Page 66 of Loverboy

I tried to smooth out the photo, but tiny cuts on my fingers only made things worse. My brothers’ faces were marred by smudged ink, blood, and tears. I wasn’t sure how to undo the damage.

I didn’t mean to do it. I just wanted Jasper to look happier with me than with someone else, and it didn’t matter that it was Blane. I liked Blane. He was sweet and funny. The problem was me—it was always me.

Please don’t leave me alone.

There was no use in trying to clean up. My hands were smothered in blood, and they wouldn’t stop shaking. One of the larger pieces of glass gleamed up at me, like it had been waiting to be seen, and even though I knew it was a horrible idea, I picked it up off the floor. I clenched it in my fist, blood seeping from my palm and dripping off my knuckles onto the carpet, the sharp sting my only tether to reality.

I squeezed and squeezed, the pain white-hot, my pulse throbbing under sliced open skin.

It wasn’t on purpose, at least, not initially, but it felt fucking good. My panic started to subside, leaking out of my palm in that pretty red stream. That was the thing about self-harm. As contradictory as it sounded, it took the pain away.

Jasper would be so mad.

He’d never forgive me.

Everything was ruined.

I couldn’t breathe.

Then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock.

30

Jasper

HALFWAY TO THE bar, I changed my mind about covering the shift and texted my coworker that something had come up. It didn’t sit right with me to leave Milo alone, even if it was only for a few hours. Not with the way he was acting during and after dinner, and definitely not after the way our conversation in the car lot ended.

I took a moment to adjust to the darkness inside the apartment, leaning down to take off my shoes. I noticed right away the absence of Milo’s boots, and for a split second, I thought he hadn’t gone straight home.

There was a stillness in the air, the type that weighs heavily in your chest before the storm breaks. Something wasn’t right. The door closed behind me, a little harder than usual, and it only added to my mounting sense of foreboding.

That’s when I saw him there, kneeling on the carpet. Milo turned toward me, bathed in moonlight from the balcony window. My gaze raked over his slender frame, all the way down until it hit his boots, surrounded by broken glass.

“What happened?” I asked cautiously.

He rose slowly, eyes wide with the horror of someone caught committing a crime. We both looked down at his clenched fist with the mutual realization that I’d quite literally caught him red-handed. I didn’t think, I just moved, closing the distance between us to grab his wrist. He pulled back, the sound of glass crunching under his feet, but I wasn’t going to fucking let go.

“Give it to me,” I growled, trying to wrench open his hand.

“I-It’s not what it looks like,” he sobbed.

“What is it, then?” My voice cracked.

Blood slicked between our fingers, my heart rate skyrocketing with panic. He kept his fist clenched, the situation worsening by the second. Memories of the past blinded me—every time I’d been too scared to act, crushing my lungs.

“I told you to fucking give it to me!” I was shouting now.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Then let it go!”

I cursed breathlessly, finally freeing the chunk of glass from his hand, my breath coming in sharp bursts. I tossed it to the ground, a dull throb developing in my palm. With the rush of adrenaline, I hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that it might cut me too. All that mattered was that he didn’t slip away from me.

“You don’t love me,” Milo sputtered.

“What?” My blood ran hot. The accusation was a slap to the face. I had always done everything to prove exactly the opposite, to show him how much I loved him, how much I needed him.

I was furious, but there was nobody to take my anger out on, no use in being offended by the statement when the enemy was nothing tangible. It was something I couldn’t fight, only smother with reassurance, because, unlike the partners that came in and out of Milo’s life, I loved him even when it hurt—especially when it hurt.