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“This tattoo isn’t like the others. It’s older too,” he murmurs, his hand stopping on my hip. I know exactly which one he means and stiffen, unable to meet his eyes. “Reign?”
“It was my first one,” I admit. “I was underage, and it was done by a cheap tattoo artist who spent the entire time looking at my ass.”
“Always a rebel,” he murmurs. “Lost boys? What does it mean?”
I pull away and he frowns, searching my gaze. I’ve never told anyone, not even Tucker. I always lied or changed the subject. I could do that now or tell him to drop it and Raff would, but part of me wants to tell him. Part of me wants someone else to understand the pain I carry with me every single day of my life. If anyone could, it’s Raff.
He would never judge me. He would simply be here for me because that’s who he is. He’s a protector, a shield . . . my shield. This might have started as a job for both of us, but we know it’s so much more now. He’s everything I never knew I needed. He’s a control freak, and he’s strict and surly and stubborn, but he makes me feel safe. He makes me happy. He makes me want to be a better person, and even when I’m doing fucked-up shit, he’s there with me.
He’s my ride or die.
They all are.
“It’s for my brother,” I share quietly. His eyes soften, and I glance down at his thumb caressing the script. “It’s something we joked about. We called ourselves the lost boys. It was really just a way to fantasize and escape our lives.”
“Escape?”
I peer up at him, wondering how much to share, but I’m so tired of secrets and being on guard all the time. Maybe he’ll hurt me, or maybe he’ll use it against me like everyone else has, but at some point, I have to trust someone. I’m realizing I can’t do this alone. I might be Reign fucking Harrow, rebel and anarchist, but I’m also just a woman—a woman who wants to trust and be loved.
Maybe I need to learn to trust, and maybe that needs to start here, with a man who would willingly take a bullet for me. A man who carries me to bed when I’ve been working too hard in the studio. A man who makes sure I eat. A man who sees through my bullshit and calls me on it. A man, I realize, I’m starting to fall in love with.
“An escape,” I murmur, covering his hand on my hip for courage. “I grew up really poor. My little brother, Attie, and I shared a room, and we often went days without eating since our dad couldn’t afford it. My mom was in and out. She wasn’t an addict or anything like most people thought. She was just absent and flighty. She often told us she never wanted kids. My dad let her come and go because he loved her, but then one day, she never came back, and that was when everything changed. He was really angry, overworked, and tired. I tried to keep us out of his way, and I tried to make it easier on him. I got a job after school and would clean the house, but eventually, his anger turned on us and he took his pain out on me. I never let Attie see. At first, it was just some punches or kicks when he was drinking or stumbling in from a double shift, but it kept getting worse. He hated us, hated everything we stood for, and most of all, he hated that I looked like the woman who abandoned him.” I laugh bitterly as Raff holds me tighter.
“It got worse. It turned into broken bones and black eyes. I was careful not to visit the same hospitals or clinics so nobody noticed. I knew no matter how bad our house was, it could be so much worse in the system—I had seen it myself—so I protected my little brother as much as I could. I saved up my money for him so when he was ready and I was eighteen, we could get out of there. I gave him my food and my clothes and held him when he had nightmares, but I know he saw the pain our father inflicted on me. One night, I thought that he was asleep and I went to the bathroom. My father was drunk and as usual, he took it out on me, screaming about how she never would have left had I not been born. I curled into the floor and waited for it to be over, but then I looked up and there he was. Attie held his stuffed wolf, and there were tears in his eyes. Something broke in me, but even more so when he ran to my father to try and get him off me. My dad smacked him so hard, he flung into a door. I remember that. I remember the sound his body made even now when he hit it. I remember the blood dripping on his dinosaur onesie. It haunts me. My father left to go to the bar, and I held Attie and cleaned him up. He didn’t even cry, not once.” My brow furrows, and tears well in my eyes. “No, he took my hand and looked me right in the eye and said, ‘It’s okay, Rey. It’s not your fault.’ He was a kid, Raff. He was a fucking kid and he told me it was okay. He told me not to blame myself even though I couldn’t protect him after I promised to. He told me we protected each other and that he loved me. I cried myself to sleep as I held him that night.”
Wiping my eyes, I look up at Raff to see his own are glassy. “I hated my father. I hated him so much, so yes, Raff, an escape. Now you know I’m nothing like these rich bitches who grew up in a loving home. I’m nothing but a pretender who doesn’t belong here, who can still smell the faint whiff of alcohol and see the patches in her clothes.”
Pulling me closer, he kisses my head. He doesn’t tell me it’s going to be okay. He doesn’t minimize what I went through. He doesn’t ask for more details. He just listens and comforts me, and in his eyes, I see that he knows how much it cost me to share. “Thank you for telling me, baby.”
Resting my head on his chest, I let the tears fall. “I couldn’t protect him, Raff.”
“You were a kid, Reign. It wasn’t your job to protect him, yet you did anyway. You loved him, and you did everything you could. It’s time to stop blaming yourself, baby. It’s time to forgive yourself.”
“I can’t. You don’t understand,” I whisper, pulling back. I feel too raw, too vulnerable.
He catches me before I can escape and pins me down, glaring at me. “Then make me understand, Reign,” he demands. “Why can’t you forgive yourself for your father’s crimes?”
I try to look away to escape his all-seeing eyes, but he turns my face back to him. “Tell me,” he orders.
“Because it got him killed!” I practically scream before covering my face. I feel him jerk, and then soft hands pry mine away.
“Tell me,” he whispers.
“I can’t.” Sliding from the bed, I hurry to the bathroom, slamming the door. He tries the handle but it’s locked. His hand slaps into the wood, making me jump.
“One day, you will tell me, Reign. One day, you will trust me enough. I will be here waiting, remember that. I’m always in your corner, baby. Always. No matter what you tell me. I won’t let anyone hurt you, including yourself, but I’ll give you this time you need, and I’ll be downstairs. You haven’t pushed me away. I’ll be right there waiting.” He retreats, and I slide down the door, placing my head on my knees.
The tears fall once more because I know he will be downstairs, waiting for me. He won’t stop until he learns the truth, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that. My broken heart never recovered from what happened, and I’ve spent so long running, I don’t know how to stop.
Not even for them.
For him.
“Rey?” His little voice cracks, filled with pain. “Rey, wake up. Please wake up, Rey. I need you. It hurts, Rey. Please.”
Leaping to my feet to escape the memory, I crank on the shower, adjusting the temp so it’s the hottest it can get, and step under it. I let the sting wash away the pain and tears, my fingers covering the tattoo on my hip.
What I said is true.
