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“Listen, you may play these games of dominance and submission with Nic, but I am a different type of monster. I guarantee if your punishment were in my hands, you wouldn’t enjoy yourself nearly as much.”
Before I can say anything or even expel the outrage building up inside me, he grabs his book again, walks out the door, and slams it behind him.
It doesn’t take long for Nic to come find me in the library. I wait for some kind of censure for how I talked to Soo, but it doesn’t come. Which makes me wonder if Soo even told him what I asked or how I acted.
When he holds his hand out to me, I stare at it a heartbeat too long.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I quickly shake my head and clasp my hand in his. “Nothing, I just wasn’t sure what you wanted from me.”
He leads me out of the house into a waiting car, and I don’t even ask about our destination. I’m just so excited to get out.
“Soo suggested you might be going a little stir crazy, and that you wanted some new scenery.”
A hot wash of shame hits my cheeks, and I turn my face to stare out the window so he doesn’t see. I was an asshole to Soo, and he still showed me kindness.
The drive only takes a couple of minutes. We stop next to a sports field lined with small trees. I stare out at the greenery, and I realize I’ve been here before. Years ago.
“Where are we?”
“Just a little park near my house.”
He helps me out of the vehicle and tucks my hand in his as I stare around. The memory hits me in a flash—me as a child. I don’t know how old, and the boy who was my best friend, playing here. There used to be a swing set and a sandbox to one side of the field, but it looks like they were removed. It’s been so long since I thought about that boy. I face Nic now and stare up into his eyes. “It’s strange that we’re here. I’ve been here before. Actually, this is where I got my scar.”
He nudges my hair out of my face and traces the line of it down my cheek with his thumb. “How did it happen?”
I point toward the empty field, the memory rising from the recesses of my mind. “We were young, my friend and I. We were playing on one of those dome jungle gym things. Some idiot came over and tried to start a fight with him. They grappled, and I tried to protect him, but he accidentally caught me in the face with his pocketknife. He’d stolen it from his father.”
I can taste the heat in the air that day. It was so hot a permanent shimmer rose over the asphalt of the parking lots. We’d been running wild since lunch, dirt and peanut butter smeared on our cheeks.
A wave of nausea washes over me, threatening to drag me into the memory. That was the last day I saw the boy I thought I would one day marry. His family disappeared soon after.
His thumbs are still gentle as he rubs over the scar and curls up around my eyelid. I close my eyes and fall into the sensation of his touch. It’s soft and assertive. There’s never any question with him. When he wants to touch me, he touches me, and he does it with conviction.
“This friend, who is he?” There’s an odd note in his tone.
Along with the memories, an old, aching grief stirs. That summer was the last time I saw him. Now, I barely even think about him, and it makes me feel all the worse.
“His father and mine were friends. We used to do everything together, but then one day, after his parents died, he disappeared. I guess I assumed they had shipped him off to live with some distant relative, but by the way the servants talked about the incident, I think he was killed with them, and they just didn’t want to tell me.”
His gaze is filled with something I can’t name. Not grief, but something warmer, softer, more forgiving. “What else did you two do together?”
My smile rises without thought as I dredge up old memories from the depths of my mind. “Well, we used to camp in the yard. His younger brother always wanted to come and play with us, but my friend didn’t want him to because he got scared in the dark and would cry half the night until his mom picked him up. We also explored the little tunnel system under his old mansion. They were pretty cool. Built for bootleggers or something like that, a long time ago.”
“You look happy when you speak of him.”
I nod. “I feel bad for not thinking about him more, but yes, it makes me happy to remember the times we shared, but also sad to think about how he’s not in my life anymore. When I got older and started battling with my father over marriage prospects and party planning, he would have understood the kind of life I wanted to lead and married me, so I could go to college and do what I wanted instead of becoming a trophy wife and a dowry for his family.”
