That concise answer does more than any heartfelt confession ever could. It’s as if he doesn’t need to over-explain what comes naturally to him.
My friend’s lips quirk briefly. Then they twist as her forehead creases.
“What’s going on?” I ask, concern creeping up my throat.
“I have a question for Alaric.” Her hands wring in her lap. “A sensitive one.”
“Um.” Alarm bells go off in my head. Hope is brilliant. Smart and intuitive too. What if she suspects he’s hiding something? “Maybe another day?” Or never?
“It’s fine.” Alaric rubs my arm, the movement reverent and meant to soothe. “Ask away, Hope.”
“I…”
“Look, it’s fine.” The kindness in his voice is genuine. My heart melts at that, and I forget why I was freaking out in the first place. “We’re going to be around each other a lot. I don’t want you feeling like you have to watch yourself around me.”
“Okay, then.” She takes a deep breath through her nose. Lets it out. “You, and correct me if I’m wrong…” Her sad brown eyes slide from me to him. “You get Lilith so well because, um…you know what it’s like, right?”
When he mentioned his parents to Harold, Alaric was scornful. He acted as if talking about them didn’t touch him.
And maybe it didn’t back then, when I, technically, wasn’t around.
Tonight, whether the memories upset him or he worries about my reaction to this hidden side of him, he stops stroking my arm. His body goes still, his gaze turned inward.
Lead lines the pit of my stomach, but I won’t let it get to me. Won’t let it show.
He needs me to be strong for him.
Shielding him from the pain, I snake my arms around him, hugging him tight, tight, tighter.
“Oh, shit, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m so sorry. Fuck.” Hope’s cheeks turn beet red. She looks to me for help. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just love the way he is around you, and it got me thinking and—Oh, God. Oh, God. Alaric, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He gulps.
Then his hollow eyes find mine, and my heart shatters into a million pieces.
“You don’t have to say anything.” I squeeze him so hard my arms hurt. “We can save it for another day. Or we don’t have to talk about it at all.”
“No. I was going to tell you about it one of these days. Might as well.” His muscles loosen the longer I have him in my embrace. “My dad called beating me with a belt discipline. My mother was a socialite. I only mattered when it was time to take a photo for a magazine, a Christmas card, whatever.”
Hearing him say it, even in his mildly detached tone, hurts.
Because he isn’t saying these things to Harold. He isn’t sarcastic.
As much as he tries to hide it, his ache bleeds into the room.
The pain in my abdomen is worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I’m about to expel my dinner.
Except I can’t be that selfish. He’s being brave, remembering some of the worst days of his life. It must be terrible. I refuse to be another burden on him by bursting into tears or throwing up.
What he needs is the warmth he’s never gotten. The love only I can give him.
Determined to offer him just that, I shift around the couch until I climb onto his lap. My cheek lies on his shoulder while my arms lock around his neck, my feet resting on the cushion.
Though he’s more relaxed than before, he’s still frozen. His arms lie limp at his sides.
I latch onto him tighter.