Page 131 of The Wrong Heart

Our smiles match as we face each other for a fleeting, poignant moment, causing my lungs to burn with adoration. A new wave of tears flood me. The sun hovers low in the sky, casting an ambient orange glow along the surface of the water, bathing us in half-light, and I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt more ablaze.

With my toes in the sand, our hands entwined, my favorite song serenading us, and a sweet old dog as our witness, Parker tugs me towards the water’s edge. I let out an onslaught of delirious giggles when my bare feet hit the icy lake with a splash.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Parker bites outs, dragging me through the sludge until I’m flush against his chest. His arms snake around me, holding tight. “But you’re not.”

My nose kisses the front of his t-shirt. “Because I’m the sun, right?”

There’s a lengthy pause, a considerable silence, as Parker digests my question while the water licks our thighs. He breathes a tapered sigh into my hair. “You’re the moon.”

The moon?

I pivot my face until my cheek is pressed up against his heart. The beats are loud and songful, a worthy harmony to the melodies drifting over to us from the beach. My eyes close with contentment. “Why am I the moon?”

“You’re the guiding light in a dark sky,” Parker murmurs, his breath tickling the top of my head. “You shine strong when the rest of the world is asleep… when no one is even looking.”

A strained gasp of impossible emotion is swallowed by his shirt. Muffled by his heartbeats. I almost choke on my own voice as I repeat raggedly, “I’m the moon.”

I’m Charlie’s sun, and I’m Parker’s moon.

I can be both.

I’m an eclipse.

We sway lightly beneath the horizon asUnchained Melodyplays on loop across the shore. Parker’s arms wrap tighter around me, holding me like a lover, while we dance quietly in the stillness of the water. I’m transported back to my living room as a little girl, my tiny feet perched atop my father’s shoes as we danced to this song, and it’s a moment that has always stayed with me. I felt so loved in that moment, utterly adored, and those same feelings sweep through me right now as I cling to Parker beneath a sky of orange and gold.

Is this…love?

It feels so profound—so fundamental.

Does Parker love me? Is he capable?

Am I?

His arms unlink from behind my back, then he grazes his fingers up my own arms until he’s pulling me free of the embrace. I’m startled at first, confused, but his touch is gentle and careful. Parker takes one of my hands in his, and I note how much mine is trembling—either from the cold water, or from the flurry of questions funneling through me.

Our eyes lock as he guides my hand to the hem of his t-shirt and inches my fingers underneath the fabric. My breath catches.

His scars.

He’s letting me feel his scars.

Parker goes rigid, his body rejecting the intrusion, but his eyes remain soft and steadfast. His palm curls around my wrist as he maintains control of my exploration, and I hold that same breath when the pads of my fingertips touch the cemetery of old wounds, of grisly trauma, he’s kept hidden from me all this time.

The tissue feels puckered and worn as my fingers dance from one scar to the next. Parker keeps my reach low, level with his abdomen, and I watch his face twist with quandary as his innate need to push me away battles with these new feelings of vulnerability. He’s letting me in. Hewantsto let me in.

I graze a finger along the edges of a larger scar, soft yet jagged, and Parker inhales a sharp breath. His grip on my wrist is deathlike, his eyes closing tight.

He’s fighting. He’s fighting so hard to keep this connection—to break through this final wall, the one that’s most resilient.

It’s painful to watch.

My heart falls faster than my tears, my hands tremoring even harder as I splay my fingers along his beautifully marred skin. “You’re perfect.”

“No…” Parker hisses through his teeth. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

Another cry breaks loose, broken and mournful. My lungs feel strangled. “I’m not lying, Parker. The cruel things you tell yourself, your toxic beliefs—thoseare the lies. They’re ugly and poisonous, notyou.”

His muscles clench, resisting my truths. “Seventy-nine scars, Melody. I’m a fucking monster.”

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