Page 33 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

Her words wash over me, soothing hurts I didn’t even know I still carried. In this moment, I realize that Skye sees me—truly sees me. Not as a relic from the past, not as a broken thing to be pitied, but as a man. A man worthy of happiness and perhaps… love.

Overwhelmed by emotion, I pull her close, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Skye’s arms wrap around me, holding me as though she never intends to let go. And for the first time in my long, strange life, I feel truly safe. Truly home.

We stay like this for a long while, the warm water lapping gently around us. When we finally part, Skye’s eyes are shining with unshed tears, but her smile is radiant.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she says softly. “For trusting me with… all of you.”

I cup her face in my hands, marveling at the depth of feeling I see reflected in her gaze. “Thank you for listening,” I reply. “For seeing me.”

As we exit the pool, wrapping ourselves in soft towels, I feel lighter somehow. The scars that map my body are still there, but they no longer feel like a burden. Instead, they’re a part of my story—a story that Skye now shares.

As we dry off, Skye’s towel gets caught on her necklace. Her eyes fly wide in panic, as though it’s now the most precious thing she owns, and she doesn’t want to break it.

“It should be sturdy,” I say as I untangle a loose thread that’s wrapped around it. “There.” It strikes me that I’ve shared so much of my dark past with her, perhaps she’d like to hear a good memory.

A lump forms in my throat as bittersweet memories of Caecelia flood back. “I have another story to tell.” I point my chin to the two chairs near the little pool. “It’s not a long tale, but it’s one of my best memories.”

I don’t mention that it was easily my best memory until the recent ones I’ve created with the amazing woman sitting beside me.

“It was a gift,” I begin, my voice rough with emotion. “From Caecelia, the slave woman who raised me until I was sent to theludusto train at age eight.”

Skye’s eyes widen with interest and she takes my hand, encouraging me to continue.

“The night before I was to be sold, she snuck to my side. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears as she pressed something into my hand—a small wooden charm, a carved phallus hanging on a leather cord. It had been worn smooth by years of worry.”

I pause, swallowing hard. “She whispered, ‘For protection and good luck. May the Gods watch over you, my boy. May the Goddess Fortuna herself smile upon you’.”

Skye squeezes my hand, her eyes shining with understanding. “That’s why you made one for me,” she says softly.

I nod, unable to speak past the emotion clogging my throat. Skye pulls me close. Her embrace soothes the old wounds reopened by the memory.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she murmurs against my chest. “My necklace means even more to me now.”

After a few quiet moments, we rise and make our way back to our rooms. As we reach her door, Skye turns to me, her expression serious. “Thrax,” she says, “I want you to know… your past doesn’t define you. It’s a part of you, yes, but it’s not all of you. The man you are now—kind, gentle, brave—that’s who I… care about.”

Her words settle in my chest, warm and comforting. I lean down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” I whisper, hoping she understands the depth of my gratitude.

No. I stop myself. Gratitude isn’t what I want to feel toward this woman I’m growing to care for more and more each day. I deserve someone who sees me—all of me—and cherishes it. I deserve nothing less than that.

Perhaps I’ll get it all… with Skye.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Skye

I slip off my sandals and scrunch my toes in the soft grass as I work. My fingers tap an anxious rhythm on my laptop as I wait for Thrax, my mind replaying last night’s conversation in the pool. The vulnerability in his eyes as he shared his past, the weight of decades of pain in his voice—it all haunts me.

What if he regrets opening up? What if he pulls away, ashamed of what he revealed? Will he even join me this morning?

My spiraling thoughts are interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Looking up, Thrax strides toward me, his beefy hands gripping a tray laden with two steaming cups of coffee and plates heaped with breakfast foods. His face breaks into a wide smile when our eyes meet, instantly melting away my fears.

“Good morning,” he says in English. He’s learning a few words of English every day. It’s a natural offshoot of the pronunciation work we’re doing together. I’m learning Latin, but the declensions are a beast to learn. He sets the tray down between us. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Relief washes over me because it seems as though nothing awkward lingers between us from last night.

“Starving,” I reply, reaching for a coffee. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know. Although…” Giving him an affectionate look, I add, “a girl could get used to being waited on.”

Thrax’s eyes light up with a gentle warmth. “You work too hard and never take time for breakfast. You need to keep your strength up.”

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