Page 161 of Dark Love

“What are you doing?”

“Building us a tent.”

“A tent?”

“If you’re going to tell me scary stories, I need a tent and some s’mores. Would you tuck the quilts on the top shelf under some books so they don’t fall on our heads?” I start to spread out some quilts on the floor, shoving piles of books out of the way.

“This isn’t a cute story.”

I know that. The knot building in the pit of my stomach knows that. “Don’t worry, I brought s’mores too.”

“You’re a nut.”

“Scary stories need s’mores.”

“Is that one of your sweet treat rules?”

Absolutely. “Always.”

It doesn’t take us long to get the little tent built. With every second, my anxiety builds. What if I can’t handle this? What if he walks away? What if? I ruined my life worrying about what-ifs. Reality can be dealt with. What-ifs just destroy your soul. “Do you want a s’more? I don’t have a little torch, but it probably wouldn’t be smart to use one with all this flammable stuff around. They’re so cute though, aren’t they?”

“Only you would think a blow torch is cute. No, Dahl, I don’t want a s’more. Are you really sure you want to know this story?”

No. “Yes.” I shove a marshmallow in my mouth, knowing it won’t be enough sweet to balance out the horrible he’s about to share.

“My life wasn’t like yours.”

That’s the understatement of the century.

“I didn’t grow up in a house in the burbs with two parents and a white picket fence.”

“Our fence wasn’t white.”

“Huh?”

“Our fence wasn’t white. They get dirty too quickly. We had a green fence.”

Vex raises an eyebrow at me.

“Sorry, when I get nervous, I ramble.”

He reaches across our pile of sweet treats and tucks a hair that escaped my messy bun hours ago behind my ear. “I know. You’re cute when you ramble. But this isn’t easy to talk about.”

“Zipping my lips.” I slide the imaginary zipper closed and bite my tongue. That marshmallow disappeared all too quickly.

“My life wasn’t like yours. Most of it was spent with unsavory people on the street.”

“You lived on the street!” I slap a hand across my mouth to avoid blurting out anything else stupid.

“No. I always had a place to live. But most of my time was spent out on the streets dealing with people that I hope you never know exist.”

You knew his life was hard. Don’t cry. You know for them to think he’s a crime lord, Vex couldn’t have grown up normal.

“It’s common on the street to have a monicker. They can mean so many different things. But mine was given to instill fear. Vex was the one thing my father gave me that I don’t hate.”

Fear. Hate. Oh, that doesn’t sound good. I reach across and grab his hand. Whether it’s to comfort myself or him, I’m not sure. He doesn’t need a name to instill fear. A simple look is all it takes. Vex hates his father. Why? But I keep my lips sealed.

Vex pauses for a long moment, staring into my eyes.

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