Page 109 of Pretty When He Bleeds

By the time lunch rolls around, I realize I haven’t seen Roman since this morning.

I glance across the quad, spotting him near the athletic building, laughing with Killian and Thorn. My heart stutters at the sight of him—comfortable, at ease, fucking happy.

It’s weird, a few months ago, I hated seeing him. Now, it’s the one thing that keeps me grounded.

I exhale slowly, turning my attention back to my sketchpad. I don’t know where we’re going, what the fuck we’re doing, or how any of this ends.

But for the first time in a long time…

I don’t care.

Roman

Ibarelyhavetimeto drop my bag before there’s a knock at the door.

Damon glances up from where he’s sprawled on the couch, one arm draped over his face like he’s already exhausted. “That better not be Killian. I swear to God, if that fucker is here to steal my snacks again—”

I roll my eyes and head for the door. “Relax, my best friend is safe. It’s probably—”

I pull it open and stop mid-sentence. “Mom?” Damon’s voice comes from behind me, surprised as hell.

I step aside as his mother walks in, carrying a bag in one hand and an affectionate smile on her face. “Surprise,” Lucia Ward says, eyes flicking between the two of us, then she kisses my cheek. “Hello, sweetheart.”

Damon sits up straighter. “You’re early.”

She arches a brow at him. “And you sound shocked that I actually showed up when I said I would.”

Damon makes a face, but it doesn’t hold any real bite. “I mean, yeah, a little. You’re a few hours early, Mom. We literally just got back from campus.”

She clicks her tongue, stepping further inside. “I raised you better than to sass your own mother, Damon Gabriel Ward.”

I bite back a grin as Damon groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You did not just full-name me in front of my boyfriend.”

His mom smirks. “I absolutely did. Now, are you coming to help?”

Damon and I exchange a glance. “You’re cooking, Ma?” I ask.

Lucia lifts her bags. “I stopped by the store. Figured I’d make something real for you boys instead of whatever garbage you usually eat.”

Damon snorts. “We can cook, you know.”

She hums, unconvinced, as she moves toward the kitchen. “Sure you can, sweetheart. Now, come help me.”

Damon groans but gets up, and I follow after him, amused as hell. The kitchen is instantly in chaos, but the good kind—the kind filled with laughter and clattering dishes and teasing insults thrown back and forth.

Lucia moves around like she owns the place, giving orders without hesitation. “Roman, grab the onions from that bag. Damon, wash your hands before you peel and cut the potatoes, I know you haven’t yet.”

Damon grumbles but does as he’s told. “You love bossing me around, huh?”

“Of course I do, baby,” she says easily, chopping herbs like a professional.

I chuckle, pulling out the onions. “You sure you want Damon handling knives? He’s kind of a menace.”

“Shut the fuck up, Roman,” he chirps.

His mom swats his arm with the spoon. “Language.”

I laugh because, holy shit, seeing Damon getting scolded by his mom is the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

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