“Only once. He broke my arm, but he was too boozed to heal it properly, so I went to lower school the next day and the teachernoticed I was in pain. She sent me to the valley clinic, but Taylor, the kind soul that he was,” Gray says sarcastically, “was out in the wards healing other people. Fiona flew down from the Dagger and healed my arm.” His voice wavers. “When she asked what happened, I lied and said I fell.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I was ashamed. Didn’t want them to know how helpless I was.” He’s blinking faster now, his eyes misty. “That man was a sadistic prick. Always had to make sure I understood who was in charge—him. If I disobeyed or talked back to him, he showed me with his fists who was boss.”
I don’t want to crowd him, but I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him tight. “I’m so sorry, ace.”
Gray inhales a deep breath, and I feel a shudder run through his chest.
“Jenni just stood by and watched.” Anger trembles in his voice, a fierce fire behind the hurt. “I’d cry and beg her to help me, and she did nothing. Sometimes, if I was crying too hard, she would leave the room. She never said a single word. Never came to my defense. Never pulled him off me. She’d mop up all the blood and pretend it never happened. I was a little kid and my parents were gone, and she just fucking watched.”
I hold him tighter. He’s shaking against me, his words muffled in my hair.
“And then the bastard dies and suddenly she’s trying to be some kind of maternal figure. Wanting to cook me dinner, asking about my life. That quat doesn’t deserve a place in my life.” He pulls back and I can see the redness rimming his eyes, the throbbing of his pulse at the base of his throat. “It’s too late for that.”
“Sounds like it,” I agree quietly.
His jaw clenches. “You’re not gonna try to convince me to forgive her?”
“No. You should only forgive her if you feel the need to. But she was supposed to love and protect you. She did neither. So maybe the punishment she deserves is to not have you in her life anymore.”
“You believe that?”
“I believe forgiveness is overrated, and you should only do it for yourself, not the other person.”
“I don’t think I can,” he admits. “I think some things are unforgivable.”
I still feel sick at what he described. Being beaten to a pulp every night, only for his abuser to heal him and then do it all over again the next day. A cycle of abuse and healing. My heart cries for the little boy he’d been and the man he is now.
“I can’t even imagine going through something like that. But you don’t have to carry this alone.” I run my fingertips underneath his eyes and feel the wetness there. “I’m here whenever you need me.”
“I don’t like pity.” His voice is rough.
“This isn’t pity. It’s empathy. And it’s goddamn fury. I wish I could murder your uncle and, frankly, your aunt.”
“I can’t forgive her,” he says again, and I don’t know if he’s talking to me or himself.
“You don’t have to. Or one day you might decide you want to. Either way, it’s your choice. She failed you, but that’s on her. You get to choose the path forward for you, and you don’t have to carry the burden ofherfailure. That’s on her,” I repeat.
We stand there for a moment, silent. Gray has lowered his playful, cocky façade, which I now realize masks a lifetime of pain. He lost his family when he was a child. His entire family. I lost both my parents before the age of five, but I had Uncle Jim, who died to protect me. Gray’s guardians did the opposite. His uncle was a monster, and his aunt protected him.
“Anyway, I wanted to show you…me, I guess.” He shrugs. “All of me.”
He looks uncomfortable and sad, yet I’ve never been more attracted to him. I’m attracted to strength, to resilience, and this man is one of the strongest and most resilient people I’ve ever met in my life.
“I’m glad you did,” I whisper, all the while wishing I could do the same in return.
We don’t speak much when we return to the Dagger.
“Your quarters?” is all I say, because I’m still in a single, and his bed is bigger and more comfortable. There’s no way I’m letting him sleep alone tonight.
“I need a shower,” he says.
“Same.” I raise a brow.
He gets the hint. This time, there’s no resistance.
Under the hot spray, I soap up his chest, enjoying the feel of his defined muscles sliding beneath my fingertips. Suds slide between his pecs, over his abs, trailing lower. When my hand follows the path of the water, I find him hard and ready for me.
