I can’t believe what I’m hearing, and his reference to honesty can’t possibly apply to me, but at the same time I’m eating up every word. Judging by the way the journalist is leaning forward in her seat, brows knit together with compassion, it seems like she is too.
Luka continues, “I wasn’t raised to be vulnerable. My father saw emotions as signs of weakness, but Brooklyn has taught me that they’re actually tools to navigate relationships with.”
There’s so much sincerity in Luka’s voice, his answers ringing true. He’s clearly been through hell with his father. He’s never had a soft place to land…until me.
And I messed it all up.
I want him to have that again, though. More than ever.
As I smile and nod along, it takes all my willpower to fight back tears. Why am I so affected by this? Why do I have such a strong instinct to take him in my arms and tell him I’ll always be there for him, that he’s safe with me, that I’ll never hurt him again?
And then it hits me. My feelings for Luka aren’t just about lust or living up the good times or simply relying on the fact that you have someone to come home to. It’s so much more than that.
It’s true love.
Brooklyn
Chapter 15
After Julia bids us farewell and the camera crew packs up and leaves, Luka tries to escape to his bedroom. For a moment, I consider just letting him hide out for a while. But I can’t stand the thought of him being all by himself after he just poured out his heart in that interview.
He needs me, even if he won’t admit it. This trial is destroying him. I’m glad I never met his father. I can’t keep away the mental images of a young Luka, wondering when his dad will be home, hoping for some love and attention but getting nothing but neglect and harsh words and ridicule. No wonder he has so many walls up. He had to learn how to protect his heart.
It also explains why it’s so hard for him to trust people. I hate that I betrayed that trust.
“Hey,” I call out to him as he heads down the hall. He pauses to look back at me. “Can we talk for a minute?”
His expression is guarded. “About what?”
“I…” Now that we’re here alone, I struggle to find the right words to say. My hand flies to the brooch he pinned on me. “I wanted to give this back.”
As I fumble with the clasp, he moves closer, stopping me with his hand over mine.
“Keep it,” he says. “Please.”
I’m speechless for a beat, my eyes locked on his. He means it, I can tell.
Finally, my voice husky with emotion, I tell him, “Thank you. I’m honored.”
He nods and turns to leave again.
“Wait,” I say, tugging him gently toward me. “What you said before, in the interview. About me helping you navigate a little better. Did you mean it?”
His eyes flick to mine. “Yes.”
It feels like I’m moving in slow motion as I gently take his hand. “Luka. Let me help you through this. You don’t have to be alone right now.”
He shakes his head like he’s going to blow me off. But I’m not giving up. I move closer.
“You’re hurting.”
“I’m not.”
I refuse to let him hide. “But youare. And no matter what your father told you or made you believe when you were growing up, hurting inside does not make you weak. It makes you human. And sharing that hurt means you’re strong enough to admit you need a change.”
“Sure. I know.” He smiles like he doesn’t believe it, though.
Shaking my head, I add quietly, “Your father’s voice is still loud in your head. But you’re not a child anymore. It’s time to stop listening to it. When something doesn’t serve us, when it’s holding us back, we have to let it go.”