Page 69 of Devotion

“I don’t… I can’t remember,” I admit, noting the hint of shame in my voice. “I wasn’t well back then, and—”

His fingers lace with mine. “You don’t have to explain. I know.”

I’m both surprised and relieved to hear this.

“Did you meet my mother?”

The question is twofold. On one hand, I’m trying to nail down the timeframe in which our paths crossed, but I’m also trying to see just how fucked up he knows my life is.

“I did,” he says with a sigh. “Although, I only met her twice, and both times, it was brief. She seemed kind from what I recall.”

I nod against the pillow, hiding that I’m crying a little, which seems to always happen when I engage in any sort of deep conversation about my past.

“Shewas,mostly. That is, until she wasn’t.”

I’m taken back to that night, remembering how she danced and sang with that wicked smile on her face as she twirled in my father’s blood.

My eyes slam shut, and Damien’s arms tighten around me. Like he senses that I’m not quite as okay as I’m pretending to be.

“So, we knew one another,” I sigh, discreetly swiping more tears away. “But that doesn’t explain why you carved your skin like that.”

He hesitates again, so I lie still, completely silent while he thinks.

“We were young. I was twelve at the time, and you were maybe ten, but we were good friends,” he says. “Which was a big deal for me. Believe it or not, I was kind of a weird kid.”

I smile when he laughs, enjoying how his body moves against mine.

“But I suppose just saying you were agoodfriend isn’t entirely accurate. You were actually myonlyfriend,” he admits. “You were the first girl who saw the real me and didn’t run in the other direction. And… I think that’s why I fell in love with you.”

I arch a brow. “You think you knew what love was at twelve?”

“Maybe not, but whatever it was, it turned into more over the years as I thought about you, as I remembered how you made me feel seen. Accepted.”

“What made you come back?”

A flash of one of his victims startles me, so I close my eyes, hoping to blink it away. Eventually, it works, and I’m able to focus on him again.

“That answer is a bit more complicated and should probably wait for another day.”

“Why?”

His silence returns, and I get the feeling he didn’t expect me to pry, didn’t expect me to dig quite so deep.

“Because my wellbeing isn’t all that’s at stake,” he says. “There are others who depend on me, and if I say too much…”

“Others?” I ask, cutting him off as my brow gathers.

I expect him to elaborate, but his only explanation is, “Yes. Others.”

There’s a chill to his tone that wasn’t there before, and I get the sense that he’s protecting something, or maybe just theseothershe speaks of. I’m reminded of conversations I’ve overheard at the station, where the detectives have been suspicious the killings aren’t the work of just one man. Perhaps, this is a hint that those theories weren’t completely wrong.

“A conversation for another day?”

His chin brushes my shoulder when he nods. “I think that’d be best.”

“Okay,” I sigh, sensing that he might shut down if I push too much. So, I inch closer, curving my body deeper into his. For now, what he’s shared is enough.

Despite what he may be thinking, my declaration still stands. I’m not afraid of him. Realizing we’re more deeply connected than I knew only adds another layer of comfort. No matter who’s run away from him in the past, this is different.

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