Page 94 of Hollow Heart

“I kn—know you s—said if I wanted to not be trash, I n—needed to not t—treat myself like it, but fuck...”

Duncan sighs as I wipe my eyes, unable to stop the onslaught of tears.

“I’m not a good person, Duncan. I’m not. I’m a fucked up piece of shit.”

Another sob wracks me.

“What happened?” he asks, leaning back into the couch, pulling me with him.

I lean on his shoulder, not daring to look up at him because I don’t want to see how fucked up I truly am.

I don’t want to see his pity.

His fingertips trace lightly over my shoulder as he leans toward me, the scratchiness of his beard briskly brushing against my forehead.

“I wanted to ignore him. To walk away, but I couldn’t.” I pinch the bridge of my nose as I close my eyes.

“Who?” Duncan’s voice is even, solid, like a rock.

“Sullivan fucking Reign.”

“Ah.” Duncan’s brief utterance is full of judgment.

Maybe this was a bad idea, coming here, like this.

“Maybe I should go...” I say, shoving down the demons that are fighting for freedom. “I should?—”

“You hungry?” Duncan asks as he gets up, letting me fall against the back of the couch.

I watch as he stands, pulling up his gray sweatpants to cover his hips.

I fixate my gaze on him, on the soft curves and edges of his waist, on the thick smattering of hair that covers him from chest to navel. As my gaze travels up to his face, I can’t help but appreciate the sight of him like this.

Duncan is like a diamond, with so many contrasting facets, each one equally as blinding and sharp in design as the last.

It’s hard to believe the same Duncan McKay who used to sport a lip ring and mascara is the same man who can throw me over his shoulder like a ragdoll, who is also somehow the same man who left Hollywood for a house in the suburbs with a fucking white picket fence.

And somehow he’s the same man who can quiet all the noise inside of me.

I’ve been digging through coal for so long, I didn’t know diamonds still existed.

I’ve burned for so long through fires self-inflicted.

I’m going to have to write that one down.

“I, uh...”

“Because I’m starving,” Duncan says nonchalantly as he heads for the fridge. He opens it and the light shines on his skin, illuminating his side profile, his sweatpants sliding off of him once more to reveal a softer definition.

Most of the men in my life, aside from Lou are all coke thin or so muscular you could bounce a fucking quarter off their abs.

There’s something pleasantly comforting about a man who carries himself with the confidence Duncan has.

Confidence I wish I had.

“I’ll warn you, though, my kid is a much better cook than I am. Though, I make a mean grilled cheese.”

I nod like an idiot, a small laugh escaping my throat. The last time I’d been here, he made some sort of buffalo chicken dip, and I swear to God, it smelled like heaven.

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