Page 43 of Say It Slowly

“You’re not going to tell me how out of line I was?”

He laughs a little, like he’s genuinely amused by my question. Then he leans in, and I can smell the ocean on his skin. “You’re dating the king, baby. You can do whatever the fuck you want.” He pauses. “At least, when it comes tothem.The only people you’re beholden to are me and the boys. Beyond that, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Beholden,” I repeat in disbelief. “Well, that’s a word.”

His gaze drops to my lips. “All power has a price.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “And what’s the priceyoupay?”

As far as I can tell, life is all beer and skittles for him. No one to challenge him. No one to hold him or the other Sacred Sons accountable. They call the shots, and they set the rules.

When he glances back up, our gazes collide, and he stares into me with such deep intensity, the breath slowly leaks from my lungs. “It may look like I have everything, Little Rabbit, but my childhood was–” He pauses, and looks away briefly, like he’s trying to find the right word. “–challenging.”

“Challenging,” I repeat, trying to read his inflection. But the word itself is impossibly vague. “That could mean a million different things.”

My thoughts are cast back to what Ash told me about the abuse Roman and his brother suffered when they were kids. But Roman stops just short of saying that, and I get the feeling he’s trying to tell me without saying the actual words. It’s almost like speaking them would bring everything back up to the surface or something.

“The home I grew up in was violent,” he says in a rush. “And by the age of seven I could sense it, like a gathering storm. I knew I needed to keep myself out of sight, or I would become the target of my dad’s violence.”

I gulp, listening to the pain in Roman’s voice. I can tell those early years wounded him deeply. “God,” I breathe. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, like it doesn’t matter, like he’s shaking off the pain. “We made it through somehow.”

His use of the word “we” piques my interest. This must be the infamous brother. “Someone said you have a brother,” I say. “Was it just the two of you?”

“Yup. He’s older by one year, a product of one of my mom’s previous relationships. My brother didn’t see his dad much, a little in the summer.” He shakes his head, remembering. “That was hell, when we were separated. Without my brother there, there was no one to protect me, no one to share the misery.” He shrugs. “Maybe that makes me selfish.”

Pain radiates from my chest. Pain for that little seven year old boy, who was put through absolute hell. “What about your mom?” I ask.

He laughs, but it's completely devoid of humor. “If she wasn’t passed out on the couch, she was out looking for more pills.”

“Wow,” is all I can say. “That’s shitty.”

He shrugs again, and glances ahead at the turbulent ocean. “She was just trying to cope, I guess.”

I watch as a drop of ocean water rolls down his straight nose, all the way down to the tip, where it’s suspended for a second. When he turns his head to look at me, it drops.

“What caused your dad to be so violent? I mean, did he drink, or—”

“It might be easier if I could blame it on that, but, uh, yeah, he was just a controlling asshole. Brilliant at making money, but shitty at being a father. I actually think he enjoyed inflicting pain.”

I purse my lips. “So when did your mom finally leave?”

“She didn’t,” he says, bitterness dripping from his tone. “She’s threatened to divorce him about a million times, and he finally took some anger management classes. Now, he’s on some fucking redemption tour; taking my mom on luxury trips,buying me cars, all that kind of shit. But no amount of money can erase the terror he inflicted on me as a kid. I can’t just forget that.”

I swallow back the emotion bubbling up in my chest. I hate that anyone had to go through that, especially a kid. It makes me see Roman in a whole new light. Here, I thought he was just some spoiled rich kid, and maybe that’s true, but there’s a whole other layer to him that I hadn’t even thought about.

“But you know what terrifies me the most?” he asks, his gaze burning into mine.

I shake my head. What could possibly terrify Roman Rush, the untouchable campus god? “What?”

He leans in, and whispers, “I’m exactly like him. I guess what they say is true—the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And if that tree is rotting and mutated, what does that make the apple?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Lux

And if thattree is rotting and mutated, what does that make the apple?

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