Page 70 of Hidden By His Side

He was pathetic, but then, he came by that naturally. His mother had been even more pathetic. At least Summer loved him back. His father had never loved his mother. He’d used her.

His mother hadn’t had another choice. Her parents kicked her out because she was pregnant with Ramiro. For a while, Ramiro hated himself for trapping her with his father. His father railed at her often for keeping the baby. As if he’d had no culpability for impregnating a teenager way too young for him.

His mother convinced herself she loved his father. She molded her whole life around one undeserving man, and his father used every ounce of her up until nothing was left.

Ramiro had watched it and grown more and more bitter, but every time he tried to talk to his mother about leaving, she would fly off the handle, hitting him to make his words disappear. She’d never loved him. His existence trapped them together. She’d said she didn’t blame him for that over and over, screamed it at him in fact.

He eventually accepted that his mother didn’t hate him for putting her in that situation. She didn’t love him or hate him. She just wanted to pretend he didn’t exist.

Ramiro wasn’t certain when he stopped trying to earn her love. He was still young when he had grown numb. He couldn’t avoid the way his father shouted, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, but he’d decided she deserved it. Not deserved, exactly, butif the violence continued, he thought his mother would have to face reality.

He was proven wrong when his father killed her. He’d hit her, as hard as he always did, but she didn’t get up that time. Ramiro didn’t see it himself. The quiet in the house crept into his heart, and he’d gone to investigate.

His father didn’t cry as he stared down at the body. No, he’d spit on it instead.

“About damn time I’m rid of you.”

Ramiro had killed him. He’d already been as tall as his father, but not as filled out yet. Being weaker hadn’t mattered when he had surprise on his side. Afterward, he’d stared down at the bodies together, feeling nothing, not hatred or guilt or sadness. It had needed to be done, so he did it.

He’d burned down the shack of a house he’d lived in all his life and found a life on the streets instead. One that increased the numbness inside.

Ramiro hadn’t liked anyone who bullied those weaker than them, though. It wasn’t until he started stepping in to help that he realized how much regret he carried for failing his mother. Saving some of the boys smoothed the broken pieces of himself that had been cutting him up inside.

Then he’d run into a pregnant girl on a bridge, and the pieces wove into something new. Summer reminded him of his mother, but he could save her.

She fell in love with him for it. He’d told himself she’d developed a savior complex. He’d told himself she was young andimpressionable, like his mother had been. That didn’t stop Ramiro from absorbing every single moment of her need for him. It was a toxic feedback loop for both of them, one he’d tried to break over the years. Each time, she just clung to him tighter.

Summer wasn’t like his mother, not really. Summer was soft and caring and so damn vulnerable. She’d give all of herself to make people care about her, holding nothing back.

His mother had been bitter and violent, when it came down to it, more like his father. Ramiro had lost count of how many times she’d hit him as a child.

Summer couldn’t fight back, no matter how many times he tried to teach her. She had darkness inside, just like he did, but it was a darkness toward herself. Ramiro’s hate turned outward—he hated all the assholes in the world. He knew he was an asshole too, but he was better than most. He didn’t deserve someone as kind as Summer, but he didn’t hate himself, not really.

Summer hated herself. The only value she saw in herself was the value others gave her. No matter how much Ramiro poured into her, she was always desperate for more. He didn’t mind pouring into her, but he wished she could see herself the way he saw her.

A frightened whimper slipped from her, and Ramiro pulled her closer. Her body grew stiff, and her fingers curled around the buttoned gap of his shirt as she gasped and whimpered again with her eyes still closed.

Nightmares had plagued her over the years. What happened to her as a teenager preyed on her hardest when she slept.

Ramiro dragged her closer so he could kiss her worry lines away. “I’ve got you, baby girl,” he murmured, his strokes along her back firmer. He no longer feared waking her. Her waking in his arms was better than letting those assholes tear at her subconscious.

“You’re safe,” he promised, his hand burying in her hair as he kissed her forehead again. “I’m here.”

Her breathing evened out, the gasps and whimpers fading as she relaxed and nudged her face into the collar of his shirt, finding its place close to his neck. He encircled her even more, wanting her completely absorbed in his heat.

He sighed, closing his eyes, focusing on how right it felt. She’d clung to him over the years, but that didn’t mean it was one-sided. Ramiro only felt settled when he was with Summer.

Maybe it was a toxic feedback loop, but did that matter if they both wanted it?

Holding her all night was a balm to his soul, one he was finally willing to admit he never wanted to fade.

For the first time in weeks, Summer didn’t wake up nauseous. Ramiro’s big body lay under hers, and she slowly lifted her head from its place on his shoulder.

“Good morning.” The huskiness in his voice caused her cheeks to heat as she met his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

She sat up fully, her hand moving to hover over her stomach. It didn’t swirl or heave at all. “I don’t feel sick,” she admitted, letting her hand lower to rest on his chest. She wished it was hair and warm skin under her palm, but Ramiro still had his dress shirt on from the night before.

“That’s good,” he murmured, his hand moving over hers. His fingers brushed along her wrist. “What about from last night? You fell pretty hard. Any pain anywhere?”

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