Page 103 of Wreck Me

He heaved another sigh. “We always had a sibling rivalry, but it was innocent enough. He was close to my mom and I was tight with my dad. Our parents didn’t exactly hide the fact that they each had a favorite. While it didn’t bother me when it came to my strained relationship with my mom who clearly favored him, it got under his skin that my dad favored me. He wanted it all. He couldn’t stand that attention was taken away from him. It was all very immature. And then, after my dad died and his will was read, it was discovered that he’d marked me as his heir apparent, not Damien as the older sibling. From then on, our rivalry—on his end—became a lot more ferocious and dangerous. I found a way to hold him at bay—or Cas did—but that’s gone now, so it looks like Damien is back to it now.”

“And trying to use me to strike at you,” I said, grimacing.

He squeezed my hand. “I won’t let that happen. It’s just external bullshit. Don’t let him get under your skin.”

The need to ask more was right there, but I could see how much it was paining him just to tell me that much.

Besides, we all had our secrets, me definitely included.

So, I pulled my hand from his and brushed my fingers over his black rose tattoos and asked, “So, how about you? What’s the meaning behind all this ink? Black roses have a lot of different meanings.”

“It’s about my sobriety. Despair of the addiction, then rebirth marking me clawing my way out of all of that.”

“Wow,” I breathed. “That’s lovely.”

“Lovely, huh?”

“Yeah and they’re gorgeous,” I said, tracing the petals of one of the roses. “Was it alcohol?”

“That was how it started off, how I dealt with my grief when I lost my dad. But then it became pills. Heavy-duty narcotics and tranquilizers.”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah, I was pretty fucked up back then.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, stroking his face. “But it’s amazing that you were able to come out of it and get your life back on track.”

He smiled. “Yeah.”

“I can’t imagine you being that way.”

“And you never will. I’m not going back to it. Ever.” His eyes dropped to my left arm. “Your scars? Here on your arm and your back… what happened?”

I tensed. “I… I can’t.”

“Skylar—”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t. I mean, at least not yet.”

He stared at me for a moment and I could see his need to know, to discover what had hurt me in such a permanent way.

But, fortunately, he didn’t push it any further and said instead, “Okay. We’re done with all of this then. No more heavy stuff.” He walked to the top step and sat down, patting the space beside him. “Sit with me. Show me those sketches you’ve been working on.”

I smiled and grabbed my sketchbook out of my bag beside his that we’d left against the opposite wall when we’d come in here.

I settled beside him and opened it up to my latest work—a half a dozen pages full.

“Wow, you really got into it,” he said as I started to show him.

“Yeah, it just started coming to me and I couldn’t stop.”

“Let’s hope that continues.”

I gave him a withering look. “No more heavy stuff, remember?”

“All right, beautiful,” he said, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me against him.

And then we sat there as he held me and listened attentively to my every word about my sketches and my ideas for the sequel to my game, like he couldn’t get enough.

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