Page 152 of These Secret Years

He wants to stand rather than sit, reminding me of the words he used that night in the tunnel. Conservatory style.

“Now I’m gonna play, and I want you to⁠—”

“Wait,” I say. I don’t like this. I think it’s a terrible idea. “I don’t wanna feel like a fucking creep.”

Sullivan’s big blue eyes lock on mine.

“I mean—why don’t you just play for me, without anybody touching you, and I’ll watch.”

“That’s not gonna⁠—”

I give my head a sharp shake. I won’t do this. “I can’t take away what he did, Sullivan. But I can give you a much better audience.”

His face falls expressionless. He sets the violin and bow on the table and says, “You’re right. It was just a thought.” Then he walks into the bedroom, half closing the door behind him.

I run my hands through my hair, eyes closed as I work in a few deep breaths. God fucking knows I want to fix all of this for him, erase every bad thing that’s ever happened and fill his head with all the new, wonderful memories he can handle. But that’s not the way brains work, and I don’t think it’s how trauma works either, not after getting more familiar with the sharp angles of his over the last few months.

Finally, I go into the bedroom to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs spread and his head hung. I sit on the floor in front of him, making him have to work hard not to look at me.

“Do you blame yourself?” I ask.

He nods.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know. And I don’t blame myself for all of it, although, there’s an argument to be made that says I was asking for it every time.”

“That’s what they wanted you to think. That you owed them something. But that was a manipulation, and they knew the game better than you did, so it wasn’t really fair, was it?”

“I get that.”

“Part of this has to be you taking yourself back. Not giving it all to me but taking it back for yourself. You and the violin—any violin—have a—like a bond. Like it knows you, and you know it. Like me with a football, right? That was in you a long time before that asshole ever came around. And maybe that’s what you need to remember. Maybe all it takes is five minutes a day. One minute if that’s all you’ve got to give, but I really think rebuilding comes from the inside out. Not the other way around.”

He’s silent for a long moment, and then he lets out a breath. “Okay, so maybe you’re not such a dumb jock.”

“I’m good at algebra, too. As you know.”

Still with a defeated sigh, he says, “How do you stand it? Shouldn’t I be getting better by now?”

He’s not talking about algebra. He’s talking about himself. “I refuse to put a timeline on this, and I don’t want you to, either.”

He glances at me, his dimples creasing his cheeks. “You’re obnoxiously perfect. I have yet to find a single thing wrong with you.”

“Well, don’t look too hard, all right?”

He slides off the edge of the bed, and I accept his presence in my lap as he wraps his legs and arms around me. I hug him close and kiss his neck. This I know we can do. This is progress, and in moments like this having him in my arms feels like the only thing that matters.

“I love you so fucking much,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.”

All he has to do is say the word, and I’ll change my entire life for him. It’s not even a question anymore. When I’m with him, he is the only place on earth I know I belong, and I’d give up anything to stay here.

Chapter Thirty-Four

SULLIVAN

Knight’s got himself all worked up about coming out to his friends. After our gym session with Deandre, he’s even more convinced that now’s the time. He says it gives the twins a week to process before heading home with him to Sunrise Point, and it gives Deandre plenty of time to also process, but he’s likely to have a lot of questions, too, and Knight wants to be around to answer them all.