Page 92 of Pretty When He Bleeds

“I’m here,” she says finally, but something about her tone makes my skin prickle. “Damon, baby… do you know about Roman and Caleb?”

I sit up straight, my cigarette forgotten between my fingers. “What?”

She exhales slowly. “Do you know?”

My pulse pounds. “Yeah,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Roman told me.”

“I always knew,” she says, so quietly I almost don’t catch it.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry as fuck. “How?”

“I saw them,” she says sadly. “Little things. The way they looked at each other. The way Caleb smiled when he was around Roman. The way he’d come home some nights looking… lighter. Like being with him made the weight on his shoulders disappear for a little while.” She sucks in a breath. “And then, one day, it was gone.”

My stomach fucking drops.

“Damon,” she continues, her voice thick. “I always knew, but I waited. I waited for him to tell me, to trust me the way you did. But he never did. And with your father always preaching about how… wrong it was—” She stops, her breath shaking. “I knew he never would. And I hate myself for it.”

Her voice cracks, and I shut my eyes, my chest tightening like a fucking vice. I don’t know what to say. I don’t fucking know. Because I thought I had the whole picture. I thought I understood Caleb’s pain, the weight he carried, the isolation. But I didn’t. Mom knew. She fucking knew, and Caleb still felt like he had no way out. I press the heel of my palm to my temple, trying to quiet the roar in my head.

“I need to see you,” she suddenly says.

I blink. “What?”

She swallows audibly. “I need to tell you something. In person.”

My stomach twists. “What is it?”

She hesitates. “I can’t do this over the phone, baby. I need to see you.”

Dread creeps up my spine.

“Mom,” I say, my voice coming out wary now. “What the fuck is going on?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and that makes my chest go tight as fuck. “I’ll be there soon,” she says finally. “I love you, Damon.”

“Mom—”

The line goes dead.What the fuck?

I sit there, my phone still pressed to my ear, my pulse pounding in my skull.

What the fuck just happened? What the hell does she need to tell me that she couldn’t say over the phone? What the fuck could she possibly have to tell me now?

And why does it feel like my whole fucking world is about to change again?

I flick my cigarette away, exhaling hard. My hands are shaking, so I close my eyes and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

Roman.

I need to see him. I need his stupid fucking smirk and his warm hands and the way he looks at me like I’m not completely fucking ruined. I grab my phone and shoot him a quick text.

Where are you?

My knee bounces as I wait for a response.

Ten seconds.

Thirty.

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