His childhood home carries more good things than this place ever did.

It's hard to work in the field we work in and not reflect on our own lives. I know my life would look great from the outside looking in. My parents had money. I wore designer clothes. My first car was brand new and paid for in full.

It was all out of obligation, and there will always be feelings of gratitude inside me for what they provided, but not all pain is physical pain. I didn't have to be beaten to be brought to my knees as a child.

Still, I know I had it better than a lot of other kids had it, and in knowing that, there's guilt for letting it control so much of my life.

I didn't go to school, having to cover up bruises or worry about my next meal.