Page 89 of Brutal Game

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Aviva

“Aviva!”

Jack’s voice, sharp and worried, snapped me out of the past.

I glanced up from where I’d been staring, unseeing, at my fraying pillowcase. His arms were no longer crossed, but clenched into fists at his sides.

“What happened next?” he asked, his voice disconcertingly gentle now.

I cleared my throat, trying to will away the tears choking it.

“When I woke up, I was in the hospital. Asher was alive, but both my parents were dead. We never talked about it, me choosing to save him instead of my mother. I don’t like to think about it, and I’ve never told anyone everything—not even Tovah. Just you, now,” I finished the story, picking at the threads on the pillowcase. I really needed to replace it—if I ever had the money for it.

“That’s why you hate when I call you princess.”

I nodded.

“And the scar?”

“The surgery when they removed the bullet. They have plastic surgery for it. One day, I’m going to save up for it and do it.” I shook my head. “I hate it. Not only because Tom was so disgusted by it, that the night we tried to have sex, he couldn’t even get it up. I promised myself then that I would only have sex with someone I knew completely respected me.”

“Aviva,” Jack interrupted, voice pained.

I continued, having to get the rest out. “I hate it because it reminds me of impossible choices, about how I couldn’t save them both. I’ve tried so hard over the years to make up for it. Doing everything I could to give Asher the life he deserves. Working as a waitress under the table in high school, pinching pennies, begging family who hated us for help. It was exhausting. It is exhausting. I’mexhausted.But it doesn’t matter what I do. I hate the scar, it proves how weak and selfish I really am.” This time I couldn’t keep the sob down.

Jack had fallen silent again, his eyes working. I had no idea what he was thinking, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I’d given him so much ammunition against me. Was it a mistake?

But it was done.

And then he was crossing the room toward me in two big strides. He kneeled on the floor in front of me, his hands stroking up and down my bare calves. I wasn’t sure who he was trying to comfort, him or me.

“No,” he said. “Aviva,no.”

My real name. Not princess. It tripped over his tongue with ease, with a tenderness I neither wanted nor deserved.

“Aviva, it’s not ugly.You’renot ugly. You’re beautiful,” hesaid, reading me too well. That I’d let him see me—my scar, my insecurities—was terrifying.

I shook my head. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m going to find out where Tom is, and I’m going to destroyhim,” he said, his voice fierce in its softness. “He’s full of shit. He was intimidated by how strong you are.” Leaning forward, he placed his lips on the scar, right above my breasts and below my clavicle. “Aviva, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I hate it sometimes, it’s so fucking overwhelming, but there it is: the truth.” He dropped another kiss on the top of the scar before pulling back and looking at me. “If you want the surgery, I’ll pay for it. I’ll pay for it right now. I can’t begin to imagine what it feels like to see it every day, but here’s what your scar tells me, little fury: You’re here. Alive. Withme.That makes it the most beautiful part of you.”

“Jack—”

He wasn’t done. “Of course you’re exhausted. Ofcourse. I’ll fix it, I promise. I’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to worry again, not about money, not about anything.”

No one had ever spoken to me like that before.

No one.

Some part of me, long cold, warmed. And then I was pulling him on top of me, and he was kissing me and kissing me. He surrounded me, overwhelmed me. I felt safe, I felt like I belonged. I was lost again. This time, not in the past, but in Jack.

Mine,his kisses said.Mine.

And this time, I welcomed it.

Mine,my kiss said back.

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