Page 132 of Forget Me Not

I don’t want to hear anymore, but I need to. He’s telling me his story—something he’s never told anyone. He deserves to be heard as much as I do.

As much as anyone.

“He started to hit me. I say hit, but he punched me like a grown man. I was so sick of it. Tired of being asked what I did to myself when I’d show up to school. Tired of hurting. So . . .” he murmurs, stopping in front of the old, dusty mirror above the fireplace. I can see his eyes glinting, watching me across the room as if telling me head-on makes this too real. “When he stumbled near the edge, I just pushed him. He fell in, couldn’t get back to the surface because the fucker was too drunk to help himself. And I just watched his drown.”

He sucks in a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before continuing.

“After that, went to a shit ton of foster care houses. Slept around. It felt good and I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I was on my own.”

Both of us are silent, watching the other. I don’t know if he expects me to judge him or be afraid of him, but . . . strangely, I feel neither.

Finally, he turns around, facing me, his eyes guarded. When another tear slips down my cheek, he watches its descent, his jaw clenching.

“Sorry, I couldn’t give you the perfect story you were after,” he says, voice laced with a poison I’m not used to hearing from him. Not since that first night we came here.

Reid turns back away from me, staring out the window this time, instead of at our reflections in the mirror.

“You think I’m judging you for your past.”

It’s not a question. He knows it. I know it.

Still, he doesn’t say anything.

Carefully, I slide to my feet, crossing the room as if I’m approaching a wild bear that could strike at any moment. It certainly feels like it, with the way he towers over me, but I know Reid would never hurt me.

He’s shown me his scars. Laid them bare for me to see and now I’m choosing to accept them anyway. Just as he has mine.

Carefully, I slip my arms around his front and press my cheek against his back, hugging him from behind. He stiffens at my touch, but I do it anyway.

“I could never judge you for what happened to you. If you think I could, then you really don’t know me at all.”

“It’s disgusting,” he murmurs, teeth clenched together.

Pulling myself away from him, I force my arm into the crook of his and tug him back until he sits down in the chair. He comes begrudgingly, but he does come and when he sits down, I move into his lap.

We’ve never been like this before. At least not outside some sexual escapade. We’ve never sat face to face. Something about this feels more intimate, even though we’re both fully clothed.

Gently, I reach up and cup his cheek. He closes his eyes, leaning into my palm in the most vulnerable act I’ve ever seen from Reid Morrison, this man made of steel and impossible to crack.

“Those people are disgusting. That woman and your father. The people who whipped you. I hate them all and I wish I could go back and protect the boy who went through those things.” His eyes open, burning black in the candlelight. It’s almost terrifying. Almost. “But I can’t, just like you can’t erase what they did by keeping it locked away. You’re a good man, Reid. You deserve a happy life. Whatever that is for you.”

That last sentence tastes like battery acid on my tongue, but I say it anyway because it’s true. Whether it’s me or Alaska, he deserves to do all the things he’s ever dreamed of and more.

He’s quiet for a moment, studying me with an intensity I’m not used to. As if he’s trying to memorize all the lines of my face. God knows I already have his mapped out like the back of my hand.

“Nova,” he starts, voice thick with something like regret and something deeper. Something I can’t dwell on. “What happens when I leave?”

Part of me knows he’s going to go. The other part is begging for him to stay, but that’s not in the cards.

So, I push down those feelings of anguish for a time when he won’t exist in my life anymore, burying them, just as I told him not to and force a soft smile to my lips.

“I’ll be okay. You’ve taught me to be okay.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I can see the tick in his jaw. As if he’s been waiting to hear that. That makes me sad.

“Little bird,” he murmurs suddenly, voice husky with a dangerous heat. Like he’s flipped a switch, something in my core perks to life and a warmth settles there. “You’re sitting on my cock.”

“I’m not, but I could, if you want me to.”

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